Daniel Boone: The Pioneer of Kentucky
by John S. C. Abbott · English · Gutenberg #23798 · 449,749 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Daniel Boone: The Pioneer of Kentucky
Author: John S. C. Abbott
Release date: December 10, 2007 [eBook #23798]
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANIEL BOONE: THE PIONEER OF KENTUCKY ***
Produced by D. Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
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DANIEL BOONE
THE
PIONEER OF KENTUCKY.
[Illustration]
BY
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
NEW YORK:
DODD & MEAD, No. 762 BROADWAY.
1872.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
DODD & MEAD,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
_AMERICAN PIONEERS AND PATRIOTS._
DANIEL BOONE
THE
PIONEER OF KENTUCKY.
BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
ILLUSTRATED.
"His youth was innocent; his riper age,
Marked with some act of goodness every day;
And watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage,
Faded his late declining years away.
Cheerful he gave his being up and went
To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent."
NEW YORK:
DODD & MEAD, No. 762 BROADWAY.
1872.
[Illustration]
PREFACE.
The name of Daniel Boone is a conspicuous one in the annals of our
country. And yet there are but few who are familiar with the events of
his wonderful career, or who have formed a correct estimate of the
character of the man. Many suppose that he was a rough, coarse
backwoodsman, almost as savage as the bears he pursued in the chase, or
the Indians whose terrors he so perseveringly braved. Instead of this,
he was one of the most mild and unboastful of men; feminine as a woman
in his tastes and his deportment, never uttering a coarse word, never
allowing himself in a rude action. He was truly one of nature's _gentle_
men. With all this instinctive refinement and delicacy, there was a
boldness of character which seemed absolutely incapable of experiencing
the emotion of fear. And surely all the records of chivalry may be
searched in vain for a career more full of peril and of wild adventure.
This narrative reveals a state of society and habitudes of life now
rapidly passing into oblivion. It is very desirable that the record
should be perpetuated, that we may know the scenes through which our
fathers passed, in laying the foundations of this majestic Republic. It
is probable that as the years roll on the events which occurred in the
infancy of our nation will be read with ever-increasing interest.
It is the intention of the publisher of this volume to issue a series of
sketches of the prominent men in the early history of our country. The
next volume will contain the life and adventures of the renowned Miles
Standish, the Puritan Captain.
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.
Fair Haven, Conn.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
_The Discovery and early Settlement of America._ PAGE
Discovery of the New World.--Of Florida.--Conquest and cruelties of De
Soto.--The Wigwam.--Colony at St. Mary.--Sir Walter Raleigh and his
Colonies.--Grant of King James.--Settlements in the Virginia.--Adventures
of John Smith.--Arrival of Lord Delaware.--Terrible massacres.--Pressures
of Colonists to the West.--Doherty Trade with Indians.--Attempted
Colony on the Tennessee.--Daniel Boone. 9
CHAPTER II.
_Daniel Boone, his Parentage, and early Adventures._
Trials of the Colonists.--George Boone and his home.--Squire Boone.--Birth
and character of Daniel Boone.--His limited education.--A pioneer's
camp.--A log house and furnishings.--Annoyance of Boone on the arrival of
Scotch emigrants.--His longings for adventure.--Camp meetings.--Frontier
life.--Sports.--Squirrel hunting.--Snuffing the candle. 36
CHAPTER III.
_Louisiana, its Discovery and Vicissitudes._
Louisiana, and its eventful history.--The expedition of De Soto.--The
Missionary Marquette.--His voyage on the Upper Mississippi.--The Expedition
of La Salle.--Michilimackinac.--Its History.--Fate of the "Griffin."--Grief
of La Salle.--His voyage of Discovery.--Sale of Louisiana to the United
States.--Remarks of Napoleon. 74
CHAPTER IV.
_Camp Life Beyond the Alleghanies._
John Finley and his adventures.--Aspect of the Country.--Boone's Private
Character.--His Love for the Wilderness.--First view of
Kentucky.--Emigrants' Dress.--Hunter's Home.--Capture of Boone and Stewart
by the Indians.--Their Escape.--Singular Incident. 89
CHAPTER V.
_Indian Warfare._
Alleghany Ridges.--Voyage in a canoe.--Speech of Logan.--Battle at the
Kanawha.--Narrative of Francis Marion.--Important commission of
Boone.--Council at Circleville.--Treaty of Peace.--Imlay's description
of Kentucky.--Settlement right.--Richard Henderson.--Boone's letter.--Fort
at Boonesborough. 109
CHAPTER VI.
_Sufferings of the Pioneers._
Emigration to Boonesborough.--New Perils.--Transylvania
Company.--Beneficence of its Laws--Interesting incident.--Infamous conduct
of Great Britain.--Attack on the Fort.--Reinforcements.--Simon Kenton and
his Sufferings.--Mrs. Harvey. 129
CHAPTER VII.
_Life in the Wilderness._
Stewart killed by the Indians.--Squire Boone returns to the
Settlements.--Solitary Life of Daniel Boone.--Return of Squire
Boone.--Extended and Romantic Explorations.--Charms and Perils of the
Wilderness.--The Emigrant Party.--The Fatal Ambuscade.--Retreat of the
Emigrants.--Solitude of the Wilderness.--Expedition of Lewis and
Clarke.--Extraordinary Adventures of Cotter. 151
CHAPTER VIII.
_Captivity and Flight._
Heroism of Thomas Higgins and of Mrs. Pursley.--Affairs at
Boonesborough.--Continued Alarms.--Need of Salt.--Its Manufacture.--Indian
Schemes.--Capture of Boone and twenty-seven men.--Dilemma of the British
at Detroit.--Blackfish adopts Colonel Boone.--Adoption Ceremony.--Indian
Designs.--Escape of Boone.--Attacks the Savages.--The Fort Threatened. 182
CHAPTER IX.
_Victories and Defeats._
Situation of the Fort.--Indian Treachery.--Bombardment.--Boone goes to
North Carolina.--New Trials.--Boone Robbed.--He returns to
Kentucky.--Massacre of Colonel Rogers.--Adventure of Col. Bowman.--New
Attack by the British and Indians.--Retaliatory Measures.--Wonderful
Exploit. 209
CHAPTER X.
_British Allies._
Death of Squire Boone.--Indian Outrages.--Gerty and McGee.--Battle of
Blue Lick.--Death of Isaac Boone.--Colonel Boone's Narrow Escape.--Letter
of Daniel Boone.--Determination of General Clarke.--Discouragement of the
Savages.--Amusing Anecdote of Daniel Boone. 230
CHAPTER XI.
_Kentucky organized as a State._
Peace with England.--Order of a Kentucky Court.--Anecdotes.--Speech of Mr.
Dalton.--Reply of Piankashaw.--Renewed Indications of Indian
Hostility.--Conventions at Danville.--Kentucky formed into a State.--New
Trials for Boone. 249
CHAPTER XII.
_Adventures Romantic and Perilous._
The Search for the Horse.--Navigating the Ohio.--Heroism of Mrs.
Rowan.--Lawless Gangs.--Exchange of Prisoners.--Boone Revisits the Home
of his Childhood.--The Realms beyond the Mississippi.--Habits of the
Hunters.--Corn.--Boone's Journey to the West. 271
CHAPTER XIII.
_A New Home._
Colonel Boone welcomed by the Spanish Authorities.--Boone's Narrative to
Audubon.--The Midnight Attack.--Pursuit of the Savages.--Sickness in the
Wilderness.--Honesty of Colonel Boone.--Payment of his Debts.--Loss of
all his Property. 292
CHAPTER XIV.
_Conclusion._
Colonel Boone Appeals to Congress.--Complimentary Resolutions of the
Legislature of Kentucky.--Death of Mrs. Boone.--Catholic
Liberality.--Itinerant Preachers.--Grant by Congress to Colonel
Boone.--The Evening of his Days.--Personal Appearance.--Death and
Burial.--Transference of the Remains of Mr. and Mrs. Boone to Frankfort,
Kentucky. 320
CHAPTER I.
_The Discovery and early Settlement of America._
Discovery of the New World.--Of Florida.--Conquest and cruelties of De
Soto.--The wigwam.--Colony at St. Mary.--Sir Walter Raleigh and his
Colonies.--Grant of King James.--Settlements in the Virginia.--Adventures
of John Smith.--Arrival of Lord Delaware.--Terrible massacres.--Pressures
of Colonists to the West.--Doherty Trade with Indians.--Attempted Colony
on the Tennessee.--Daniel Boone.
The little fleet of three small vessels, with which Columbus left Palos
in Spain, in search of a new world, had been sixty-seven days at sea.
They had traversed nearly three thousand miles of ocean, and yet there
was nothing but a wide expanse of waters spread out before them. The
despairing crew were loud in their murmurs, demanding that the
expedition should be abandoned and that the ships should return to
Spain. The morning of the 11th of October, 1492, had come. During the
day Columbus, whose heart had been very heavily oppressed with anxiety,
had been cheered by some indications that they were approaching land.
Fresh seaweed was occasionally seen and a branch of a shrub with leaves
and berries upon it, and a piece of wood curiously carved had been
picked up.
The devout commander was so animated by these indications, that he
gathered his crew around him and returned heartfelt thanks to God, for
this prospect that their voyage would prove successful. It was a
beautiful night, the moon shone brilliantly and a delicious tropical
breeze swept the ocean. At ten o'clock Columbus stood upon the bows of
his ship earnestly gazing upon the western horizon, hoping that the
long-looked-for land would rise before him. Suddenly he was startled by
the distinct gleam of a torch far off in the distance. For a moment it
beamed forth with a clear and indisputable flame and then disappeared.
The agitation of Columbus no words can describe. Was it a meteor? Was it
an optical illusion? Was it light from the land?
Suddenly the torch, like a star, again shone forth with distinct though
faint gleam. Columbus called some of his companions to his side and they
also saw the light clearly. But again it disappeared. At two o'clock in
the morning a sailor at the look out on the mast head shouted, "Land!
land! land!" In a few moments all beheld, but a few miles distant from
them, the distinct outline of towering mountains piercing the skies. A
new world was discovered. Cautiously the vessels hove to and waited for
the light of the morning. The dawn of day presented to the eyes of
Columbus and his companions a spectacle of beauty which the garden of
Eden could hardly have rivalled. It was a morning of the tropics, calm,
serene and lovely. But two miles before them there emerged from the sea
an island of mountains and valleys, luxuriant with every variety of
tropical vegetation. The voyagers, weary of gazing for many weeks on the
wide waste of waters, were so enchanted with the fairy scene which then
met the eye, that they seemed really to believe that they had reached
the realms of the blest.
The boats were lowered, and, as they were rowed towards the shore, the
scene every moment grew more beautiful. Gigantic trees draped in
luxuriance of foliage hitherto unimagined, rose in the soft valleys and
upon the towering hills. In the sheltered groves, screened from the sun,
the picturesque dwellings of the natives were thickly clustered. Flowers
of every variety of tint bloomed in marvellous profusion. The trees
seemed laden with fruits of every kind, and in inexhaustible abundance.
Thousands of natives crowded the shore, whose graceful forms and
exquisitely moulded limbs indicated the innocence and simplicity of Eden
before the fall.
Columbus, richly attired in a scarlet dress, fell upon his knees as he
reached the beach, and, with clasped hands and uplifted eyes, gave
utterance to the devout feelings which ever inspired him, in
thanksgiving to God. In recognition of the divine protection he gave
the island the name of San Salvador, or Holy Savior. Though the new
world thus discovered was one of the smallest islands of the Caribbean
Sea, no conception was then formed of the vast continents of North and
South America, stretching out in both directions, for many leagues
almost to the Arctic and Antarctic poles.
Omitting a description of the wonderful adventures which ensued, we can
only mention that two years after this, the southern extremity of the
North American continent was discovered by Sebastian Cabot. It was in
the spring of the year and the whole surface of the soil seemed carpeted
with the most brilliant flowers. The country consequently received the
beautiful name of Florida. It, of course, had no boundaries, for no one
knew with certainty whether it were an island or a continent, or how far
its limits might extend.
The years rolled on and gradually exploring excursions crept along the
coast towards the north, various provinces were mapped out with pretty
distinct boundaries upon the Atlantic coast, extending indefinitely into
the vast and unknown interior. Expeditions from France had entered the
St. Lawrence and established settlements in Canada. For a time the whole
Atlantic coast, from its extreme southern point to Canada, was called
Florida. In the year 1539, Ferdinand De Soto, an unprincipled Spanish
warrior, who had obtained renown by the conquest of Peru in South
America, fitted out by permission of the king of Spain, an expedition of
nearly a thousand men to conquer and take possession of that vast and
indefinite realm called Florida.
We have no space here to enter upon a description of the fiendlike
cruelties practiced by these Spaniards. They robbed and enslaved without
mercy. In pursuit of gold they wandered as far north as the present
boundary of South Carolina. Then turning to the west, they traversed the
vast region to the Mississippi river. The forests were full of game. The
granaries of the simple-hearted natives were well stored with corn; vast
prairies spreading in all directions around them, waving with grass and
blooming with flowers, presented ample forage for the three hundred
horses which accompanied the expedition. They were also provided with
fierce bloodhounds to hunt down the terrified natives. Thus invincible
and armed with the "thunder and lightning" of their guns, they swept the
country, perpetrating every conceivable outrage upon the helpless
natives.
After long and unavailing wanderings in search of gold, having lost by
sickness and the casualties of such an expedition nearly half their
number, the remainder built boats upon the Mississippi, descended that
rapid stream five hundred miles to its mouth, and then skirting the
coast of Texas, finally disappeared on the plains of Mexico. De Soto,
the leader of this conquering band, died miserably on the Mississippi,
and was buried beneath its waves.
The whole country which these adventurers traversed, they found to be
quite densely populated with numerous small tribes of natives, each
generally wandering within circumscribed limits. Though these tribes
spoke different languages, or perhaps different dialects of the same
language, they were essentially the same in appearance, manners and
customs. They were of a dark-red color, well formed and always disposed
to receive the pale face strangers with kindliness, until exasperated by
ill-treatment. They lived in fragile huts called wigwams, so simple in
their structure that one could easily be erected in a few hours. These
huts were generally formed by setting long and slender poles in the
ground, inclosing an area of from ten to eighteen feet in diameter,
according to the size of the family. The tops were tied together,
leaving a hole for the escape of smoke from the central fire. The sides
were thatched with coarse grass, or so covered with the bark of trees,
as quite effectually to exclude both wind and rain. There were no
windows, light entering only through the almost always open door. The
ground floor was covered with dried grass, or the skins of animals, or
with the soft and fragrant twigs of some evergreen tree.
The inmates, men, women and children, seated upon these cushions,
presented a very attractive and cheerful aspect. Several hundred of
these wigwams were frequently clustered upon some soft meadow by the
side of a flowing stream, fringed with a gigantic forest, and exhibited
a spectacle of picturesque loveliness quite charming to the beholder.
The furniture of these humble abodes was extremely simple. They had no
pots or kettles which would stand the fire. They had no knives nor
forks; no tables nor chairs. Sharp flints, such as they could find
served for knives, with which, with incredible labor, they sawed down
small trees and fashioned their bows and arrows. They had no roads
except foot paths through the wilderness, which for generations their
ancestors had traversed, called "trails." They had no beasts of burden,
no cows, no flocks nor herds of any kind. They generally had not even
salt, but cured their meat by drying it in the sun. They had no ploughs,
hoes, spades, consequently they could only cultivate the lightest soil.
With a sharp stick, women loosened the earth, and then depositing their
corn or maize, cultivated it in the rudest manner.
These Indians acquired the reputation of being very faithful friends,
but very bitter enemies. It was said they never forgot a favor, and
never forgave an insult. They were cunning rather than brave. It was
seldom that an Indian could be induced to meet a foe in an open
hand-to-hand fight. But he would track him for years, hoping to take him
unawares and to brain him with the tomahawk, or pierce his heart with
the flint-pointed arrow.
About the year 1565, a company of French Protestants repaired to
Florida, hoping there to find the liberty to worship God in accordance
with their interpretation of the teachings of the Bible. They
established quite a flourishing colony, at a place which they named St.
Marys, near the coast. This was the first European settlement on the
continent of North America. The fanatic Spaniards, learning that
Protestants had taken possession of the country, sent out an expedition
and utterly annihilated the settlement, putting men, women and children
to the sword. Many of these unfortunate Protestants were hung in chains
from trees under the inscription, "_Not as Frenchmen but as Heretics._"
The blood-stained Spaniards then established themselves at a spot near
by, which they called St. Augustine. A French gentleman of wealth fitted
out a well-manned and well-armed expedition of three ships, attacked the
murderers by surprise and put them to death. Several corpses were
suspended from trees, under the inscription, "_Not as Spaniards, but as
Murderers._"
There was an understanding among the powers of Europe, that any portion
of the New World discovered by expeditions from European courts, should
be recognised as belonging to that court. The Spaniards had taken
possession in Florida. Far away a thousand leagues to the North, the
French had entered the gulf of St. Lawrence. But little was known of the
vast region between. A young English gentleman, Sir Walter Raleigh, an
earnest Protestant, and one who had fought with the French Protestants
in their religious wars, roused by the massacre of his friends in
Florida, applied to the British court to fit out a colony to take
possession of the intermediate country. He hoped thus to prevent the
Spanish monarchy, and the equally intolerant French court, from
spreading their principles over the whole continent. The Protestant
Queen Elizabeth then occupied the throne of Great Britain. Raleigh was
young, rich, handsome and marvelously fascinating in his address. He
became a great favorite of the maiden queen, and she gave him a
commission, making him lord of all the continent of North America,
between Florida and Canada.
The whole of this vast region without any accurate boundaries, was
called Virginia. Several ships were sent to explore the country. They
reached the coast of what is now called North Carolina, and the
adventurers landed at Roanoke Island. They were charmed with the
climate, with the friendliness of the natives and with the majestic
growth of the forest trees, far surpassing anything they had witnessed
in the Old World. Grapes in rich clusters hung in profusion on the
vines, and birds of every variety of song and plumage filled the groves.
The expedition returned to England with such glowing accounts of the
realm they had discovered, that seven ships were fitted out, conveying
one hundred and eight men, to colonise the island. It is quite
remarkable that no women accompanied the expedition. Many of these men
were reckless adventurers. Bitter hostility soon sprang up between them
and the Indians, who at first had received them with the greatest
kindness.
Most of these colonists were men unaccustomed to work, and who insanely
expected that in the New World, in some unknown way, wealth was to flow
in upon them like a flood. Disheartened, homesick and appalled by the
hostile attitude which the much oppressed Indians were beginning to
assume, they were all anxious to return home. When, soon after, some
ships came bringing them abundant supplies, they with one accord
abandoned the colony, and crowding the vessels returned to England.
Fifteen men however consented to remain, to await the arrival of fresh
colonists from the Mother Country.
Sir Walter Raleigh, still undiscouraged, in the next year 1587 sent out
another fleet containing a number of families as emigrants, with women
and children. When they arrived, they found Roanoke deserted. The
fifteen men had been murdered by the Indians in retaliation for the
murder of their chief and several of his warriors by the English. With
fear and trembling the new settlers decided to remain, urging the
friends who had accompanied them to hasten back to England with the
ships and bring them reinforcements and supplies. Scarcely had they
spread their sails on the return voyage ere war broke out with Spain. It
was three years before another ship crossed the ocean, to see what had
become of the colony. It had utterly disappeared. Though many attempts
were made to ascertain its tragic fate, all were unavailing. It is
probable that many were put to death by the Indians, and perhaps the
children were carried far back into the interior and incorporated into
their tribes. This bitter disappointment seemed to paralyse the energies
of colonization. For more than seventy years the Carolinas remained a
wilderness, with no attempt to transfer to them the civilization of the
Old World. Still English ships continued occasionally to visit the
coast. Some came to fish, some to purchase furs of the Indians, and
some for timber for shipbuilding. The stories which these voyagers told
on their return, kept up an interest in the New World. It was indeed an
attractive picture which could be truthfully painted. The climate was
mild, genial and salubrious. The atmosphere surpassed the far-famed
transparency of Italian skies. The forests were of gigantic growth, more
picturesquely beautiful than any ever planted by man's hand, and they
were filled with game. The lakes and streams swarmed with fish. A
wilderness of flowers, of every variety of loveliness, bloomed over the
wide meadows and the broad savannahs, which the forest had not yet
invaded. Berries and fruits were abundant. In many places the soil was
surpassingly rich, and easily tilled; and all this was open, without
money and without price, to the first comer.
