The Life and Times of Col. Daniel Boone, Hunter, Soldier, and Pioneer
by Edward Sylvester Ellis · English · Gutenberg #46227 · 452,353 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Life and Times of Col. Daniel Boone, Hunter, Soldier, and Pioneer
Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
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[Illustration: DANIEL BOONE.]
THE LIFE AND TIMES OF COL. DANIEL BOONE, HUNTER, SOLDIER, AND PIONEER.
With
Sketches of Simon Kenton, Lewis Wetzel, and Other
Leaders in the Settlement of the West.
"_Of all men
Who passes for in life and death most lucky,
Of the great names which in our faces stare,
Is Daniel Boone, backwoodsman of Kentucky._
_Crime came not near him--she is not the child
Of solitude. Health shrank not from him, for
Her home is in the rarely-trodden wild._"
by
EDWARD S. ELLIS,
Author of "The Life of Colonel David Crockett," "Ned in the
Block-House," "Ned in the Woods," etc.
[Illustration]
Philadelphia:
Porter & Coates.
Copyright, 1884,
By
Porter & Coates.
INTRODUCTION.
Daniel Boone was the ideal of the American pioneer--brave, cool,
self-reliant, a dead shot with his rifle, a consummate master of
woodcraft, with sturdy frame, hopeful at all times, and never
discouraged by disasters which caused many a weaker spirit to faint by
the way. All that the pen of romance depicts in the life of one whose
lot is cast in the Western forests, marked the career of Boone. In the
lonely solitudes he encountered the wild animal and the fiercer wild
man; and he stood on the bastions at Boonesborough through the flaming
sun or the solemn hours of night, exchanging shots with the treacherous
Shawanoe, when every bullet fired was meant to extinguish a human
life; he was captured by Indians three times, his companions were shot
down at his side, his daughter was carried away by savages and quickly
rescued by himself and a few intrepid comrades, his oldest boy was
shot dead before he set foot in Kentucky, and another was killed while
bravely fighting at Blue Licks; the border town named after him was
assaulted and besieged by overwhelming bodies of British and Indians,
his brother was slain and he himself underwent all manner of hardship
and suffering.
Yet through it all, he preserved his honest simplicity, his unswerving
integrity, his prudence and self-possession, and his unfaltering faith
in himself, in the future of his country, and in God.
He lived through this crucial period to see all his dreams realized,
and Kentucky one of the brightest stars in the grand constellation of
the Union.
Such a life cannot be studied too closely by American youth; and in the
following pages, we have endeavored to give an accurate description of
its opening, its eventful progress and its peaceful close, when, in the
fullness of time and in a ripe old age, he was finally laid to rest,
honored and revered by the great nation whose possessions stretch from
ocean to ocean, and whose "land is the fairest that ever sun shone on!"
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Birth of Daniel Boone--Fondness for Hunting--An Alarming
Absence--A Pedagogue of the Olden Time--Sudden Termination
of Young Boone's School Education--Removal to North
Carolina--Boone's Marriage--His Children 1
CHAPTER II.
Social Disturbances in North Carolina--Eve of the American
Revolution--Boone's Excursions to the West--Inscription on
a Tree--Employed by Henderson and Company--The "Regulators"
of North Carolina--Dispersed by Governor Tryon--John
Finley--Resolution to go West 11
CHAPTER III.
The Party of Exploration--Daniel Boone the Leader--More than
a Month on the Journey--On the Border of Kentucky--An
Enchanting View--A Site for the Camp--Unsurpassed Hunting--An
Impressive Solitude--No Signs of Indians 19
CHAPTER IV.
Boone and Stuart start out on a Hunt--Captured by Indians
and Disarmed--Stuart's Despair and Boone's Hope--A Week's
Captivity--The Eventful Night 28
CHAPTER V.
The Escape--The Hunters find the Camp Deserted--Change of
Quarters--Boone and Kenton--Welcome Visitors--News from
Home--In Union there is Strength--Death of Stuart--Squire
Boone returns to North Carolina for Ammunition--Alone in
the Wilderness--Danger on Every Hand--Rejoined by his
Brother--Hunting along the Cumberland River--Homeward
Bound--Arrival in North Carolina--Anarchy and Distress--Boone
remains there Two Years--Attention directed towards
Kentucky--George Washington--Boone prepares to move Westward 34
CHAPTER VI.
Leaving North Carolina--Joined by a Large Company at
Powell's Valley--Glowing Anticipations--Attacked by
Indians in Cumberland Gap--Daniel Boone's Eldest
Son Killed--Discouragement--Return to Clinch River
Settlement--The Check Providential--Boone acts as a Guide
to a Party of Surveyors--Commissioned Captain by Governor
Dunmore, and takes command of Three Garrisons--Battle of
Point Pleasant--Attends the making of a Treaty with Indians
at Wataga--Employed by Colonel Richard Henderson--Kentucky
claimed by the Cherokees--James Harrod--The First Settlement
in Kentucky--Boone leads a Company into Kentucky--Attacked
by Indians--Erection of the Fort at Boonesborough--Colonel
Richard Henderson takes Possession of Kentucky--The Republic
of Transylvania--His Scheme receives its Death-blow--Perils
of the Frontier--A Permanent Settlement made on Kentucky Soil 46
CHAPTER VII.
Boone Rejoins his Family at the Clinch River Settlement--Leads
a Company of Immigrants into Kentucky--Insecurity of
Settlers--Dawn of the American Revolution--British Agents
Incite the Indians to Revolt against the Settlements 61
CHAPTER VIII.
Comparative Quiet on the Frontier--Capture of Boone's Daughter
and the Misses Callaway by Indians--Pursued by Boone and
Seven Companions--Their Rescue and Return to their Homes 69
CHAPTER IX.
General Uprising of the Indians--The Border Rangers--Attack
upon Boonesborough--Repulse of the Assailants--Second Attack
by a Larger Force and its Failure--Arrival of Forty-five
Men--Investment of Logan's Fort--Timely Arrival of Colonel
Bowman with Reinforcements--Attack upon Harrodsburg 79
CHAPTER X.
A Diner-out--The "Hannibal of the West"--Election of General
Clark and Gabriel Jones as Delegates to the Virginia
Legislature--Their Journey to the Capital--General Clark
obtains the Loan of a Large Supply of Ammunition--Erection of
the County of Kentucky--General Clark attacked and pursued by
Indians on his Voyage down the Ohio--Conceals the Ammunition
and delivers it safely at the Border Stations--General
Clark marches upon Kaskaskia and captures the obnoxious
Governor Rocheblave--Governor Hamilton of Detroit organizes
an Expedition against the Settlements--General Clark
captures Fort St. Vincent and takes Governor Hamilton a
Prisoner--Captures a Valuable Convoy from Canada and Forty
Prisoners--Secures the Erection of Important Fortifications
by Virginia 85
CHAPTER XI.
Boone leads a Party to the Blue Licks to make Salt--Capture
of Boone and Surrender of the Entire Party--Conducted to
Detroit--His Captors Refuse to Exchange him--He is Adopted
by the Shawanoes--He discovers a Formidable Expedition is
to move against Boonesborough--The Attack Postponed--Boone
leads a Party against an Indian Town on the Scioto--Encounter
with a War Party--Returns to Boonesborough--The State
Invested by Captain Duquesne and a Large Force--Boone and the
Garrison determine to Defend it to the Last--Better Terms
Offered--Treachery Suspected--The Attack--The Siege Raised 96
CHAPTER XII.
The Peculiar Position of Boonesborough--Boone rejoins his
Family in North Carolina--Returns to Boonesborough--Robbed
of a Large Amount of Money--Increased Emigration to the
West--Colonel Rogers and his Party almost Annihilated--
Captain Denham's Strange Adventure 112
CHAPTER XIII.
Colonel Bowman's Expedition--Its Disastrous Failure--Death
of Boone's Son--Escape of Boone--Colonel Byrd's Invasion--
Capture of Ruddell's and Martin's Station--Daring Escape
of Captain Hinkston 120
CHAPTER XIV.
Colonel Clark's Invasion of the Indian Country--Boone is
Promoted to the Rank of Colonel--His Brother Killed at
Blue Licks and Boone narrowly Escapes Capture--Attack
upon the Shelbyville Garrison--News of the Surrender of
Cornwallis--Attack upon Estill's Station--Simon Girty the
Renegade--He Appears before Bryant's Station, but Withdraws 130
CHAPTER XV.
Arrival of Boone With Re-enforcements--Pursuit of the
Indian Force--Boone's Counsel Disregarded--A Frightful
Disaster--Reynold's Noble and Heroic Act--His Escape 136
CHAPTER XVI.
General Clark's Expedition--A Dark Page in American History--
Colonel Crawford's Disastrous Failure and his own Terrible
Fate--Simon Girty 144
CHAPTER XVII.
Adventures of the Spies White and M'Clelland--Daring Defence of
her Home by Mrs. Merrill--Exploits of Kernan the Ranger 155
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Three Counties of Kentucky united into One District--
Colonel Boone as a Farmer--He outwits a Party of Indians
who seek to capture him--Emigration to Kentucky--Outrages
by Indians--Failure of General Clark's Expedition 172
CHAPTER XIX.
General Harmar's Expedition against the Indians--Colonel
Hardin Ambushed--Bravery of the Regulars--Out-generaled by
the Indians--Harmar and Hardin Court-martialed--General St.
Clair's Expedition and its Defeat 180
CHAPTER XX.
The Brilliant Victory of Mad Anthony Wayne brings Peace to the
Frontier--Boone Loses his Farm--He Removes to Missouri--Made
Commandant of the Femme Osage District--Audubon's Account of
a Night with Colonel Boone--Hunting in his Old Age--He Loses
the Land granted him by the Spanish Government--Petitions
Congress for a Confirmation of his Original Claims--The
Petition Disregarded 186
CHAPTER XXI.
Last Days of Colonel Boone--Reinterment of the Remains of
Himself and Wife at Frankfort--Conclusion 201
GENERAL SIMON KENTON.
CHAPTER I.
Birth of Kenton--Desperate Affray with a Rival--Flees to the
Kentucky Wilderness--He and Two Companions attacked by
Indians--One is Killed and the Survivors Escape--Rescued,
after great Suffering--Kenton spends the Summer alone in the
Woods--Serves as a Scout in the Dunmore War--Kenton and Two
Friends settle at Upper Blue Lick--Joined by Hendricks, who
meets with a Terrible Fate 207
CHAPTER II.
Kenton and his Friends Visit Boonesborough--Desperate Encounter
with Indians--Proceeds with Two Companions to Reconnoitre
an Indian Town on the Little Miami--Captured while Making
Off with a Number of Horses--Brutal Treatment--Bound to the
Stake and Runs the Gauntlet--Friendship of Simon Girty, the
Renegade--Finally Saved by an Indian Trader--Removed to
Detroit, and Escapes--Commands a Company in General Clark's
Expedition--Receives Good News--Visits Virginia--Death of his
Father--Reduced to Poverty--Removes to Urbana, Ohio--Elected
Brigadier-General--His Conversion--His Last Days 222
LEWIS WETZEL.
Birth of Lewis Wetzel--His Father Killed by Indians, and
Himself and Brother carried off Prisoners--Their Remarkable
Escape--Murder of an Indian--Serves in Crawford's
Expedition--Pursued by Four Indians, and Kills Three--Escape
from the Custody of General Harmar--Wetzel's Hunts for
Indians--Assists a Relative to Recover his Betrothed from
Savages--Old Age and Death 251
LIFE AND TIMES
OF
COLONEL DANIEL BOONE.
CHAPTER I.
Birth of Daniel Boone--Fondness for Hunting--An Alarming Absence--A
Pedagogue of the Olden Time--Sudden Termination of Young Boone's
School Education--Removal to North Carolina--Boone's Marriage--His
Children.
Daniel Boone was born in Exeter township, Bucks county, Pennsylvania,
on the 11th of February, 1735, so that he was just three years the
junior of Washington.
Daniel had six brothers and four sisters, he being the fourth child of
Squire Boone, whose father landed at Philadelphia from England, October
10, 1717, bringing with him two daughters and nine sons. The township
of Exeter, as it is now known in Pennsylvania, was named by the elder
Boone after the city in England near which he was born.
There is good authority for believing that the Boone family, when
living in the mother country, were attached to the Established Church;
but, when they had resided some time amid the peaceful surroundings
and gentle influences of the friends and followers of George Fox, they
inclined to their religious belief, though it will hardly be claimed
that Daniel Boone continued orthodox throughout his adventurous life.
In those days, the educational advantages given youth were very meagre,
and frequently none at all. The old-time pedagogue was a man stern and
repelling to children, knowing little of the true means of imparting
knowledge. About the only branch he handled with any skill was that
which came from the nearest tree; and, had he possessed the ability to
teach, he lacked, in the generality of cases, the education necessary.
A century and a half ago, Exeter township abounded with game, and the
town itself was a pioneer settlement of the most primitive order,
consisting of log-houses almost entirely surrounded by forests, in
whose depths roamed bears, panthers, deer, and the smaller game so
attractive to sportsmen.
