It was a warm and pleasant afternoon along the river where the
batteaux, loaded with stores and soldiers, were passing up, and
Oneida canoes danced across the sparkling water toward Fort
Plain.
Many of our soldiers were bathing, sporting like schoolboys in
the water; Lamb's artillerymen had their horses out to let them
swim; many of the troops were washing their shirts along the
gravelly reaches, or, seated cross-legged on the bank, were mending
rents with needle and thread. Half a dozen Oneida Indians sat
gravely smoking and blinking at the scene— no doubt belonging to
our corps of runners, scouts, and guides, for all were shaved,
oiled, and painted for war, and, under their loosened blankets, I
could see their lean and supple bodies, stark n***d, except for
clout and ankle m
