Of conditions at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, a certain Dr. Albigence Waldo wrote: Poor food hard lodging cold weather fatigue nasty clothes nasty cookery vomit half my time smoked out of my senses the devil's in it I can't endure it. A pox on my bad luck. There comes a bowl of beef soup full of burnt leaves and dirt, sickish enough to make a Hector spew away with it boys I'll live like the chameleon upon air!. . . There comes a soldier, his bare feet are seen through his worn-out shoes, his legs nearly naked from the tattered remains of an only pair of stockings, his breaches not sufficient to cover his nakedness, his shirt hanging in strings; his hair disheveled; his face meager. . . . He comes and cries with an air of wretchedness and despair, 'I am sick, my feet lame, my legs are sore, my body covered with this tormenting itch . . . and all the reward I shall get will be "Poor Will is dead!"'