He could see only the loom of the black forest before him, and sometimes he slipped to the waist in swollen brooks.

Then the wind shifted and drove the sheets of rain, sprinkled with hail, directly in his face.

He was compelled to stop a while and take refuge behind a big oak.

While he shivered in the shelter of the tree the only things that he thought of spontaneously were dry clothes, hot food, a fire and a warm bed.

The Union and its fate, gigantic as they were, slipped away from his mind, and it took an effort of the will to bring them back.
But his will made the effort, and recalling his mission he struggled on again.