Still more than a hundred years elapsed after the discovery of these
realms, ere any permanent settlement was effected upon them. Most of the
bays, harbors and rivers were unexplored, and reposed as it were in the
solemn silence of eternity. From the everglades of Florida to the
firclad hills of Nova Scotia, not a settlement of white men could be
found.
At length in the year 1607, a number of wealthy gentlemen in London
formed a company to make a new attempt for the settlement of America. It
was their plan to send out hardy colonists, abundantly provided with
arms, tools and provisions. King James I., who had succeeded his cousin
Queen Elizabeth, granted them a charter, by which, wherever they might
effect a landing, they were to be the undisputed lords of a territory
extending a hundred miles along the coast, and running back one hundred
miles into the interior. Soon after, a similar grant was conferred upon
another association, for the region of North Virginia, now called New
England.
Under the protection of this London Company, one hundred and five men,
with no women or children, embarked in three small ships for the
Southern Atlantic coast of North America. Apparently by accident, they
entered Chesapeake Bay, where they found a broad and deep stream, which
they named after their sovereign, James River. As they ascended this
beautiful stream, they were charmed with the loveliness which nature had
spread so profusely around them. Upon the northern banks of the river,
about fifty miles from its entrance into the bay, they selected a spot
for their settlement, which they named Jamestown. Here they commenced
cutting down trees and raising their huts.
In an enterprise of this kind, muscles inured to work and determined
spirits ready to grapple with difficulties, are essential. In such
labors, the most useless of all beings is the gentleman with soft hands
and luxurious habits. Unfortunately quite a number of pampered sons of
wealth had joined the colony. Being indolent, selfish and dissolute,
they could do absolutely nothing for the prosperity of the settlement,
but were only an obstacle in the way of its growth.
Troubles soon began to multiply, and but for the energies of a
remarkable man, Capt. John Smith, the colony must soon have perished
through anarchy. But even Capt. John Smith with all his commanding
powers, and love of justice and of law, could not prevent the idle and
profligate young men from insulting the natives, and robbing them of
their corn. With the autumnal rains sickness came, and many died. The
hand of well-organised industry might have raised an ample supply of
corn to meet all their wants through the short winter. But this had been
neglected, and famine was added to sickness, Capt. Smith had so won the
confidence of the Indian chieftains, that notwithstanding the gross
irregularities of his young men, they brought him supplies of corn and
game, which they freely gave to the English in their destitution.
Captain Smith having thus provided for the necessities of the greatly
diminished colony, set out with a small party of men on an exploring
expedition into the interior. He was waylayed by Indians, who with
arrows and tomahawks speedily put all the men to death, excepting the
leader, who was taken captive. There was something in the demeanor of
this brave man which overawed them. He showed them his pocket compass,
upon which they gazed with wonder. He then told them that if they would
send to the fort a leaf from his pocket-book, upon which he had made
several marks with his pencil, they would find the next day, at any spot
they might designate, a certain number of axes, blankets, and other
articles of great value to them. Their curiosity was exceedingly
aroused; the paper was sent, and the next day the articles were found as
promised. The Indians looked upon Captain Smith as a magician, and
treated him with great respect. Still the more thoughtful of the natives
regarded him as a more formidable foe. They could not be blind to the
vastly superior power of the English in their majestic ships, with their
long swords, and terrible fire-arms, and all the developments,
astounding to them, of a higher civilization. They were very anxious in
view of encroachments which might eventually give the English the
supremacy in their land.
Powhatan, the king of the powerful tribe who had at first been very
friendly to the English, summoned a council of war of his chieftains,
and after long deliberation, it was decided that Captain Smith was too
powerful a man to be allowed to live, and that he must die. He was
accordingly led out to execution, but without any of the ordinary
accompaniments of torture. His hands were bound behind him, he was laid
upon the ground, and his head was placed upon a stone. An Indian warrior
of herculean strength stood by, with a massive club, to give the death
blow by crushing in the skull. Just as the fatal stroke was about to
descend, a beautiful Indian girl, Pocahontas, the daughter of the king,
rushed forward and throwing her arms around the neck of Captain Smith,
placed her head upon his. The Indians regarded this as an indication
from the Great Spirit that the life of Captain Smith was to be spared,
and they set their prisoner at liberty, who, being thus miraculously
rescued, returned to Jamestown.
By his wisdom Captain Smith preserved for some time friendly relations
with the Indians, and the colony rapidly increased, until there were
five hundred Europeans assembled at Jamestown. Capt. Smith being
severely wounded by an accidental explosion of gunpowder, returned to
England for surgical aid. The colony, thus divested of his vigorous
sway, speedily lapsed into anarchy. The bitter hostility of the Indians
was aroused, and, within a few months, the colony dwindled away beneath
the ravages of sickness, famine, and the arrows of the Indians, to but
sixty men. Despair reigned in all hearts, and this starving remnant of
Europeans was preparing to abandon the colony and return to the Old
World, when Lord Delaware arrived with several ships loaded with
provisions and with a reinforcement of hardy laborers. Most of the idle
and profligate young men who had brought such calamity upon the colony,
had died. Those who remained took fresh courage, and affairs began to be
more prosperous.
The organization of the colony had thus far been effected with very
little regard to the wants of human nature. There were no women there.
Without the honored wife there cannot be the happy home; and without the
home there can be no contentment. To herd together five hundred men upon
the banks of a foreign stream, three thousand miles from their native
land, without women and children, and to expect them to lay the
foundation of a happy and prosperous colony, seems almost unpardonable
folly.
Emigrants began to arrive with their families, and in the year 1620, one
hundred and fifty poor, but virtuous young women, were induced to join
the Company. Each young man who came received one hundred acres of land.
Eagerly these young planters, in short courtship, selected wives from
such of these women as they could induce to listen to them. Each man
paid one hundred and fifty pounds of tobacco to defray the expenses of
his wife's voyage. But the wickedness of man will everywhere, and under
all circumstances, make fearful development of its power. Many
desperadoes joined the colony. The poor Indians with no weapons of war
but arrows, clubs and stone tomahawks, were quite at the mercy of the
English with their keen swords, and death-dealing muskets. Fifteen
Europeans could easily drive several hundred Indians in panic over the
plains. Unprincipled men perpetrated the grossest outrages upon the
families of the Indians, often insulting the proudest chiefs.
The colonists were taking up lands in all directions. Before their
unerring rifles, game was rapidly disappearing. The Indians became fully
awake to their danger. The chiefs met in council, and a conspiracy was
formed, to put, at an appointed hour, all the English to death, every
man, woman and child. Every house was marked. Two or three Indians were
appointed to make the massacre sure in each dwelling. They were to
spread over the settlement, enter the widely scattered log-huts, as
friends, and at a certain moment were to spring upon their unsuspecting
victims, and kill them instantly. The plot was fearfully successful in
all the dwellings outside the little village of Jamestown. In one hour,
on the 22nd of March, 1622, three hundred and forty-seven men, women and
children were massacred in cold blood. The colony would have been
annihilated, but for a Christian Indian who, just before the massacre
commenced, gave warning to a friend in Jamestown. The Europeans rallied
with their fire-arms, and easily drove off their foes, and then
commenced the unrelenting extermination of the Indians. An arrow can be
thrown a few hundred feet, a musket ball more than as many yards. The
Indians were consequently helpless. The English shot down both sexes,
young and old, as mercilessly as if they had been wolves. They seized
their houses, their lands, their pleasant villages. The Indians were
either slain or driven far away from the houses of their fathers, into
the remote wilderness.
The colony now increased rapidly, and the cabins of the emigrants spread
farther and farther over the unoccupied lands. These hardy adventurers
seemed providentially imbued with the spirit of enterprise. Instead of
clustering together for the pleasure of society and for mutual
protection, they were ever pushing into the wild and unknown interior,
rearing their cabins on the banks of distant streams, and establishing
their silent homes in the wildest solitudes of the wilderness. In 1660,
quite a number of emigrants moved directly south from Virginia, to the
river Chowan, in what is now South Carolina, where they established a
settlement which they called Albermarle. In 1670, a colony from England
established itself at Charleston, South Carolina. Thus gradually the
Atlantic coast became fringed with colonies, extending but a few leagues
back into the country from the sea-shore, while the vast interior
remained an unexplored wilderness. As the years rolled on, ship-loads of
emigrants arrived, new settlements were established, colonial States
rose into being, and, though there were many sanguinary conflicts with
the Indians, the Europeans were always in the end triumphant, and
intelligence, wealth, and laws of civilization were rapidly extended
along the Atlantic border of the New World.
For many years there had been a gradual pressure of the colonists
towards the west, steadily encroaching upon the apparently limitless
wilderness. To us it seems strange that they did not, for the sake of
protection against the Indians, invariably go in military bands. But
generally this was not the case. The emigrants seem to have been
inspired with a spirit of almost reckless indifference to danger; they
apparently loved the solitude of the forest, avoided neighbors who might
interfere with their hunting and trapping, and reared their humble
cottages in the wildest ravines of the mountains and upon the smooth
meadows which border the most solitary streams; thus gradually the tide
of emigration, flowing through Indian trails and along the
forest-covered vines, was approaching the base of the Alleghany
mountains.
But little was known of the character of the boundless realms beyond the
ridges of this gigantic chain. Occasionally a wandering Indian who had
chased his game over those remote wilds, would endeavor to draw upon the
sand, with a stick, a map of the country showing the flow of the rivers,
the line of the mountains, and the sweep of the open prairies. The Ohio
was then called the Wabash. This magnificent and beautiful stream is
formed by the confluence of the Alleghany and the Monongahela rivers. It
was a long voyage, a voyage of several hundred miles, following the
windings of the Monongahela river from its rise among the mountains of
Western Virginia till, far away in the north, it met the flood of the
Alleghany, at the present site of the city of Pittsburg. The voyage, in
a birch canoe, required, in the figurative language of the Indians, "two
paddles, two warriors and three moons."
The Indians very correctly described the Ohio, or the Wabash, as but the
tributary of a much more majestic stream, far away in the west, which,
pouring its flood through the impenetrable forest, emptied itself they
knew not where. Of the magnitude of this distant river, the Mississippi,
its source, rise and termination, they could give no intelligible
account. They endeavored to give some idea of the amount of game to be
found in those remote realms, by pointing to the leaves of the forest
and the stars in the sky.
The settlers were deeply interested and often much excited by the
glowing descriptions thus given them of a terrestrial Eden, where life
would seem to be but one uninterrupted holiday. Occasionally an
adventurous French or Spanish trader would cross the towering mountains
and penetrate the vales beyond. They vied with the Indians in their
account of the salubrity of the climate, the brilliance of the skies,
the grandeur of the forests, the magnificence of the rivers, the
marvelous fertility of the soil and the abundance of game.
As early as the year 1690 a trader from Virginia, by the name of
Doherty, crossed the mountains, visited the friendly Cherokee nation,
within the present bounds of Georgia, and resided with the natives
several years. In the year 1730 an enterprising and intelligent man from
South Carolina, by the name of Adair, took quite an extensive tour
through most of the villages of the Cherokees, and also visited several
tribes south and west of them. He wrote an exceedingly valuable and
interesting account of his travels which was published in London.
Influenced by these examples several traders, in the year 1740, went
from Virginia to the country of the Cherokees. They carried on pack
horses goods which the Indians valued, and which they exchanged for
furs, which were sold in Europe at an enormous profit.
A hatchet, a knife, a trap, a string of beads, which could be bought for
a very small sum in the Atlantic towns, when exhibited beyond the
mountains to admiring groups in the wigwam of the Indian, could be
exchanged for furs which were of almost priceless value in the
metropolitan cities of the Old World. This traffic was mutually
advantageous, and so long as peaceful relations existed between the
white man and the Indian, was prosecuted with great and ever increasing
vigor. The Indians thus obtained the steel trap, the keenly cutting ax,
and the rifle, which he soon learned to use with unerring aim. He was
thus able in a day to obtain more game than with his arrows and his
clumsy snares he could secure in a month.
This friendly intercourse was in all respects very desirable; and but
for the depravity of the white man it might have continued uninterrupted
for generations. But profligate and vagabond adventurers from the
settlements defrauded the Indians, insulted their women, and often
committed wanton murder. But it would seem that the majority of the
traders were honest men. Ramsay, in his Annals of Tennessee, writes, in
reference to this traffic:
"Other advantages resulted from it to the whites. They became thus
acquainted with the great avenues leading through the hunting ground,
and to the occupied country of the neighboring tribes--an important
circumstance in the condition of either peace or war. Further the
traders were an exact thermometer of the pacific or hostile intention
and feelings of the Indians with whom they traded. Generally they were
foreigners, most frequently Scotchmen, who had not been long in the
country, or upon the frontier; who, having experienced none of the
cruelties, depredations or aggressions of the Indians, cherished none of
the resentment and spirit of retaliation born with and everywhere
manifested by the American settler.
"Thus free from animosity against the aborigines, the trader was allowed
to remain in the village, where he traded, unmolested, even where its
warriors were singing the war song or brandishing the war club,
preparatory to an invasion or massacre of the whites. Timely warning was
thus often given by a returning packman to a feeble and unsuspecting
settlement, of the perfidy and cruelty meditated against it."
Game on the eastern side of the Alleghanies, hunted down alike by white
men and Indians, soon became scarce. Adventurers combining the
characters of traders and hunters rapidly multiplied. Many of the
hunters among the white men far outstripped the Indians in skill and
energy. Thus some degree of jealousy was excited on the part of the
savages. They saw how rapidly the game was disappearing, and these
thoughtful men began to be anxious for the future. With no love for
agriculture the destruction of the game was their ruin.
As early as the year 1748 quite a party of gentlemen explorers, under
the leadership of Doctor Thomas Walker of Virginia, crossed a range of
the Alleghany mountains, which the Indians called Warioto, but to which
Doctor Walker gave the name of Cumberland, in honor of the Duke of
Cumberland who was then prime minister of England. Following along this
chain in a south-westerly direction, in search of some pass or defile by
which they could cross the cliffs, they came to the remarkable
depression in the mountains to which they gave the name of Cumberland
Gap. On the western side of the range they found a beautiful mountain
stream, rushing far away, with ever increasing volume, into the unknown
wilderness, which the Indians called Shawnee, but which Doctor Walker's
party baptised with the name of Cumberland River. These names have
adhered to the localities upon which they were thus placed.
In 1756 a feeble attempt was made to establish a colony upon the
Tennessee river, at a spot which was called London. This was one
hundred and fifty miles in advance of any white settlement. Eight years
passed, and by the ravages of war the little settlement went up in flame
and smoke. As the years rapidly came and went there were occasional
bursts of the tempests of war; again there would be a short lull and
blessed peace would come with its prosperity and joy.
"In the year 1760, Doctor Walker again passed over Clinch and Powell's
rivers on a tour of exploration, into what is now Kentucky. The
Cherokees were then at peace with the whites, and hunters from the back
settlements began, with safety, to penetrate deeper and further into the
wilderness of Tennessee. Several of them, chiefly from Virginia, hearing
of the abundance of game with which the woods were stocked, and allured
by the prospect of gain which might be drawn from this source, formed
themselves into a company composed of Wallen, Seagys, Blevins, Cox and
fifteen others, and came into the valley, since known as Carter's
Valley, in Hawkin's county, Tennessee. They hunted eighteen months upon
Clinch and Powell rivers. Wallen's Creek and Wallen's Ridge received
their name from the leader of the company; as also did Wallen's Station
which they erected in the Lee county, Virginia.
"They penetrated as far north as Laurel Mountain, in Kentucky, where
they terminated their journey, having met with a body of Indians whom
they supposed to be Shawnees. At the head of one of the companies that
visited the West, this year, came Daniel Boone from the Yadkin, in North
Carolina, and travelled with them as low as the place where Abingdon now
stands, and there left them."
This is the first time the advent of Daniel Boone to the western wilds
has been mentioned by historians or by the several biographers of that
distinguished pioneer and hunter. There is reason however to believe
that he hunted upon Watauga some time earlier than this.
CHAPTER II.
_Daniel Boone, his Parentage, and early Adventures._
Trials of the Colonists.--George Boone and his home.--Squire Boone.--Birth
and character of Daniel Boone.--His limited education.--A pioneer's
camp.--A log house and furnishings.--Annoyance of Boone on the arrival of
Scotch emigrants.--His longings for adventure.--Camp meetings.--Frontier
life.--Sports.--Squirrel hunting.--Snuffing the candle.
It was but a narrow fringe upon the sea coast of North America, which
was thus far occupied by the European emigrants. Even this edge of the
continent was so vast in its extent, from the southern capes of Florida
to the gulf of St. Lawrence, that these colonial settlements were far
separated from each other. They constituted but little dots in the
interminable forest: the surges of the Atlantic beating upon their
eastern shores, and the majestic wilderness sweeping in its sublime
solitude behind them on the west. Here the painted Indians pursued their
game, while watching anxiously the encroachments of the pale faces. The
cry of the panther, the growling of the bear, and the howling of the
wolf, were music to the settlers compared with the war-hoop of the
savage, which often startled the inmates of the lonely cabins, and
consigned them to that sleep from which there is no earthly waking. The
Indians were generally hostile, and being untutored savages, they were
as merciless as demons in their revenge. The mind recoils from the
contemplation of the tortures to which they often exposed their
captives. And one cannot but wonder that the Almighty Father could have
allowed such agony to be inflicted upon any of His creatures.
Notwithstanding the general desire of the colonial authorities to treat
the Indians with justice and kindness, there were unprincipled
adventurers crowding all the colonies, whose wickedness no laws could
restrain. They robbed the Indians, insulted their families, and
inflicted upon them outrages which goaded the poor savages to
desperation. In their unintelligent vengeance they could make no
distinction between the innocent and the guilty.
On the 10th of October, 1717, a vessel containing a number of emigrants
arrived at Philadelphia, a small but flourishing settlement upon the
banks of the Delaware. Among the passengers there was a man named George
Boone, with his wife and eleven children, nine sons and two daughters.
He had come from Exeter, England, and was lured to the New World by the
cheapness of land. He had sufficient property to enable him to furnish
all his sons with ample farms in America. The Delaware, above
Philadelphia, was at that time a silent stream, flowing sublimely
through the almost unbroken forest. Here and there, a bold settler had
felled the trees, and in the clearing had reared his log hut, upon the
river banks. Occasionally the birch canoe of an Indian hunter was seen
passing rapidly from cove to cove, and occasionally a little cluster of
Indian wigwams graced some picturesque and sunny exposure, for the
Indians manifested much taste in the location of their villages.
George Boone ascended this solitary river about twenty miles above
Philadelphia, where he purchased upon its banks an extensive territory,
consisting of several hundred acres. It was near the present city of
Bristol, in what is now called Buck's County. To this tract,
sufficiently large for a township, he gave the name of Exeter, in memory
of the home he had left in England. Here, aided by the strong arms of
his boys, he reared a commodious log cabin. It must have been an
attractive and a happy home. The climate was delightful, the soil
fertile, supplying him, with but little culture, with an ample supply of
corn, and the most nutritious vegetables. Before his door rolled the
broad expanse of the Delaware, abounding with fish of delicious flavor.
His boys with hook and line could at any time, in a few moments, supply
the table with a nice repast. With the unerring rifle, they could
always procure game in great variety and abundance.
The Indians, won by the humanity of William Penn, were friendly, and
their occasional visits to the cabin contributed to the enjoyment of its
inmates. On the whole a more favored lot in life could not well be
imagined. There was unquestionably far more happiness in this log cabin
of the settler, on the silent waters of the Delaware, than could be
found in any of the castles or palaces of England, France, or Spain.
George Boone had one son on whom he conferred the singular name of
Squire. His son married a young woman in the neighborhood by the name of
Sarah Morgan, and surrounded by his brothers and sisters, he raised his
humble home in the beautiful township which his father had purchased.
