The chilling rains of November and December's flurry of snow had passed and mid-winter with its icy blasts had set in.

The Black Forest had changed autumn's gay crimson and yellow to the somber hue of winter and now looked indescribably dreary.

An ice gorge had formed in the bend of the river at the head of the island and from bank to bank logs, driftwood, broken ice and giant floes were packed and jammed so tightly as to resist the action of the mighty current.
This natural bridge would remain solid until spring had loosened the frozen grip of old winter.

The hills surrounding Fort Henry were white with snow.

The huge drifts were on a level with Col.