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Coming to Michigan
The first village at which we stopped was Pontiac, where we remained over night, at the house of an old friend, and spent a few of the most joyous hours of my life. We proceeded in the morning on our journey through the unbroken wilderness, meeting meanwhile, some bands of Indians, with which we did some trading. We finally reached those terrible swamps which lav in the valleys of this country, the largest of which was about two miles across, and the only way we succeeded in crossing was, by having one of the men to take a long pole and, standing on the end of the wagon tongue, probe the water on either side and also in front, so as to ascertain the depth and thereby to prevent us from being drowned or otherwise injured.
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