It was these which were to educate young Boone more than were the crude
means and the tippling teacher in whose charge he was placed. Nothing
delighted the lad more than to wander for hours through the woods, gun
in hand, stealing among the cool shadows, behind the mossy rocks and
along the purling streams, with the soft tread of the Indian, while the
keen eyes of the young hunter searched tree-top and bush for the first
signs of game, and his ear was ever strained to catch the cautious
footstep of the wild beast as it crept faintly over the leaves.
Thus in the grand school of Nature was the great pioneer trained. While
yet a small boy, he became noted for his unerring aim with the rifle,
and the skill with which he read the "signs" among the trees, that were
as closed volumes to others.
The privilege of wandering with gun and dog was all the happiness
he asked, and as an inevitable consequence of this mode of life, he
grew sturdy, strong, active, and capable of immense exertion without
fatigue. It is in just such nurseries as this that the great explorers
and pioneers of the world are educated.
One morning, Daniel shouldered his rifle, and whistling to his dog, the
two plunged into the woods for one of their usual hunts. The sun was
just rising in a clear sky, the air was crisp and invigorating, and
the prospect was all that the heart of the young hunter could wish.
Those of his relatives who saw him depart thought nothing of it, for
the sight was a very common one with him and his brothers, and young as
they were, they learned among the rudiments of their training the great
fundamental truth to trust in God and themselves.
As the shades of night closed over settlement and forest, the boy
Daniel was expected home, though the family had no special misgiving
when the hours passed without bringing him, it being supposed that he
had penetrated so far into the wilds that he preferred to encamp for
the night rather than take the long tramp home.
But, when the second day had passed, and he failed to appear, the
parents were in great distress, for it seemed certain that some fatal
accident must have overtaken their child. The mature and experienced
hunter is always in peril from wild beasts or the wilder human beings
who prowl and skulk through the wilderness, and many a man who has
braved the dangers of a score of years, has fallen a victim to the
treacherous biped or quadruped, who has sought his life with greater
cunning than he has done his own work.
It was impossible therefore for them to feel anything but the most
painful anxiety for their boy, and, unable to remain idle longer, they
called upon their neighbors, and a search-party was organized.
The trail made by the lad was too faint to be followed successfully,
and the parties scattered and hunted for traces as best they could.
Hours passed by, every man doing his utmost to discover the fate of the
boy, who they hoped was still living somewhere in the depths of the
wilderness, though it would seem scarcely possible that, if alive, he
was not in a suffering or helpless condition.
But the shouts and reports of their guns remained unanswered, and they
pushed forward, hoping against hope. The bonds of sympathy are nowhere
stronger than in such frontier settlements, where a common feeling
of brotherhood exists, and the men who were searching for the lost
Daniel, were hardly less anxious concerning him than were the parents
themselves.
Suddenly someone descried a faint, thin column of smoke rising from a
nondescript sort of structure, and hurrying toward it, they saw one
of the most primitive of cabins, made of limbs and brush and sods of
grass piled together. Stealing around to the rude entrance, they peeped
in, and saw Daniel himself, looking like an old hunter who had settled
down for the season. On the earth-floor of his structure were strewn
the skins of the game he had shot, while he was cooking the choicest
pieces before the smoking fire. He was only three miles from home, but
it might as well have been a hundred, for all the additional comfort it
afforded his friends and parents.
The lad looked up with an expression of surprise, wondering what all
the excitement was about; and when he found they were hunting for him,
it was hard to understand the necessity for doing any such thing.
It was not the first time he had been alone in the woods, and he
thought he was as well able to take care of himself as were any of the
older pioneers who came to look for him. However, as he was a dutiful
son, and had no wish to cause his parents any unnecessary alarm, he
gathered up his game and peltries, and went back home with the hunters.
Nothing can be more pleasant to the American boy than just such a life
as that followed by Daniel Boone--wandering for hours through the
wilderness, on the look-out for game, building the cheery camp-fire
deep in some glen or gorge, quaffing the clear icy water from some
stream, or lying flat on the back and looking up through the tree-tops
at the patches of blue sky, across which the snowy ships of vapor are
continually sailing.
But any parent who would allow a child to follow the bewitching
pleasures of such a life, would commit a sinful neglect of duty, and
would take the surest means of bringing regret, sorrow, and trouble to
the boy himself, when he should come to manhood.
The parents of young Boone, though they were poor, and had the charge
of a large family, did their utmost to give their children the
rudiments of a common school education, with the poor advantages that
were at their command.
It is said that about the first thing Daniel's teacher did, after
summoning his boys and girls together in the morning, was to send them
out again for a recess--one of the most popular proceedings a teacher
can take, though it cannot be considered a very great help in their
studies.
While the pupils were enjoying themselves to their fullest bent, the
master took a stroll into the woods, from which he was always sure
to return much more crabbed than when he went, and with his breath
smelling very strongly of something stronger than water.
At times he became so mellowed, that he was indulgence itself, and at
other times he beat the boys unmercifully. The patrons of the school
seemed to think their duty ended with the sending of their children
to the school-house, without inquiring what took place after they got
there.
One day Daniel asked the teacher for permission to go out-doors, and
receiving it, he passed into the clear air just at the moment that a
brown squirrel was running along the branch of a fallen tree.
Instantly the athletic lad darted in pursuit, and, when the nimble
little animal whisked out of sight among a dense clump of vine and
bushes, the boy shoved his hand in, in the hope of catching it. Instead
of doing so, he touched something cold and smooth, and bringing it
forth, found it was a whiskey bottle with a goodly quantity of the
fiery fluid within.
"That's what the teacher comes out here for," thought Daniel, as his
eyes sparkled, "and that's why he is so cross when he comes back."
He restored the bottle to its place, and returned to the school-room,
saying nothing to any one until after dismissal, when he told his
discovery to some of the larger boys, who, like all school-children,
were ever ripe for mischief.
When such a group fall into a discussion, it may be set down as among
the certainties that something serious to some one is sure to be the
result.
The next morning the boys put a good charge of tartar emetic in the
whiskey bottle, and shaking it up, restored it to its former place of
concealment. Then, full of eager expectation, they hurried into school,
where they were more studious than ever--a suspicious sign which ought
to have attracted the notice of the teacher, though it seems not to
have done so.
The Irish instructor took his walk as usual, and when he came back and
resumed labor, it may be imagined that the boys were on the tip-toe of
expectation.
They had not long to wait. The teacher grew pale, and gave signs of
some revolution going on internally. But he did not yield to the
feeling. As might have been expected, however, it increased his
fretfulness, and whether he suspected the truth or not, he punished
the boys most cruelly, as though seeking to work off his illness by
exercising himself with the rod upon the backs of the lads, whose only
consolation was in observing that the medicine taken unconsciously by
the irate teacher was accomplishing its mission.
Matters became worse and worse, and the whippings of the teacher
were so indiscriminate and brutal, that a rebellion was excited. The
crisis was reached when he assailed Daniel, who struggled desperately,
encouraged by the uproar and shouts of the others, until he finally got
the upper hand of the master, and gave him an unquestionable trouncing.
After such a proceeding it was not to be expected that any sort of
discipline could be maintained, and the rest of the pupils rushed
out-doors and scattered to their homes.
The news of the outbreak quickly spread through the neighborhood,
and Daniel was taken to task by his father for his insubordination,
though the parent now saw that the teacher possessed not the first
qualification for his position. And the instructor himself must have
felt somewhat the same way, for he made no objections when he was
notified of his dismissal, and the school education of Daniel Boone
ended.
It was a misfortune to him, as it is to any one, to be deprived of the
privilege of storing his mind with the knowledge that is to be acquired
from books, and yet, in another sense, it was an advantage to the
sturdy boy, who gained the better opportunity for training himself for
the great work which lay before him.
In the woods of Exeter he hunted more than ever, educating the eye,
ear, and all the senses to that wonderful quickness which seems
incredible when simply told of a person. He became a dead shot with
his rifle, and laid the foundations of rugged health, strength and
endurance, which were to prove so invaluable to him in after years,
when he should cross the Ohio, and venture into the perilous depths of
the Dark and Bloody Ground.
Boone grew into a natural athlete, with all his faculties educated to
the highest point of excellence. He assisted his father as best he
could, but he was a Nimrod by nature, instinct and education, and while
yet a boy, he became known for miles around the settlement as a most
skilled, daring, and successful hunter.
When he had reached young manhood, his father removed to North
Carolina, settling near Holman's Ford, on the Yadkin river, some eight
miles from Wilkesboro'. Here, as usual, the boy assisted his parents,
who were gifted with a large family, as was generally the case with the
pioneers, so that there was rarely anything like affluence attained by
those who helped to build up our country.
While the Boones lived on the banks of the Yadkin, Daniel formed the
acquaintance of Rebecca Bryan, whom he married, according to the best
authority attainable, in the year 1755, when he was about twenty years
of age.
There is a legend which has been told many a time to the effect that
Boone, while hunting, mistook the bright eyes of a young lady for those
of a deer, and that he came within a hair's-breadth of sending a ball
between them with his unerring rifle, before he discovered his mistake.
But the legend, like that of Jessie Brown at Lucknow and many others in
which we delight, has no foundation in fact, and so far as known there
was no special romance connected with the marriage of Boone to the
excellent lady who became his partner for life.
The children born of this marriage were James, Israel, Jesse, Daniel,
Nathan, Susan, Jemima, Lavinia, and Rebecca.
CHAPTER II.
Social Disturbances in North Carolina--Eve of the American
Revolution--Boone's Excursions to the West--Inscription on a
Tree--Employed by Henderson and Company--The "Regulators" of North
Carolina--Dispersed by Governor Tryon--John Finley--Resolution to
go West.
The early part of Daniel Boone's married life was uneventful, and the
years glided by without bringing any incident, event or experience to
him worthy the pen of the historian. He toiled faithfully to support
his growing family, and spent a goodly portion of his time in the
woods, with his rifle and dog, sometimes camping on the bank of the
lonely Yadkin, or floating down its smooth waters in the stillness of
the delightful afternoon, or through the solemn quiet of the night,
when nothing but the stars were to be seen twinkling overhead.
But Daniel Boone was living in stirring times, and there were signs
in the political heavens of tremendous changes approaching. There was
war between England and France; there was strife along the frontier,
where the Indian fought fiercely against the advancing army of
civilization, and the spirit of resistance to the tyranny of the mother
country was growing rapidly among the sturdy colonists. North Carolina
began, through her representatives in legislature, those measures of
opposition to the authority of Great Britain, which forecast the active
part the Old Pine Tree State was to take in the revolutionary struggle
for liberty and independence.
During the few years that followed there was constant quarreling
between the royal governor and the legislators, and it assumed such
proportions that the State was kept in continual ferment. This unrest
and disturbance were anything but pleasing to Boone, who saw the
country settling rapidly around him, and who began to look toward
the West with the longing which comes over the bird when it gazes
yearningly out from the bars of its cage at the green fields, cool
woods, and enchanting landscapes in which its companions are singing
and reveling with delight.
Boone took long hunting excursions toward the West, though nothing
is known with exact certainty as to the date when he began them.
The Cherokee war which had caused much trouble along the Carolina
frontier was ended, and he and others must have turned their thoughts
many a time to the boundless forests which stretched for hundreds and
thousands of miles towards the setting sun, in which roamed countless
multitudes of wild animals and still wilder beings, who were ready to
dispute every foot of advance made by the white settlers.
Such a vast field could not but possess an irresistible attraction to a
consummate hunter like Boone, and the glimpses which the North Carolina
woods gave of the possibilities awaiting him, and the growth of empire
in the West, were sure to produce the result that came when he had been
married some fifteen or more years and was in the prime of life.
Previous to this date, the well known abundance of game in Tennessee
led many hunters to make incursions into the territory. They sometimes
formed large companies, uniting for the prospect of gain and greater
protection against the ever-present danger from Indians.
It is mentioned by good authority, that among the parties thus
venturing over the Carolina border into the wilderness, was one at the
head of which was "Daniel Boone from the Yadkin, in North Carolina, who
traveled with them as low as the place where Abingdon now stands, and
there left them."
Some years ago the following description could be deciphered upon an
old beech-tree standing between Jonesboro and Blountsville:
D. BOON
CILLED A. BAR ON
IN THE TREE
YEAR 1760.
This inscription is generally considered as proof that Boone made
hunting excursions to that region at that early date, though the
evidence can hardly be accepted as positive on the point.
It was scarcely a year after the date named, however, that Boone,
who was still living on the Yadkin, entered the same section of the
country, having been sent thither by Henderson & Company for the
purposes of exploration. He was accompanied by Samuel Callaway, a
relative, and the ancestor of many of the Callaways of Tennessee,
Kentucky, and Missouri. The latter was at the side of Boone when,
approaching a spur of the Cumberland mountains, upon whose slopes
they saw multitudes of bisons grazing, the great pioneer paused, and
surveying the scene for a moment, exclaimed, with kindling eyes:
"I am richer than He who owned the cattle on a thousand hills, for I
own the wild beasts of a thousand valleys."
The sight was indeed one which might have stirred the heart of a hunter
who could grasp the possibilities of the future of those favored
regions.
