text:  With what pangs of heart I heard the roar of the cannon for league on league while I was threading my bewildered way and spurring my tired horse through the miry paths of a country alternately marsh and forest; with what pantings I looked from every successive height to see even to what quarter the smoke of the firing might direct me; with what eager vexation I questioned every hurrying peasant who either shook his moody head and refused to answer or who answered with the fright of one who expected to have his head swept off his shoulders by some of my fierce-looking troop I shall not now venture to tell; but it was as genuine a torture as could be felt by man