Before leaving England the family, religiously inclined, had accepted
the Episcopal form of Christian worship. But in the New World, far
removed from the institutions of the Gospel, and allured by the noble
character and influence of William Penn, they enrolled themselves in the
Society of Friends. In the record of the monthly meetings of this
society, we find it stated that George Boone was received to its
communion on the thirty-first day of tenth month, in the year 1717. It
is also recorded that his son Squire Boone was married to Sarah Morgan,
on the twenty-third day of seventh month, 1720. The records of the
meetings also show the number of their children, and the periods of
their birth.
By this it appears that their son Daniel, the subject of this memoir,
was born on the twenty-second day of eighth month, 1734. It seems that
Squire Boone became involved in difficulties with the Society of
Friends, for allowing one of his sons to marry out of meeting. He was
therefore disowned, and perhaps on this account, he subsequently removed
his residence to North Carolina, as we shall hereafter show. His son
Daniel, from earliest childhood, developed a peculiar and remarkably
interesting character. He was silent, thoughtful, of pensive
temperament, yet far from gloomy, never elated, never depressed. He
exhibited from his earliest years such an insensibility to danger, as to
attract the attention of all who knew him. Though affectionate and
genial in disposition, never morose or moody, he still loved solitude,
and seemed never so happy as when entirely alone. His father remained in
his home upon the Delaware until Daniel was about ten years of age.
Various stories are related of his adventures in these his early years,
which may or may not be entirely authentic. It makes but little
difference. These anecdotes if only founded on facts, show at least the
estimation in which he was regarded, and the impression which his
character produced in these days of childhood. Before he was ten years
old he would take his rifle and plunge boldly into the depths of the
illimitable forest. He seemed, by instinct, possessed of the skill of
the most experienced hunter, so that he never became bewildered, or in
danger of being lost. There were panthers, bears and wolves in those
forests, but of them he seemed not to have the slightest fear. His skill
as a marksman became quite unerring. Not only raccoons, squirrels,
partridges and other such small game were the result of his hunting
expeditions, but occasionally even the fierce panther fell before his
rifle ball. From such frequent expeditions he would return silent and
tranquil, with never a word of boasting in view of exploits of which a
veteran hunter might be proud.
Indeed his love of solitude was so great, that he reared for himself a
little cabin in the wilderness, three miles back from the settlement.
Here he would go all alone without even a dog for companion, his trusty
rifle his only protection. At his camp-fire, on the point of his ramrod,
he would cook the game which he obtained in abundance, and upon his bed
of leaves would sleep in sweetest enjoyment, lulled by the wind through
the tree-tops, and by the cry of the night bird and of the wild beasts
roaming around. In subsequent life, he occasionally spoke of these hours
as seasons of unspeakable joy.
The education of young Boone was necessarily very defective. There were
no schools then established in those remote districts of log cabins. But
it so happened that an Irishman of some little education strolled into
that neighborhood, and Squire Boone engaged him to teach, for a few
months, his children and those of some others of the adjacent settlers.
These hardy emigrants met with their axes in a central point in the
wilderness, and in a few hours constructed a rude hut of logs for a
school-house. Here young Boone was taught to read, and perhaps to write.
This was about all the education he ever received. Probably the
confinement of the school-room was to him unendurable. The forest was
his congenial home, hunting the business of his life.
Though thus uninstructed in the learning of books, there were other
parts of practical education, of infinitely more importance to him, in
which he became an adept. His native strength of mind, keen habits of
observation, and imperturbable tranquility under whatever perils or
reverses, gave him skill in the life upon which he was to enter, which
the teachings of books alone could not confer. No marksman could surpass
him in the dexterity with which with his bullet he would strike the head
of a nail, at the distance of many yards. No Indian hunter or warrior
could with more sagacity trace his steps through the pathless forest,
detect the footsteps of a retreating foe, or search out the hiding place
of the panther or the bear. In these hunting excursions the youthful
frame of Daniel became inured to privation, hardship, endurance. Taught
to rely upon his own resources, he knew not what it was to be lonely,
for an hour. In the darkest night and in the remotest wilderness, when
the storm raged most fiercely, although but a child he felt peaceful,
happy, and entirely at home.
About the year 1748 (the date is somewhat uncertain), Squire Boone, with
his family, emigrated seven hundred miles farther south and west to a
place called Holman's Ford on the Yadkin river, in North Carolina. The
Yadkin is a small stream in the north-west part of the State. A hundred
years ago this was indeed a howling wilderness. It is difficult to
imagine what could have induced the father of a family to abandon the
comparatively safe and prosperous settlements on the banks of the
Delaware, to plunge into the wilderness of these pathless solitudes,
several hundred miles from the Atlantic coast. Daniel was then about
sixteen years of age.
Of the incidents of their long journey through the wood--on foot, with
possibly a few pack horses, for there were no wagon-roads whatever--we
have no record. The journey must probably have occupied several weeks,
occasionally cheered by sunshine, and again drenched by storms. There
were nine children in the family. At the close of the weary pilgrimage
of a day, through such narrow trails as that which the Indian or the
buffalo had made through the forest, or over the prairies, they were
compelled to build a cabin at night, with logs and the bark of trees to
shelter them from the wind and rain, and at the camp-fire to cook the
game which they had shot during the day. We can imagine that this
journey must have been a season of unspeakable delight to Daniel Boone.
Alike at home with the rifle and the hatchet, never for a moment
bewildered, or losing his self-possession, he could, even unaided, at
any hour, rear a sheltering hut for his mother and his sisters, before
which the camp-fire would blaze cheerily, and their hunger would be
appeased by the choicest viands from the game which his rifle had
procured.
The spirit of adventure is so strong in most human hearts which
luxurious indulgence has not enervated, that it is not improbable that
this family enjoyed far more in this romantic excursion through an
unexplored wilderness, than those now enjoy who in a few hours traverse
the same distance in the smooth rolling rail-cars. Indeed fancy can
paint many scenes of picturesque beauty which we know that the reality
must have surpassed.
It is the close of a lovely day. A gentle breeze sweeps through the
tree-tops from the north-west. The trail through the day has led along
the banks of a crystal mountain stream, sparkling with trout. The path
is smooth for the moccasined feet. The limbs, inured to action,
experienced no weariness. The axes of the father and the sons speedily
construct a camp, open to the south and perfectly sheltered on the roof
and on the sides by the bark of trees. The busy fingers of the daughters
have in the meantime spread over the floor a soft and fragrant carpet of
evergreen twigs. The mother is preparing supper, of trout from the
stream, and the fattest of wild turkeys or partridges, or tender cuts of
venison, which the rifles of her husband or sons have procured.
Voracious appetites render the repast far more palatable than the
choicest viands which were ever spread in the banqueting halls of
Versailles or Windsor. Water-fowl of gorgeous plumage sport in the
stream, unintimidated by the approach of man. The plaintive songs of
forest-birds float in the evening air. On the opposite side of the
stream, herds of deer and buffalo crop the rich herbage of the prairie,
which extends far away, till it is lost in the horizon of the south.
Daniel retires from the converse of the cabin to an adjoining eminence,
where silently and rapturously he gazes upon the scene of loveliness
spread out before him.
Such incidents must often have occurred. Even in the dark and
tempestuous night, with the storm surging through the tree tops, and the
rain descending in floods, in their sheltered camp, illumined by the
flames of their night fire, souls capable of appreciating the sublimity
of such scenes must have experienced exquisite delight. It is pleasant
to reflect, that the poor man in his humble cabin may often be the
recipient of much more happiness than the lord finds in his castle, or
the king in his palace.
No details are given respecting the arrival of this family on the banks
of the Yadkin, or of their habits of life while there. We simply know
that they were far away in the untrodden wilderness, in the remotest
frontiers of civilization. Bands of Indians were roving around them, but
even if hostile, so long as they had only bows and arrows, the settler
in his log-hut, which was a fortress, and with his death-dealing rifle,
was comparatively safe.
Here the family dwelt for several years, probably in the enjoyment of
abundance, and with ever-increasing comforts. The virgin soil, even
poorly tilled, furnished them with the corn and the vegetables they
required, while the forests supplied the table with game. Thus the
family, occupying the double position of the farmer and the hunter,
lived in the enjoyment of all the luxuries which both of those callings
could afford. Here Daniel Boone grew up to manhood. His love of solitude
and of nature led him on long hunting excursions, from which he often
returned laden with furs. The silence of the wilderness he brought back
with him to his home. And though his placid features ever bore a smile,
he had but few words to interchange with neighbors or friends. He was a
man of affectionate, but not of passionate nature. It would seem that
other emigrants were lured to the banks of the Yadkin, for here, after a
few years, young Boone fell in love with the daughter of his father's
neighbor, and that daughter, Rebecca Bryan, became his bride. He thus
left his father's home, and, with his axe, speedily erected for himself
and wife a cabin, we may presume at some distance from sight or sound of
any other house. There "from noise and tumult far," Daniel Boone
established himself in the life of solitude, to which he was accustomed
and which he enjoyed. It appears that his marriage took place about the
year 1755. The tide of emigration was still flowing in an uninterrupted
stream towards the west. The population was increasing throughout this
remote region, and the axe of the settler began to be heard on the
streams tributary to the Yadkin.
Daniel Boone became restless. He loved the wilderness and its solitude,
and was annoyed by the approach of human habitations, bringing to him
customs with which he was unacquainted, and exposing him to
embarrassments from which he would gladly escape. The mode of life
practiced by those early settlers in the wilderness is well known. The
log-house usually consisted of but one room, with a fire-place of stones
at the end. These houses were often very warm and comfortable,
presenting in the interior, with a bright fire blazing on the hearth, a
very cheerful aspect. Their construction was usually as follows:
Straight, smooth logs about a foot in diameter, cut of the proper
length, and so notched at the ends as to be held very firmly together,
were thus placed one above the other to the height of about ten feet.
The interstices were filled with clay, which soon hardened, rendering
the walls comparatively smooth, and alike impervious to wind or rain.
Other logs of straight fiber were split into clap-boards, one or two
inches in thickness, with which they covered the roof. If suitable wood
for this purpose could not be found, the bark of trees was used, with an
occasional thatching of the long grass of the prairies. Logs about
eighteen inches in diameter were selected for the floor. These were
easily split in halves, and with the convex side buried in the earth,
and the smooth surface uppermost joined closely together by a slight
trimming with axe or adze, presented a very firm and even attractive
surface for the feet.
In the centre of the room, four augur holes were bored in the logs,
about three inches in diameter. Stakes were driven firmly into these
holes, upon which were placed two pieces of timber, with the upper
surfaces hewn smooth, thus constructing a table. In one corner of the
cabin, four stakes were driven in a similar way, about eighteen inches
high, with forked tops. Upon these two saplings were laid with smooth
pieces of bark stretched across. These were covered with grass or dried
leaves, upon which was placed, with the fur upwards, the well-tanned
skin of the buffalo or the bear. Thus quite a luxurious bed was
constructed, upon which there was often enjoyed as sweet sleep as
perhaps is ever found on beds of down. In another corner, some rude
shelves were placed, upon which appeared a few articles of tin and
ironware. Upon some buck horns over the door was always placed the
rifle, ever loaded and ready for use.
A very intelligent emigrant, Dr. Doddridge, gives the following graphic
account of his experience in such a log-cabin as we have described, in
the remote wilderness. When he was but a child, his father, with a small
family, had penetrated these trackless wilds, and in the midst of their
sublime solitudes had reared his lonely cabin. He writes:
"My father's family was small and he took us all with him. The Indian
meal which he brought was expended six weeks too soon, so that for that
length of time we had to live without bread. The lean venison and the
breast of wild turkeys, we were taught to call bread. I remember how
narrowly we children watched the growth of the potato tops, pumpkin, and
squash vines, hoping from day to day to get something to answer in the
place of bread. How delicious was the taste of the young potatoes, when
we got them! What a jubilee when we were permitted to pull the young
corn for roasting ears! Still more so when it had acquired sufficient
hardness to be made into johnny cake by the aid of a tin grater. The
furniture of the table consisted of a few pewter dishes, plates and
spoons, but mostly of wooden bowls and trenchers and noggins. If these
last were scarce, gourds and hard shell squashes made up the deficiency.
"I well remember the first time I ever saw a tea cup and saucer. My
mother died when I was six or seven years of age. My father then sent me
to Maryland to go to school. At Bedford, the tavern at which my uncle
put up was a stone house, and to make the changes still more complete,
it was plastered on the inside both as to the walls and ceiling. On
going into the dining-room, I was struck with astonishment at the
appearance of the house. I had no idea that there was any house in the
world that was not built of logs. But here I looked around and could
see no logs, and above I could see no joists. Whether such a thing had
been made by the hands of man, or had grown so of itself, I could not
conjecture. I had not the courage to inquire anything about it. When
supper came on, my confusion was worse confounded: A little cup stood in
a bigger one with some brownish-looking stuff in it, which was neither
milk, hominy, nor broth. What to do with these little cups, and the
spoons belonging to them, I could not tell. But I was afraid to ask
anything concerning the use of them."
Daniel Boone could see from the door of his cabin, far away in the west,
the majestic ridge of the Alleghany mountains, many of the peaks rising
six thousand feet into the clouds. This almost impassable wall, which
nature had reared, extended for hundreds of leagues, along the Atlantic
coast, parallel with that coast, and at an average distance of one
hundred and thirty miles from the ocean. It divides the waters which
flow into the Atlantic, from those which run into the Mississippi. The
great chain consists of many spurs, from fifty to two hundred miles in
breadth, and receives in different localities, different names, such as
the Cumberland mountains, the Blue Ridge, etc.
But few white men had ever as yet ascended these summits, to cast a
glance at the vast wilderness beyond. The wildest stories were told
around the cabin fires, of these unexplored realms,--of the Indian
tribes wandering there; of the forests filled with game; of the rivers
alive with fishes; of the fertile plains, the floral beauty, the
abounding fruit, and the almost celestial clime. These stories were
brought to the settlers in the broken language of the Indians, and in
the exaggerated tales of hunters, who professed that in the chase they
had, from some Pisgah's summit, gazed upon the splendors of this Canaan
of the New World.
Thus far, the settlers had rested contented with the sea-board region
east of the Alleghanies. They had made no attempt to climb the summits
of this great barrier, or to penetrate its gloomy defiles. A dense
forest covered alike the mountain cliff and the rocky gorge. Indeed
there were but few points at which even the foot of the hunter could
pass this chain.
While Daniel Boone was residing in the congenial solitude of his hut, on
the banks of the Yadkin; with the grandeur of the wilderness around him
in which his soul delighted; with his table luxuriously spread according
to his tastes--with venison, bear's meat, fat turkeys, chickens from the
prairie, and vegetables from his garden; with comfortable clothing of
deerskin, and such cloths as pedlars occasionally brought to his cabin
door in exchange for furs, he was quite annoyed by the arrival of a
number of Scotch families in his region, bringing with them customs and
fashions which to Daniel Boone were very annoying. They began to cut
down the glorious old forest, to break up the green sward of the
prairies, to rear more ambitious houses than the humble home of the
pioneer; they assumed airs of superiority, introduced more artificial
styles of living, and brought in the hitherto unknown vexation of taxes.
One can easily imagine how restive such a man as Boone must have been
under such innovations. The sheriff made his appearance in the lonely
hut; the collection of the taxes was enforced by suits at law. Even
Daniel Boone's title to his lands was called in question; some of the
new comers claiming that their more legal grants lapped over upon the
boundaries which Boone claimed. Under these circumstances our pioneer
became very anxious to escape from these vexations by an emigration
farther into the wilderness. Day after day he cast wistful glances upon
the vast mountain barrier piercing the clouds in the distant horizon.
Beyond that barrier, neither the sheriff nor the tax-gatherer were to be
encountered. His soul, naturally incapable of fear, experienced no dread
in apprehension of Indian hostilities, or the ferocity of wild beasts.
Even the idea of the journey through these sublime solitudes of an
unexplored region, was far more attractive to him than the tour of
Europe to a sated millionaire.
Two or three horses would convey upon their backs all their household
goods. There were Indian trails and streets, so called, made by the
buffaloes, as in large numbers they had followed each other, selecting
by a wonderful instinct their path from one feeding ground to another,
through cane-brakes, around morasses, and over mountains through the
most accessible defiles. Along these trails or streets, Boone could take
his peaceful route without any danger of mistaking his way. Every mile
would be opening to him new scenes of grandeur and beauty. Should night
come, or a storm set in, a few hours' labor with his axe would rear for
him not only a comfortable, but a cheerful tent with its warm and
sheltered interior, with the camp-fire crackling and blazing before it.
His wife and his children not only afforded him all the society his
peculiar nature craved, but each one was a helper, knowing exactly what
to do in this picnic excursion through the wilderness. Wherever he might
stop for the night or for a few days, his unerring rifle procured for
him viands which might tempt the appetite of the epicure. There are many
even in civilized life who will confess, that for them, such an
excursion would present attractions such as are not to be found in the
banqueting halls at Windsor Castle, or in the gorgeous saloons of
Versailles.
Daniel Boone, in imagination, was incessantly visiting the land beyond
the mountains, and longing to explore its mysteries. Whether he would
find the ocean there or an expanse of lakes and majestic rivers, or
boundless prairies, or the unbroken forest, he knew not. Whether the
region were crowded with Indians, and if so, whether they would be found
friendly or hostile, and whether game roamed there in greater variety
and in larger abundance than on the Atlantic side of the great barrier,
were questions as yet all unsolved. But these questions Daniel Boone
pondered in silence, night and day.
A gentleman who nearly half a century ago visited one of these frontier
dwellings, very romantically situated amidst the mountains of Western
Virginia, has given us a pencil sketch of the habitation which we here
introduce. The account of the visit is also so graphic that we cannot
improve it by giving it in any language but his own. This settler had
passed through the first and was entering upon the second stage of
pioneer life:
"Towards the close of an autumnal day, when traveling through the thinly
settled region of Western Virginia, I came up with a substantial-looking
farmer leaning on the fence by the road side. I accompanied him to his
house to spend the night. It was a log dwelling, and near it stood
another log structure, about twelve feet square,--the weaving shop of
the family. On entering the dwelling I found the numerous household all
clothed in substantial garments of their own manufacture. The floor was
unadorned by a carpet and the room devoid of superfluous furniture; yet
they had all that necessity required for their comfort. One needs but
little experience like this to learn how few are our real wants,--how
easily most luxuries of dress, furniture and equipage can be dispensed
with.
"Soon after my arrival supper was ready. It consisted of fowls, bacon,
hoe-cake and buckwheat cakes. Our beverage was milk and coffee,
sweetened with maple sugar. Soon as it grew dark my hostess took down a
small candle mould for three candles, hanging from the wall on a
frame-work just in front of the fire-place, in company with a rifle,
long strings of dried pumpkins and other articles of household property.
On retiring I was conducted to the room overhead, to which I ascended by
stairs out of doors. My bed-fellow was the county sheriff, a young man
of about my own age. And as we lay together a fine field was had for
astronomical observations through the chinks of the logs.
"The next morning, after rising, I was looking for the washing
apparatus, when he tapped me on the shoulder, as a signal to accompany
him to the brook in the rear of the house, in whose pure crystal waters
we performed our morning ablutions. After breakfast, through the
persuasion of the sheriff, I agreed to go across the country by his
house. He was on horseback; I on foot bearing my knapsack. For six miles
our route lay through a pathless forest; on emerging from which we soon
passed through the 'Court House,' the only village in the county,
consisting of about a dozen log-houses and the court building.
"Soon after we came to a Methodist encampment. This was formed of three
continuous lines, each occupying a side of a square and about one
hundred feet in length. Each row was divided into six or ten cabins with
partitions between. The height of the rows on the inner side of the
enclosed area was about ten feet, on the outer about six, to which the
roofs sloped shed-like. The door of each cabin opened on the inner side
of the area, and at the back of each was a log chimney coming up even
with the roof. At the upper extremity of the inclosure, formed by these
three lines of cabins, was an open shed; a mere roof supported by posts,
say thirty by fifty feet, in which was a coarse pulpit and log seats. A
few tall trees were standing within the area, and many stumps scattered
here and there. The whole establishment was in the depth of a forest,
and wild and rude as can well be imagined.