Daniel Boone may be considered as having undergone a preliminary
training from his earliest boyhood for the work which has identified
his name indissolubly with the history of Kentucky. He was what may be
called a born pioneer, but there were causes at work in North Carolina
which led to his departure for the Kentucky wilderness, of which the
general reader is apt to lose sight in studying his character.
The approach of the American Revolution in the former State, as in
many others, was marked by social disturbances frequently amounting
to anarchy. There were many Scotch traders, who had accumulated
considerable wealth without having gone through the labor and perils
which the natives underwent in providing for their families.
These foreigners adopted an expensive and showy style of living,
altogether out of keeping with the severe simplicity that marked that
of the colonists.
Nothing was more natural than that this assumption of superiority in
the way of social position should roil and excite resentment among
those less favored by fortune.
They were not alone in this offensive course: the officers and agents
of the Royal Government were equally ostentatious in display and manner
of living, and the exasperating snobbishness spread to the magistrates,
lawyers, clerks of court, and tax gatherers, who demanded exorbitant
fees for their services. The clergymen of the Established Church became
oppressive in their exactions, and, as we have stated, society itself
was threatened with revolution before the rattle of musketry at Bunker
Hill "was heard around the world."
Petitions were sent to the Legislature for relief by the suffering
citizens, who were in much the same distressing situation in which
Ireland has been many a time since. These prayers were treated with
indifference or open contempt, for there are none more reckless and
blind than those who are traveling close to the edge of the political
volcano rumbling at their feet.
There is a limit beyond which it is always dangerous to tempt the
endurance of a people, who now began meeting together, and formed
themselves into associations for correcting the evils around them.
It was these people who received the name of "Regulators," and who
helped to increase the disturbances in that particular section of the
country. They deliberately decided "to pay only such taxes as were
agreeable to law, and applied to the purpose therein named, and to pay
no officer more than his legal fees."
The history of the State records many acts of violence which were
inevitable from this condition of affairs. The final collision between
the "Regulators" and a strong force of the royal governor Tryon at
Alamanance, in which the rebels were badly defeated, occurred in May,
1771, but the disturbances continued with more or less violence until
the breaking out of the Revolution, when the mills of God ground so
"exceeding fine," that the grievances were removed forever.
It was in such a community as this that Daniel Boone lived, and he
and his family were sufferers. What more natural than that he should
cast his eyes longingly toward the West, where, though there might be
wild beasts and wild men, he and his loved ones could be free from the
exasperating annoyances which were all around them?
The perils from Indians were much less alarming to them than were those
of the tax-gatherer. Indeed, in all probability, it lent an additional
attractiveness to the vast expanse of virgin wilderness, with its
splashing streams, its rich soil, its abundance of game and all that
is so enchanting to the real sportsman, who finds an additional charm
in the knowledge that the pleasure upon which he proposes to enter is
spiced with personal danger.
One day a visitor dropped in upon Boone. He was John Finley, who led a
party of hunters to the region adjoining the Louisa River in Kentucky
in the winter of 1767, where they spent the season in hunting and
trapping. The hunter called upon Boone to tell him about that land in
which he knew his friend was so much interested.
We can imagine the young man, with his rifle suspended on the
deer-prongs over the fire, with his wife busy about her household
duties and his children at play, sitting in his cabin and listening to
the glowing narrative of one who knew whereof he was speaking.
Finley told him of the innumerable game, the deer and bison, the
myriads of wild turkeys, and everything so highly prized by the
sportsman; he pictured the vast stretches of forest in which the hunter
could wander for hours and days without striking a clearing; of the
numerous streams, some large, some small, and all lovely to the eye,
and it needed no very far-seeing vision to forecast the magnificent
future which lay before this highly favored region.
It must have been a winsome picture drawn by Finley--aided as it was by
the repelling coloring of the scene of his actual surroundings--made
so hateful by the oppressive agents of the foreign government which
claimed the colonies as her own.
When Finley was through, and he had answered all of his friend's
questions, and told him of his many hunting adventures in Kentucky,
Boone announced that he would go with him when he should make his next
visit. He had already been drawn strongly toward the region, and he
wished to see with his own eyes the favored land, before removing his
family thither.
The acquisition of such a person was so desirable, that he was sure
to be appreciated by those who knew him best, and whether appointed
to that position or not, his own matchless resources and natural
powers were certain to fix upon him as the leader of the adventurous
characters who had decided to explore the dangerous wilderness of
Kentucky.
CHAPTER III.
The Party of Exploration--Daniel Boone the Leader--More than a Month
on the Journey--On the Border of Kentucky--An Enchanting View--A
Site for the Camp--Unsurpassed Hunting--An Impressive Solitude--No
Signs of Indians.
Daniel Boone now entered upon that epoch in his life, which has
interwoven his name with the history of Kentucky, and indeed with
the settlement of the West, for though he was not venturing into the
wilderness with the intention of remaining there, yet his purpose
of "spying out the land" was simply the first step in his career of
pioneer of the Dark and Bloody Ground.
The party of exploration, or rather of hunting, numbered a half dozen:
John Finley, James Moncey, John Stuart, William Cool, Joseph Holden,
and Daniel Boone, who was chosen the leader. It was a strong company,
for all the men were experienced hunters, unerring rifle-shots, and
well aware of the dangers they were to encounter.
On the first of May, 1769, the party set out for Kentucky in high
spirits, and eagerly anticipating the enjoyment that was to be theirs,
before they should return from the all-important expedition.
They had selected the most enchanting season of the year, and it is
easy to imagine with what glowing anticipation they ventured upon the
journey, which was to be more eventful, indeed, than any member of it
imagined.
It was a long distance from North Carolina, across the intervening
stretch of stream, forest and mountain, to Kentucky, with all the
temptations to the hunter to turn aside, temptations which it is safe
to conclude overcame them many a time, for, when a full month had
passed, not one of the party had stepped within the confines of the
Dark and Bloody Ground.
But, though they were moving slowly, they were steadily nearing the
promised land, and on the 7th of June the men, bronzed and toughened
by the exposure to which they had been subjected, but still sturdy and
resolute, began climbing the precipitous slope of a mountain on the
border of Kentucky.
The six who had left North Carolina more than a month before were
there, attired in their rough hunting costume, and with their ambition
and purpose as strong as ever. Each wore the hunting-shirt of the
forest ranger made of dressed deerskins. The leggins were of the same
material, and the feet were protected by strong, comfortably fitting
moccasins. There were fringes down the seams of the leggins, just as
seems to be the favorite custom with many of the red-men in donning
their picturesque costumes.
Although these dresses might be attractive to the eye, yet such a
purpose was the last that entered the minds of the wearers, who
constructed them for use only. Their under garments were of cotton, so
coarse that it would have been like sackcloth to many a man of modern
days; they carried, as a matter of course, the powder-horn, rifle,
hatchet, bullet-pouch, and the other indispensables of a hunter.
It was near the close of the day, and though the party were pretty well
exhausted, yet they pushed on, feeling in many respects like those who,
for the first time in their lives, are to gaze upon the land which is
more enchanting to them than all the world beside.
Ere the sun sank behind the immense expanse of wilderness, and just
when its splendors were illuminating the skies with the glories of the
fading day, the hunting party reached the summit of the mountain, and
gazed off over Kentucky.
The panorama spread out before them was a most entrancing one, their
vision extending over hundreds of square miles, with the rich vales
watered by the beautiful streams, the forest alternating with broad
natural clearings, with vast stretches of level country upon which the
myriads of moving specks were recognized by the experienced eye as
bisons, and over which they knew the deer dashed and other wild animals
roamed with scarcely a fear of their natural enemy, man. There was many
a league in whose solemn depths a human foot had never yet penetrated,
and whose echoes had never been awakened by the shot of the rifle.
There they lay as silent as at "creation's morn," and the denizens of
the woods waxed strong and wandered at will, without fear of the deadly
bullet whistling from behind the tree or mossy rock.
True, among these cool woods and within many of the dark recesses
the red Indian ventured, and now and then the sharp whiz of his arrow
was heard, and the barbed weapon flashed among the green leaves as it
pierced the heart of the unsuspecting natives of the wood.
But where there were such multitudes of wild beasts these deaths
were scarcely noticeable, and the white hunters knew that it was a
sportsman's paradise that lay spread at their feet.
The picture of these six pioneers who paused on the crest of the
mountain as the sun was setting, and looked off over the Kentucky
wilderness, is that which has been selected by the artist, who has
immortalized the scene on canvas, and all will agree that he could not
have chosen a more inviting subject.
The surface upon which they looked down was rolling, level far beyond,
but quite hilly nearer the base of the mountain, while it all possessed
the indescribable charm of variety, and it could not have been more
enchanting to the wearied spectators.
Finley had been there before, and, though they may have thought that
some of the stories he told were overdrawn, they could well afford to
believe them now, when they came to gaze upon the attractive country.
Aye, they stood on the very borders of the land, and they determined
that they would venture within it on the morrow. Although they had
left home at the most delightful season of the year, yet the spring
proved to be a severe one, and their journey had been delayed by stormy
weather, so that the glowing panorama at their feet was robed in more
roseate colors from its very contrast to that through which they had
passed so recently.
Assuming positions of rest, the group feasted their eyes to the full,
and we can well imagine the expressions of delight which escaped them,
as they constantly caught sight of new and novel scenes and pointed
them out to each other.
There lay the region in which they would probably make their future
home, whither they would bring their families, and where they would
encounter the toil, privation and danger, which invariably attend the
pioneers of every country.
Under such circumstances, the time, place and surroundings were
invested with a peculiar interest, which could not have been theirs at
any other period or under any different conditions.
The sun went down behind the wilderness, and night gradually overspread
the scene. The hunters had not caught sight of a single human being
beside themselves, and now that darkness had come, they made their
preparations to encamp for the night.
They were veterans at this business, as they showed by avoiding such a
conspicuous position as they then occupied. The flash of a camp-fire
on the mountain-top would have been seen for many miles over the
wilderness, and though they had discovered nothing of the red-men, yet
it was reasonable to suppose that many of them would look out from the
dark recesses at the unwonted spectacle and would suspect the true
cause.
And so, from a prudent habit they had formed, they moved down to a
neighboring ravine, where they camped for the night.
The spot was favorable in every respect, the gorge being so deep, and
surrounded by such a dense thicket, that the glimmer of the camp-fire
was not likely to be seen by any one, unless he ventured close enough
to hear the murmur of the voices of the hunters as they gathered
together for their evening meal.
Near them lay a tree that had been uprooted by some recent storm, and
which offered the advantages the hunters could not fail to appreciate
at sight. The huge trunk was used for the rear wall of the camp, as
it may be termed, while logs and brush were gathered and piled on two
sides, leaving the front open, where the fire was kindled against
another log. Thus they were secured against any chill during the cold
night, while no wild animal was likely to venture across the magic ring
of fire, in case he was attracted to the spot.
It was decided not only to make this their resting-place for the night,
but their headquarters during their visit to Kentucky.
Accordingly, their camp was strengthened, as may be said, a roof being
made more substantial than ornamental, but sufficient to keep out the
rain, and the front was narrowed in, so that no matter how sudden or
violent the changes of weather, they were well protected against them.
Their greatest safeguard, however, lay in their own hardy constitutions
and rugged health, which they had acquired from their active out-door
life long before venturing into this wild region.
This visit to Kentucky was extended all through the summer and autumn
until the dead of winter, during which time they made the camp in the
gorge their headquarters.
They had many a glorious hunt, as may well be supposed, and it would be
unsafe to estimate the numbers of bisons, deer, wild turkeys, bear and
other species of game that fell victims to the unerring marksmen. It
is unnecessary to say that they lived like princes, and grew stronger,
sturdier, and more hopeful. Although separated from their families to
which they were tenderly attached, there was an indescribable charm
about this wild out-door life that rendered the social annoyances to
which they were subjected at home all the more distasteful.
They felt that if a band of worthy colonists could be gathered, and a
venture made into Kentucky, the future was sure to be all they could
wish.
Beyond question, this preliminary visit to Kentucky settled the future
not only of Boone himself, but of others who were associated with him.
It seems an extraordinary statement to make, and yet it is a fact that,
during that entire summer and autumn and a goodly portion of the winter
which they spent there, they never once saw an Indian--the very enemy
which it was to be supposed they would alone dread, and who would be
the most certain to molest them.
When it is remembered that the Indians had made so much trouble on the
Carolina frontiers, this is all the more remarkable, until we recollect
that Kentucky at that day, and for years after, was regarded by the
red-men as a sort of neutral hunting ground, no particular tribe laying
claim to it. But it was territory into which each possessed an equal
right to venture and wage deadly hand-to-hand encounters--while all
united with an undying enmity to drive back any white man who presumed
to step foot upon the Dark and Bloody Ground. It must have been, too,
that the Indians scattered through the region were not expecting any
visitors.
Kentucky at that time belonged to the colony of Virginia. The
Shawanoes, Cherokees, and Chickasaws frequently ventured into the
region to hunt, but the Iroquois had ceded all their claim to the
grounds to Great Britain at Fort Stanwix, in 1768, so that it will be
understood that Boone and his companions were not venturing into Indian
territory at all, though it is not to be supposed that any estray
red-men whom they might encounter in their hunts would be likely to
regard the exact status of the matter.
