It was the summer of 1861; the place, a camp on the Red River; the people, members of the 1^st Texas Regiment of Mounted Rifles.  One of the men was D. Port Smythe, a doctor.  In July of that hot summer, Dr. Smythe wrote, The camp becomes exceedingly irksome to me...how to bear it nine months more I cannot conceive.
 

       Dr. Smythe and the other men of the regiment had been called up for one year of duty.  Their job was to enter treaty negotiations with the Indians.  It apparently was not much of a challenge.
 

    He wrote, some of the latter (Choctaws, Chickasaws, other civilized tribes and Comanches) are reported to have already come in and to show a willingness for peace.  Should this prove true it may change our entire operations for the future.

    Seven letters which Dr. Smythe wrote to his wife, Lou, believed to have been in Louisiana at the time were secured by John Duncan, a Texas A &M professor working with the Texas State Historical Survey Committee.
 

    To an educated man like Smythe, life in the camp was dreary.  News of the country and especially the threatening word of the Civil War was fleeting.  Reading material was scarce.
 

    His plight was much like that of the military personnel today - his loneliness for his wife and two children is repeatedly reflected throughout the letters.  Following are excerpts from the letters.
 

    Camp on Red River, July 5, 1861.  (Believed near present day Byers.)

    I wrote you last Saturday and sent it by Capt. Webb to Bonham to be posted.  I write every chance for I know that with the utmost promptness we can hear from each other but seldom.  We reached this camp on the 25^th... and have been ever since.  Co. Henry E. McCulloch and staff left here last Saturday for Fort Cobb for the purpose of entering treaty stipulations with the Reserve Indians to remain peaceful and quiet.  How he will succeed I can not conjecture.  He will return in the course of a week and then we will probably set out on a long scout to the head waters of the Canadian River in search of Indians.
 

    Rumor says there are seven or eight hundred warriors embodied and waiting the order of Kansas Montgomery to make a raid on Northern Texas.  How true these flying reports may prove I can not say.  We are content either way.  If he comes we will try to give him a warm reception.  We have no fears of the result.
 

    I have not yet crossed Red River into the Indian Territory but I shall as soon as the river falls; it is now up and the Wichita is nearly as high as it ever reaches.  We have any quantity of the finest plums you ever saw; they excel any in luscious juiciness that I ever saw.
 

    This portion of Texas is entirely destitute of trees and shrubs except immediately on the margin of the streams giving it an ocean like appearance bounded only by the horizon.  The grass is coarse and high but not so good for grazing.  Further down Red River is a wide bankless stream spread out over bars of red clay and sand in many places almost dry.  It is a sad and dreary lifeless stream with no romantic groves or rocky precipitous bluffs to relieve the dead monotony; the valley is equally desolate. It is covered by ridges and hillocks of dead sand and here and there salt lakes.  The high lands in many places break suddenly off into the valleys in immense red clay and sand bluffs which are constantly crumbling away altogether making a very dreary landscape.

    Smythe wrote of plans to celebrate July 4, but since they were unable to secure a copy of the Declaration of Independence, We let the day pass off without any public demonstration.  He did have a dinner for the officers and wrote his wife of the menu. Oyster soup, ham, pickles, rice dessert, rice with sugar, stewed apples, apple pies, sweet milk and preserved plums.  All parties seemed to enjoy it to the full extent.  My cook, a Mexican, got it up in good style so that you may see we are not entirely without the luxuries of life.
 

I could be entirely contented in camp if you and our dear little ones were here but without you all else is as nothing.  How I will be able to bear so long a separation I can not now fully realize and nothing but a strong sense of duty to my country could ever induce me to sacrifice my feelings, but the cause is a holy one, one for which we should willingly sacrifice personal comfort and ease, endure all manner of hardships.
 

It is a cause that meets the approval of my conscience, my judgement and my warmest affections.  It is a cause for which I have labored long and jealously and with whatever of ability I possessed and now that perils cluster in thick clouds around the star of Liberty it behooves all her true Votaries to come to her rescue and if needs be, baptize her robes in their hearts best blood.
 

What our future movement will be I cannot say.  No amount of sagacity can foresee what new move will be made on the military stage.  Time alone can unravel those mysteries of the future.
 

Smythe wrote of missing his children, Harry and Ida.  Cheer up, my love, and do not give way to despondency.  Trust in the goodness and mercy of God and he will guard and protect you.
 

This letter will be mailed from Montague, our nearest post office.  Some 45 or 50 miles east.  You will continue to write and direct as heretofore and write at least once a week and send me those newspapers.
 

The second letter was written from Camp Jackson on Red River, Jul 16, 1861.  In it he tells of a 36-hour rainfall.  The heaviest fall in many a year and yesterday morning the rise in the river came suddenly down like a moving wall and spreading out from a small shallow and narrow stream till its immense sand bed was covered with foaming waves and drift wood; in one hour it was pouring out of the bank and submerged our camp, scarcely giving us time to move to the surrounding highlands.
 

It was a stirring scene; all was bustle and hurry to save our forage and subsistence.   Wagons were rushing wildly along to and fro - assisted by 250 horsemen each with a sack of flour, oats or beans thrown across his saddle and dashing rapidly through the fast encroaching flood.
 

Soon all was safe from the devouring element.  When we had got safely beyond its reach it was sublime to look upon, the foam crested waves proudly and impatiently dashing against the trembling banks and breaking down all barriers to the raging torrent.
 

To enable you to judge of the suddenness and extent of the rise it will be sufficient to say that in one hour it rose 15 feet and spread to a width of 300 or 400 yards.
 

Other news: Co. McCulloch returned without a treaty with the Comanches; stealing and murder was going on at the border settlements; a supply train with 300 or 400 men was due; two men, Capt. Davidson and Andrew McCarthy, were killed by an ambush of 150 Indians; and that should old Abe not send us work from Kansas it is intended to make a ground campaign of the entire regiment against the red rascals in the autumn.  So you see, we have plenty of work on hand.