Henry was thankful that it was only early summer the Fourth of
July, the second anniversary of the Declaration of
Independence-and that the foliage was heavy and green on the
slopes of the mountain. In this mass of greenery the desolate
column was now completely hidden from any observer in the valley,
and he believed that other crowds of fugitives would be hidden in
the same manner. He felt sure that no living human being would
be left in the valley, that it would be ravaged from end to end
and then left to desolation, until new people, protected by
American bayonets, should come in and settle it again.
At last they passed the crest of the ridge, and the fires in the
valley, those emblems of destruction, were hidden. Between them
and Fort Penn, sixty miles away, stretched a wilderness of
mountain, forest, and swamp. But the five welcomed the forest.
A foe might lie there in ambush, but they could not see the
fugitives at a distance. What the latter needed now was
obscurity, the green blanket of the forest to hide them.
Carpenter led on over a narrow trail; the others followed almost
in single file now, while the five scouted in the woods on either
flank and at the rear.
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