Upon the rear of this
extraordinary army hung a band of fierce old squaws, from whom
every remnant of mercy and Gentleness had departed.
From a high rock overlooking a valley the five saw "Indian"
Butler's force start for its final march upon Wyoming. It was
composed of many diverse elements, and perhaps none more
bloodthirsty ever trod the soil of America. In some preliminary
skirmish a son of Queen Esther had been slain, and now her fury
knew no limits. She took her place at the very head of the army,
whirling her great tomahawk about her head, and neither "Indian"
Butler nor Thayendanegea dared to interfere with her in anything
great or small.
Henry and his comrades, as they left their rock and hastened
toward the valley of Wyoming, felt that now they were coming into
contact with the great war itself. They had looked upon a
uniformed enemy for the first time, and they might soon see the
colonial buff and blue of the eastern army. Their hearts
thrilled high at new scenes and new dangers.
They had gathered at Pittsburgh, and, through the captivity of
the four in the Iroquois camp, they had some general idea of the
Wyoming Valley and the direction in which it lay, and, taking one
last look at the savage army, they sped toward it.
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