"In many of these sparsely-inhabited counties there are no settled
clergy, and rarely do the people hear any other than the Methodist
preachers. Here is the itinerating system of Wesley exhibited in its
full usefulness. The circuits are usually of three weeks' duration, in
which the clergymen preach daily. Most of these preachers are energetic,
devoted men; and often they endure great privations.
"After sketching the encampment I came in a few moments to the dwelling
of the sheriff. Close by it was a group of mountain men and women seated
around a log cabin, about twelve feet square, ten high, and open at the
top, into which these neighbors of my companion were casting ears of
corn as fast as they could shuck them. Cheerfully they performed their
task. The men were large and hardy; the damsels plump and rosy, and all
dressed in good warm homespun. The sheriff informed me that he owned
about two thousand acres around his dwelling, and that his farm was
worth about one thousand dollars or fifty cents an acre.
"I entered his log domicile which was one story in height, about twenty
feet square and divided into two small rooms without windows or places
to let in the light except by a front and rear door. I soon partook of
a meal in which we had a variety of luxuries, not omitting _bear's
meat_. A blessing was asked at the table by one of the neighbors. After
supper the bottle, as usual at corn huskings, was circulated. The
sheriff learning that I was a Washingtonian, with the politeness of one
of nature's gentlemen refrained from urging me to participate. The men
drank but moderately; and we all drew around the fire, the light of
which was the only one we had. Hunting stories and kindred topics served
to talk down the hours till bed time.
"On awaking in the morning, I saw two women cooking breakfast in my
bedroom, and three men seated over the fire watching the operation.
After breakfast, I bade my host farewell, buckled on my knapsack and
left. In the course of two hours, I came to a cabin by the wayside.
There being no gate, I sprang over the fence, entered the open door, and
was received with a hearty welcome. It was an humble dwelling, the abode
of poverty. The few articles of furniture were neat and pleasantly
arranged. In the corner stood two beds, one hung with curtains, and both
with coverlets of snowy white, contrasting with the dingy log walls,
rude furniture, and rough boarded floor of this, the only room in the
dwelling. Around a cheerful fire was seated an interesting family
group. In one corner, on the hearth, sat the mother, smoking a pipe.
Next to her was a little girl, in a small chair, holding a young kitten.
In the opposite corner sat a venerable old man, of herculean stature,
robed in a hunting shirt, and with a countenance as majestic and
impressive as that of a Roman senator. In the centre of the group was a
young maiden, modest and retiring, not beautiful, except in that moral
beauty virtue gives. She was reading to them from a little book. She was
the only one of the family who could read, and she could do so but
imperfectly. In that small volume was the whole secret of the neatness
and happiness found in this lonely cot. That little book was the New
Testament."
The institution of camp-meetings, introduced with so much success by the
Methodists, those noble pioneers of Christianity, seem to have been the
necessary result of the attempt to preach to the sparsely settled
population of a new country. The following is said to be the origin of
those camp-meetings which have done incalculable good, socially,
intellectually, and religiously.
In the year 1799, two men by the name of McGee, one a Presbyterian, the
other a Methodist, set out on a missionary tour together, to visit the
log-houses in the wilderness. A meeting was appointed at a little
settlement upon one of the tributaries of the Ohio. The pioneers
flocked to the place from many miles around. There was no church there,
and the meeting was necessarily held in the open air. Many brought their
food with them and camped out. Thus the meeting, with exhortation and
prayer, was continued in the night. Immense bonfires blazed illuminating
the sublimities of the forest, and the assembled congregation, cut off
from all the ordinary privileges of civilized life, listened devoutly to
the story of a Savior's love.
This meeting was so successful in its results that another was appointed
at a small settlement on the banks of a stream called Muddy river. The
tidings spread rapidly through all the stations and farm houses on the
frontier. It afforded these lonely settlers a delightful opportunity of
meeting together. They could listen for hours with unabated interest to
the religious exercises. The people assembled from a distance of forty
or fifty miles around. A vast concourse had met beneath the foliage of
the trees, the skies alone, draped with clouds by day and adorned with
stars by night, the dome of their majestic temple.
The scene, by night, must have been picturesque in the extreme. Men,
women and children were there in homespun garb; and being accustomed to
camp life, they were there in comfort. Strangers met and became friends.
Many wives and mothers obtained rest and refreshment from their
monotonous toils. There is a bond in Christ's discipleship, stronger
than any other, and Christians grasped hands in love, pledging
themselves anew to a holy life. For several days and nights, this
religious festival was continued. Time could not have been better spent.
Dwellers in the forest could not afford to take so long a journey merely
to listen to one half-hour's discourse. These men and women were earnest
and thoughtful. In the solitude of their homes, they had reflected
deeply upon life and its issues. When death occasionally visited their
cabins, it was a far more awful event than when death occurs in the
crowded city, where the hearse is every hour of every day passing
through the streets.
These scenes of worship very deeply impressed the minds of the people.
They were not Gospel hardened. The gloom and silence of the forest,
alike still by night and by day; the memory of the past, with its few
joys and many griefs; the anticipations of the future, with its
unceasing struggles, to terminate only in death; the solemnity which
rested on every countenance; the sweet melody of the hymns; the earnest
tones of the preachers in exhortation and prayer, all combined to
present a scene calculated to produce a very profound impression upon
the human mind. At this meeting, not only professed Christians were
greatly revived, but not less than a hundred persons, it was thought,
became disciples of the Savior.
Another camp-meeting was soon after appointed to meet on Desha's Creek,
a small stream flowing into the Cumberland river. The country was now
becoming more populous, and several thousand were assembled. And thus
the work went on, multitudes being thus reached by the preached Gospel
who could not be reached in any other way.[A]
[Footnote A: Bang's History of Methodism.]
Life on the frontier was by no means devoid of its enjoyments as well as
of its intense excitements. It must have been also an exceedingly busy
life. There were no mills for cutting timber or grinding corn; no
blacksmith shops to repair the farming utensils. There were no
tanneries, no carpenters, shoemakers, weavers. Every family had to do
everything for itself. The corn was pounded with a heavy pestle in a
large mortar made by burning an excavation in a solid block of wood. By
means of these mortars the settlers, in regions where saltpetre could be
obtained, made very respectable gunpowder. In making corn-meal a grater
was sometimes used, consisting of a half-circular piece of tin,
perforated with a punch from the concave side. The ears of corn were
rubbed on the rough edges, and the meal fell through the holes on a
board or cloth placed to receive it. They also sometimes made use of a
handmill, resembling those alluded to in the Bible. These consisted of
two circular stones; the lowest, which was immovable, was called the
bed-stone,--the upper one, the runner. Two persons could grind together
at this mill.
The clothing was all of domestic manufacture. A fabric called
linsey-woolsey was most frequently in use and made the most substantial
and warmest clothing. It was made of flax and wool, the former the warp,
the latter the filling. Every cabin almost had its rude loom, and every
woman was a weaver.
The men tanned their own leather. A large trough was sunk in the ground
to its upper edge. Bark was shaved with an axe and pounded with a
mallet. Ashes were used for lime in removing the hair. In the winter
evenings the men made strong shoes and moccasins, and the women cut out
and made hunting shirts, leggins and drawers.
Hunting was a great source of amusement as well as a very exciting and
profitable employment. The boys were all taught to imitate the call of
every bird and beast in the woods. The skill in imitation which they
thus acquired was wonderful. Hidden in a thicket they would gobble like
a turkey and lure a whole flock of these birds within reach of their
rifles. Bleating like the fawn they would draw the timid dam to her
death. The moping owls would come in flocks attracted by the screech of
the hunter, while packs of wolves, far away in the forest, would howl in
response to the hunter's cry. The boys also rivalled the Indians in the
skill with which they would throw the tomahawk. With a handle of a given
length, and measuring the distance with the eye, they would throw the
weapon with such accuracy that its keen edge would be sure to strike the
object at which it was aimed. Running, jumping, wrestling were pastimes
in which both boys and men engaged. Shooting at a mark was one of the
most favorite diversions. When a boy had attained the age of about
twelve years, a rifle was usually placed in his hands. In the house or
fort where he resided, a port-hole was assigned him, where he was to do
valiant service as a soldier, in case of an attack by the Indians. Every
day he was in the woods hunting squirrels, turkeys and raccoons. Thus he
soon acquired extraordinary expertness with his gun.
The following interesting narrative is taken from Ramsay's Annals of
Tennessee, which State was settled about the same time with Kentucky and
with emigrants from about the same region:
"The settlement of Tennessee was unlike that of the present new country
of the United States. Emigrants from the Atlantic cities, and from most
points in the Western interior, now embark upon steamboats or other
craft, and carrying with them all the conveniences and comforts of
civilized life--indeed many of its luxuries--are, in a few days, without
toil, danger or exposure, transported to their new abodes, and in a few
months are surrounded with the appendages of home, of civilization and
the blessings of law and of society.
"The wilds of Minnesota and Nebraska, by the agency of steam or the
stalwart arms of Western boatmen, are at once transformed into the
settlements of a commercial and civilized people. Independence and Saint
Paul, six months after they are laid off, have their stores and their
workshops, their artisans and their mechanics. The mantua-maker and the
tailor arrive in the same boat with the carpenter and mason. The
professional man and the printer quickly follow. In the succeeding year
the piano, the drawing-room, the restaurant, the billiard table, the
church bell, the village and the city in miniature are all found, while
the neighboring interior is yet a wilderness and a desert.
"The town and comfort, taste and urbanity are first; the clearing, the
farm house, the wagon road and the improved country, second. It was far
different on the frontier of Tennessee. At first a single Indian trail
was the only entrance to the Eastern border of it, and for many years
admitted only the hunter and the pack-horse. It was not till the year
1776 that a wagon was seen in Tennessee. In consequence of the want of
roads--as well as of the great distance from the sources of supply--the
first inhabitants were without tools, and of course without
mechanics--much more without the conveniences of living and the comforts
of housekeeping.
"Luxuries were absolutely unknown. Salt was brought on pack-horses from
Augusta and Richmond and readily commanded ten dollars a bushel. The
salt gourd in every cabin was considered as a treasure. The sugar maple
furnished the only article of luxury on the frontier; coffee and tea
being unknown or beyond the reach of the settlers. Sugar was seldom made
and was used only for the sick, or in the preparation of a sweetened
dram at a wedding, or on the arrival of a new comer.
"The appendages of the kitchen, the cupboard and the table, were scanty
and simple. Iron was brought at great expense from the forges east of
the mountains, on pack-horses, and was sold at an enormous price. Its
use was, for this reason, confined to the construction and repair of
ploughs and other farming utensils. Hinges, nails and fastenings of that
material were seldom seen. The costume of the first settlers
corresponded well with the style of their buildings and the quality of
their furniture: the hunting shirt of the militia man and the hunter was
in general use. The rest of their apparel was in keeping with
it,--plain, substantial and well adapted for comfort, use and economy.
The apparel of the pioneer's family was all home-made; and in a whole
neighborhood there would not be seen, at the first settlement of the
country, a single article of dress of foreign manufacture. Half the
year, in many families, shoes were not worn. Boots, a fur hat and a
coat, with buttons on each side, attracted the gaze of the beholder and
sometimes received censure or rebuke. A stranger from the old States
chose to doff his ruffles, his broad-cloth and his cue rather than
endure the scoff and ridicule of the backwoodsman.
"The dwelling house on every frontier in Tennessee was the log-cabin. A
carpenter and a mason were not needed to build them--much less the
painter, the glazier and the upholsterer. Every settler had, besides his
rifle, no other instrument but an axe or hatchet and a butcher-knife. A
saw, an auger, a file and a broad-axe would supply a whole settlement,
and were used as common property in the erection of the log-cabin.
"The labor and employment of a pioneer family were distributed in
accordance with surrounding circumstances. To the men was assigned the
duty of procuring subsistence and materials for clothing, erecting the
cabin and the station, opening and cultivating the farm, hunting the
wild beasts, and repelling and pursueing the Indians. The women spun the
flax, the cotton and the wool, wove the cloth, made them up, milked,
churned and prepared the food, and did their full share of the duties of
housekeeping.
"Could there be happiness or comfort in such dwellings and such a state
of society? To those who are accustomed to modern refinements the truth
appears like fable. The early occupants of log-cabins were among the
most happy of mankind. Exercise and excitement gave them health. They
were practically equal, common danger made them mutually dependent.
Brilliant hopes of future wealth and distinction led them on. And as
there was ample room for all, and as each new comer increased individual
and general security, there was little room for that envy, jealousy and
hatred which constitute a large portion of human misery in older
societies.
"Never were the story, the joke, the song and the laugh better enjoyed
than upon the hewed blocks or puncheon stools, around the roaring log
fire of the early western settler.
"On the frontier the diet was necessarily plain and homely, but
exceedingly abundant and nutritive. The Goshen of America furnishes the
richest milk and the most savory and delicious meats. In their rude
cabins, with their scanty and inartificial furniture, no people ever
enjoyed, in wholesome food a greater variety, or a superior quality of
the necessaries of life."
A writer of that day describes the sports of these pioneers of Kentucky.
One of them consisted in "driving the nail." A common nail was hammered
into a target for about two thirds of its length. The marksmen then took
their stand at the distance of about forty paces. Each man carefully
cleaned the interior of his gun, and then placed a bullet in his hand,
over which he poured just enough powder to cover it. This was a charge.
A shot which only came close to the nail was considered a very
indifferent shot. Nothing was deemed satisfactory but striking the nail
with the bullet fairly on the head. Generally one out of three shots
would hit the nail. Two nails were frequently needed before each man
could get a shot.
_Barking of Squirrels_ is another sport. "I first witnessed," writes the
one to whom we have above alluded, "this manner of procuring squirrels,
while near the town of Frankfort. The performer was the celebrated
Daniel Boone. We walked out together and followed the rocky margins of
the Kentucky river, until we reached a piece of flat land, thickly
covered with black walnuts, oaks, and hickories. Squirrels were seen
gambolling on every tree around us. My companion Mr. Boone, a stout,
hale, athletic man, dressed in a homespun hunting shirt, bare legged and
moccasined, carried a long and heavy rifle, which, as he was loading it,
he said had proved efficient in all his former undertakings, and which
he hoped would not fail on this occasion, as he felt proud to show me
his skill.
"The gun was wiped, the powder measured, the ball patched with six
hundred thread linen, and a charge sent home with a hickory rod. We
moved not a step from the place, for the squirrels were so thick, that
it was unnecessary to go after them. Boone pointed to one of these
animals, which had observed us and was crouched on a tree, about fifty
paces distant, and bade me mark well where the ball should hit. He
raised his piece gradually, until the head, or sight of the barrel, was
brought to a line with the spot he intended to strike. The whip-like
report resounded through the woods, and along the hills, in repeated
echoes. Judge of my surprise, when I perceived that the ball had hit the
piece of bark immediately underneath the squirrel, and shivered it into
splinters; the concussion produced by which had killed the animal, and
sent it whirling through the air, as if it had been blown up by the
explosion of a powder magazine, Boone kept up his firing, and before
many hours had elapsed, we had procured as many squirrels as we wished.
Since that first interview with the veteran Boone, I have seen many
other individuals perform the same feat.
"The _Snuffing of a Candle_ with a ball, I first had an opportunity of
seeing near the banks of Green River, not far from a large pigeon roost,
to which I had previously made a visit. I had heard many reports of guns
during the early part of a dark night, and knowing them to be rifles, I
went towards the spot to ascertain the cause. On reaching the place, I
was welcomed by a dozen tall, stout men, who told me they were
exercising for the purpose of enabling them to shoot in the night at the
reflected light from the eyes of a deer, or wolf, by torch-light.
"A fire was blazing near, the smoke of which rose curling among the
thick foliage of the trees. At a distance which rendered it scarcely
distinguishable, stood a burning candle, which in reality was only fifty
yards from the spot on which we all stood. One man was within a few
yards of it to watch the effect of the shots, as well as to light the
candle, should it chance to go out, or to replace it should the shot cut
it across. Each marksman shot in his turn. Some never hit neither the
snuff or the candle, and were congratulated with a loud laugh; while
others actually snuffed the candle without putting it out, and were
recompensed for their dexterity with numerous hurrahs. One of them, who
was particularly expert, was very fortunate and snuffed the candle three
times out of seven; while all the other shots either put out the candle
or cut it immediately under the light."
CHAPTER III.
_Louisiana, its Discovery and Vicissitudes._
Louisiana, and its eventful history.--The Expedition of De Soto.--The
Missionary Marquette.--His voyage on the Upper Mississippi.--The Expedition
of La Salle.--Michilimackinac.--Its History.--Fate of the "Griffin."--Grief
of La Salle.--His voyage of Discovery.--Sale of Louisiana to the United
States.--Remarks of Napoleon.
The transfer of Louisiana to the United States is one of the most
interesting events in the history of our country. In the year 1800,
Spain, then in possession of the vast region west of the Mississippi,
ceded it to France. The whole country west of the majestic river
appropriately called the Father of Waters, was then called Louisiana,
and its boundaries were very obscurely defined. Indeed neither the
missionary nor the hunter had penetrated but a very short distance into
those unknown wilds. It was in the year 1541 that De Soto, marching from
Florida across the country, came to the banks of this magnificent river,
near the present site of Memphis. He knew not where it took its rise, or
where it emptied its swollen flood. But he found a stream more than a
mile in width, of almost fathomless depth, rolling its rapid, turbid
stream, on which were floated innumerable logs and trees, through an
almost uninhabited country of wonderful luxuriance. He was in search of
gold, and crossing the river, advanced in a north-westerly direction
about two hundred miles, till he came within sight of the Highlands of
the White River. He then turned in a southerly direction, and continued
his explorations, till death soon terminated his melancholy career.
More than one hundred and thirty years passed over these solitudes, when
James Marquette, a French missionary among the Indians at Saint Marys,
the outlet of Lake Superior, resolved to explore the Mississippi, of
whose magnificence he had heard much from the lips of the Indians, who
had occasionally extended their hunting tours to its banks. He was
inured to all the hardships of the wilderness, seemed to despise worldly
comforts, and had a soul of bravery which could apparently set all
perils at defiance. And still he was indued with a poetic nature, which
reveled in the charms of these wild and romantic realms, as he climbed
its mountains and floated in his canoe over its silent and placid
streams. Even then it was not known whether the Mississippi emptied its
majestic flood into the Pacific Ocean or into the Gulf of Mexico. The
foot of the white man upon the shores of Lake Superior, had never
penetrated beyond the Indian village, where the Fox River enters into
Green Bay. From this point Marquette started for the exploration of the
Mississippi. The party consisted of Mr. Marquette, a French gentleman by
the name of Joliete, five French voyageurs and two Indian guides. They
transported their two birch canoes on their shoulders across the portage
from the Fox River to the Wisconsin river. Paddling rapidly down this
stream through realms of silence and solitude, they soon entered the
majestic Mississippi, more than fifteen hundred miles above its mouth.
Marquette seems to have experienced in the highest degree the romance of
his wonderful voyage, for he says that he commenced the descent of the
mighty river with "a joy that could not be expressed." It was the
beautiful month of June, 1673, the most genial season of the year. The
skies were bright above them. The placid stream was fringed with banks
of wonderful luxuriance and beauty, the rocky cliffs at times assuming
the aspect of majestic castles of every variety of architecture; again
the gently swelling hills were robed in sublime forests, and again the
smooth meadows, in their verdure, spread far away to the horizon.
Rapidly the canoes, gently guided by the paddles, floated down the
stream.
Having descended the river about one hundred and eighty miles, they came
to a very well trod Indian trail leading back from the river into the
interior. Marquette and Joliete had the curiosity and the courage to
follow this trail for six miles, until they came to an Indian village.
It would seem that some of the Indians there, in their hunting
excursions, had wandered to some of the French settlements; for four of
their leading men, dressed in the most gorgeous display of barbaric
pomp, "brilliant with many colored plumes," came out to meet them and
conducted them to the cabin of their chief. He addressed them in the
following words:
"How beautiful is the sun, Frenchman, when thou comest to visit us. Our
whole village welcomes thee. In peace thou shalt enter all our
dwellings."
