The whole black tragedy was being
consummated. They could see the houses in flames, and they knew
that the Indian war parties were killing and scalping everywhere.
They knew, too, that other bodies of fugitives, as stricken as
their own, were fleeing into the mountains, they scarcely knew
whither.
As they paused a few moments and looked back, a great cry burst
from the weakest of the women and children. Then it became a sad
and terrible wail, and it was a long time before it ceased. It
was an awful sound, so compounded of despair and woe and of
longing for what they had lost that Henry choked, and the tears
stood in Paul's eyes. But neither the five nor Carpenter made
any attempt to check the wailing. They thought it best for them
to weep it out, but they hurried the column as much as they
could, often carrying some of the smaller children themselves.
Paul and Long Jim were the best as comforters. The two knew how,
each in his own way, to soothe and encourage. Carpenter, who
knew the way to Fort Penn, led doggedly on, scarcely saying a
word. Henry, Shif'less Sol, and Tom were the rear guard, which
was, in this case, the one of greatest danger and responsibility.
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