March 2, 1838

Journal of Kassy Brown

This past month has been hard on Cherokees and American soldiers alike. Even though it is winter no longer and the weather is starting to warm up, venison is still scarce, and what is found is thin and bony. Yesterday, the tribe we were assigned to managed to find and kill a small deer, but after being split up among themselves, each member only got a few bites. It was barely anything, but it’s more substantial than corn bread. At least meat should start becoming more common now; most of the Indians are skin and bones, just like the venison. I wish I could help them, but it’s an unspoken rule among us to avoid conversing with the Cherokees, and I don’t know how I’d help anyways.

Tensions are still high between us and them, and they don’t show any signs of lowering. Not twelve days ago an Indian, a man, died from the cold. His wife wouldn’t stop crying, or begging to go back and bury him, and eventually Thompson got so mad he threatened to shoot her. The commotion brought more Cherokees over, and the yelling from that brought more soldiers, and I had to step in and sort everything out before it turned into a full-scale fight. Thompson accused me of having a soft spot for them, and not being loyal to the nation. I protested that they were humans too, and then Sgt. Reds had to separate us to prevent a fight. Like I said, tensions are high. Hopefully warmer days and more food will calm us all down…