He was now come for the first time on that broader field of action in which he won a renown which will never die. It is not my purpose to dwell on the hardships of that extraordinary march into Canada led by Arnold. The sufferings endured by the Americans in the midst of the snow’s and ice of the Canadian winter are beyond the power of human speech to depict. Half-clad, bare of foot or shod only with moccasins, half-starving, with their comrades in arms dropping in their weary tracks to die—such sufferings could only be endured by men whose natural hardihood and love of country could not be overwhelmed by the agonies of physical torture. At intervals, some helpless hero would be overcome by the hardships of the march and tenderly laid aside to die, with a single devoted comrade to hunt for a squirrel or jay or to gather wild herbs for his food, the while he watched his expiring breath and caught the last whispered message of affection for the loved ones at home. Morgan himself was dressed in a costume similar to that of an Indian. He wore leggings and a cloth about the middle. His thighs were bare and their laceration because of it was painfully obvious. But he appeared to be impervious to pain. Judge Henry, who was a member of the expedition, in his “Campaign” describes Morgan at this time as being “a large, strong-bodied personage”—“with a stentorian voice”—“whose appearance gave the idea history has left us of Belisarius.” Those high qualifications for command, which became more and more distinguished as the war progressed, manifested themselves on this occasion. He led the vanguard. And in eight weeks’ time he penetrated an unexplored wilderness for six hundred miles and stood ready with his Riflemen to assault the fortified walls of gun-fringed and snow-crowned Quebec.