On that day we marched thirty
miles under an incessant rain; and I am afraid you will doubt my
veracity when I tell you that in eight miles of the best of the
road, it took us over the knees, and often to the middle. The
Black Swamp would have been considered impassable by all but men
determined to surmount every difficulty to accomplish the object
of their march. In this swamp you lose sight of terra firma
altogether--the water was about six inches deep on the ice, which
was very rotten, often breaking through to the depth of four or
five feet. The same night we encamped on very wet ground, but the
driest that could be found, the rain still continuing. It was
with difficulty we could raise fires; we had no tents; our
clothes were wet, no axes, nothing to cook with, and very little
to eat. A brigade of pack-horses being near us, we procured from
them some flour, killed a hog (there were plenty of THEM along
the road); our bread was baked in the ashes, and our pork we
broiled on the coals--a sweeter meal I never partook of. When we
went to sleep it was on two logs laid close to each other, to
keep our bodies from the damp ground.
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