At 6 this morning we launched the boat with myself, Sgt. Tillman, Lieut. Pruitt, Nat’aaggi, & the dog. We paddled 3 hours until we reached the confluence with the Tanana River. Pruitt is still weak but at last coherent. I believe sleep & warm food have served him well, though he still seems uneasy of mind.
We are in a markedly different land from that of the Wolverine Valley. The air is hot. There are no glaciers or rocky cliffs. Instead it is a flat country with rolling hills, mountains only in the farthest distance. Widespread forest fires burn to the north, so the air is filled with smoke. The water in the lakes is stagnant & undrinkable.
The Tanana River is several hundred yards to a mile wide, with muddy water, loamy banks. We travel 3 to 3? miles per hour.
The lack of salmon does not bode well for our journey, as it may well indicate falls downriver.
July 6
Pruitt shows signs of advanced scurvy. It was brought to my attention when he spat out one of his teeth during our evening meal. Upon further inquiry, I discovered that his legs & torso are covered with large blackish lesions.
I have no doubt as to the cause. In addition to scarce & poor-quality food, we have worn the same clothes since March 20 & suffered extreme exposure. Our doses of acetic acid have been ineffective. His corresponding lack of appetite only worsened his condition. All this accounts a great deal for his past weeks of malaise perhaps even his unsound mental state.
July 7
I aimed to shoot the raven.
It would not leave us be, but circled & squawked overhead. I fired a half dozen bullets from my carbine, but none met its target. The men do not understand, but I know who the raven is.
I would have liked to watch the bird plummet to the earth.
I want only sleep. It is a forgiving oblivion.
As written by Lieutenant Colonel Allen Forrester
July 6, 1885
I here put down this record of confession. On the 28th of June 1885, I threatened Lieutenant Andrew Pruitt with pistol.
We descended from Tebay Peak on our way to the Tetling when the lieutenant lay down upon the ground and refused to rise. With no food left in our possession and no means to obtain any in the immediate area, we were in no position to set camp. I advised the lieutenant that we should continue the day’s march to the river with hopes of finding natives from whom to obtain food.
Still the lieutenant refused to rise. I ordered Sergeant Bradley Tillman to assist me in lifting the lieutenant to his feet. I hoped the two of us together retained enough strength to enable us to travel in such a way to the river.
At this time, the lieutenant forcefully withdrew from our aid and again lay upon the ground. I advised him that if he had strength enough to resist us, he had strength enough to walk. At this time I drew my pistol and aimed it at his head. I told him I would shoot him as a deserter if he did not rise. The lieutenant did not come to his feet, at which point I cocked the gun. I then proceeded to fire a bullet into the ground near the lieutenant’s head. Sergeant Tillman at this point interceded, pulled Lieutenant Pruitt to his feet and began to forcefully march him down the hillside. The sergeant then suggested that I return my pistol to my holster.
It is my firm belief that as commander of this expedition, I failed to maintain proper composure. I allowed anger to impinge my judgment. I did not observe the lieutenant’s failing health or deteriorating mental state. I am at fault and hereby take responsibility.
Lieutenant-Colonel Allen Forrester
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
July 8, 1885
A pair of Canada geese with goslings on shore. The five young are downy gray but begin to grow their pin feathers. They forage in the grass even as we float by in our skin boat.
It is the mother, I presume, who follows after the young. Her head held high on her long, slender neck. White paint down her cheeks. Round eyes. They shine black.
The male watches us. On guard.
Though we are near starving, I would not allow the men to kill them.
I thought I heard a woman call from her black beak.
I am unwell.
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
July 9, 1885
This isnt the Colonel but its Sgt Bradley Tillman that wrights here.
Colonel is sick as a dog. Hes burnin with fever an I dont know much what to do about it cept Nattie washes him in the river an the lutenant gives him some asprin pills.
I havnt read watever the Colonel wrights in his little books ever day. Thats his own. I mearley wright here so that thers counting for watever comes next. I dont like it much atall that the Colonel might die as hes a good man best kind there is. Hes the one who spurs us on, keeps us livin even when thers no food to speak of. He might loose his temper now an then but all good men do so.
We know hed like us to move on down the river so we keep at it tho the bugs are bad bitin an when we rapp the Colonel in his sleepin bag hes awful hot. We try an not make much noise threw here as this is the land of the bad tyone. We hope not to meet up with him.