The hunters preferred not to encounter them at all, but were cautious
in their movements, and "put their trust in God and kept their powder
dry."
Accordingly, as we have stated, they prosecuted their hunting through
the sultry summer months, alternating with storm and sunshine, and
enjoying themselves to the fullest bent of which such spirits are
capable.
Autumn came, cool and invigorating, and winter with its biting winds
and piercing cold followed, making the primitive cabin in the mountain
gorge a most inviting spot in which to spend their leisure hours. They
smoked their pipes after the evening meal, and held friendly converse
as the hours wore on, when they stretched out and slept through the
solemn stillness, broken now and then by the mournful cry of some wild
animal, until morning again dawned.
Many of the excursions which they made had led them far into the
interior, and, as may be supposed, they kept their eyes and ears open.
They had not only failed to meet an Indian, but failed to catch sight
of a wigwam, or the smoke of a camp-fire other than their own; so
that, as we have repeated, they were justified, if any one could have
been, in believing that the last peril to which they were likely to be
exposed, was that from red-men.
And yet it was precisely that danger which was impending over them, and
which descended when it was least expected.
CHAPTER IV.
Boone and Stuart start out on a Hunt--Captured by Indians
and Disarmed--Stuart's Despair and Boone's Hope--A Week's
Captivity--The Eventful Night.
On the morning of December 22, 1769, Daniel Boone and his friend John
Stuart left camp, and started out on a hunt.
It was the shortest day in the year, so it is to be supposed that they
were desirous of improving it to the utmost, although they had become
so accustomed to such excursions, that there was no special expectation
excited by their venturing forth together for a hunt through the woods.
Experienced as they were in woodcraft, they saw nothing to cause the
slightest misgivings. Their keen eyes, as they roamed around the
horizon, detected no faint wreath of smoke stealing upward through
the tree-tops, telling where the camp of the treacherous Shawanoe was
kindled; the listening ear detected no skillfully disguised bird-call
trembling on the crisp air to warn them of the wily red-man skulking
through the cane, and waiting until they should come within reach of
their bow or rifle.
After leaving camp, the friends followed one of the numerous "buffalo
paths" through the cane, and in a few minutes were out of sight of
their comrades left behind. The air was keen and invigorating, and
they traveled carelessly along, admiring the splendid growth of the
timber and cane, showing what an unsurpassed soil awaited the pioneers
who should settle in these valleys, and turn up the sod for the seed of
the harvest.
Where the game was so plentiful, there was no likelihood of the hunters
suffering from lack of food. The buffaloes were so numerous that they
were able to approach the droves close enough to reach them with the
toss of a stone.
Stuart and Boone enjoyed themselves, as they had done on many a day
before, until the declining sun warned them that it was time to turn
their faces toward camp, if they expected to spend the night with their
friends in the rude but comfortable cabin.
They did so, and the sun had not yet gone down behind the line of
western forest, when they reached a small hill near the Kentucky River,
and began leisurely moving to the top.
It was at this juncture, that a party of Indians suddenly sprang up
from the canebrake and rushed upon them with such fierceness that
escape was out of the question. It was not often that Daniel Boone was
caught at disadvantage, but in this instance he was totally outwitted,
and it looked for the moment as if he and his companion had walked
directly into a trap set for them.
The pioneers were too prudent to attempt anything in the nature of
resistance when the result could but be their almost instant death,
for the Indians outnumbered them five to one, were fleet as deer, and
understood all the turnings and windings of the forest. Accordingly,
Boone and Stuart quietly surrendered, hoping for the best, but
expecting the worst.
As might be supposed, the Indians disarmed the hunters, and made them
prisoners at once. Stuart was terribly alarmed, for he could not see
the slightest ground for hope, but Boone, who possessed a most equable
temperament, told him to keep up heart.
"As they haven't killed us," said the pioneer, "it shows they intend to
spare us for a time, at least."
"Only to torture us to death hereafter," thought his terrified
companion.
"I don't doubt that such are their intentions, but between now and the
time, we may find our chance. Be obedient and watchful--doing nothing
to provoke them, but be ready when the right minute comes."
This was good advice, and Stuart was sensible enough to follow it in
spirit and letter.
It might have been expected that if a couple of hunters intended to
strike a blow for liberty, they would do so pretty soon after their
capture--that is, as soon as the darkness of night was in their
favor--but it was only characteristic of Boone that a full week passed
before he made the first attempt to escape.
During those seven days they could not fail to catch glimpses, as it
were, of freedom, and to be tempted to make a desperate dash, for many
a time it is the very boldness of such efforts that succeeds.
But Boone never lost his prudence of mind, which enabled him to abide
his time. Stuart, too, acted as he suggested, and they very effectually
concealed their eagerness to escape.
However, it was not to be expected that the Indians would be careless
enough to allow them to get away, and they maintained a most vigilant
watch upon them at all hours of the day and night. When tramping
through the wilderness or in camp, when hunting, or sitting around the
smoking logs, the suspicious red-men were near them. When the hour
came to sleep, the prisoners were placed so as to be surrounded, while
a strong and vigilant guard was appointed to watch over them until
daylight.
Boone and Stuart affected quite successfully an indifference to their
situation, and, inasmuch as they had not sought to take advantage of
what might have been intended as traps in the way of opportunities to
get away, it was only natural for the captors to conclude that the
white men were willing to spend an indefinite time with them.
What the ultimate intentions of these Indians were, can only be
conjectured, for they were a long distance from their lodges, but those
who ventured upon hunting excursions within the Dark and Bloody Ground
were of the fiercest nature, and as merciless as Bengal tigers, as they
proved in many a desperate encounter with the settlers; and it is no
more than reasonable to suppose that they meant in the end to burn them
at the stake, while they danced about the scene with fiendish glee,
just as they did a few years later with Colonel Crawford and other
prisoners who fell into their hands.
At last the week ended, and at the close of the seventh day, the
Indians encamped in a thick canebrake. They had been hunting since
morning, and no opportunity presented that satisfied Boone, but he
thought the time was close at hand when their fate was to be decided.
The long-continued indifference as shown by him and his companion had
produced its natural effect upon the Indians, who showed less vigilance
than at first.
But they knew better than to invite anything like that which was really
contemplated, and, when the night was advanced, the majority of the
warriors stretched out upon the ground in their blankets, with their
feet toward the fire.
It had been a severe day with all of them, and the watchful Boone
noticed that the guard appointed over him and his companion were drowsy
and inattentive, while maintaining a semblance of performing their duty.
"It must be done to-night," was the conclusion of the pioneer, who was
sure the signs were not likely to be more propitious.
He lay down and pretended slumber, but did not sleep a wink: his
thoughts were fixed too intently upon the all-important step he had
resolved must be taken then or never, and he lay thus, stretched out
at full length before the hostile camp-fire, patiently awaiting the
critical moment.
CHAPTER V.
The Escape--The Hunters find the Camp Deserted--Change of
Quarters--Boone and Kenton--Welcome Visitors--News from Home--In
Union there is Strength--Death of Stuart--Squire Boone returns to
North Carolina for Ammunition--Alone in the Wilderness--Danger on
Every Hand--Rejoined by his Brother--Hunting along the Cumberland
River--Homeward Bound--Arrival in North Carolina--Anarchy and
Distress--Boone remains there Two Years--Attention directed towards
Kentucky--George Washington--Boone prepared to move Westward.
It was near midnight when, having satisfied himself that every warrior,
including the guard, was sound asleep, Boone cautiously raised his head
and looked towards Stuart.
But he was as sound asleep as the Indians themselves, and it was a
difficult and dangerous matter to awaken him, for the Indian sleeps as
lightly as the watching lioness. The slightest incautious movement or
muttering on the part of the man would be sure to rouse their captors.
But Boone managed to tell his companion the situation, and the two with
infinite care and caution succeeded in gradually extricating themselves
from the ring of drowsy warriors.
"Make not the slightest noise," whispered Boone, placing his mouth
close to the ear of Stuart, who scarcely needed the caution.
The camp-fire had sunk low, and the dim light thrown out by the
smouldering logs cast grotesque shadows of the two crouching figures as
they moved off with the noiselessness of phantoms. Having gained such
immense advantage at the very beginning, neither was the one to throw
it away, and Stuart followed the instructions of his companion to the
letter.
The forms of the Indians in their picturesque positions remained
motionless, and it need hardly be said that at the end of a few
minutes, which seemed ten times longer than they were, the two pioneers
were outside the camp, and stood together beneath the dense shadows of
the trees.
It was a clear, starlit night, and the hunters used the twinkling orbs
and the barks of the trees to guide them in determining the direction
of their camp, towards which they pushed to the utmost, for having been
gone so long, they were naturally anxious to learn how their friends
had fared while they were away.
Boone and Stuart scarcely halted during the darkness, and when the sun
rose, were in a portion of the country which they easily recognized as
at no great distance from the gorge in which they had erected their
cabin more than six months before.
They pressed on with renewed energy, and a few hours later reached the
camp, which to their astonishment they found deserted. The supposition
was that the hunters had grown tired or homesick and had gone home,
though there is no certainty as to whether they were not all slain by
the Indians, who seem to have roused themselves to the danger from the
encroachments of the whites upon their hunting-grounds.
It was a great disappointment to Boone and Stuart to find themselves
alone, but they determined to stay where they were some time longer,
even though their supply of ammunition was running low, and both were
anxious to hear from home.
The certainty that the Indians were in the section about them, as the
friends had learned from dear experience, rendered it necessary to
exercise the utmost caution, for, if they should fall into their hands
again, they could not hope for such a fortunate deliverance.
Instead of using the headquarters established so long before, they
moved about, selecting the most secret places so as to avoid discovery,
while they were constantly on the alert through the day.
But both were masters of woodcraft, and Boone probably had no superior
in the lore of the woods. It is said of him that, some years later, he
and the great Simon Kenton reached a river from opposite directions at
the same moment, and simultaneously discovered, when about to cross,
that a stranger was on the other side.
Neither could know of a certainty whether he confronted a friend or
enemy, though the supposition was that he was hostile, in which event
the slightest advantage gained by one was certain to be fatal to the
other.
Immediately the two hunters began maneuvering, like a couple of
sparrers, to discover an unguarded point which would betray the truth.
It was early morning when this extraordinary duel opened, and it was
kept steadily up the entire day. Just at nightfall the two intimate
friends succeeded in identifying each other.
A man with such Esquimau-like patience, and such marvelous ingenuity
and skill, was sure to take the best care of himself, and during the
few days of hunting which followed, he and Stuart kept clear of all
"entangling alliances," and did not exchange a hostile shot with the
red-men.
In the month of January, they were hunting in the woods, when they
caught sight of two hunters in the distance among the trees. Boone
called out:
"Hallo, strangers! who are you?"
"White men and friends," was the astonishing answer.
The parties now hastened towards each other, and what was the amazement
and happiness of the pioneers to find that one of the men was Squire
Boone, the younger brother of Daniel, accompanied by a neighbor from
his home on the far-off Yadkin.
They had set out to learn the fate of the hunting party that left North
Carolina early in the spring, and that had now been so long absent that
their friends feared the worst, and had sent the two to learn what had
become of them, just as in these later days we send an expedition to
discover the North Pole, and then wait a little while and send another
to discover the expedition.
No one could have been more welcome to the two pioneers, for they
brought not only a plentiful supply of ammunition, but, what was best
of all, full tidings of the dear ones at home.
Squire Boone and his companion had found the last encampment of their
friends the night before, so they were expecting to meet them, though
not entirely relieved of their anxiety until they saw each other.
It can be imagined with what delight the four men gathered around
their carefully guarded camp-fire that evening, and talked of home
and friends, and listened to and told the news and gossip of the
neighborhood, where all their most loving associations clustered. It
must have been a late hour when they lay down to sleep, and Daniel
Boone and Stuart that night could not fail to dream of their friends on
the banks of the distant Yadkin.
The strength of the party was doubled, for there were now four skillful
hunters, and they had plenty of ammunition, so it was decided to stay
where they were some months longer.
It seems strange that they should not have acted upon the principle
that in union there is strength, for instead of hunting together, they
divided in couples. This may have offered better prospects in the
way of securing game, but it exposed them to greater danger, and a
frightful tragedy soon resulted.
Boone and Stuart were hunting in company, when they were suddenly
fired into by a party of Indians, and Stuart dropped dead. Boone was
not struck, and he dashed like a deer into the forest. Casting one
terrified glance over his shoulder, he saw poor Stuart scalped as soon
as he fell to the earth, pierced through the heart by the fatal bullet.
This left but three of them, and that fearfully small number was
soon reduced to two. The hunter who came from North Carolina with
Squire Boone was lost in the woods, and did not return to camp. The
brothers made a long and careful search, signaling and using every
means possible to find him, but there was no response, and despairing
and sorrowful they were obliged to give over the hunt. He was never
seen again. Years afterward the discovery of a skeleton in the woods
was believed to indicate his fate. It is more than probable that the
stealthy shot of some treacherous Indian, hidden in the canebrake, had
closed the career of the man as that of Stuart was ended.
