these; but oftenest Cowan or Tom would fling me; drum and all, on his
shoulder. For we had reached the forest swamps where the water is the
color of the Creole coffee. And day after day as we marched, the soft
rain came out of the east and wet us to the skin.

It was a journey of torments, and even that first part of it was enough
to discourage the most resolute spirit. Men might be led through it, but
never driven. It is ever the mind which suffers through the monotonies
of bodily discomfort, and none knew this better than Clark himself.
Every morning as we set out with the wet hide chafing our skin, the
Colonel would run the length of the regiment, crying:--

"Who gives the feast to-night, boys?"

Now it was Bowman's company, now McCarty's, now Bayley's. How the
hunters vied with each other to supply the best, and spent the days
stalking the deer cowering in the wet thickets. We crossed the Saline,
and on the plains beyond was a great black patch, a herd of buffalo. A
party of chosen men headed by Tom McChesney was sent after them, and
never shall I forget the sight of the mad beasts charging through the
water.

That night, when our chilled feet could bear no more, we sought out a
patch of raised ground a little firmer than a quagmire, and heaped up the
beginnings of a fire with such brush as could be made to burn, robbing
the naked thickets. Saddle and steak sizzled, leather steamed and
stiffened, hearts and bodies thawed; grievances that men had nursed over
miles of water melted. Courage sits best on a full stomach, and as they
ate they cared not whether the Atlantic had opened between them and
Vincennes. An hour agone, and there were twenty cursing laggards,