After a very pleasant visit they returned to their boats and resumed
their voyage. They floated by the mouth of the turbid Missouri, little
dreaming of the grandeur of the realms watered by that imperial stream
and its tributaries. They passed the mouth of the Ohio, which they
recognized as the _Belle Riviere_, which the Indians then called the
Wabash. As they floated rapidly away towards the south they visited many
Indian villages on the banks of the stream, where the devoted
missionary, Marquette, endeavored to proclaim the gospel of Christ.
"I did not," says Marquette, "fear death. I should have esteemed it the
greatest happiness to have died for the glory of God."
Thus they continued their exploration as far south as the mouth of the
Arkansas river, where they were hospitably received in a very
flourishing Indian village. Being now satisfied that the Mississippi
river entered the Gulf of Mexico, somewhere between Florida and
California, they returned to Green Bay by the route of the Illinois
river. By taking advantage of the eddies, on either side of the stream,
it was not difficult for them, in their light canoes, to make the
ascent.
Marquette landed on the western banks of Lake Michigan to preach the
gospel to a tribe of Indians called the Miames, residing near the
present site of Chicago. Joliete returned to Quebec to announce the
result of their discoveries. He was received with great rejoicing. The
whole population flocked to the cathedral, where the _Te Deum_ was sung.
Five years passed away, during which the great river flowed almost
unthought of, through its vast and sombre wilderness. At length in the
year 1678, La Salle received a commission from Louis the XIV. of France
to explore the Mississippi to its mouth. Having received from the king
the command of Fort Frontenac, at the northern extremity of Lake
Ontario, and a monopoly of the fur trade in all the countries he should
discover, he sailed from Larochelle in a ship well armed and abundantly
supplied, in June, 1678. Ascending the St. Lawrence to Quebec, he
repaired to Fort Frontenac. With a large number of men he paddled, in
birch canoes, to the southern extremity of Lake Ontario, and, by a
portage around the falls of Niagara, entered Lake Erie. Here he built a
substantial vessel, called the _Griffin_, which was the first vessel
ever launched upon the waters of that lake. Embarking in this vessel
with forty men, in the month of September, a genial and gorgeous month
in those latitudes, he traversed with favoring breezes the whole length
of the lake, a voyage of two hundred and sixty-five miles, ascended the
straits and passed through the Lake of St. Clair, and ran along the
coast of Lake Huron three hundred and sixty miles to Michilimackinac,
where the three majestic lakes, Superior, Michigan and Huron, form a
junction.
Here a trading post was established, which subsequently attained
world-wide renown, and to which the Indians flocked with their furs from
almost boundless realms. Mr. Schoolcraft, who some years after visited
this romantic spot, gives the following interesting account of the
scenery and strange life witnessed there. As these phases of human life
have now passed away, never to be renewed, it seems important that the
memory of them should be perpetuated:
"Nothing can present a more picturesque and refreshing spectacle to the
traveler, wearied with the lifeless monotony of a voyage through Lake
Huron, than the first sight of the island of Michilimackinac, which
rises from the watery horizon in lofty bluffs imprinting a rugged
outline along the sky and capped with a fortress on which the American
flag is seen waving against the blue heavens. The name is a compound of
the word _Misril_, signifying great, and _Mackinac_ the Indian word for
turtle, from a fancied resemblance of the island to a _great turtle_
lying upon the water.
"It is a spot of much interest, aside from its romantic beauty, in
consequence of its historical associations and natural curiosities. It
is nine miles in circumference, and its extreme elevation above the lake
is over three hundred feet. The town is pleasantly situated around a
small bay at the southern extremity of the island, and contains a few
hundred souls, which are sometimes swelled to one or two thousand by the
influx of voyageurs, traders and Indians. On these occasions its
beautiful harbor is seen checkered with American vessels at anchor, and
Indian canoes rapidly shooting across the water in every direction.
"It was formerly the seat of an extensive fur trade; at present it is
noted for the great amount of trout and white fish annually exported.
Fort Mackinac stood on a rocky bluff overlooking the town. The ruins of
Fort Holmes are on the apex of the island. It was built by the British
in the war of 1812, under the name of Fort George, and was changed to
its present appellation after the surrender to the Americans, in
compliment to the memory of Major Holmes, who fell in the attack upon
the island.
"The old town of Michilimackinac stood at the extreme point of the
peninsula of Michigan, nine miles south of the island. Eight years
before La Salle's expedition, Father Marquette, the French missionary,
visited this spot with a party of Hurons, upon whom he prevailed to
locate themselves. A fort was soon constructed, and became an important
post. It continued to be the seat of the fur trade, and the undisturbed
rendezvous of the Indian tribes during the whole period that the French
exercised dominion over the Canadas."
Here at Michilimackinac, La Salle purchased a rich cargo of furs,
exchanging for them his goods at an immense profit. The _Griffin_, laden
with wealth, set out on her return and was wrecked by the way with total
loss. La Salle with his companions had embarked in birch canoes, and
descending Lake Michigan to near its southern extremity, they landed and
erected a fort which they called Miamis. They then carried their canoes
across to the Illinois river and paddled down that stream until they
came near to the present site of Peoria, where they established another
fort, which La Salle, grief-stricken in view of his loss, named
_Creve-Coeur_, or Heartsore. Here the energetic and courageous
adventurer left his men in winter quarters, while, with but three
companions, he traversed the wilderness on foot, amidst the snows of
winter, to Fort Frontenac, a distance of fifteen hundred miles. After an
absence of several weeks, he returned with additional men and the means
of building a large and substantial flat-bottomed boat, with which to
descend the Illinois river to the Mississippi, and the latter stream to
its mouth.
The romantic achievement was successfully accomplished. The banners of
France were unfurled along the banks of the majestic river and upon the
shores of the Gulf of Mexico. This whole region which France claimed by
the right of discovery, was named in honor of the king of France,
Louisiana. Its limits were necessarily quite undefined. In 1684, a
French colony of two hundred and eighty persons was sent out to effect a
settlement on the Lower Mississippi. Passing by the mouth of the river
without discovering it, they landed in Texas, and took possession of the
country in the name of the king of France. Disaster followed disaster.
La Salle died, and the colonists were exterminated by the Indians. Not
long after this, all the country west of the Mississippi was ceded by
France to Spain, and again, some years after, was surrendered back again
by Spain to France. We have not space here to allude to the details of
these varied transactions. But this comprehensive record seems to be
essential to the full understanding of the narrative upon which we have
entered.
It was in the year 1763 that Louisiana was ceded, by France, to Spain.
In the year 1800, it was yielded back to France, under Napoleon, by a
secret article in the treaty of Sn. Ildefonso. It had now become a
matter of infinite moment to the United States that the great Republic
should have undisputed command of the Mississippi, from its source to
its mouth. President Jefferson instructed our Minister at Paris, Robert
Livingston, to negotiate with the French Government for the purchase of
Louisiana. France was then at war with England. The British fleet swept
triumphantly all the seas. Napoleon, conscious that he could not protect
Louisiana from British arms, consented to the sale. We are informed that
on the 10th of April, 1803, he summoned two of his ministers in council,
and said to them:
"I am fully sensible of the value of Louisiana; and it was my wish to
repair the error of the French diplomatists who abandoned it in 1763. I
have scarcely recovered it before I run the risk of losing it. But if I
am obliged to give it up it shall cost more to those who force me to
part with it, than to those to whom I yield it. The English have
despoiled France of all her Northern possessions in America, and now
they covet those of the South. I am determined that they shall not have
the Mississippi. Although Louisiana is but a trifle compared with their
vast possessions in other parts of the globe, yet, judging from the
vexation they have manifested on seeing it return to the power of
France, I am certain that their first object will be to obtain
possession of it.
"They will probably commence the war in that quarter. They have twenty
vessels in the Gulf of Mexico, and our affairs in St. Domingo are daily
getting worse, since the death of Le Clere. The conquest of Louisiana
might be easily made, and I have not a moment to lose in putting it out
of their reach. I am not sure but that they have already began an attack
upon it. Such a measure would be in accordance with their habits; and in
their place I should not wait. I am inclined, in order to deprive them
of all prospect of ever possessing it, to cede it to the United States.
Indeed I can hardly say I cede it, for I do not yet possess it. And if I
wait but a short time, my enemies may leave me nothing but an empty
title to grant to the Republic I wish to conciliate. They only ask for
one city of Louisiana; but I consider the whole colony as lost. And I
believe that in the hands of this rising power, it will be more useful
to the political and even the commercial interests of France, than if I
should attempt to retain it. Let me have both of your opinions upon this
subject."
One of the ministers, Barbe Marbois, cordially approved of the plan of
"cession." The other opposed it. After long deliberation, the conference
was closed, without Napoleon making known his decision. The next day he
sent for Barbe Marbois, and said to him:
"The season for deliberation is over. I have determined to part with
Louisiana. I shall give up not only New Orleans, but the whole colony
without reservation. That I do not undervalue Louisiana I have
sufficiently proved, as the object of my first treaty with Spain was to
recover it. But though I regret parting with it, I am convinced that it
would be folly to persist in trying to keep it. I commission you,
therefore, to negotiate this affair with the envoys of the United
States. Do not wait the arrival of Mr. Munroe, but go this very day and
confer with Mr. Livingston.
"Remember, however, that I need ample funds for carrying on the war; and
I do not wish to commence it by levying new taxes. During the last
century, France and Spain have incurred great expense in the
improvement of Louisiana, for which her trade has never indemnified
them. Large sums have been advanced to different companies, which have
never returned to the treasury. It is fair that I should require payment
for these. Were I to regulate my demands by the importance of this
territory to the United States, they would be unbounded. But being
obliged to part with it, I shall be moderate in my terms. Still,
remember I must have fifty millions of francs ($10,000,000), and I will
not consent to take less. I would rather make some desperate effort to
preserve this fine country."
Negotiations commenced that day. Soon Mr. Munroe arrived. On the 30th of
April, 1803, the treaty was signed, the United States paying fifteen
million dollars for the entire territory. It was stipulated by Napoleon
that Louisiana should be, as soon as possible, incorporated into the
Union; and that its inhabitants should enjoy the same rights,
privileges, and immunities as other citizens of the United States. The
third article of the treaty, securing to them these benefits, was drawn
up by Napoleon himself. He presented it to the plenipotentiaries with
these words:
"Make it known to the people of Louisiana, that we regret to part with
them; that we have stipulated for all the advantages they could desire;
and that France, in giving them up, has insured to them the greatest of
all. They could never have prospered under any European government, as
they will when they become independent. But while they enjoy the
privileges of liberty, let them ever remember that they are French, and
preserve for their mother country that affection, which a common origin
inspires."
This purchase was an immense acquisition to the United States. "I
consider," said Mr. Livingston, "that from this day, the United States
take rank with the first powers of Europe, and now she has entirely
escaped from the power of England."
Napoleon was also well pleased with the transaction, "By this cession,"
he said, "I have secured the power of the United States, and given to
England a maritime rival, who, at some future time, will humble her
pride."
The boundaries of this unexampled purchase could not be clearly defined.
There was not any known landmarks to which reference could be made. The
United States thus had the sole claim to the vast territory west of the
Mississippi, extending on the north through Oregon to the Pacific Ocean,
and on the south to the Mexican dominions. From the day of the transfer,
the natural resources of the great valley of the Mississippi began to be
rapidly developed.
The accompanying map will enable the reader more fully to understand the
geography of the above narrative.
CHAPTER IV.
_Camp Life Beyond the Alleghanies._
John Finley and his Adventures.--Aspect of the Country.--Boone's Private
Character.--His Love for the Wilderness.--First view of
Kentucky.--Emigrants' Dress.--Hunter's Home.--Capture of Boone and
Stewart by the Indians.--Their Escape.--Singular Incident.
In the year 1767, a bold hunter by the name of John Finley with two or
three companions crossed the mountain range of the Alleghanies into the
region beyond, now known as Kentucky. The mountains where he crossed,
consisting of a series of parallel ridges, some of which were quite
impassable save at particular points, presented a rugged expanse nearly
fifty miles in breadth. It took many weary days for these moccassined
feet to traverse the wild solitudes. The Indian avoids the mountains. He
chooses the smooth prairie where the buffalo and the elk graze, and
where the wild turkey, the grouse and the prairie chicken, wing their
flight, or the banks of some placid stream over which he can glide in
his birch canoe, and where fish of every variety can be taken. Indeed
the Indians, with an eye for picturesque beauty, seldom reared their
villages in the forest, whose glooms repelled them. Generally where the
forest approached the stream, they clustered their wigwams in its edge,
with the tranquil river and the open country spread out before them.
John Finley and his companions traversed the broad expanse of the
Alleghanies, without meeting any signs of human life. The extreme
western ridge of these parallel eminences or spurs, has received the
name of the Cumberland mountains. Passing through a gorge, which has
since then become renowned in peace and war as Cumberland Gap, they
entered upon a vast undulating expanse, of wonderful fertility and
beauty. In its rivers, its plains, its forests, its gentle eminences,
its bright skies and salubrious clime, it presented then, as now, as
attractive a residence for man as this globe can furnish. Finley and his
companions spent several months roving through this, to them, new Eden.
Game of every variety abounded. Through some inexplicable reason, no
Indians held possession of the country. But wandering tribes, whose
homes and acknowledged territory were far away in the north, the west,
and the south, were ever traversing these regions in hunting bands. They
often met in bloody encounters. These conflicts were so frequent and so
sanguinary, that this realm so highly favored of God for the promotion
of all happiness, subsequently received the appropriate name of "The
dark and bloody ground."
After an absence of many months, Finley and his companions returned to
North Carolina, with the most glowing accounts of the new country which
they had found. Their story of the beauty of those realms was so
extravagant, that many regarded them as gross exaggerations. It
subsequently appeared, however, that they were essentially true. A more
lovely and attractive region cannot be found on earth. It is man's
inhumanity to man, mainly, which has ever caused such countless millions
to mourn.
Daniel Boone listened eagerly to the recital of John Finley and his
associates. The story they told added fuel to the flame of emigration,
which was already consuming him. He talked more and more earnestly of
his desire to cross the mountains. We know not what were the emotions
with which his wife was agitated, in view of her husband's increasing
desire for another plunge into the wilderness. We simply know that
through her whole career, she manifested the most tender solicitude to
accommodate herself to the wishes of her beloved husband. Indeed he was
a man peculiarly calculated to win a noble woman's love. Gentle in his
demeanor, and in all his utterances, mild and affectionate in his
intercourse with his family, he seemed quite unconscious of the heroism
he manifested in those achievements, which gave him ever increasing
renown.
Life in the cabin of the frontiersman, where the wants are few, and the
supplies abundant, is comparatively a leisure life. These men knew but
little of the hurry and the bustle with which those in the crowded city
engage daily in the almost deadly struggle for bread. There was no want
in the cabin of Daniel Boone. As these two hardy adventurers, John
Finley and Daniel Boone, sat together hour after hour by the fire,
talking of the new country which Finley had explored, the hearts of both
burned within them again to penetrate those remote realms. To them there
were no hardships in the journey. At the close of each day's march,
which but slightly wearied their toughened sinews, they could in a few
moments throw up a shelter, beneath which they would enjoy more
luxurious sleep than the traveler, after being rocked in the rail-cars,
can now find on the softest couches of our metropolitan hotels. And the
dainty morsel cut with artistic skill from the fat buffalo, and toasted
on the end of a ramrod before the camp-fire, possessed a relish which
few epicures have ever experienced at the most sumptuous tables in Paris
or New York. And as these men seem to have been constitutionally devoid
of any emotions of fear from wild beasts, or still wilder Indians, the
idea of a journey of a few hundred miles in the wilderness was not one
to be regarded by them with any special solicitude.
Gradually they formed a plan for organizing a small party to traverse
these beautiful realms in search of a new home. A company of six picked
men was formed, and Daniel Boone was chosen their leader. The names of
this party were John Finley, John Stewart, Joseph Holden, James Moncey,
and William Cool. A journey of many hundred miles was before them.
Through the vast mountain barrier, which could only be traversed by
circuitous wanderings some hundreds of miles in extent, their route was
utterly pathless, and there were many broad and rapid streams to be
crossed, which flowed through the valleys between the mountain ridges.
Though provision in abundance was scattered along the way, strong
clothing must be provided, powder and bullets they must take with them,
and all these necessaries were to be carried upon their backs, for no
pack horses could thread the defiles of the mountains or climb their
rugged cliffs. It was also necessary to make provision for the support
of the families of these adventurers during their absence of many
months. It does not appear that Mrs. Boone presented any obstacle in the
way of her husband's embarking in this adventure. Her sons were old
enough to assist her in the management of the farm, and game was still
to be found in profusion in the silent prairies and sublime forests
which surrounded them.
In the sunny clime of North Carolina May comes with all the balminess
and soft zephyrs of a more northern summer. It was a beautiful morning
on the first day of May, 1769, when Boone and his companions commenced
their adventurous journey. In the brief narrative which Boone has given
of this excursion, we perceive that it was with some considerable regret
that he separated himself from his much loved wife and children on the
peaceful banks of the Yadkin.
We must infer that the first part of their journey was fatiguing, for it
took them a full month to accomplish the passage of the mountains.
Though it was less than a hundred miles across these ridges in a direct
line, the circuitous route which it was necessary to take greatly
lengthened the distance. And as they were never in a hurry, they would
be very likely, when coming to one of the many lovely valleys on the
banks of the Holstein, or the Clinch river, to be enticed to some days
of delay. Where now there are thriving villages filled with the hum of
the industries of a high civilization, there was then but the solitary
landscape dotted with herds of buffalo and of deer.
Boone says that in many of these regions he found buffalo roving in
companies of several hundreds feeding upon the tender leaves of the
canebrake, or browsing upon the smooth and extended meadows. Being far
removed from the usual route of the Indian hunters, they were very tame,
manifesting no fear at the approach of man.
On the seventh of June, our adventurers, at the close of a day of
arduous travel, reached an eminence of the Cumberland Mountains, which
gave them a commanding and an almost entrancing view of the region
beyond, now known as the State of Kentucky. At the height upon which
they stood, the expanse spreading out to the West, until lost in the
distant horizon, presented an aspect of nature's loveliness such as few
eyes have ever beheld. The sun was brilliantly sinking, accompanied by a
gorgeous retinue of clouds. Majestic forests, wide-spread prairies, and
lakes and rivers, gilded by the setting sun, confirmed the truth of the
most glowing reports which had been heard from the lips of Finley. An
artist has seized upon this incident, which he has transferred to
canvass, in a picture which he has entitled, "Daniel Boone's first view
of Kentucky." Engravings have been so multiplied of this painting, that
it has become familiar to most eyes.
The appearance of our adventurers is thus graphically described by Mr.
Peck, in his excellent Life of Daniel Boone.
"Their dress was of the description usually worn at that period by all
forest-rangers. The outside garment was a hunting shirt, or loose open
frock, made of dressed deer-skins. Leggins, or drawers, of the same
material, covered the lower extremities, to which was appended a pair of
moccasins for the feet. The cape or collar of the hunting shirt, and the
seams of the leggins were adorned with fringes. The undergarments were
of coarse cotton. A leather belt encircled the body. On the right side
was suspended the tomahawk, to be used as a hatchet. On the left was the
hunting-knife, powder-horn, bullet-pouch, and other appendages
indispensable for a hunter. Each person bore his trusty rifle, and as
the party made its toilsome way amid the shrubs, and over the logs and
loose shrubs, that accident had thrown upon the obscure trail they were
following, each man gave a sharp lookout, as though danger, or a lurking
enemy were near. Their garments were soiled and rent; the unavoidable
result of long travel and exposure to the heavy rains which had fallen,
the weather having been stormy and uncomfortable, and they had traversed
a mountainous wilderness for several hundred miles. The leader of the
party was of full size, with a hardy, robust, sinewy frame, and keen
piercing hazel eyes, that glanced with quickness at every object as they
passed on, now cast forward in the direction they were travelling, for
signs of an old trail, and in the next moment directed askance into the
dense forest or the deep ravine, as if watching some concealed enemy.
The reader will recognise in this man, the pioneer Boone at the head of
his companions."