The subsequent action of Boone was as characteristic as it was
remarkable. It is hard to imagine a person, placed in the situation of
the two, who would not have made all haste to return to his home; and
this would be expected, especially, of the elder brother, who had been
absent fully six months longer than the other.
And yet he did exactly the opposite. He had fallen in love with the
enchantments of the great Kentucky wilderness, with its streams, rivers
and rich soil, and its boundless game, and he concluded to stay where
he was, while Squire made the long journey back to North Carolina for
more ammunition.
Daniel reasoned that when Squire rejoined his family and acquainted
them with his own safety, and assured the wife and children that all
was going well with him, the great load of anxiety would be lifted from
their minds, and they would be content to allow the two to make a still
more extended acquaintance with the peerless land beyond the Cumberland
mountains.
Accordingly Squire set out for his home, and it should be borne in mind
that his journey was attended by as much danger as was the residence of
the elder brother in Kentucky, for he was in peril from Indians all the
way.
Daniel Boone was now left entirely alone in the vast forests, with
game, wild beasts and ferocious Indians, while his only friend and
relative was daily increasing the distance between them, as he
journeyed toward the East.
Imagination must be left to picture the life of this comparatively
young man during the three months of his brother's absence. Boone was
attached to his family, and yet he chose deliberately to stay where he
was, rather than accompany his brother on his visit to his home.
But he had little time to spend in gloomy retrospection or
apprehensions, for there were plenty of Indians in the woods, and they
were continually looking for him.
He changed his camp frequently, and more than once when he lay hidden
in the thick cane and crawled stealthily back to where he had spent
the previous night, the print of moccasins in the earth told him how
hot the hunt had been for him.
Indian trails were all about him, and many a time the warriors
attempted to track him through the forest and canebrakes, but the
lithe, active pioneer was as thorough a master of woodcraft as they,
and he kept out of their way with as much skill as Tecumseh himself
ever showed in eluding those who thirsted for his life.
He read the signs with the same unerring accuracy he showed in bringing
down the wild turkey, or in barking the squirrel on the topmost limb.
Often he lay in the canebrake, and heard the signals of the Indians as
they pushed their search for the white man who, as may be said, dared
to defy them on their own ground.
Boone could tell from these carefully guarded calls how dangerous the
hunt was becoming, and when he thought the warriors were getting too
close to his hiding-place, he carefully stole out and located somewhere
else until perhaps the peril passed.
There must have been times when, stretched beneath the trees and
looking up at the twinkling stars, with the murmur of the distant river
or the soughing of the night-wind through the branches, his thoughts
wandered over the hundreds of miles of intervening wilderness to the
humble home on the bank of the Yadkin, where the loved wife and little
ones looked longingly toward the western sun and wondered when the
husband and father would come back to them.
And yet Boone has said, while admitting these gloomy moments, when
he was weighed down by the deepest depression, that some of the most
enjoyable hours of his life were those spent in solitude, without a
human being, excepting a deadly enemy, within hail.
The perils which followed every step under the arches of the trees, but
rendered them the more attractive, and the pioneer determined to remove
his family, and to make their home in the sylvan land of enchantment
just so soon as he could complete the necessary arrangements for doing
so.
On the 27th of July, 1770, Squire Boone returned and rejoined his
brother, who was glad beyond description to receive him, and to hear so
directly from his beloved home. During the absence of the younger, the
other had explored pretty much all of the central portion of Kentucky,
and the result was that he formed a greater attachment than ever for
the new territory.
When Squire came back, Daniel said that he deemed it imprudent to stay
where they were any longer. The Indians were so numerous and vigilant
that it seemed impossible to keep out of their way; accordingly they
proceeded to the Cumberland River, where they spent the time in hunting
and exploration until the early spring of 1771.
They gave names to numerous streams, and, having enjoyed a most
extraordinary hunting jaunt, were now ready to go back to North
Carolina and rejoin their families.
But they set out for their homes with not the slightest purpose of
staying there. They had seen too much of the pleasures of the wood,
for either to be willing to give them up. In North Carolina there
was the most exasperating trouble. The tax-gatherer was omnipresent
and unbearably oppressive; the social lines between the different
classes was drawn as if with a two-edged sword; there were murmurs
and mutterings of anger in every quarter; Governor Tryon, instead of
pacifying, was only fanning the flames; ominous signs were in the
skies, and anarchy, red war and appalling disaster seemed to loom up in
the near future.
What wonder, therefore, that Daniel Boone turned his eyes with a
longing such as comes over the weary traveler who, after climbing a
precipitous mountain, looks beyond and sees the smiling verdure of the
promised land.
He had determined to emigrate long before, and he now made what might
be called the first move in that direction. He and his brother pushed
steadily forward without any incident worth noting, and reached their
homes in North Carolina, where, as may well be supposed, they were
welcomed like those who had risen from the dead. They had been gone
many months, and in the case of Daniel, two years had passed since he
clasped his loved wife and children in his arms.
The neighbors, too, had feared the worst, despite the return of Squire
Boone with the good news of the pioneer, and they were entertained as
were those at court when Columbus, coming back from his first voyage
across the unknown seas, related his marvelous stories of the new world
beyond.
Daniel Boone found his family well, and, as his mind was fixed upon his
future course, he began his preparations for removal to Kentucky.
This was a most important matter, for there was a great deal to do
before the removal could be effected. It was necessary to dispose of
the little place upon which they had lived so long and bestowed so much
labor, and his wife could not be expected to feel enthusiastic over the
prospect of burying herself in the wilderness, beyond all thought of
returning to her native State.
Then again Boone was not the one to entertain such a rash scheme as
that of removing to Kentucky, without taking with him a strong company,
able to hold its own against the Indians, who were certain to dispute
their progress.
It is easy to understand the work which lay before Boone, and it may be
well believed that months passed without any start being made, though
the great pioneer never faltered or wavered in his purpose.
Matters were not improving about him. The trouble, distress, and
difficulties between the authorities and the people were continually
aggravated, and the Revolution was close at hand.
At the end of two years, however, Boone was prepared to make the
momentous move, and it was done. The farm on the Yadkin was sold, and
he had gathered together a goodly company for the purpose of forming
the first real settlement in Kentucky.
During the few years immediately preceding, the territory was visited
by other hunters, while Boone himself was alone in the solitude. A
company numbering forty, and led by Colonel James Knox, gathered for
a grand buffalo hunt in the valleys of the Clinch, New River, and
Holston. A number of them skirted along the borders of Tennessee and
Kentucky.
While they were thus engaged, others penetrated the valleys from
Virginia and Pennsylvania, and among them was a young man named George
Washington.
As is well known, his attention had been directed some time before
to the lands along the Ohio, and he owned a number of large claims.
He clearly foresaw the teeming future of the vast West, and he was
especially desirous of informing himself concerning the lands lying in
the neighborhood of the mouth of the Kanawha.
At that particular date, the Virginians were converging toward the
country south of the river, and there were many difficulties with
the Indians, who then as now are ready to resist entrance upon
their hunting-grounds, even though the immigrants are backed by the
stipulations of a recently signed treaty.
CHAPTER VI.
Leaving North Carolina--Joined by a Large Company at Powell's
Valley--Glowing Anticipations--Attacked by Indians in Cumberland
Gap--Daniel Boone's Eldest Son Killed--Discouragement--Return
to Clinch River Settlement--The Check Providential--Boone acts
as a Guide to a Party of Surveyors--Commissioned Captain by
Governor Dunmore, and takes command of Three Garrisons--Battle of
Point Pleasant--Attends the making of a Treaty with the Indians
at Wataga--Employed by Colonel Richard Henderson--Kentucky
claimed by the Cherokees--James Harrod--The First Settlement
in Kentucky--Boone leads a Company into Kentucky--Attacked
by Indians--Erection of the Fort at Boonesborough--Colonel
Richard Henderson takes Possession of Kentucky--The Republic of
Transylvania--His Scheme receives its Death-blow--Perils of the
Frontier--A Permanent Settlement made on Kentucky Soil.
On the 25th of September, 1774, Daniel Boone and his family started to
make their settlement in Kentucky.
He had as his company his brother Squire, who had spent several months
with him in the wilderness, and they took with them quite a number of
cattle and swine with which to stock their farms when they should reach
their destination, while their luggage was carried on pack-horses.
At Powell's Valley, not very far distant, they were joined by another
party, numbering five families and forty able-bodied men, all armed and
provided with plenty of ammunition. This made the force a formidable
one, and they pushed on in high spirits.
When night came they improvised tents with poles and their blankets,
and the abundance of game around them removed all danger of suffering
from the lack of food, for it was but sport to bring down enough of it
to keep the entire company well supplied.
The experience of the Boones, when they passed through this region
previously, taught them to be on their guard constantly, for the most
likely time for the Indians to come is when they are least expected,
and the leaders saw to it that no precaution was neglected.
And yet it is easy to see that such a large company, moving slowly, and
encumbered by women and children and so much luggage and live-stock,
was peculiarly exposed to danger from the dreaded Indians.
On the 10th of October they approached Cumberland Gap. The cattle had
fallen to the rear, where they were plodding leisurely along, with
several miles separating them from their friends in front, when the
latter suddenly heard the reports of guns coming to them through the
woods. They instantly paused and, looking in each other's pale faces,
listened.
There could be no mistaking their meaning, for the reports were from
the direction of the cattle in the rear, and the shouts and whoops came
from the brazen throats of Indians, who had attacked the weak guard of
the live-stock.
Boone and his friends, leaving a sufficient guard for the women and
children, hurried back to the assistance of the young men, who were in
such imminent peril.
There was sore need of their help indeed, for the attack, like the
generality of those made by Indians, was sudden, unexpected, and of
deadly fierceness. When the panting hunters reached the spot, they
found the cattle had been stampeded and scattered irrecoverably in the
woods, while of the seven men who had the kine in charge, only one
escaped alive, and he was badly wounded.
Among the six who lay stretched in death, was the oldest son of Daniel
Boone, slain, as may be said, just as he was about entering upon the
promised land.
The disaster was an appalling one, and it spread gloom and sorrow among
the emigrants, who might well ask themselves whether, if they were
forced to run the gauntlet in that fearful fashion, they would be able
to hold their own if spared to reach Kentucky?
A council was called, and the question was discussed most seriously.
Daniel Boone, who had suffered such an affliction in the loss of his
child, strenuously favored pushing on, as did his brother and a number
of the other emigrants, but the majority were disheartened by the
disaster, and insisted on going back to their homes, where, though the
annoyances might be many, no such calamity was to be dreaded.
The sentiment for return was so strong that the Boones were compelled
to yield, and turning about, they made their way slowly and sadly
to Clinch River settlement, in the southwestern part of Virginia,
a distance of perhaps forty miles from where they were attacked by
Indians.
It would be difficult to look upon this occurrence in any other light
than a most serious check and misfortune, as certainly was the case, so
far as the loss of the half dozen men was concerned, but the turning
back of the rest of the party was unquestionably a providential thing.
It was a short time previous to this, that the historical Logan episode
took place. The family of that noted chief and orator were massacred,
and the fierce Dunmore War was the consequence. This was impending at
the very time Boone and the others were journeying toward Kentucky, and
breaking out shortly afterwards, extended to the very section in which
the emigrants expected to settle, and where in all probability they
would have suffered much more severely had they not turned back for the
time.
Nothing could change the purpose of Boone to enter into Kentucky, and
to make his home there. Although obliged from the sentiment of his
friends to withdraw for a time, he looked upon the check as only a
temporary one, and was confident that before long he would be firmly
fixed in what he called the "land of promise."
Boone was not to be an idle spectator of the famous Dunmore War going
on around him. In the month of June, 1774, he and Michael Stoner were
requested by Governor Dunmore of Virginia to go to the falls of
the Ohio, for the purpose of guiding into the settlement a party of
surveyors, sent out some months before.
Boone and his friend promptly complied, and conducted the surveyors
through the difficult and dangerous section without accident,
completing a tour of eight hundred miles in a couple of months.
Shortly afterward Boone rejoined his family on Clinch river, and was
there when Governor Dunmore sent him a commission as captain, and
ordered him to take command of three contiguous garrisons on the
frontier, during the prosecution of the war against the Indians.
Boone, who had proven his coolness and intrepidity many a time, was
equally prompt in discharging the responsible duty with which the
governor honored him. It is believed that the pioneer was present at
the famous battle of Point Pleasant, which perhaps was the most furious
contest ever waged with the Indians on Virginia soil.
The Shawanoes, Delawares, Mingoes, Wyandots and Cayugas, to the number
of 1500, and under the leadership of such famous chiefs as Logan,
Cornstock, Elenipsico, Red-Eagle and others, made a fight against
General Lewis and his brave Virginians, not only with bravery, but with
a skill which came within a hair's-breadth of annihilating the entire
force of whites as utterly as was that of General Custer more than a
century later.
Finally, however, the sanguinary fight terminated in favor of the
Virginians, by a skillful maneuvre at the proper moment, and the
savages were completely routed. Not long afterward a treaty of peace
was made in which the Indians surrendered all claim to Kentucky. As the
Six Nations had done the same six years before, it may be said that all
the aboriginal title to Kentucky was extinguished when Boone settled
there.
