While we are splashing along in the darkness and under the fast-falling rain, it may be a good time to describe the members of the squad with whom I travelled. Shadrach and Campbell were two of its members. The former was small but roundly built, a merry, reckless fellow, often profane, easily put out of temper, but very kind, and willing to sacrifice anything for a friend. Campbell was physically the strongest man of the whole party and possibly of Mitchel's division as well. He weighed two hundred and twenty pounds, was perfectly proportioned, very active, apparently fond of danger for its own sake, and as true as steel. Neither of these two men possessed much skill in duplicity or shrewdness in planning. They were willing to leave the task of asking and answering questions to their comrades, but were always ready to bear their full share in action. The third, George D. Wilson, of Cincinnati, was of very different character. He was not highly educated, though he had read a great deal, but in natural shrewdness I have rarely, if ever, known his equal. He was of middle age, whilst most of us had just passed out of boyhood. He had traveled extensively, and had observed and remembered everything he encountered. In the use of fiery and scorching denunciations he was a master, and took great delight in overwhelming an opponent with an unmeasured torrent of abuse. In action he was brave and cool; no danger could frighten him, no emergency find him unprepared. The friendship I felt for him grew steadily until his tragic death. I depended on his judgment and advice more than on that of any one in the whole expedition.