The peculiar character of these men is developed in the fact, that,
rapidly descending the western declivity of the mountains, they came to
a beautiful meadow upon the banks of a little stream now called Red
River. Here they reared their hut, and here they remained in apparently
luxurious idleness all the summer; and here Daniel Boone remained all of
the ensuing winter. Their object could scarcely have been to obtain
furs, for they could not transport them across the mountains. There were
in the vicinity quite a number of salt springs which the animals of the
forest frequented in immense numbers. In the brief account which Boone
gives of these long months, he simply says:
"In this forest, the habitation of beasts of every kind natural to
America, we practised hunting with great success until the twenty-second
day of December following."
Bears, buffalo and deer were mainly the large game which fell before
their rifles. Water-fowl, and also land birds of almost every variety,
were found in great profusion. It must have been a strange life which
these six men experienced during these seven months in the camp on the
silent waters of the Red River. No Indians were seen, and no traces of
them were discovered through this period. The hunters made several long
excursions in various directions, apparently examining the country in
reference to their own final settlement in it, and to the introduction
of emigrants from the Atlantic border. Indeed it has been said that
Daniel Boone was the secret agent of a company on the other side of the
mountains, who wished to obtain possession of a large extent of
territory for the formation of a colony there. But of this nothing with
certainty is known. Yet there must have been some strong controlling
motive to have induced these men to remain so long in their camp, which
consisted simply of a shed of logs, on the banks of this solitary
stream.
Three sides of the hut were enclosed. The interstices between the logs
were filled with moss or clay. The roof was also carefully covered with
bark, so as to be impervious to rain. The floor was spread over with dry
leaves and with the fragrant twigs of the hemlock, presenting a very
inviting couch for the repose of weary men. The skins of buffaloes and
of bears presented ample covering for their night's repose. The front of
the hut, facing the south, was entirely open, before which blazed their
camp-fire. Here the men seem to have been very happy. The climate was
mild; they were friendly to each other; they had good health and
abundance of food was found in their camp.
On the twenty-second of December, Boone, with one of his companions,
John Stewart, set out on one of their exploring tours. There were parts
of the country called cane-brakes, covered with cane growing so thickly
together as to be quite impenetrable to the hunter. Through portions of
these the buffaloes had trampled their way in large companies, one
following another, opening paths called _streets_. These streets had
apparently been trodden for ages. Following these paths, Boone and his
companion had advanced several miles from their camp, when suddenly a
large party of Indians sprang from their concealment and seized them
both as captives. The action was so sudden that there was no possibility
of resistance. In the following words Boone describes this event:
"This day John Stewart and I had a pleasing ramble, but fortune changed
the scene in the close of it. We had passed through a great forest, on
which stood myriads of trees, some gay with blossoms, others rich with
fruits. Nature was here a series of wonders and a fund of delight. Here
she displayed her ingenuity and industry in a variety of flowers and
fruits, beautifully colored, elegantly shaped, and charmingly flavored;
and we were diverted with innumerable animals presenting themselves
perpetually to our view.
"In the decline of the day, near Kentucky river, as we ascended the brow
of a small hill, a number of Indians rushed out upon us from a thick
canebrake and made us prisoners. The time of our sorrow was now arrived.
They plundered us of what we had, and kept us in confinement seven days,
treating us with common savage usage."
The peculiar character of Boone was here remarkably developed. His whole
course of life had made him familiar with the manners and customs of the
Indians. They were armed only with bows and arrows. He had the
death-dealing rifle which they knew not how to use. His placid temper
was never ruffled by elation in prosperity or despair in adversity. He
assumed perfect contentment with his lot, cultivated friendly relations
with them, taught them many things they did not know, and aided them in
all the ways in his power. His rifle ball would instantly strike down
the buffalo, when the arrow of the Indian would only goad him to frantic
flight.
The Indians admired the courage of their captive, appreciated his skill,
and began to regard him as a friend and a helper. They relaxed their
vigilance, while every day they were leading their prisoners far away
from their camp into the boundless West. Boone was so well acquainted
with the Indian character as to be well aware that any attempt to
escape, if unsuccessful, would cause his immediate death. The Indians,
exasperated by what they would deem such an insult to their hospitality,
would immediately bury the tomahawk in his brain. Thus seven days and
nights passed away.
At the close of each day's travel the Indians selected some attractive
spot for the night's encampment or bivouac, according to the state of
the weather, near some spring or stream. Here they built a rousing fire,
roasted choice cuts from the game they had taken, and feasted abundantly
with jokes and laughter, and many boastful stories of their
achievements. They then threw themselves upon the ground for sleep,
though some one was appointed to keep a watch over their captives. But
deceived by the entire contentment and friendliness, feigned by Boone,
and by Stewart who implicitly followed the counsel of his leader's
superior mind, all thoughts of any attempt of their captives to escape
soon ceased to influence the savages.
On the seventh night after the capture, the Indians, gorged with an
abundant feast, were all soundly asleep. It was midnight. The flickering
fire burned feebly. The night was dark. They were in the midst of an
apparently boundless forest. The favorable hour for an attempt to
escape had come. But it was full of peril. Failure was certain death,
for the Indians deemed it one of the greatest of all crimes for a
captive who had been treated with kindness to attempt to escape. A group
of fierce savages were sleeping around, each one of whom accustomed to
midnight alarms, was supposed to sleep, to use an expressive phrase,
"with one eye open." Boone, who had feigned sound slumber, cautiously
awoke his companion who was asleep and motioned him to follow. The
rustling of a leaf, the crackling of a twig, would instantly cause every
savage to grasp his bow and arrow and spring from the ground.
Fortunately the Indians had allowed their captives to retain their guns,
which had proved so valuable in obtaining game.
With step as light as the fall of a feather these men with moccasined
feet crept from the encampment. After a few moments of intense
solicitude, they found themselves in the impenetrable gloom of the
forest, and their captors still undisturbed. With vastly superior native
powers to the Indian, and equally accustomed to forest life, Boone was
in all respects their superior. With the instinct of the bee, he made a
straight line towards the encampment they had left, with the locality of
which the Indians were not acquainted. The peril which menaced them
added wings to their flight. It was mid-winter, and though not very
cold in that climate, fortunately for them, the December nights were
long.
Six precious hours would pass before the dawn of the morning would
struggle through the tree-tops. Till then the bewildered Indians could
obtain no clue whatever to the direction of their flight. Carefully
guarding against leaving any traces of their footsteps behind them, and
watching with an eagle eye lest they should encounter any other band of
savages, they pressed forward hour after hour with sinews apparently as
tireless as if they had been wrought of iron. When the fugitives reached
their camp they found it plundered and deserted. Whether the red men had
discovered it and carried off their companions as prisoners, or whether
the white men in a panic had destroyed what they could not remove and
had attempted a retreat to the settlements, was never known. It is
probable that in some way they perished in the wilderness, and that
their fate is to be added to the thousands of tragedies occurring in
this world which no pen has recorded.
The intrepid Boone and his companion Stewart seemed, however, to have no
idea of abandoning their encampment. But apprehensive that the Indians
might have discovered their retreat, they reared a small hut in another
spot, still more secret and secure. It is difficult to imagine what
motive could have led these two men to remain any longer in these
solitudes, five hundred miles from home, exposed to so many privations
and to such fearful peril. Notwithstanding the utmost care in husbanding
their resources, their powder and lead were rapidly disappearing, and
there was no more to be obtained in the wilderness. But here they
remained a month, doing apparently nothing, but living luxuriously,
according to their ideas of good cheer. The explanation is probably to
be found in the fascination of this life of a hunter, which once
enjoyed, seems almost irresistible, even to those accustomed to all the
appliances of a high civilization.
A gentleman from New York, who spent a winter among the wild scenes of
the Rocky Mountains, describes in the following graphic language, the
effect of these scenes upon his own mind:
"When I turned my horse's head from Pikes Peak, I quite regretted the
abandonment of my mountain life, solitary as it was, and more than once
thought of again taking the trail to the Salado Valley, where I enjoyed
such good sport. Apart from the feeling of loneliness, which anyone in
my situation must naturally have experienced, surrounded by the
stupendous works of nature, which in all their solitary grandeur frowned
upon me, there was something inexpressibly exhilarating in the
sensation of positive freedom from all worldly care, and a consequent
expansion of the sinews, as it were, of mind and body, which made me
feel elastic as a ball of india-rubber, and in such a state of perfect
ease, that no more dread of scalping Indians entered my mind, than if I
had been sitting in Broadway, in one of the windows of the Astor House.
"A citizen of the world, I never found any difficulty in investing my
resting place wherever it might be, with the attributes of a home.
Although liable to the accusation of barbarism, I must confess that the
very happiest moments of my life have been spent in the wilderness of
the Far West. I never recall but with pleasure the remembrance of my
solitary camp in the Bayou Salado, with no friend near me more faithful
than my rifle. With a plentiful supply of dry pine logs on the fire, and
its cheerful blaze streaming far up into the sky, illuminating the
valley far and near, I would sit enjoying the genial warmth, and watch
the blue smoke as it curled upward, building castles in its vapory
wreaths. Scarcely did I ever wish to change such hours of freedom for
all the luxuries of civilized life; and, unnatural and extraordinary as
it may appear, yet such are the fascinations of the life of the mountain
hunter, that I believe that not one instance could be adduced of even
the most polished and civilized of men, who had once tasted the sweets
of its attendant liberty, and freedom from every worldly care, not
regretting to exchange them for the monotonous life of the settlements,
and not sighing and sighing again for its pleasures and allurements.
"A hunter's camp in the Rocky Mountains, is quite a picture. It is
invariably made in a picturesque locality, for, like the Indian, the
white hunter has an eye to the beautiful. Nothing can be more social and
cheering than the welcome blaze of the camp-fire on a cold winter's
night, and nothing more amusing or entertaining, if not instructive,
than the rough conversation of the simple-minded mountaineers, whose
nearly daily task is all of exciting adventure, since their whole
existence is spent in scenes of peril and privation. Consequently the
narration is a tale of thrilling accidents, and hair-breadth escapes,
which, though simple matter-of-fact to them, appears a startling romance
to those unacquainted with the lives led by those men, who, with the sky
for a roof, and their rifles to supply them with food and clothing, call
no man lord or master, and are as free as the game they follow."
There are many events which occurred in the lives of Boone and his
companions, which would seem absolutely incredible were they not
sustained by evidence beyond dispute. Boone and Stewart were in a
boundless, pathless, wilderness of forests, mountains, rivers and lakes.
Their camp could not be reached from the settlements, but by a journey
of many weeks, apparently without the smallest clue to its location. And
yet the younger brother of Boone, upon whom had been conferred his
father's singular baptismal name of Squire, set out with a companion to
cross the mountains, in search of Daniel. One day in the latter part of
January, Boone and Stewart were quite alarmed in seeing two men approach
their camp. They supposed of course that they were Indians, and that
they were probably followed by a numerous band. Escape was impossible.
Captivity and death seemed certain. But to their surprise and delight,
the two strangers proved to be white men; one the brother of Daniel
Boone, and the other a North Carolinian who had accompanied him. They
brought with them quite a supply of powder and lead; inestimable
treasures in the remote wilderness. Daniel, in his Autobiography, in the
following simple strain, alludes to this extraordinary occurrence:
"About this time my brother Squire Boone, with another adventurer, who
came to explore the country shortly after us, was wandering through the
forest, determined to find me if possible, and accidentally found our
camp. Notwithstanding the unfortunate circumstances of our company, and
our dangerous situation as surrounded by hostile savages, our meeting so
fortunately in the wilderness made us reciprocally sensible of the
utmost satisfaction. So much does friendship triumph over misfortune,
that sorrows and sufferings vanish at the meeting, not only of real
friends, but of the most distant acquaintances, and substitute happiness
in their room."
Our hardy pioneer, far more familiar with his rifle than his pen,
comments as follows on their condition:
"We were in a helpless, dangerous situation; exposed daily to perils and
death, among savages and wild beasts. Not a white man in the country but
ourselves. Thus situated, many hundred miles from our families, in the
howling wilderness, I believe few would have equally enjoyed the
happiness we experienced. I often observed to my brother, 'You see how
little nature requires to be satisfied. Felicity, the companion of
content, is rather found in our own breasts, than in the enjoyment of
external things; and I firmly believe it requires but a little
philosophy to make a man happy in whatsoever state he is. This consists
in a full resignation to the will of Providence; and a resigned soul
finds pleasure in a path strewed with briers and thorns.'"
CHAPTER V.
_Indian Warfare._
Alleghany Ridges.--Voyage in a canoe.--Speech of Logan.--Battle at the
Kanawha.--Narrative of Francis Marion.--Important commission of
Boone.--Council at Circleville.--Treaty of Peace.--Imlay's description
of Kentucky.--Settlement right.--Richard Henderson.--Boone's letter.--Fort
at Boonesborough.
The valley of the Clinch river is but one of the many magnificent
ravines amid the gigantic ranges of the Alleghany mountains. Boone,
speaking of these ridges which he so often had occasion to cross, says:
"These mountains in the wilderness, as we pass from the old settlements
in Virginia to Kentucky, are ranged in a south-west and north-east
direction and are of great length and breadth and not far distant from
each other. Over them nature hath formed passes that are less difficult
than might be expected from a view of such huge piles. The aspect of
these cliffs is so wild and horrid that it is impossible to behold them
without terror. The spectator is apt to imagine that nature has formerly
suffered some violent convulsion, and that these are the dismembered
remains of the dreadful shock."
One cannot but regret that no memorials are left of a wonderful journey,
full of romantic interest and exciting adventure, which Boone at one
time took to the Falls of the Ohio, to warn some surveyors of their
danger. He reached them in safety, rescued them from certain death, and
conducted them triumphantly back to the settlements. So long as the
white men, with their rifles, could keep upon the open prairie, they
could defend themselves from almost any number of Indians, who could
only assail them with bows and arrows. But the moment they entered the
forest, or any ravine among the hills, the little band was liable to
hear the war-whoop of a thousand Indian braves in the ambush around, and
to be assailed by a storm of arrows and javelins from unseen hands.
A few days after Boone's arrival at the encampment near the Falls of the
Ohio, and as the surveyors were breaking camp in preparation for their
precipitate retreat, several of their number who had gone to a spring at
a short distance from the camp, were suddenly attacked on the twentieth
of July by a large party of Indians. One was instantly killed. The rest
being nearly surrounded, fled as best they could in all directions. One
man hotly pursued, rushed along an Indian trail till he reached the Ohio
river. Here he chanced to find a bark canoe. He jumped into it and
pushed out into the rapid stream till beyond the reach of the Indian
arrows. The swift current bore him down the river, by curves and
head-lands, till he was far beyond the encampment.
[Illustration]
To return against the strong flood, with the savages watching for him,
seemed perilous, if not impossible. It is said that he floated down the
whole length of the Ohio and of the Mississippi, a distance not less
probably, counting the curvatures of the stream, than two thousand
miles, and finally found his way by sea to Philadelphia, probably in
some vessel which he encountered near the coast. This is certainly one
of the most extraordinary voyages which ever occurred. It was
mid-summer, so that he could not suffer from cold. Grapes often hung in
rich clusters in the forests, which lined the river banks, and various
kinds of nutritious berries were easily gathered to satisfy hunger.
As these men never went into the forest without the rifle and a supply
of ammunition, and as they never lost a bullet by an inaccurate shot, it
is not probable that our adventurer suffered from hunger. But the
incidents of such a voyage must have been so wonderful, that it is
greatly to be regretted that we have no record of them.
The apprehensions of Lord Dunmore, respecting the conspiracy of the
Indians, proved to have been well founded. Though Boone, with his great
sagacity, led his little band by safe paths back to the settlements, a
very fierce warfare immediately blazed forth all along the Virginia
frontier. This conflict with the Indians, very brief and very bloody, is
usually called Lord Dunmore's war. The white men have told the story,
and they admit that the war "arose in consequence of cold-blooded
murders committed upon inoffensive Indians in the region of the upper
Ohio."
One of the provocatives to this war was the assassination by fiendlike
white men of the whole family of the renowned Indian chief, Logan, in
the vicinity of the city of Wheeling. Logan had been the friend of the
white man. But exasperated by these outrages, he seized his tomahawk
breathing only vengeance. General Gibson was sent to one of the
Shawanese towns to confer with Logan and to detach him from the
conspiracy against the whites. It was on this occasion that Logan made
that celebrated speech whose pathetic eloquence will ever move the human
heart:
"I appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered Logan's cabin
hungry, and I gave him not meat; if ever he came cold or naked and I
gave him not clothing. During the course of the last long and bloody
war, Logan remained in his tent, an advocate of peace. Nay, such was my
love for the whites, that those of my own country pointed at me and
said, 'Logan is the friend of white men.' I had even thought to live
with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last
spring, in cool blood and unprovoked, cut off all the relatives of
Logan, not sparing even my women and children. There runs not a drop of
my blood in the veins of any human creature. This called on me for
revenge. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my
country, I rejoice at the beams of peace. Yet do not harbor the thought
that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on
his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan?"
This war, though it lasted but a few months, was very sanguinary. Every
exposed point on the extensive Virginia frontier was assailed. Cabins
were burned, harvests were trampled down, cattle driven off, and men,
women, and children either butchered or carried into captivity more
dreadful than death. The peril was so dreadful that the most
extraordinary efforts on the part of the Virginian Government were
requisite to meet it. An army of three thousand men was raised in the
utmost haste. This force was in two divisions. One of eleven hundred men
rendezvoused in what is now Green Briar county, and marched down the
valley of the Great Kanawha, to its entrance into the Ohio, at a place
now named Point Pleasant.
Lord Dunmore with the remaining nineteen hundred crossed the Cumberland
mountains to Wheeling, and thence descended the Ohio in boats, to form a
junction with the other party at the mouth of the Great Kanawha. Thence
united, they were to march across the country about forty miles due
west, to the valley of the Scioto. The banks of this lovely stream were
lined with Indian villages, in a high state of prosperity. Corn-fields
waved luxuriantly around their humble dwellings. They were living at
peace with each other, and relied far more upon the produce of the soil,
than upon the chase, for their support.
It was the plan of Lord Dunmore to sweep this whole region with utter
desolation, and entirely to exterminate the Indians. But the savages did
not await his arrival in their own homes. Many of them had obtained guns
and ammunition from the French in Canada, with whom they seem to have
lived on the most friendly terms.
In a well-ordered army for Indian warfare, whose numbers cannot now with
certainty be known, they crossed the Ohio, below the mouth of the Great
Kanawha, and marching through the forest, in the rear of the hills, fell
by surprise very impetuously upon the rear of the encampment at Point
Pleasant. The Indians seemed to be fully aware that their only safety
was in the energies of desperation. One of the most bloody battles was
then fought, which ever occurred in Indian warfare. Though the
Virginians with far more potent weapons repelled their assailants, they
paid dearly for their victory. Two hundred and fifteen of the Virginians
fell dead or severely wounded beneath the bullets or arrows of their
foes. The loss which the savages incurred could never be ascertained
with accuracy. It was generally believed that several hundred of their
warriors were struck down on that bloody field.
The whites, accustomed to Indian warfare and skilled in the use of the
rifle, scarcely fired a shot which did not reach its mark. In the
cautious warfare between the tribes, fighting with arrows from behind
trees, the loss of fifteen or twenty warriors was deemed a great
calamity. Now, to find hundreds of their braves weltering in blood, was
awful beyond precedent, and gave them new ideas of the prowess of the
white man. In this conflict the Indians manifested a very considerable
degree of military ability. Having constructed a breastwork of logs,
behind which they could retreat in case of a repulse, they formed in a
long line extending across the point from the Kanawha to the Ohio. Then
they advanced in the impetuous attack through the forest, protected by
logs, and stumps, and trees. Had they succeeded in their assault, there
would have been no possible escape for the Virginian troops. They must
have been annihilated.