Dunmore's War having terminated with the utter overthrow of the
combined tribes, the militia that had been called into service were
discharged, and Boone returned to his family on Clinch River.
He had already become known as a hunter and explorer possessing great
daring and shrewdness, and those were the days when such men were
needed in wresting the Western wilderness from the grasp of the wild
Indian, who was sure to fight the advancing hosts of civilization with
the treacherous fierceness which the barbarian always displays in
defending its young.
Boone, therefore, had been home but a short time, when he received a
request from a company of North Carolinians, who proposed purchasing
a large tract of land lying to the south of Kentucky River from the
Cherokee Indians, to attend their treaty to be held at Wataga in
March, 1775, with a view of negotiating with them, and determining the
boundaries of the purchase.
This association was known as Colonel Richard Henderson's Company, and
it was one of the most extraordinary that was engaged at any time in
opening up our Western territory.
When the Boones returned from their first visit to Kentucky, it is
scarcely necessary to say that they gave glowing descriptions of its
wonderful attractiveness for the hunter and settler. These accounts
spread over North Carolina and created great excitement, one of the
direct results being the formation of Colonel Henderson's Company. The
originator was a man of education, wealth and energy, and he displayed
such ability and daring in its management, that he frightened off most
of his rivals, or led them to enlist under his banner.
At that time the entire country lying within the natural lines formed
by the Ohio, Kentucky and Cumberland rivers was claimed by the Cherokee
Indians, who lived within the boundaries of North Carolina. Previously,
however, Virginia had given an impetus to the exploration and adventure
in Kentucky, by presenting to her officers and soldiers Western lands
by way of bounties for their services in the British army, in the old
war between France and England. It was required that these lands should
be surveyed by the claimants, who were also given a large discretion in
locating their claims.
The first of these was made upon the Kanawha in the year 1772, and the
second was on the south side of the Ohio the following year.
The business having begun it was pressed vigorously forward. Extensive
tracts were surveyed on the north fork of the Licking and numerous salt
licks, and other especially desirable spots were taken up.
The year 1774 was notable for arrivals in Kentucky of those who were
entitled to lands, besides scores of others who went to indulge in
speculation, and to secure the most valuable sections before they could
be taken by others.
Among those daring explorers and hunters was James Harrod, at the head
of a party of Kentuckians from the shores of the Monongahela. They
followed the Kentucky River into the interior, and left it at a place
afterwards known as "Harrod's Landing." Moving further westward they
located themselves in a beautiful and attractive section, where they
erected the first log-cabin ever built in Kentucky.
This was near the present town of Harrodsburg, in the spring of 1774,
and this place, therefore, may claim to be the oldest settlement in
Kentucky. Harrodsburg is now the capital of Mercer county, and is
thirty miles south of Frankfort, with a population of about 2,500. It
is an attractive summer retreat, and enjoys a fine reputation for its
mineral waters.
As we have stated, the most remarkable of the many associations formed
for the settlement of Kentucky was that organized by Colonel Richard
Henderson of North Carolina.
It was intended to obtain by purchase from the Cherokee Indians their
right to the same, and then to take possession of the immense area.
As soon as the organization of the company was effected, Daniel Boone
was fixed upon to conduct the negotiations with the Cherokees. As
might have been anticipated, he met with perfect success, and Colonel
Henderson went to Wataga, a small place on the Holston River, where,
in solemn council, on the 17th of March, 1775, he delivered to them a
consideration in merchandise, for which he received in return a deed to
Kentucky, signed by all the leading chiefs.
This was a most important step indeed, but another of no less
importance remained to be taken, and that was to assume possession of
the territory claimed by Colonel Henderson.
This gentleman was too energetic and clear-sighted to delay such a
necessary measure, and his wisdom was further shown by fixing upon
Captain Daniel Boone for the carrying out of his intentions.
A small company of brave and trustworthy men were at once selected, who
were sent to Kentucky under the direction of Boone, with instructions
to open a road from the Holston to the Kentucky River, and to erect a
station at the mouth of Otter Creek, on the latter stream.
This was serious business, and none appreciated it more than Boone
and his companions, who knew that the treaty signed with the chiefs
would not afford them the slightest protection against the treacherous
Indians. They proceeded with the greatest care and caution, keeping
their most vigilant sentinels on the lookout at night, while every man,
it may be said, was on guard through the day.
They pushed steadily forward, until they reached a point about fifteen
miles from where Boonesborough stands, using all the dispatch possible,
and escaping molestation up to that time. But at the place named,
they were suddenly fired upon by Indians, who, springing up from
their ambush, attacked them with great ferocity. Two of the whites
were killed and two wounded, but they repulsed their assailants a few
minutes later.
Boone and his friends lost no time in pressing ahead; but three
days later, they were fired upon by Indians again, and two of their
number were killed and three wounded. Well might Kentucky be named
the Dark and Bloody Ground, for its soil has been crimsoned with the
life-current of its earliest pioneers, from the very hour they first
placed foot within its borders.
The settlers, however, had no thought of turning back, but fought their
way, as may be said, to the Kentucky River, which they reached on the
1st of April, 1775, and began the erection of the fort of Boonesborough
at a salt lick, about two hundred feet from the south bank of the river.
A few days later, the Indians shot one of the men, but the others
paused in their work only long enough to give their late comrade a
respectful burial, and to shed a few tears of sympathy over his loss,
when they resumed cutting and hewing the logs and placing them in
position.
They continued steadily at work, and the fort was finished by the
middle of June following, when, having satisfactorily discharged his
duty, Boone returned to his family at the Clinch River settlement.
Kentucky was formally taken possession of on the 20th of April, 1775,
which, it may be stated, was on the very day that Colonel Richard
Henderson reached the age of forty years, there being about two months
difference between his age and that of Daniel Boone.
Henderson was a native Virginian, who had been a judge in the Superior
Court of the Colonial Government of North Carolina; but the halls of
justice were shut up by the anarchy occasioned by the Regulators, and
he engaged a number of the most influential of North Carolinians in
the Utopian scheme of founding the Republic of Transylvania. It was
with this grandiloquent project in their mind, that Kentucky was taken
possession of on the date named, and everything considered necessary
was done for laying the foundation stones of the model republic in the
heart of American territory.
The death-blow of the grand scheme was received before it was fairly
born. Governor Martin of North Carolina issued a proclamation,
declaring the purchase of the lands by Colonel Henderson and his
association from the Cherokees illegal; but, as a matter of equity, the
State subsequently granted 200,000 acres to the company.
Virginia did the same thing, granting them an equal number of acres
bounded by the Ohio and Green Rivers. Tennessee claimed this tract,
but gave in compensation therefor the same number of acres in Powell's
Valley. Thus ended the attempt to found the Transylvania Republic, but
the original projectors of the movement acquired individual fortunes,
and Colonel Henderson himself, when he died, ten years later, was the
possessor of immense wealth, and was loved and respected throughout the
entire territory.
The old fort at Boonesborough, being the first real foothold gained by
the pioneers, was sure to become most prominently identified with the
Indian troubles that were inevitable. It was to be a haven of safety to
many a settler and his family, when the whoop of the vengeful Shawanoe
or Miami rang through the forest arches, and the sharp crack of the
warrior's rifle sent the whizzing bullet to the heart of the white man
who had ventured and trusted his all in the wilderness.
It was to be the lighthouse on the coast of danger, warning of the
peril that lay around and beyond, but offering protection to those who
fled to its rude shelter, as the cities of the olden times received and
spread their arms over the panting fugitive escaping from his pursuers.
The old fort was a most notable figure in the history of the West, a
hundred years ago. There have been gathered in the structure of logs
and slabs, the bravest men who ever trailed the red Indian through the
wilderness. There those mighty giants of the border, Boone, Kenton,
Wells, M'Clelland, the Wetzel and McAfee Brothers, M'Arthur, and scores
of others converged from their long journeyings in the service of the
Government; and, closing about the fire, as they smoked their pipes,
they told of the hand-to-hand encounter in the silent depths of the
woods, of the maneuvering on the banks of the lonely mountain stream,
of the panther-like creeping through the canebrake on the trail of the
Indian, of the camps at night, when the Shawanoes were so plentiful
that they did not dare close their eyes through fear that their
breathing would betray them, of the smoking cabin with the mutilated
forms of husband, wife, and babe showing that the aboriginal tigers
had been there, of the death-shots, the races for life, and the days
of perils which followed the daring scout up to the very stockades of
Boonesborough.
Sometimes one of the rangers of the wilderness would fail to come into
the fort when expected. There would be mutual inquiries on the part of
those who had been accustomed to meet him. Perhaps some one would say
he was scouting for the Government, but nothing would be known with
certainty, and a suspicion would begin to shape itself that he had
"lain down," never to rise again.
Perhaps some ranger in threading his way through the long leagues of
trackless forests would stop to camp from the snow which was whirling
and eddying about him, while the wintry wind moaned and soughed through
the swaying branches overhead; and mayhap, as he cautiously struck
flint and steel in the hidden gorge, he saw dimly outlined in the
gathering gloom the form of a man, shrunk to that of a skeleton, in
which the spark of life had been extinguished long before.
The bullet-hole in the chest, or the cleft made in the skull by the
fiercely-driven tomahawk, showed why it was the scout had been missing
so long, and why his cheery voice and ringing laugh would never be
heard again.
Boonesborough, as we have stated, stood about 200 feet from the
Kentucky River, one of its angles resting on its banks near the water,
and extending from it in the form of a parallelogram. The length of the
fort, allowing twenty feet for each cabin and opening, was 260 with
a breadth of 150 feet. The houses were built of rough logs, and were
bulletproof. They were square in form, one of the cabins projecting
from each corner, the remaining spaces along the sides being filled
with cabins, constructed more with an eye to strength than beauty.
On the side facing the river was a large strong gate moving on wooden
hinges, and a similar one was placed on the opposite side.
The cabins along the four sides were connected by pickets, which
consisted of slabs, sharpened at one end and driven deep into the
ground. Such forts would be of little account in these days, but they
were effective against the Indians who followed such desultory warfare,
and who were thus compelled, as may be said, to transfer the advantage
which they naturally sought to their enemies.
A frontier fort like Boonesborough did not afford that absolute
protection which would allow the garrison to lie down and slumber in
peace, certain that all danger was removed. The Indian was wily and
catlike by nature; he knew the advantage of mining, and took naturally
to the most insidious methods of warfare; but the whites, if vigilant,
were sure to detect such demonstrations, and they possessed the power
to countermine, and defeat any and every movement of the savages.
Besides this, and above all, the garrison possessed a shelter from
which to aim their deadly rifles, and they might well scorn the attempt
of any force of warriors that could be gathered together.
The fort with its cabins was completed in the early summer of 1774,
including also the cabins and buildings intended for the friends and
families who were expected to join them a few months later. Colonel
Henderson and a couple of the proprietors visited the place, and gave
it its name in honor of the great pioneer who had built it.
These leaders took with them some forty new settlers, a large number
of pack-horses, and a goodly supply of such articles as were needed at
a frontier-post like Boonesborough. And now it will be admitted that
Boone and his employers were fully warranted in believing that at last
a permanent settlement had been planted on Kentucky soil.
CHAPTER VII.
Boone Rejoins his Family at the Clinch River Settlement--Leads a
Company of Immigrants into Kentucky--Insecurity of Settlers--Dawn
of the American Revolution--British Agents Incite the Indians to
Revolt against the Settlements.
Daniel Boone showed his faith in the success of the enterprise, by
announcing his intention of bringing his family into Kentucky to stay
as long as they lived.
Accordingly he proceeded to the Clinch River settlement, where he gave
more glowing accounts than ever of the beauties and attraction of the
new country.
The result was inevitable. The stories of foreign lands never lose any
of their brilliant coloring when they come from the mouth of one who
has passed through the enchanting experiences of which he tells us.
What though he speaks of the deadly peril which lingers around the
footsteps of the explorer, is it not one of the laws of this strange
nature of ours that the attraction is thereby rendered the greater? is
it not a sad fact that the forbidden pleasure is the one that tastes
the sweeter?
Boone set his neighbors to talking, and by the time his family was
ready to move to Kentucky, a number were fully as eager as he to go to
the new country.
The pioneer was chosen to lead them. They turned their backs forever
upon North Carolina in the autumn of 1775, and facing westward, set out
for their destination.
When they reached Powell's valley, several other families were awaiting
them, and, thus re-enforced, the company numbered twenty-six men,
four women, five boys and girls--quite a formidable force, when it is
remembered they were under the leadership of Daniel Boone, to whom the
trail had become so familiar during the preceding years.
This little calvacade wound its way through Cumberland Gap, all in high
spirits, though sensible of the dangers which, it may be said, hovered
about them from the very hour they left Clinch River.
Good fortune attended the venture, and for the first time of which we
have record, the entire journey was made without the loss of any of
their number at the hands of the Indians.
Never forgetting that the utmost vigilance was necessary to insure this
exemption, if such insurance be considered possible, Boone permitted
nothing like negligence, either when on the march or in camp.
