The horses, overworked and
underfed, were fast breaking down. The forest had little food for them,
and they were forced to drag their own oats and corn, as well as
supplies for the army, through two hundred miles of wilderness. In the
wretched condition of the road this was no longer possible. The
magazines of provisions formed at Raystown and Loyalhannon to support
the army on its forward march were emptied faster than they could be
filled. Early in October the elements relented; the clouds broke, the
sky was bright again, and the sun shone out in splendor on mountains
radiant in the livery of autumn. A gleam of hope revisited the heart of
Forbes. It was but a flattering illusion. The sullen clouds returned,
and a chill, impenetrable veil of mist and rain hid the mountains and
the trees. Dejected Nature wept and would not be comforted. Above,
below, around, all was trickling, oozing, pattering, gushing. In the
miserable encampments the starved horses stood steaming in the rain, and
the men crouched, disgusted, under their dripping tents, while the
drenched picket-guard in the neighboring forest paced dolefully through
black mire and spongy mosses. The rain turned to snow; the descending
flakes clung to the many-colored foliage, or melted from sight in the
trench of half-liquid clay that was called a road. The wheels of the
wagons sank in it to the hub, and to advance or retreat was alike
impossible.
Pages:
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711