On the seventh of February the American leader started at the head of one hundred and seventy men, nearly half of whom were creoles, for Vincennes. The distance was two hundred and forty miles, and the way lay through what was in summer time a beautiful region of woodland and prairie, but now much of it was what the Indians called “drowned,” that is, flooded. Fortunately, the weather was unusually mild, or the troops must have suffered intensely from cold, for they carried little baggage of any kind and had no tents. During the earlier stages of the march they secured a sufficient supply of game and made enormous fires at night, round which they slept in comparative comfort. For a week the experiences of the party were only such as backwoodsmen and trappers were commonly accustomed to, but at the end of this time they reached the branches of the Wabash and the rigors of the journey began. Their road lay first across the two forks of the Little Wabash. These were three miles apart and hidden beneath a great lake five miles in breadth and nowhere less than three feet in depth. Clark immediately constructed a pirogue, with which he crossed the first channel and erected a platform on the other side. He then ferried his men across, and next brought the baggage over and placed it upon the platform. Last of all, he swam the pack-horses through the stream, reloaded them beside his temporary landing, and marched the entire party over the flooded land to the farther fork. This was passed in a similar manner. The passage of a little more than three miles occupied as many days. They had now approached within twenty miles of Vincennes, but every step of the way hereafter was fraught with dangers and difficulties, and progress was painfully slow. All day long they labored through ooze, or water, which was sometimes breast-high. The floods had cleared the country of game and the pangs of hunger were soon added to the other privations of the desperate adventurers. Clark and his officers directed their utmost efforts towards keeping up the spirits of the men, for they knew that only thus could they hope to tide them over the terrible last stages of the journey. On the seventeenth, they reached the Embarrass River, but could find nothing in which to cross nor a dry spot to camp upon. They passed that night huddled together, wet and hungry, upon a small hillock that was just clear of the water. In the morning they were cheered by the sound of the sunrise gun at the fort, but had they known the weary way that still lay between them and their objective, some of them must have abandoned the struggle there and then.