I might have shared my thoughts with her, that she is too intelligent to marry into trouble just to escape boredom, but who am I to assume wisdom over her heart? Certainly my Mother saw only misfortune in my choice of an Army colonel a dozen years my elder. She begged me to consider her own mistaken path, how she had forsaken her community of faith by marrying outside of the Society of Friends. She was convinced my security lie with a younger and less worldly man than Allen, one who possessed a gentle religiosity. Yet I am convinced such a marriage would have stifled me.
It seems to me that it is most difficult to comprehend love from an outer view; I can only hope my friend finds more joy than not.
July 4
Charlotte and I have set up the canvas tent some twenty feet from the nest. At first, I intended to decorate the outside of it with branches and leaves, but I no longer think that will be necessary. It is movement that seems to startle the bird more than anything. My hope is to gradually inch closer during the next day or so.
Charlotte is beside herself with excitement about the nest, though she said she wished she had been the one to find it for me. When the mother bird was away, I had Charlotte hold a piece of paper at the nest so that I might focus upon it, and when she saw the two humming bird eggs she exclaimed, “Why, they’re no bigger than buttons!”
It is cramped quarters inside the tent, less than five feet by five feet, but there is room enough for camera, tripod and campstool. I have cut several small holes in the canvas so that I might point the lens out one and sit on the stool and watch with my field glasses out another.
Charlotte is vastly more patient than Evelyn, but even her I was forced to send away, as she fidgets and talks incessantly. She was far from displeased, however, for when she asked if she might try making a few prints from the pine siskin plates, I gave her permission, and she ran home to the dark room with much enthusiasm.
July 6
I arrived at not half past five o’clock this morning with my camera. The tent is now well within the thicket and only a few feet from the nest. With the entrance on the opposite side, I am able to tiptoe in without stirring the mother bird.
The location, I find, is too shaded for a decent photograph this time of day, but I am not sorry to have risen so early. It is both peaceful and thrilling to be hidden away in here while all the world goes on around me. The sun rises, the bugler sounds his call, and with it, all the post comes to life. The insects begin to buzz about the tent, the mother bird stretches her neck, and I hear the first ferry come into the wharf along with the distant sound of men and mules and wagons.
Yet amid all this activity, I go entirely unnoticed, nearly to the point of awkwardness. Just an hour or two after reveille, two young soldiers walked by on their way to the parade ground?—?What’s that tent doing there? She’s taking pictures. The Colonel’s wife? Not much interesting what I can see, just branches and trees. Who is she then? Mrs Forrester. Don’t think I know her. Seen her with the General’s niece now and then. Now there’s a spitfire. Mrs Haywood? Naw, the niece. Evelyn.
I wondered if I shouldn’t speak up and reveal myself before they said anything to embarrass themselves, but I hesitated, and the sound of their conversation diminished so that I could tell they had moved on.
It is after noon, and the sun comes in from across the river. The light is strong. I have begun now to photograph in earnest.
One of the eggs is hatching! I was granted only the briefest view, when the mother bird stood at the edge of the nest as if to fly, but then she returned to her brooding.
Three plates today. I restrain myself, for I am still uncertain which hours and weather conditions will serve best.
July 7
Peculiar how near to death a newborn bird appears, its skin thin and wrinkled, its head like a moldy, squashed blackberry. The chick shows no sign of movement, and I would be unsure of its life except for the movement of its small ribs with breath. The sight of it causes me a shudder, much like when I look upon an unsightly wound, yet within days, this wretched creature will sprout feathers and open its beak to the world.
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
July 12, 1885
Srgt Tillman agin. This mornin we came to know why they brot us here. They herd we were medcine men with ways to cure the sick. All we have are 3 kinds of Army pill one for malarie, tho we seen no sign of it here, an the pills that eather empty you out or keep you stopped up. The lutenant gave them out willy-nilly but the Indians were glad of it. The chief who is sickist of all got some of each, while others just got 1 or 2 kinds. The lutenant says he feels bad givin them pills that wont do them good but might make them feel worse, but I say he probly saved our lives if nothin else cause the Indians are well plesed an wont shoot our heads off.
Pruitt doesnt look too good himself. Hes turnin black all over with the scurvy an he lost a nother tooth.
July 14
Were on the river agin. The Indians didnt want us to take our leave. They kept tryin to look in our boat to see whats in there so they almost found Nattie under the sleepin bags but they didnt. I spect she could fend for herself fine but I didnt want to trust that.
Were probly gettin nere some rapids an I dont like it much. The lutenant uses a stick floatin in the water an his watch an says the water runs about 7 miles an hour.