[Your Name]
Fort Riley, Kansas
[Date]
Dear Jane,
I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. As I sit here in my quarters at Fort Riley, I feel the need to share some details about life here on the frontier and how I have spent my last few months' pay. It's a strange existence, caught between the harsh realities of military life and the beauty of the Kansas plains.
Life at Fort Riley has its routine; each day begins with early morning drills and maintenance around the fort. Most of my fellow soldiers and I are assigned to tasks that keep the fort operational—repairing buildings, chopping wood for cooking and warmth, and ensuring our horses are well taken care of. The work is demanding, but I've grown quite fond of the camaraderie among my comrades. Still, more of us have succumbed to the maladies of this land than to any scuffle with the local tribes. Cholera, primarily due to contaminated drinking water, has claimed the lives of many fine men here. On the days when the sun is particularly hot, we often bathe in the river, though it does little for our hygiene.
The reason I wanted to reach out, beyond simply sharing life at the fort, is to shed light on what is happening to the Native American tribes around us. As settlers pour into Kansas, drawn by promises of land and prosperity, the displacement and suffering of the tribes—the Cheyenne, Arapaho, Kiowa, and Comanche—cannot be ignored. Families and communities that have lived on these lands for centuries are facing relentless pressures, their traditional ways of life crumbling. We soldiers are tasked with maintaining order, but as I see it, we are often playing the role of enforcers against those we ought to view as our fellow countrymen.
Over the last three months, I received my typical soldier's pay of $13, which has dwindled faster than I imagined. I spent a portion acquiring a pair of sturdy blue jeans for $4.75 from the sutler. They shall serve me better on the rugged terrain than the issued trousers. I also splurged on a dozen eggs for $1.45 and a small package of mixed candy for 90 cents—it felt good to treat myself amidst the tough conditions of fort life.
Another significant purchase was a can of peaches for 85 cents—a slice of home that reminds me of the orchards back east. I've also set aside a bit for some chocolate, which brings a certain comfort to my long evenings spent writing letters like this one.
As I close this letter, let me implore you to think about the larger picture of what is happening out here. As settlers rampage toward their vision of "Manifest Destiny," we must not lose sight of our humanity. Our nation is joyfully growing at what cost? It pains me to see the struggle of those who lived here long before us. I hope you can share this sentiment when talking to folks back home, to remember the shared responsibility we have toward all who inhabit this land.
Take care, Jane, and know that I am thinking of home and the life we once shared.
Yours Truly,
[Your Signature]
[Your Name]