But, in recalling those first expeditions to the West, one cannot help
wondering at their success. Had the Indians shown a realizing sense
of the strength in union, which they displayed at the battle of Point
Pleasant, the Thames, and in the defeats of St. Clair, Crawford and
others, they could have crushed out these attempts at settlement,
and postponed the opening up of the country for many years. What more
easy than to have concentrated several hundred of their warriors, and,
waiting until the little companies of settlers had penetrated too far
into their territory to withdraw, led them into ambush and annihilated
every man, woman and child?
But they chose, when not engaged in their rare movements on a large
scale, to fight in a desultory fashion, firing from behind the tree or
from the covert, or watching for the unsuspecting settler to appear at
the door of his cabin.
This manner of fighting made the feeling of uncertainty general, for no
man could know when the peril threatened his wife and little ones, nor
when the spiteful attack would be made by some small band of warriors,
venturing from the main body and relying upon their own celerity of
movement to escape before the settlers could rally in time to strike
back.
This species of warfare, we say, was extremely perilous to the settlers
and pioneers, but it could never become an effective check to the
advancing hosts of civilization, which were beginning to converge from
a dozen different directions upon the fair forests and fertile plains
of Kentucky.
When Boone and his party reached the headwaters of Dick's River, a halt
was made, and a division took place. Several of the families preferred
to settle at Harrodsburg--the cabin of Harrod having been erected there
the year previous. With mutual good wishes, therefore, they separated
from the main company, and pushing resolutely forward, reached their
destination in safety.
As a matter of course, there was but the one haven which loomed up
invitingly before Daniel Boone,--that was the station named after
himself, and which was now at no great distance away. He and the main
body reached it without molestation, and they helped to swell the
numbers that were already making Boonesborough the strongest post in
the West.
It is one of the facts of which the pioneer was proud throughout
his long, eventful life, that his wife and daughter were the first
white women who ever "stood upon the banks of the wild and beautiful
Kentucky."
But, as we have stated, settlers, speculators, surveyors, and
adventurers were converging to the Dark and Bloody Ground, which was
receiving an influx almost daily--the most of the new-comers being of a
character desirable and useful to a new country.
The latter part of 1775 was specially noteworthy for the number of
settlers who entered Kentucky. The majority of these made their
rendezvous at Boonesborough, which soon became what might be called
the headquarters of the pioneers. Many attached themselves to Boone's
colony, others went to Harrodsburg, while some, having completed the
survey of their lands, returned home.
It was during these stirring days that Boone received visits from
Kenton, the McAfees and other men, who became so noted afterward as
scouts and border rangers.
Those were momentous times in the Colonies, for, as the reader will
observe, our forefathers were on the very verge of the American
Revolution. The country was trembling with excitement from one end to
the other. In the spring of the year occurred the battle of Lexington,
when was fired the shot that was "heard around the world," and the
war opened between Great Britain and the Colonies. Men left the plow
in the furrow, the shop and their homes, and hastened to arms, while
Boone and his brother colonists were planting their homes hundreds of
miles beyond the frontiers of the Carolinas. Many believed the treaties
previously made with the Indians would protect them from molestation
at their hands, but in this expectation the pioneers were wofully
disappointed.
It was necessary for the mother country to put forth the most gigantic
efforts to subdue her American colonies, or she would be confronted
with rebellions among her colonial possessions all around the globe.
Despite the treaties with the aborigines, English emissaries were soon
at work, inciting the Indians to revolt against the intruders upon
their soil. There is good reason to believe that more than this was
done, and Great Britain furnished the tribes with guns and ammunition,
with which to give practical expression to their enmity toward the
white settlers in Kentucky and Tennessee.
The American Indian, as a rule, does not require much persuasion to
begin the work of rapine and massacre, as we have found from dealing
with him ourselves. When they have received their supplies from our
Government agents, and have had their usual "palaver" with the peace
agents, they are fully prepared to enter upon the war-path.
The student of Western history will recognize the date named as the
beginning of the most troublous times on the Kentucky frontier. The
settlers had planted themselves on the soil with the purpose of
remaining, and they were prepared to defend their homes against all
comers. But the most resolute bravery and consummate woodcraft cannot
give absolute protection from such a foe as the original American.
The sturdy settler who plunged into the woods, with his glittering axe
in hand, was not secure against the shot from behind the tree which
bordered his path, and the plowman who slowly guided his team to the
opposite end of the clearing, could have no guarantee that one of the
painted warriors had not been crouching there for hours, waiting with
his serpent-like eyes fixed upon him, until he should reach the spot
in order to send a bullet through his heart; the mother, busy with her
household duties, was not sure that the leaden messenger would not
be aimed, with unerring skill, the moment she showed herself at the
door, nor could she be assured that when her little ones ventured from
her sight, they would not be caught up and spirited away, or that the
tomahawk would not be sent crashing into their brain.
The sounds of what seemed the hooting of owls in the dead of night
were the signals which the Indians were exchanging as they crept like
panthers from different directions upon the doomed cabin; the faint
caw of crows, apparently from the tops of the trees, were the signals
of the vengeful warriors, as they approached the house which they had
fixed upon as the one that should be burned and its inmates massacred.
There was the fort known as Harrod's Old Cabin and Boonesborough, while
other rude structures were reared in the clearings with the intention
of being used as a protection against the red-men. These served their
good purpose, and many a time saved the settlers from the peril which
stole upon them like the insidious advance of the pestilence that
smites at noonday,--but they could give no security to the lonely
cabins with the stretches of forest between and the faint trail
connecting them with the fort.
When the Shawanoes and Miamis came, it was like the whirlwind, and many
a time they delivered their frightful blows, withdrew, and were miles
away in the recesses of the woods, where pursuit was impossible, before
the garrison at the station could answer the call for help.
But, as we have said, these frightful atrocities and dangers could not
turn back the tide of emigration that was pouring westward. The trail
which Boone had marked from Holston to Boonesborough was distinct
enough for the passage of pack-horses, and the long files which plodded
over the perilous path always had their heads turned to the westward.
The flat-boats that swung slowly with the current down the Ohio were
pierced with bullets from the shores, and, in some instances, nearly
all the occupants were picked off by the Indian marksmen; but had it
been in the power of these cumbrous craft to turn back, they would not
have done so.
The American pioneer is daunted by no danger, baffled by no difficulty,
and discouraged by no adversity. The time had come for opening up the
western wilds, and nothing but the hand of Providence himself could
stop or delay the work.
CHAPTER VIII.
Comparative Quiet on the Frontier--Capture of Boone's Daughter
and the Misses Callaway by Indians--Pursued by Boone and Seven
Companions--Their Rescue and Return to their Homes.
It was the summer of 1776, and the colonies were aflame with war. Those
were the days which tried men's souls, and the skies were dark with
discouragement and coming disaster. There were many hearts that could
only see overwhelming failure in the momentous struggle in which the
country was engaged.
For a time, comparative quiet reigned in the neighborhood of
Boonesborough. The settlers improved the time to the utmost. While
some hunted and fished, others cleared the land, and a promising crop
of corn had been put in the rich soil. Only one of the colony had been
shot by Indians during the preceding winter, the band which did it
having withdrawn before any retaliatory measures could be taken.
On the afternoon of the seventh of July, Miss Betsey Callaway, her
sister Frances, and a daughter of Daniel Boone entered a canoe under
the bank of the river, as children would naturally do to amuse
themselves. Betsey was a young lady, but the other two were about
thirteen years of age,--all bright, joyous girls, who had no thought
of danger, as they paddled about the rock where the frail boat had been
moored.
They were laughing and paddling, when suddenly a rustling among the
overhanging bushes arrested their attention, and, turning their gaze,
they saw with consternation the painted face of an Indian warrior.
The girls were almost paralyzed with terror. The savage warned them
by signs to make no outcry, through penalty of being brained with the
tomahawk griped in his hand. They could only huddle together in terror
and await his pleasure, whatever it might be.
The sinewy Indian then stepped cautiously into the canoe, and took up
the paddle, which he handled with the skill peculiar to his people.
With scarcely the slightest plash, he silently forced it out from the
undergrowth and started for the other shore.
The terrified girls looked appealingly in the direction of the
stockades, but they dare make no outcry. The stalwart savage dipped the
paddle first on one side and then on the other, and the canoe rapidly
neared the shore, beneath whose overhanging bushes it glided the next
moment like an arrow.
Turning toward the girls, the Indian signified that they were to
leave the boat, and the poor girls could do nothing less. Several
other warriors who were in waiting, joined them, and the journey was
instantly begun toward the interior.
No more unfavorable time for the captives could have been selected. It
was late in the afternoon, and before anything like pursuit could be
organized it would be night, and the trail invisible. The Indians would
use all the woodcraft at their command, and doubtless the morning would
see them many miles removed from the settlement.
The captors took the very precautions of which we have spoken,
directing their steps toward the thickest cane, where they separated
and made their way through it with the utmost caution, with a view of
rendering their footprints so faint that pursuit would be out of the
question.
Having assured themselves, so far as they could, that their trail was
hidden from the scrutiny of the settlers, the Indians with the three
girls made another turn, and striking a buffalo path, pushed forward
without delay.
The girls had been reared in a society where outdoor life and exercise
were a part of their creed, and they stood the unwonted task forced
upon them with much greater fortitude than would have been supposed.
They walked nimbly along, taking great consolation in each other's
company, though they were almost heartbroken at the thought that every
mile through the gloomy forest was taking them so much further away
from their loved ones, and lessened in the same degree their chances of
rescue by their friends at Boonesborough.
It being midsummer, they did not suffer from cold, and but for their
terror of their ultimate fate, they would have cared nothing for the
jaunt. Still, as children will feel under such circumstances, they had
strong hopes that their parents and friends would soon be in close
pursuit of the Indians.
And such indeed was the case. For it was not long before the girls were
missed at Boonesborough, and search made for them. Some one had seen
them in the canoe, and when it was discovered that the boat was left on
the opposite side of the river, and when the keen eyes of the pioneers
were able to detect the imprint of moccasins along the shore where the
craft had been moored on their side, there could be no doubt of what it
meant.
The girls had been captured and carried away by Indians.
It can be well understood that great excitement spread among the
families of Boonesborough, all of whom were drawn together by the
closest ties of friendship, and who shared in each other's joys and
woes. The whole male force were ready to start at a moment's notice to
the rescue.
But that was not the way in which to secure them, for it would have
been equally effective for a hunting party to go in search of the timid
antelope with drums and banners. What was needed was a small company of
hunters, brave, swift of foot, clear-headed and skilled in the ways of
the woods.
They should be men who could trail the red Indian where the imprints of
his moccasined feet were invisible to ordinary eyes, and who, when the
critical emergency should come, were sure to do just the right thing at
the right time.
There were plenty such in Boonesborough, and there could be no
difficulty in finding them. At the head, of course, stood Daniel Boone
himself, and he selected seven others who could be relied on in any
emergency; but, by the time the pursuit could be begun, the shades of
night were settling over wood and river, and it was out of the question
to attempt anything like an intelligent search for the girls.
In such a case there is no basis for reasoning, for though it may seem
certain to the veteran hunter that his enemy has taken a certain course
in order to reach his distant lodge, yet the morning is likely to show
that he has gone on a different route altogether.
The American Indian, who is educated from his infancy in cunning and
treachery, is likely to do that which is least expected and provided
against; and Boone, therefore, did not make the mistake of acting
upon any theory of his own which was likely to cause him to lose many
precious hours of pursuit.
But it was the season when the days were longest, and at the earliest
streakings of the morning light, the eight pioneers were on the other
side of the river, looking for the trail of the Indians.
The delicate imprints were discovered almost instantly by the keen-eyed
hunters, who started on the scent like bloodhounds, eager to spring at
the throats of the savages.
But the pursuit was scarcely begun, when they were confronted by the
very difficulty which they anticipated.
The Indians, as we have shown, had separated and made their way through
the thickest cane with such extreme care, that they succeeded in hiding
their trail from the lynx eyes of even Boone himself.
In such an emergency, the pursuers could only fall back on their own
resources of calculation and observation.
They noticed that the tracks all pointed in one general direction, and
there was, therefore, a basis for deciding the side of the cane where
they emerged. Acting upon this theory, they made a circuitous journey
of fully thirty miles, and sure enough, struck the trail just as they
hoped rather than expected.
Boone showed his woodcraft now by forming a reasonable theory and
acting promptly upon it, for, though he may have been right, still
he would have lost all the advantage by a failure to follow it up
instantly.
Recalling the unusual precautions taken by the Indians to throw their
pursuers off their trail, Boone was convinced that the savages would
believe that these precautions had accomplished their purpose, and they
would therefore relax their vigilance. Their course, as a consequence,
would be followed more easily.
Accordingly, Boone and his comrades changed the route they were
following, with the idea of crossing the path of the Indians. They had
not gone far when they discovered it in a buffalo path, where it was
quite evident that, from the careless manner in which the red-men were
traveling, they had no suspicion of their pursuers being anywhere in
the vicinity.
This was favorable to Boone and his companions, but they understood the
delicacy and danger of the situation, which was of that character that
they might well tremble for its success, even with the great advantage
gained.
None knew better than they the sanguinary character of the American
Indian. The very moment the captors should see that it was impossible
to retain the prisoners, they would sink their tomahawks in their
brains, even though the act increased their own personal peril tenfold.
