What a dreadful morning! I never imagined it would cause a row between us, and I hate that Allen went off for the day without our making amends. I meant no cruelty or provocation?—?I only wanted to know how he could be so angry at a commanding officer as to throw about a telegraph machine.
I have long suspected that Allen shields me. When he reads to me from his desert journals, I notice that he skips entire pages. He will begin to tell of a courageous lieutenant he once knew in the war or of an encounter with the wild Apache, and he will pause thoughtfully and then turn the conversation with grace, like he spins me on the dance floor, and when I realize what has happened, it will be too late and I will be talking of some poem I read or piece of art we admired in San Francisco. And these past weeks, all that he has told me of his coming expedition, yet never did he mention the Indians’ massacre of the Russians
I know we have been married only months, but I would know him more fully, and not just the buttoned, ironed, and mannerly husband who takes me dancing and presents me with gifts. What of the man who has lived for weeks, months even, without bath or civilized meal, who has seen the deaths of enemy and friend alike? What of that medal that sits upon his bureau? I can see for myself that it is a commendation of great significance, but he will only say that he was a young lieutenant and it was a long time ago.
It is something more, too. I feel a bit as if I’ve been put in my place. Just because I appeared before Mr Pruitt as a well-married woman in a fine gown (borrowed at that), who is he to assume that I have therefore led a charmed and unmarred life, that I am ignorant of suffering?
Worst yet, is it possible that Allen in some way shares this opinion? If he conceals a part of himself out of a misguided desire to protect me, it would sadden me terribly, for it would mean that neither of us knows the other as intimately as marriage would presume. And here is my most callow admission?—?it wounds my pride to think Allen’s men know him better than I might ever hope to.
Ah, and this is the trouble with a diary. We are allowed to stand too long before its mirror and gaze at ourselves, where we unavoidably find vanity and fault.
I should keep to the field sparrow in flight. The cedar waxwings in the ash tree. Make note of their plumage and bills. Observe the habitats they frequent, the seeds that they pluck. Keep my pencil to wing shape and migration patterns, for these are the more sublime and worthy observations.
Sophie Ada Swanson
Medal of Honor
Forrester, Allen B.
Rank and organization: Second Lieutenant, 8th U.S. Cavalry *
Place and date: At San Carlos, Arizona, 30 May 1868
*
Date of issue: 4 August 1868
*
Citation: While leading a detachment to persuade an Apache band to surrender, Lieutenant Forrester and 12 men were surrounded by hostiles. The Lieutenant’s horse was shot out from under him, so that he engaged in savage hand-to-hand fighting. Under a most galling fire, he assisted three of his wounded soldiers to safety before returning to the fight. He and his eight remaining soldiers were able to hold the 50 Indians at bay until reinforcements arrived.
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
March 27, 1885
We have struck ice so will abandon the row boats.
Aided by the tide, at dawn we rowed to one of the mouths of the Wolverine River. Gone from Vancouver Barracks since the 1st of February, we are nearly a month behind schedule. Yet I am glad to see this rugged scene at last?—?the west bank stacked with heaps of ice, some blocks as thick as four feet. We rowed upriver through a dreary sleet for most of the day along a clear main channel, but at times were forced to halt our progress as slabs of ice floated past. As one large berg scraped against our boat, I felt the deep chill it casts off.
When we fatigued from rowing into the current, we attempted to walk the boats upriver by cordelle?—?one man pulling the boat along the shore by rope tied to the bow, another keeping the stern into the current with the aid of an oar. It was impractical. The ice along shore required us to climb uneven ground. At times we were forced to wade streams. Pruitt stepped from a bank ledge only to sink to his chin in icy water, but still he managed to hold to his bow line. In other circumstances, it would have been amusing, but we know too well the deathly threat of it. All of us are left cold & wet.
Where we ran aground of ice, we climbed ashore to start a fire. Conditions were not favorable, our hands numb & useless. While our matches were kept dry in canisters, they fizzled in the wet wind. Samuelson managed with a bit of bark & clump of winterkilled grass to light the flames.
Once we have dried our boots, we will unload the supplies. Samuelson says there is a nearby village where we can employ Indians to assist in carrying supplies upriver. All food, ammunition, equipment will have to be hauled by sled or pack. We will require at least four strong men.