The women of the party, lightly clad in cotton, had walked for miles, knee-deep in water, through the brake, exposed to the pitiless pelting of the storm, and were now crouching forlorn and woebegone under the shelter of a tree....

The men were making feeble attempts to light a fire....

'Colonel,' said one of them as I rode past, 'this is the gate of hell, ain't it ?' ...

The hardships the negroes go through who are attached to one of these emigrant parties baffle description....

They trudge on foot all day through mud and thicket without rest or respite....