The Indians had assembled on that field nearly all the warriors of four
powerful tribes; the Shawnee, Delaware, Mingo and Wyandotts. After the
repulse, panic-stricken, they fled through the wilderness, unable to
make any other stand against their foes. Lord Dunmore, with his
triumphant army flushed with victory and maddened by its serious loss,
marched rapidly down the left bank of the Ohio, and then crossed into
the valley of the Scioto to sweep it with flame. We have no account of
the details of this cruel expedition, but the following graphic
description of a similar excursion into the land belonging to the
Cherokees, will give one a vivid idea of the nature of these conflicts.
The celebrated Francis Marion, who was an officer in the campaign, and
an eye-witness of the scenes which he describes, gives the following
narrative of the events which ensued:
"Now commenced a scene of devastation scarcely paralleled in the annals
of this continent. For thirty days the army employed themselves in
burning and ravaging the settlements of the broken-spirited Indians. No
less than fourteen of their towns were laid in ashes; their granaries
were yielded to the flames, their corn-fields ravaged, while the
miserable fugitives, flying from the sword, took refuge with their
starving families among the mountains. As the lands were rich and the
season had been favorable, the corn was bending under the double weight
of lusty roasting ears and pods and clustering beans. The furrows seemed
to rejoice under their precious loads. The fields stood thick with
bread. We encamped the first night in the woods near the fields where
the whole army feasted on the young corn, which, with fat venison, made
a most delicious treat. The next morning, by order of Col. Grant, we
proceeded to burn down the Indian cabins.
"Some of our men seemed to enjoy this cruel work, laughing very heartily
at the curling flames as they mounted loud crackling over the tops of
the huts. But to me it appeared a shocking sight. 'Poor creatures!'
thought I, 'we surely need not grudge you such miserable habitations.'
But when we came according to orders to cut down the fields of corn, I
could scarcely refrain from tears; for who could see the stalks that
stood so stately, with broad green leaves and gaily tasseled shocks,
filled with the sweet milky flour, the staff of life,--who, I say, could
see without grief these sacred plants sinking under our swords with all
their precious load, to wither and rot untasted in the fields.
"I saw everywhere around the footsteps of little Indian children, where
they had lately played under shelter of the rustling corn. No doubt they
had often looked up with joy to the swelling shocks, and were gladdened
when they thought of the abundant cakes for the coming winter. 'When we
are gone,' thought I, 'they will return, and peeping through the weeds,
with tearful eyes, will mark the ghastly ruin poured over their homes
and the happy fields where they had so often played.'"
Such was life among the comparatively intelligent tribes in the
beautiful and fertile valley of the Scioto. Such was the scene of
devastation, or of "punishing the Indians," as it was called, upon which
Lord Dunmore's army entered, intending to sweep the valley with fire and
sword from its opening at the Ohio to its head waters leagues away in
the North.
In this campaign the Indians, while with much sagacity they combined
their main force to encounter the army under Lord Dunmore, detached
separate bands of picked warriors to assail the settlements on the
frontier at every exposed point. These bands of painted savages,
emerging from the solitudes of the forests at midnight, would fall with
hideous yells upon the lone cabin of the settler, or upon a little
cluster of log huts, and in a few hours nothing would be left but
smouldering ruins and gory corpses.
To Daniel Boone, who had manifested wonderful skill in baffling all the
stratagems of Indian warfare, was assigned the difficult and infinitely
important task of protecting these frontiers. Three garrisons were
placed under his command, over which he exercised supreme control. He
located them at the most available points; noiselessly passed from one
to the other to see that they were fortified according to the most
approved principles of military engineering then known in the forest.
His scouts were everywhere, to give prompt notice of any approach of
hostile bands. Thus this quiet, silent man, with great efficiency,
fulfilled his mission to universal satisfaction. Without seeking fame,
without thinking even of such a reward for his services, his sagacity
and his virtues were rapidly giving him a very enviable reputation
throughout all those regions.
The discomfited Indians had become thoroughly disheartened, and sent
couriers to Lord Dunmore imploring peace. Comstock, their chief, seems
to have been a man not only of strong native powers of mind, but of
unusual intelligence. With quite a brilliant retinue of his warriors, he
met Lord Dunmore in council at a point in the valley of the Scioto,
about four miles south of the present city of Circleville. Comstock
himself opened the deliberations with a speech of great dignity and
argumentative power. In a loud voice, which was heard, as he intended,
by all in the camp, he portrayed the former prosperous condition of the
Indian tribes, powerful in numbers and abounding in wealth, in the
enjoyment of their rich corn-fields, and their forests filled with game.
With this he contrasted very forcibly their present wretched condition,
with diminished numbers, and with the loss of their hunting grounds. He
reproached the whites with the violation of their treaty obligations,
and declared that the Indians had been forbearing in the extreme under
the wrongs which had been inflicted upon them.
"We know," said he, "perfectly well, our weakness when compared with the
English. The Indians desire only justice. The war was not sought by us,
but was forced upon us. It was commenced by the whites. We should have
merited the contempt of every white man could we have tamely submitted
to the murders which have been inflicted upon our unoffending people at
the hands of the white men."
The power was with Lord Dunmore. In the treaty of peace he exacted terms
which, though very hard for the Indians, were perhaps not more than he
had a right to require. The Indians surrendered four of their principal
warriors as hostages for the faithful observance of the treaty. They
relinquished all claims whatever to the vast hunting grounds which
their bands from time immemorial had ranged south of the Ohio river.
This was an immense concession. Lord Dunmore returned across the
mountains well satisfied with his campaign, though his soldiers were
excited almost to mutiny in not being permitted to wreak their vengeance
upon the unhappy savages.
And here let it be remarked, that deeply wronged as these Indians
unquestionably were, there was not a little excuse for the exasperation
of the whites. Fiends incarnate could not have invented more terrible
tortures than they often inflicted upon their captives. We have no heart
to describe these scenes. They are too awful to be contemplated. In view
of the horrid barbarity thus practised, it is not strange that the
English should have wished to shoot down the whole race, men, women, and
children, as they would exterminate wolves or bears.
This campaign being thus successfully terminated, Daniel Boone returned
to his humble cabin on the Clinch River. Here he had a small and fertile
farm, which his energetic family had successfully cultivated during the
summer, and he spent the winter months in his favorite occupation of
hunting in the forests around. His thoughtful mind, during these long
and solitary rambles, was undoubtedly occupied with plans for the
future. Emigration to his beautiful Kentucky was still his engrossing
thought.
It is not wonderful that a man of such fearless temperament, and a
natural turn of mind so poetic and imaginative, should have been charmed
beyond expression by a realm whose attractions he had so fully
experienced. That the glowing descriptions of Boone and Finley were not
exaggerated, is manifest from the equally rapturous account of others
who now began to explore this favored land. Imlay writes of that region:
"Everything here assumes a dignity and splendor I have never seen in any
other part of the world. You ascend a considerable distance from the
shores of the Ohio, and when you would suppose you had arrived at the
summit of a mountain, you find yourself upon an extensive level. Here an
eternal verdure reigns, and the brilliant sun of latitude 39 degrees,
piercing through the azure heavens, produces in this prolific soil an
early maturity which is truly astonishing. Flowers full and perfect, as
if they had been cultivated by the hand of a florist, with all their
captivating odors, and with all the variegated charms which color and
nature can produce, here in the lap of elegance and beauty, decorate the
smiling groves. Soft zephyrs gently breathe on sweets, and the inhaled
air gives a glow of health and vigor that seems to ravish the
intoxicated senses."
The Virginian government now resolved to pour a tide of emigration into
these as yet unexplored realms, south of the Ohio. Four hundred acres of
land were offered to every individual who would build a cabin, clear a
lot of land, and raise a crop of corn. This was called a settlement
right. It was not stated how large the clearing should be, or how
extensive the corn-field. Several settlements were thus begun in
Kentucky, when there was a new and extraordinary movement which
attracted universal attention.
A very remarkable man, named Richard Henderson, appeared in North
Carolina. Emerging from the humblest walks of life, and unable even to
read until he had obtained maturity, he developed powers of
conversational eloquence and administrative ability of the highest
order.
The Cherokee Indians claimed the whole country bounded by the Kentucky,
the Ohio, and the Cumberland rivers, and we know not how much more
territory extending indefinitely to the South and West. Colonel
Henderson formed an association of gentlemen, which he called the
Transylvania Company. Making a secret journey to the Cherokee country,
he met twelve hundred chiefs in council, and purchased of them the whole
territory, equal to some European kingdoms, bounded by the above
mentioned rivers. For this realm, above a hundred miles square, he paid
the insignificant sum of ten wagon loads of cheap goods, with a few
fire-arms and some spirituous liquors.
Mr. Henderson, to whom the rest of the company seemed to have delegated
all their powers, now assumed the position of proprietor, governor, and
legislator of his magnificent domain, which he called Transylvania. It
seems that Boone accompanied Colonel Henderson to the council of the
Cherokee chieftains which was held at Wataga, the southern branch of the
Holston River. Boone had explored nearly the whole of this region, and
it was upon his testimony that the company relied in endeavoring to
purchase these rich and fertile lands. Indeed, as we have before
intimated, it has been said that Boone in his wonderful and perilous
explorations was the agent of this secret company.
No treaties with the Indians were sure of general acquiescence. There
were always discontented chieftains; there were almost always
conflicting claims of hostile tribes; there were always wandering tribes
of hunters and of warriors, who, exasperated by the treatment which they
had received from vagabond white men, were ever ready to wreak their
vengeance upon any band of emigrants they might encounter.
Colonel Henderson's treaty was made in the month of March, 1775. With
characteristic vigor, he immediately made preparations for the
settlement of the kingdom of which he was the proud monarch. The first
thing to be done was to mark out a feasible path through which emigrants
might pass, without losing their way, over the mountains and through
the wilderness, to the heart of this new Eden. Of all the men in the
world, Daniel Boone was the one to map out this route of five hundred
miles. He took with him a company of road-makers, and in a few months
opened a path which could be traversed by pack-horses, and even by
wagons to a place called Boonesville on the Kentucky river, within about
thirty miles of the present site of Lexington.
The Indian hunters and warriors, notwithstanding the treaties into which
the chieftains of the North and the South had entered, watched the
construction of this road with great solicitude. They knew full well
that it would ere long secure their expulsion from their ancient hunting
grounds. Though no general warfare was organized by the tribes, it was
necessary to be constantly on the watch against lawless bands, who were
determined to harass the pioneers in every possible way. In the
following letter Boone communicated to Colonel Henderson the hostility
which they had, perhaps unexpectedly, encountered. It was dated the
first of April, and was sent back by a courier through the woods:
"Dear Colonel,--
"After my compliments to you, I shall acquaint you with my
misfortunes. On March the Twenty-fifth, a party of Indians fired
on my company about half an hour before day, and killed Mr. Twitty
and his negro, and wounded Mr. Walker very deeply; but I hope he
will recover. On March the Twenty-eighth, as we were hunting for
provisions, we found Samuel Tale's son who gave us an account that
the Indians fired on their camp on the twenty-seventh day. My
brother and I went down and found two men killed and scalped,
Thomas McDowell and Jeremiah McPeters. I have sent a man down to
all the lower companies, in order to gather them all to the mouth
of the Otter Creek. My advice to you, sir, is to come or send as
soon as possible. Your company is desired greatly, for the people
are very uneasy, but are willing to stay and venture their lives
with you. And now is the time to frustrate their (the Indians)
intentions, and keep the country while we are in it. If we give way
to them now, it will ever be the case. This day we start from the
battle ground to the mouth of Otter Creek, where we shall
immediately erect a fort, which will be done before you can come or
send. Then we can send ten men to meet you, if you send for them.
"I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,
"DANIEL BOONE."
Boone immediately commenced upon the left bank of the Kentucky river,
which here ran in a westerly direction, the erection of a fort. Their
position was full of peril, for the road-makers were but few in number,
and Indian warriors to the number of many hundreds might at any time
encircle them. Many of these Indians had also obtained muskets from the
French in Canada, and had become practiced marksmen. Nearly three months
were busily occupied in the construction of this important fort.
Fortunately we have a minute description of its structure, and a sketch
of its appearance, either from the pencil of Colonel Henderson, or of
some one in his employ.
The fort or fortress consisted of a series of strong log huts, enclosing
a large interior or square. The parallelogram was about two hundred and
sixty feet in length and one hundred and fifty in breadth. These cabins,
built of logs, were bullet-proof. The intervals between them were filled
with stout pieces of timber, about twelve feet high, planted firmly in
the ground, in close contact with each other, and sharpened at the top.
The fort was built close to the river, with one of its angles almost
overhanging the water, so that an abundant supply could be obtained
without peril. Each of the corner houses projected a little, so that
from the port-holes any Indian could be shot who should approach the
walls with ladder or hatchet. This really artistic structure was not
completed until the fourteenth day of June. The Indians from a distance
watched its progress with dismay. They made one attack, but were easily
repelled, though they succeeded in shooting one of the emigrants.
Daniel Boone contemplated the fortress on its completion with much
satisfaction. He was fully assured that behind its walls and palisades
bold hearts, with an ample supply of ammunition, could repel any
assaults which the Indians were capable of making. He now resolved
immediately to return to Clinch river, and bring his family out to share
with him his new and attractive home.
CHAPTER VI.
_Sufferings of the Pioneers._
Emigration to Boonesborough.--New Perils.--Transylvania
Company.--Beneficence of its Laws.--Interesting Incident.--Infamous
conduct of Great Britain.--Attack on the Fort.--Reinforcements.--Simon
Kenton and his Sufferings.--Mrs. Harvey.
The fortress at Boonesborough consisted of ten strong log huts arranged
in a quadrangular form, enclosing an area of about one-third of an acre.
The intervals, as before stated, between the huts, were filled with
strong palisades of timber, which, like the huts themselves, were
bullet-proof. The outer sides of the cabins, together with the
palisades, formed the sides of the fort exposed to the foe. Each of
these cabins was about twenty feet in length and twelve or fifteen in
breadth. There were two entrance gates opposite each other, made of
thick slabs of timber, and hung on wooden hinges. The forest, which was
quite dense, had been cut away to such a distance as to expose an
assailing party to the bullets of the garrison. As at that time the
Indians were armed mainly with bows and arrows, a few men fully supplied
with ammunition within the fort could bid defiance to almost any number
of savages. And subsequently, as the Indians obtained fire-arms, they
could not hope to capture the fort without a long siege, or by assailing
it with a vastly overwhelming superiority of numbers. The accompanying
illustration will give the reader a very correct idea of this renowned
fortress of logs, which was regarded as the Gibraltar of Indian warfare.
Having finished this fort Daniel Boone, leaving a sufficient garrison
for its security, set out for his home on the Clinch river to bring his
wife and family to the beautiful land he so long had coveted for their
residence. It seems that his wife and daughters were eager to follow
their father to the banks of the Kentucky, whose charms he had so
glowingly described to them. Several other families were also induced to
join the party of emigration. They could dwell together in a very social
community and in perfect safety in the spacious cabins within the
fortress. The river would furnish them with an unfailing supply of
water. The hunters, with their rifles, could supply them with game, and
with those rifles could protect themselves while laboring in the fields,
which with the axe they had laid open to the sun around the fort. The
hunters and the farmers at night returning within the enclosure, felt
perfectly safe from all assaults.
Daniel Boone commenced his journey with his wife and children, and
others who joined them, back to Boonesborough in high spirits. It was a
long journey of several hundred miles, and to many persons it would seem
a journey fraught with great peril, for they were in danger almost every
mile of the way, of encountering hostile Indians. But Boone, accustomed
to traversing the wilderness, and accompanied by well armed men, felt no
more apprehensions of danger than the father of a family would at the
present day in traveling by cars from Massachusetts to Pennsylvania.
It was beautiful autumnal weather when the party of pioneers commenced
its adventurous tour through the wilderness, to find a new home five
hundred miles beyond even the remotest frontiers of civilization. There
were three families besides that of Boone, and numbered in all
twenty-six men, four women, and four or five boys and girls of various
ages. Daniel Boone was the happy leader of this heroic little band.
In due time they all arrived safely at Boonesborough "without having
encountered," as Boone writes, "any other difficulties than such as are
common to this passage." As they approached the fort, Boone and his
family, for some unexplained reason, pressed forward, and entered the
fortress a few days in advance of the rest of the party. Perhaps Boone
himself had a little pride to have it said, that Mrs. Boone and her
daughter were the first of her color and sex that ever stood upon the
banks of the wild and beautiful Kentucky.
A few days after their arrival, the emigrants had a very solemn
admonition of the peril which surrounded them, and of the necessity of
constant vigilance to guard against a treacherous and sleepless foe. One
of their number who had sauntered but a short distance from the fort,
lured by the combined beauty of the field, the forest and the river, was
shot by a prowling Indian, who, raising the war-whoop of exultation and
defiance, immediately disappeared in the depths of the wilderness.
Colonel Henderson and his partners, anxious to promote the settlement of
the country, by organising parties of emigration, were busy in making
known through the settlements the absolute security of the fort at
Boonesborough, and the wonderful attractions of the region, in soil,
climate, and abounding game. Henderson himself soon started with a large
party, forty of whom were well armed. A number of pack-horses conveyed
the luggage of the emigrants. Following the very imperfect road that
Boone with much skill had engineered, which was quite tolerable for
pack-horses in single file, they reached Boonesborough early in the
following spring.
The Transylvania Company was in the full flush of successful experiment.
Small parties of emigrants were constantly arriving. Boonesborough was
the capital of the colony. Various small settlements were settled in its
vicinity. Colonel Henderson opened a land office there, and in the
course of a few months, over half a million of acres were entered, by
settlers or speculators. These men did not purchase the lands outright,
but bound themselves to pay a small but perpetual rent. The titles,
which they supposed to be perfectly good, were given in the name of the
"proprietors of the Colony of Transylvania, in America."
Soon four settlements were organised called Boonesborough, Harrodsburg,
Boiling Spring, and St. Asaph. Colonel Henderson, on the twenty-third of
May, 1775, as president or rather sovereign of this extraordinary realm,
summoned a legislature consisting of delegates from this handful of
pioneers, to meet at his capital, Boonesborough. Henderson presided.
Daniel and his brother Squire were delegates from Boonesborough. A
clergyman, the Reverend John Leythe, opened the session with prayer.
Colonel Henderson made a remarkable and admirable speech. This
extraordinary legislature represented only a constituency of one hundred
and fifty souls. But the Colonel presented to them very clearly the true
republican principle of government. He declared that the only legitimate
source of political power is to be found in the will of the people, and
added:
"If any doubts remain among you with respect to the force and efficiency
of whatever laws you now or hereafter make, be pleased to consider that
all power is originally in the people. Make it their interest,
therefore, by impartial and beneficent laws, and you may be sure of
their inclination to see them enforced."
Rumors of these extraordinary proceedings reached the ears of Lord
Dunmore. He considered the whole region of Kentucky as included in the
original grant of Virginia, and that the Government of Virginia alone
had the right to extinguish the Indian title to any of those lands. He
therefore issued a proclamation, denouncing in the severest terms the
"unlawful proceedings of one Richard Henderson and other disorderly
persons, his associates." The legislature continued in session but three
days, and honored itself greatly by its energetic action, and by the
character of the laws which it inaugurated. One bill was introduced for
preserving game; another for improving the breed of their horses; and it
is worthy of especial record that a law was passed prohibiting profane
swearing and Sabbath breaking.
The moral sense of these bold pioneers was shocked at the desecration of
the Creator's name among their sublime solitudes.
The controversy between the Transylvania Company and the Government of
Virginia was short but very sharp. Virginia could then very easily send
an army of several thousand men to exterminate the Kentucky colony. A
compromise was the result. The title of Henderson was declared "null and
void." But he received in compensation a grant of land on the Ohio,
about twelve miles square, below the mouth of Green River. Virginia
assumed that the Indian title was entirely extinguished, and the region
called Transylvania now belonged without encumbrance to the Old
Dominion.
