themselves in bogs, sometimes in tangled forests. There were streams to be
waded or to be crossed upon such rude rafts as they could frame with their
hatchets. Their clothes hung in tatters around them, and, most deplorable
of all, their ammunition became expended.

For days they lived upon roots and the tender bark of trees. Some became
delirious, indeed some seemed quite insane through their sufferings. The
man who was wounded, Mr. Schenck, was a gentleman of intelligence and of
refinement and of distinguished family connections, from Ohio. A poetic
temperament had induced him to seek the romance of an adventure through
the unexplored wilderness.

After incredible sufferings his wound became so inflamed that it was
impossible for him to go any farther. Prostrate upon a mound in the forest
his comrades left him. They could do absolutely nothing for him. They
could not supply him with a morsel of food or with a cup of water. They
had no heart even to bid him adieu. Silently they tottered along, and Mr.
Schenck was left to die. Through what hours of suffering he lingered none
but God can tell. Not even his bones were ever found to shed any light
upon his sad fate.

So deep became the dejection of these wanderers that often for hours not
one word was spoken. They were lost in the wilderness and could only
direct their steps toward the rising sun. After leaving Mr. Schenck there
were but nine men remaining. They soon disagreed in reference to the route
to follow. This led to a separation, and five went in one direction and
four in another. The five, after wandering about in the endurance of
sufferings which can scarcely be conceived of, fell in with a party of
friendly Creek Indians, by whom they were rescued and treated with the
greatest humanity. Of the other four two only succeeded in escaping from