season, though rainy. A good march was made on the seventh through the forests and out into Lively Prairie, half a mile northeast of Salem, Randolph County, where the course of the old trail is well known. Beyond this, Flat Prairie opened the way toward the “Great Rib,” as the French knew the ridge in Grand Cote Prairie (La Prairie de la Grande Côte) on which the present village of Coultersville, Randolph County, stands. The first night’s camp was pitched probably in Flat Prairie, between Salem and Coultersville.[24] The authoritative record for this day’s march, as of all others, is the official Bowman’s Journal:[25] “Made a good march for about nine hours; the road very bad, with mud and water. Pitched our camp in a square, baggage in the middle, every company to guard their own squares.” On the eighth the record continues: “Marched early through the waters, which we now began to meet in those large and level plains, where, from the flatness of the country, [water] rests a considerable time before it drains off; notwithstanding which, our men were in great spirits, though much fatigued.” By the eighth it would seem the little band had reached the lower plains in the northwest corner of Perry County, two and a half miles northwest of Swanwick, where the headwaters of the Big Muddy tributary of the Kaskaskia were crossed, and the prairie south of Oakdale, Washington County, at which point Elkhorn Creek was crossed at the famous “Meadow-in-the-Hole” of old French days. This region was also known as Corne de Cerf, Elkhorn Prairie, Elkhorn Point and Ayres Point.[26] Prairie, forest, and bottom land were not far apart here. The “Meadow-in-the-Hole” was a singular little meadow, fifty or sixty yards wide, located on a “dry branch” of the Elkhorn and thirty feet lower than the surrounding forests—at what is now Oakdale on the Elkhorn.[27] From the present Oakdale the pathway ran from Elkhorn Prairie through Nashville Prairie, circling half a mile to the north and northeast of Nashville, Washington County. Turning to the east here, it coursed onward to a celebrated “point” of woods called Grand Point, near the present Grand Point Creek, section 32, township 2, south range 1W, two miles and a half northwest of Richview, Washington County.[28] From thence it circled northeast through section 9 in Grand Prairie Township, the extreme northwest township of Jefferson County.[29] The second night’s camp may have been pitched on Grand Point Creek, near Richview; and that of the ninth on Raccoon Creek, near Walnut Point, one mile north of Walnut Hill, Marion County. The old trail from Grand Prairie, Jefferson County, entered Marion County at section 32, Centralia Township, on the old Israel Jennings farm. Walnut Hill was two miles north of due east from the Jennings farm, through which, it may be added in passing, ran the later famous St. Louis-Shawneetown road.[30] Bowman’s record for the ninth and tenth reads: “9th. Made another day’s march. Fair part of the day. 10th. Crossed the river of the Petit Fork upon trees that were felled for that purpose, the water being so high there was no fording it. Still raining and no tents. Encamped near the river. Stormy weather.”

Here we have the first definite mention of a camping-place; the Petit Fork was the Adams or Horse tributary of Skillet Creek—the first tributary of the Little Wabash and Big Wabash the army encountered.[31] The crossing-place was near Farrington, Jefferson County[32]—fifteen short miles from Walnut Point and known in early days as Yellow Bark.[33] The feat of felling trees across this rushing stream being accomplished, the men crawled over and encamped on the eastern bank. A picture of the army splashing along through the watery prairies would be greatly prized today, but a picture of it creeping across Petit Fork on felled tree-trunks would be of extraordinary interest; it is one of the remarkable incidents of the heroic adventure.

Of these days the accounts of Clark furnish us almost no information.[34] The incident of the Petit Fork was not sufficiently notable to receive mention, for Clark wrote Mason: “The first obstruction of any consequence that I met with was on the 13th [the Little Wabash];” yet in his Memoir—written, it must be remembered, as late as 1791—he describes the march to the Little Wabash as made “through incredible difficulties, far surpassing anything that any of us had ever experienced.” The Letter breathes the spirit of the youth, for it was written in 1779; the Memoir ever reads like an old man’s reminiscences. Clark’s diplomacy in securing the loyalty of his men through great discouragements indicates a high order of the best qualities of a military commander. “My object now,” he writes, “was to keep the men in spirits.” He allowed the men to kill game and hold typical Indian feasts after the hard day’s wet march. Before their rousing fires, with venison and bear meat savoring the air, little wonder the night brought partial forgetfulness of the day’s fatigue. The four companies took turns at being hosts; the company on duty each day being supplied with horses on which to transport the game brought down. And throughout every day’s march Clark, and his equally courageous officers, made light of all difficulties, and “putting on the woodsman, shouting now and then and Running as much through the mud and water as any of them. Thus, Insensibly, without a murmur, was those men led on to the Banks of the Little Wabash which we reached on the 13th.” The spectacle, here presented, of officers inveigling soldiers forward, is one of the