Still the tide of emigration continued to flow into this beautiful
region. Among others came the family of Colonel Calloway, consisting of
his wife and two daughters. For a long time no Indians had been seen in
the vicinity of Boonesborough. No one seemed to apprehend the least
danger from them, and the people in the fort wandered about as freely as
if no foe had ever excited their fears. An accident occurred which sent
a tremor of dismay through the whole colony, and which we will describe
as related to the intelligent historian, Peck, from the lips of one of
the parties, who experienced all the terrors of the scene:
"On the fourteenth of July, 1776, Betsey Calloway, her sister Frances,
and Jemima Boone, a daughter of Daniel Boone, the two last about
fourteen years of age, carelessly crossed the river opposite
Boonesborough in a canoe, at a late hour in the afternoon. The trees
and shrubs on the opposite bank were thick, and came down to the water's
edge. The girls, unconscious of danger, were playing and splashing the
water with their paddles, until the canoe floating with the current,
drifted near the shore. Five stout Indians lay there concealed, one of
whom, noiseless and stealthy as the serpent, crawled down the bank until
he reached the rope that hung from the bow, turned its course up the
stream, and in a direction to be hidden from the view of the fort. The
loud shrieks of the captured girls were heard, but too late for their
rescue.
"The canoe, their only means of crossing, was on the opposite shore, and
none dared to risk the chance of swimming the river, under the
impression that a large body of savages was concealed in the woods.
Boone and Calloway were both absent, and night came on before
arrangements could be made for their pursuit. Next morning by daylight
we were on the track, and found they had prevented our following them by
walking some distance apart through the thickest canes they could find.
We observed their course, and on which side they had left their sign and
traveled upwards of thirty miles. We then imagined they would be less
cautious in traveling, and made a turn in order to cross their trace,
and had gone but a few miles when we found their tracks in a buffalo
path. We pursued and overtook them on going about ten miles, as they
were kindling a fire to cook.
[Illustration]
"Our study had been more to get the prisoners without giving the Indians
time to murder them, after they discovered us, than to kill them. We
discovered each other nearly at the same time. Four of us fired, and all
of us rushed on them, which prevented them from carrying away anything,
except one shot-gun without ammunition. Mr. Boone and myself had a
pretty fair shoot, just as they began to move off. I am well convinced I
shot one through, and the one he shot dropped his gun. Mine had none.
The place was very thick with canes, and being so much elated on
recovering the three broken-hearted girls, prevented our making further
search. We sent them off without their mocassins, and not one of them
with so much as a knife or a tomahawk."
The Indians seemed to awake increasingly to the consciousness that the
empire of the white man in their country could only exist upon the ruins
of their own. They divided themselves into several parties, making
incessant attacks upon the forts, and prowling around to shoot every
white man who could be found within reach of their bullets. They avoided
all open warfare, and fought only when they could spring from an ambush,
or when protected by a stump, a rock, or a tree. An Indian would conceal
himself in the night behind a stump, shoot the first one who emerged
from the fort in the morning, and then with a yell disappear in the
recesses of the forest. The cattle could scarcely appear for an hour to
graze beyond the protection of the fort, without danger of being struck
down by the bullet of an unseen foe.
The war of the American Revolution was just commencing. Dreadfully it
added to the perils of these distant emigrants. The British Government,
with infamy which can never be effaced from her records, called in to
her aid the tomahawk and the scalping knife of the savage. The Indian
alone in his wild and merciless barbarity, was terrible enough. But when
he appeared as the ally of a powerful nation, guided in his operations
by the wisdom of her officers, and well provided with guns, powder, and
bullets from inexhaustible resources, the settler had indeed reason to
tremble. The winter of 1776 and 1777 was gloomy beyond expression. The
Indians were hourly becoming more bold. Their predatory bands were
wandering in all directions, and almost every day came fraught with
tidings of outrage or massacre.
The whole military force of the colony was but about one hundred men.
Three hundred of the pioneers, dismayed by the cloud of menace, every
hour growing blacker, had returned across the moutains. There were but
twenty-two armed men left in the fort at Boonesborough. The dismal
winter passed slowly away, and the spring opened replete with nature's
bloom and beauty, but darkened by the depravity of man. On the fifteenth
of April, a band of a hundred howling Indians appeared in the forest
before Boonesborough. With far more than their ordinary audacity, they
rushed from their covert upon the fort. Had they been acquainted with
the use of scaling ladders, by attacking at different points, they might
easily, by their superior numbers, have carried the place by storm.
But fortunately the savages had but little military science, and when
once repulsed, would usually retreat in dismay. The garrison, behind
their impenetrable logs, took deliberate aim, and every bullet killed or
wounded some Indian warrior. The savages fought with great bravery, and
succeeded in killing one man in the garrison. Dismayed by the slaughter
which they were encountering, they fled, taking their dead and wounded
with them. But so fully were they conscious, that would they retain
their own supremacy in the wilderness, they must exterminate the white
man, that their retreat was only in preparation for a return with
accumulated numbers.
An intelligent historian writes:
"Daniel Boone appears before us in these exciting times the central
figure towering like a colossus amid that hardy band of pioneers who
opposed their breasts to the shock of the struggle which gave a terrible
significance and a crimson hue to the history of the old dark and bloody
ground."
The Indians were scattered everywhere in desperate bands. Forty men were
sent from North Carolina and a hundred from Virginia, under Colonel
Bowman, to strengthen the feeble settlements. The latter party arrived
on the twentieth of August, 1776. There were at that time skirmishes
with the Indians almost every day at some point. The pioneers within
their log-houses, or behind their palisades, generally repelled these
assaults with but little loss to themselves and not often inflicting
severe injury to the wary savages. In the midst of these constant
conflicts and dangers, the winter months passed drearily away.
Boonesborough was constantly menaced and frequently attacked. In a diary
kept within the fort we find the following entries:
"_May 23._--A large party of Indians attacked Boonesborough fort.
Kept a warm fire till eleven o'clock at night. Began it next morning,
and kept a warm fire till midnight. Attempting several times to burn
the fort. Three of our men were wounded, but not mortally.
"_May 26th._--A party went out to hunt Indians. One wounded Squire
Boone, and escaped."
Very cruel warfare was now being waged by the majestic power of Great
Britain to bring the revolted colonies back to subjection to their laws.
As we have mentioned they called into requisition on their side the
merciless energies of the savage, openly declaring to the world that
they were justified in making use of whatever weapons God and nature
might place in their hands. From the strong British garrisons at
Detroit, Vincennes and Kaskaskia, the Indians were abundantly supplied
with rifles, powder and bullets, and were offered liberal rewards for
such prisoners, and even scalps, as they might bring in.
The danger which threatened these settlements in Kentucky was now such
as might cause the stoutest heart to quail. The savage had been adopted
as an ally by the most wealthy and powerful nation upon the globe. His
marauding bands were often guided by the intelligence of British
officers. Boone organized what might be called a corps of explorers to
go out two and two, penetrating the wilderness with extreme caution, in
all directions, to detect any indication of the approach of the Indians.
One of these explorers, Simon Kenton, acting under the sagacious counsel
of Colonel Boone, had obtained great and deserved celebrity as among the
most heroic of the remarkable men who laid the foundation of the State
of Kentucky. It would be difficult to find in any pages of romance
incidents of more wonderful adventure, or of more dreadful suffering, or
stories of more miraculous escape, than were experienced by this man.
Several times he was taken captive by the Indians, and though treated
with great inhumanity, succeeded in making his escape. The following
incident in his life, occurring about this time, gives one a very vivid
picture of the nature of this warfare with the Indians:
"Colonel Bowman sent Simon Kenton with two other men, Montgomery and
Clark, on an exploring tour. Approaching an Indian town very cautiously
in the night, on the north side of the Ohio river, they found a number
of Indian horses in an enclosure. A horse in the wilderness was one of
the most valuable of prizes. They accordingly each mounted an animal,
and not daring to leave any behind, which would aid the Indians to
pursue them, by hastily constructed halters they led the rest. The noise
which the horses made awoke the Indians, and the whole village was at
once in a state of uproar. The mounted adventurers dashed through the
woods and were soon beyond the reach of the shouts and the yells which
they left behind them. They knew, however, full well that the
swift-footed Indian warriors would be immediately on their trail.
Without a moment's rest they rode all night, the next day and the next
night, and on the morning of the second day reached the banks of the
Ohio river. The flood of that majestic stream flowed broad and deep
before them, and its surface was lashed into waves by a very boisterous
wind. The horses could not swim across in such a gale, but their desire
to retain the invaluable animals was so great that they resolved to wait
upon the banks until sunset, when they expected the wind to abate.
Having been so well mounted and having such a start of the Indians, they
did not suppose it possible that their pursuers could overtake them
before that time.
"Night came, but with it an increase of the fury of the gale, and the
stream became utterly impassable. Early in the morning Kenton, who was
separated from his companions, observed three Indians and a white man,
well mounted, rapidly approaching. Raising his rifle, he took steady aim
at the breast of the foremost Indian, and pulled the trigger. The powder
flashed in the pan. Kenton took to his heels, but was soon overtaken and
captured. The Indians seemed greatly exasperated at the loss of their
horses. One seized him by the hair and shook his head 'till his teeth
rattled.' The others scourged him severely with their ramrods over the
head and face, exclaiming at every blow, 'Steal Indian hoss, hey!'
"Just then Kenton saw Montgomery coming boldly to his assistance.
Instantly two Indian rifles were discharged, and Montgomery fell dead.
His bloody scalp was waved in the face of Kenton, with menaces of a
similar fate. Clark had sought safety in flight. Kenton was thrown upon
the ground upon his back. His neck was fastened by a halter to a
sapling; his arms, extended to their full length, were pinioned to the
earth by stakes; his feet were fastened in a similar manner. A stout
stick was passed across his breast, and so attached to the earth that he
could not move his body. All this was done in the most violent and cruel
manner, accompanied by frequent cuffs, and blows, as the maddened
Indians called him in the broken English which they had acquired, 'a
tief, a hoss steal, a rascal,' which expressions the Indians had learned
to intersperse with English oaths.
"In this condition of suffering Kenton remained through the day and
through the night. The next morning the savages having collected their
scattered horses, put Kenton upon a young colt, tied his hands behind
him and his feet beneath the horse's belly, and set out on their return.
The country was rough and Kenton could not at all protect himself from
the brambles through which they passed. Thus they rode all day. When
night came, their prisoner was bound to the earth as before. The next
day they reached the Indian village, which was called Chilicothe, on the
Miami river, forty or fifty miles west of the present city of
Chilicothe, Ohio. A courier was sent forward, to inform the village of
their arrival. Every man, woman and child came running out, to view the
prisoner. One of their chiefs, Blackfish, approached Kenton with a
strong hickory switch in his hand, and addressing him said,
"'You have been stealing our horses, have you?'
"'Yes,' was the defiant reply.
"'Did Colonel Boone,' inquired the chief, 'tell you to steal our
horses?'
"'No,' said Kenton, 'I did it of my own accord.'
"Blackfish then with brawny arms so mercilessly applied the scourge to
the bare head and shoulders of his prisoner, as to cause the blood to
flow freely, and to occasion the acutest pain.
"In the mean time the whole crowd of men, women and children danced and
hooted and clapped their hands, assailing him with the choicest epithets
of Indian vituperation. With loud cries they demanded that he should be
tied to the stake, that they might all enjoy the pleasure of tormenting
him. A stake was immediately planted in the ground, and he was firmly
fastened to it. His entire clothing was torn from him, mainly by the
Indian women. The whole party then danced around him until midnight,
yelling in the most frantic manner, smiting him with their hands and
lacerating his flesh with their switches.
"At midnight they released him from the stake, and allowed him some
little repose, in preparation for their principal amusement in the
morning, of having their prisoner run the gauntlet. Three hundred
Indians of all ages and both sexes were assembled for the savage
festival. The Indians were ranged in two parallel lines, about six feet
apart, all armed with sticks, hickory rods, whips, and other means of
inflicting torture. Between these lines, for more than half a mile to
the village, the wretched prisoner was doomed to run for his life,
exposed to such injury as his tormentors could inflict as he passed. If
he succeeded in reaching the council-house alive, it would prove an
asylum to him for the present.
"At a given signal, Kenton started in the perilous race; exerting his
utmost strength and activity, he passed swiftly along the line,
receiving numerous blows, stripes, buffets, and wounds, until he
approached the town, near which he saw an Indian leisurely awaiting his
advance, with a drawn knife in his hand, intent upon his death.
"To avoid him, he instantly broke through the line, and made his rapid
way towards the council-house, pursued by the promiscuous crowd,
whooping and yelling like infernal furies at his heels. Entering the
town in advance of his pursuers, just as he supposed the council-house
within his reach, an Indian was perceived leisurely approaching him
with his blanket wrapped around him; but suddenly he threw off the
blanket and sprung upon Kenton as he advanced. Exhausted with fatigue
and wounds, he was thrown to the ground, and in a moment he was beset
with crowds, eager to inflict upon him the kick or blow which had been
avoided by breaking through the line. Here beaten, kicked and scourged,
until he was nearly lifeless, he was left to die."[B]
[Footnote B: Macdonald's Sketches.]
A few hours afterwards he was supplied with food and water, and was
suffered to recuperate for a few days, until he was enabled to attend at
the council-house, and receive the announcement of his final doom. It
was here decided that he should be made a public sacrifice to the
vengeance of the nation. The Indian town of Wappatomica, upon the
present site of Zanesville, Ohio, was the appointed place of his
execution. Being in a state of utter exhaustion his escape was deemed
impossible, and he was carelessly guarded. In despair he attempted it.
He was promptly recaptured and punished by being taken to a neighboring
creek where he was dragged through mud and water, till life was nearly
extinct. Still his constitutional vigor triumphed, and he revived.
Wappatomica was a British trading post. Here Kenton met an old comrade,
Simon Girty, who had become a renegade, had joined the Indians, and had
so adopted their dress and manners as hardly to be distinguished from
his savage associates. Girty cautiously endeavored to save the condemned
prisoner. He represented to the band that it would be of great advantage
to them to have possession of one so intimately acquainted with all the
white settlements and their resources.
A respite was granted. Another council was held. The spirit of Indian
revenge prevailed. Kenton was again doomed to death, to be preceded by
the terrible ordeal of running the gauntlet.
But a British officer, influenced by the persuasions of the Indian chief
Logan, the friend of the white man, urged upon the Indian chiefs that
the British officers at Detroit would regard the possession of Kenton,
with the information he had at his command, as a great acquisition, and
that they would pay for him a ransom of at least one hundred dollars.
They took him to Detroit; the ransom was paid, and Kenton became the
prisoner of the British officers, instead of the savage chieftains.
Still he was a prisoner, though treated with ordinary humanity, and was
allowed the liberty of the town.
There were two other American captives there, Captain Nathan Bullit and
Jesse Coffer. Escape seemed impossible, as it could only be effected
through a wilderness four hundred miles in extent, crowded with
wandering Indian bands, where they would be imminently exposed to
recapture, or to death by starvation.
Simon Kenton was a very handsome man. He won the sympathies of a very
kind English woman, Mrs. Harvey, the wife of one of the traders at the
post. She secretly obtained for him and his two companions, and
concealed in a hollow tree, powder, lead, moccasins, and a quantity of
dried beef. One dark night, when the Indians were engaged in a drunken
bout, she met Kenton in the garden and handed him three of the best
rifles, which she had selected from those stacked near the house. The
biographer of these events writes:
"When a woman engages to do an action, she will risk limb, life or
character, to serve him whom she respects or wishes to befriend. How
differently the same action would be viewed by different persons! By
Kenton and his friends her conduct was viewed as the benevolent conduct
of a good angel; while if the part she played in behalf of Kenton and
his companions had been known to the commander at Detroit, she would
have been looked upon as a traitress, who merited the scorn and contempt
of all honest citizens. This night was the last that Kenton ever saw or
heard of her."
Our fugitives traveled mostly by night, guided by the stars. After
passing through a series of wonderful adventures, which we have not
space here to record, on the thirty-third day of their escape, they
reached the settlement at the Falls of the Ohio, now Louisville. During
the rest of the war, Kenton was a very active partisan. He died in the
year 1836, over eighty years of age, having been for more than a quarter
of a century an honored member of the Methodist Church.
CHAPTER VII.
_Life in the Wilderness._
Stewart killed by the Indians.--Squire Boone returns to the
Settlements.--Solitary Life of Daniel Boone.--Return of Squire
Boone.--Extended and Romantic Explorations.--Charms and Perils of
the Wilderness.--The Emigrant Party.--The Fatal Ambuscade.--Retreat
of the Emigrants.--Solitude of the Wilderness.--Expedition of Lewis
and Clarke.--Extraordinary Adventures of Cotter.
There were now four hungry men to occupy the little camp of our bold
adventurers. They do not seem to have been conscious of enduring any
hardships. The winter was mild. Their snug tent furnished perfect
protection from wind and rain. With abundant fuel, their camp-fire ever
blazed brightly. Still it was necessary for them to be diligent in
hunting, to supply themselves with their daily food. Bread, eggs, milk,
butter, sugar, and even salt, were articles of which they were entirely
destitute.
One day, not long after the arrival of Squire Boone, Daniel Boone, with
his companion Stewart, was a long distance from the camp, hunting.
Suddenly the terrible war-whoop of the Indians resounded from a thicket,
and a shower of arrows fell around them. Stewart, pierced by one of
these deadly missiles, fell mortally wounded. A sturdy savage sprang
from the ambuscade upon his victim, and with a yell buried a tomahawk in
his brain. Then, grasping with one hand the hair on the top of his head,
he made a rapid circular cut with his gleaming knife, and tore off the
scalp, leaving the skull bare. The revolting deed was done quicker than
it can be described. Shaking the bloody trophy in his hand, he gave a
whoop of exultation which echoed far and wide through the solitudes of
the forest.
Boone, swift of foot as the antelope, escaped and reached the camp with
the sad tidings of the death of his companion, and of the presence, in
their immediate vicinity, of hostile Indians. This so affrighted the
North Carolinian who had come with Squire Boone, that he resolved upon
an immediate return to the Yadkin. He set out alone, and doubtless
perished by the way, as he was never heard of again. A skeleton,
subsequently found in the wilderness, was supposed to be the remains of
the unfortunate hunter. He probably perished through exhaustion, or by
the arrow or tomahawk of the savage.
The two brothers, Daniel and Squire, were now left entirely alone.
They selected a favorable spot in a wild ravine where they would be the
least likely to be discovered by hunting bands, and built for
themselves a snug and comfortable log-house, in which they would be more
effectually sheltered from the storms and cold of winter, and into which
they moved from their open camp. Here they remained, two loving brothers
of congenial tastes, during the months of January, February, March and
April. Solitary as their life must have been probably, every hour
brought busy employment. Each day's food was to be obtained by the
rifle. Wood was to be procured for their fire. All their clothing, from
the cap to the moccasin, was to be fashioned by their own hands from the
skin of the deer, which they had carefully tanned into pliancy and
softness; and there were to be added to their cabin many conveniences
which required much ingenuity with knife and hatchet for their only
tools, and with neither nail nor screw for their construction. In
addition to this they were under the necessity of being ever on the
alert to discover indications of the approach of the Indians.
The winter passed away, not only undisturbed, but evidently very
happily. It is remarkable that their retreat was not discovered by any
of the Indian bands, who in pursuit of game were constantly roving over
those rich hunting grounds.
As summer's warmth returned, Squire Boone decided to retrace his steps
to the Yadkin, to carry to his brother's family news of his safety, and
to obtain much needed supplies of powder and of lead. There is no
satisfactory explanation of the motives which could have induced Daniel,
after the absence of a year from his home, to remain alone in that
solitary cabin. In his autobiography he has assigned no reason for the
extraordinary decision. One of the most judicious of his biographers
makes the following statement which by no means solves the mystery:
"When the spring came it was time for another movement. The spring came
early, and the awaking to its foliage seemed like the passing from night
to the day. The game had reduced their powder and lead, and without
these there was no existence to the white man. Again Daniel Boone rises
to the emergency. It was necessary that the settlement which they had
made should be continued and protected, and it was the duty in the
progress of events that one of them should remain to that task. He made
the selection and chose himself. He had the courage to remain alone. And
while he felt the keenest desire to see his own family, he felt that he
had a noble purpose to serve and was prepared for it."[C]
[Footnote C: Life of Boone, by W. H. Bogart.]
Daniel Boone, in his quaint autobiography, in the following terms
alludes to the departure of his brother and his own solitary mode of
life during the three months of his brother's absence:
"On the first day of May, 1770, my brother returned home to the
settlement by himself
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