It was all-important that the pursuit should be vigorously pressed, and
at the same time it was equally important that the savages should be
kept in ignorance of the men who were trailing them so closely.
As silently, therefore, as shadows, the pioneers, with their guns at
a trail, threaded their way through the forest and dense canebrakes.
Their keen and trained vision told them they were gaining rapidly upon
the Indians, who were proceeding at that leisurely gait which was proof
that they held no suspicion of danger.
The settlers had already traveled a long distance, and even their iron
limbs must have felt the effects of journeying full forty miles through
the wilderness,--but they pushed on with renewed vigor, and, as the day
advanced, observed signs which showed unmistakably that they were close
upon the captors.
The pursuers slackened their gait and advanced with the extremest
caution, for only by doing so could they hope to succeed in the rescue
of the young girls.
Suddenly the figures of the warriors were discerned through the trees a
short distance ahead. They had stopped, and were in the act of kindling
a fire, evidently meaning to encamp for the night. The Indians were
startled at the same moment by sight of the whites hurrying toward
them, and not one of the dusky red-skins could misunderstand what it
meant. Had it been possible for such a misunderstanding, they were
undeceived the next instant.
The pursuers showed their earnestness by not waiting a moment for the
warriors to rally, but four bringing their rifles to their shoulders,
took a quick aim and fired into the party. The smoke of the powder had
scarcely time to curl upward from the muzzles of the guns, when the
whole eight charged straight into camp on a dead run, and with the fury
of tigers.
When the Indians saw those figures coming, they had no time to slay
the amazed captives, but, snatching up only one of their guns, they
scattered pell-mell for the wood. As they went at headlong haste, Boone
and one of his men fired, while still on a dead run. Each fugitive was
"hit hard," but he managed to get away in the gathering darkness, and
it may safely be concluded that none of the survivors looked upon that
particular expedition against the settlers at Boonesborough in any
other light than a failure.
The joy of the three girls over the rescue must be left to the
imagination of the reader. They were terrified almost out of their
senses when captured, but they knew they would soon be missed from
home, and their friends would be on the trail, but they were old enough
to understand the vast disadvantages under which they would be placed,
knowing that no pursuit could be instituted until the morrow.
And then, too, they knew the meaning of the extreme precaution taken by
the Indians in separating and walking so carefully through the densest
of the canebrakes. And, as mile after mile was placed behind them,
and the warm summer day drew to a close, many a misgiving must have
saddened their hearts, as they looked through the gathering shadows and
failed to see anything of the loved forms.
But they had come, bursting into camp like thunderbolts,--the Indians
had fled in terror, and the girls were restored to their friends
without a hair of their heads being harmed.
The place where the recapture took place was thick with cane, and some
of the pursuers would have been glad to keep on and inflict further
chastisement upon the Indians,--but that was impracticable, and, as
the girls were out of danger, the party turned about and started back
toward Boonesborough, where they arrived without mishap or further
adventure, and where, as may well be supposed, their return created joy
and thanksgiving throughout the entire settlement.
This incident, one of the most romantic of the innumerable occurrences
of the border, possessed a significance which some of the settlers
failed to see. The presence of the Indians so near Boonesborough
and the daring abduction was not done by what may be called an
irresponsible company of warriors. On the contrary, they were one of
the many scouting parties sent out to make observations of all the
settlements along the border, with a view of organizing a combined
movement against them.
The agents of England, who had been so industriously at work for months
with the Indians of the West, used means which at last accomplished
their purpose, and, while hostilities were being pushed with such vigor
in the East against the struggling colonies, it threatened to assume a
more desperate and sanguinary character in the West.
The red men had been aroused to action, and their manner of warfare was
as fierce and merciless as that prosecuted by the East India Sepoys,
nearly a century later, against Great Britain. It was not long before
the danger was plainly seen, and so profound was the fear excited by
the surety of the coming war, attended, as it was certain to be, by the
most atrocious massacres, that hundreds of speculators made all haste
to leave the imperiled country and return to their former homes in the
East.
CHAPTER IX.
General Uprising of the Indians--The Border Rangers--Attack upon
Boonesborough--Repulse of the Assailants--Second Attack by a Larger
Force and its Failure--Arrival of Forty-five Men--Investment
of Logan's Fort--Timely Arrival of Colonel Bowman with
Reinforcements--Attack upon Harrodsburg.
There was a deliberation and completeness in the preparations of the
Indians against the settlements along the western border which, if
possible, lent additional terrors to the danger that was soon to break
upon them.
The scouts who came in to Boonesborough, Harrodsburg, and other points,
from their long journeys through the forest, reported the tribes
everywhere making ready for the warpath. There were gatherings at
their towns, councils, turbulent assemblies, throwing of the tomahawk,
shooting matches, running races, and that general excitement which to
the experienced forest ranger can mean but the one thing.
The months passed, the breaking out of hostilities was delayed, and
immigrants kept dropping in, as may be said, until the month of July,
1777, when nearly fifty men came in one company and settled in the
immediate vicinity of Boonesborough.
This was a most welcome addition indeed, for it was evident to all that
the hour was at hand when every arm would be needed in the defence of
their homes and firesides.
Boone knew what was going on among the surrounding tribes, and he threw
away no chances and neglected no precautions. His vigilant sentinels
were always on duty, day and night, and nothing was more certain than
that the garrison could not be taken by surprise.
Besides this, Kenton, Brady, M'Clelland, the McAfee Brothers, and other
rangers, were constantly moving over the long stretches of forest,
making tours of observation to the Indian villages and gathering
points, so that no excuse existed for the whites being surprised.
In the month of April, 1777, the sentinels at Boonesborough discovered
suspicious signs in the woods immediately surrounding them. The signals
and moving figures showed that a large body of Indians were gathering
in front of the stockades, and there could be no doubt that an attack
was intended upon the station.
The settlers were ready, and when the red men opened fire, they
received such a fierce fusillade in return, that no doubt could exist
as to the injury inflicted. The Indian fights from the bushes and
hidden places, and is at disadvantage when he is forced to attack a foe
who is equally protected.
From behind the trees the warriors aimed their rifles, and the flashes
of flame here, there, and everywhere among the green vegetation, showed
where they stood, with their black eyes sighting along the barrels,
waiting to fire at whatever point showed any probability of exposing a
white enemy to their accurate aim.
But beyond the stockades and in the blockhouses were the Kentucky
riflemen, whose unerring aim, whose steady nerve and cool courage have
never been surpassed, and whose skill in the use of their favorite
weapon has made them renowned throughout the world.
Their guns were thrust out of the loopholes, and the pioneers seized
the first chance offered, no matter how slight.
Perhaps the jet of fire behind some tree or among some dense bushes
disclosed nothing of the warrior who caused it, but an instant
later, maybe, the bronzed face of the Indian was cautiously exposed
for a single instant, as he peered out to see the result of his
carefully-aimed shot.
That second was enough, for the half dozen Kentuckians watched for
just such an opportunity, and like lightning the sharp, whiplike crack
of as many rifles broke the stillness, and the red skin rolled over
backward, his skull riddled by bullets, while the smoke of his own gun
was curling upward from its muzzle, and the death-yell trembled half
uttered on his coppery lips.
The Indians killed one settler and wounded four others, while it
was never known how many of their own number were shot. They fought
bravely, but soon saw they had attempted an impossibility and withdrew.
Boone knew better than to believe this was the end. On the contrary, he
and his comrades were convinced it presaged more serious danger to the
settlement.
In this supposition he was right, for on the great national anniversary
following, the Indians reappeared with fully double their former force,
and began what was intended as a regular siege of Boonesborough.
It is not to be supposed the red-men knew or had any idea of the
associations connected with that particular date, for the Declaration
of Independence was just a year old; but the fourth of July is not
a fortunate day for a foe to assail an American force, and so it
proved in this instance, for the whole attack and its result was but a
repetition of that of three months previous.
The Indians fought with great courage, accepting every chance offered,
and killing one man and wounding four, precisely as they did in April.
The vigilant Kentuckians saw seven of the warriors drop before their
fire, and it is not improbable that others were slain or at least
wounded. The fight was kept up with little intermission for two days
and nights, at the expiration of which time the assailants became
convinced that no hope of success remained to them, and they drew off
as before.
Thus it came to pass that Boonesborough, while in its very infancy,
underwent two fierce attacks from the Indians.
Immediately after the second, came the forty-five men from the East,
and no further disturbance or molestation took place during that
year, which was one of great material advancement on the part of the
settlement. Those who joined it continued to be of the right material,
and they came with the ambition to rear themselves homes in the western
wilderness, where their families could live in comfort and safety.
The first step necessary, and in fact about all the steps necessary,
could be summed up in the single word--_work_.
And they put forth all their energies toward clearing broad spaces
of the surrounding forest, and putting the rich virgin soil under
cultivation. It was of that fertile, vigorous nature that it but needed
the opportunity to bring forth, some a sixty and some a hundred fold.
It was like that of the famous Green Isle of the sea,--"Tickle it with
a straw, and it would laugh a harvest."
Meantime the other stations and settlements were given a taste of
Indian warfare and peril. Logan's Fort was invested by a large force
of Indians in the month of May, 1777, and it was placed in imminent
danger, for it was not so strong as Harrodsburg or Boonesborough, and
the investing red-skins were overwhelming in numbers.
The siege continued for several days and nights, during which it became
plainer and plainer that the warriors were certain to subdue it, in
which case the garrison would be put to death.
But at the very hour when despair was settling over the hearts of the
brave defenders, Colonel Bowman appeared with a re-enforcement, and
the Indians were scattered like chaff in the wind.
Two months previous the fort at Harrodsburg was attacked, but the
savages were bravely resisted, and they retired with a slight loss,
having wounded four of the whites, one of whom afterward died.
CHAPTER X.
A Diner out--The "Hannibal of the West"--Election of General Clark
and Gabriel Jones as Delegates to the Virginia Legislature--Their
Journey to the Capital--General Clark obtains the Loan of a Large
Supply of Ammunition--Erection of the County of Kentucky--General
Clark attacked and pursued by Indians on his Voyage down the
Ohio--Conceals the Ammunition and delivers it safely at the
Border Stations--General Clark marches upon Kaskaskia and
captures the obnoxious Governor Rocheblave--Governor Hamilton of
Detroit organizes an Expedition against the Settlements--General
Clark captures Fort St. Vincent and takes Governor Hamilton
a Prisoner--Captures a Valuable Convoy from Canada and Forty
Prisoners--Secures the Erection of Important Fortifications by
Virginia.
One day a boy sixteen years old, who lived four miles above
Harrodsburg, went out in the woods to hunt game. The name of the lad
was Ray, and he afterward became the General of that name who is so
closely identified with the settlement of the West.
Like all boys in Kentucky he was a good shot, and he was not out
long before he brought down a small blue-wing duck, which he picked,
dressed, and roasted to a rich, juicy brown, building his fire on the
brow of a hill, a few rods east of his home.
Just as young Ray had gotten the bird in a shape to delight the palate
of an epicure, a fine, soldierly-looking man came out of the woods and
called in a cheery voice:
"How do you do, my young man?"
The boy looked up in surprise and said--
"I am very well, sir, thank you."
"What is your name?"
"Ray, and I live in the house down yonder."
"Ain't you afraid to hunt alone in the woods, when the Indians are
making so much trouble?"
"Well, I try to be careful, but there is danger in these times
everywhere, as it seems to me; but won't you help me eat this duck
which is now ready for the table?"
"I'm obliged to you, for I am quite hungry."
Accordingly he sat down and attacked the duck, which he remarked was
very toothsome, especially when a person was so a-hungered as he, and
complimenting the boy upon his culinary skill, he kept at work until
there wasn't a particle left for young Ray, who was somewhat astonished
and not altogether enthusiastic over the style in which his visitor
disposed of the bird.
"But," said General Ray afterward, "he would have been welcome to all
the game I could have killed, when I afterward became acquainted with
his noble and gallant soul."
When the meal was finished, the visitor thanked the lad for his
hospitality and said:
"My name is Clark, and I have come out to see what you brave fellows
are doing in Kentucky, and to give you a helping hand if necessary."
Young Ray conducted him to Harrodsburg, where he spent some time in
carefully noting the capacity of the station in the way of defence
against the attacks that were pretty certain to be made very soon.
The gentleman was General George Rogers Clark, who at the time was a
Major in the Army, and was engaged in forming his grand scheme for
the conquest of the British posts in the Northwest. He was one of the
most conspicuous figures of the times, and is known in history as the
"Hannibal of the West."
The first visit which he made to the frontier was in 1775, when he
spent several days at Harrodsburg. His military genius was so well
known that the command of the irregular troops in Kentucky was given
him. He remained in the West until autumn, when he went back to
Virginia, but returned to Kentucky the succeeding year, which was the
occasion of his introduction to the embryo General Ray, as we have just
related.
At a public meeting of the settlers at Harrodsburg, held on the 6th of
June, 1775, General George Rogers Clark and Gabriel Jones were chosen
to represent the territory in the Colony of Virginia. The all-important
point at that critical juncture was whether Virginia would consider the
colony under her protection and render her the assistance she needed
against the combinations of the Indians.
It will be borne in mind that Colonel Henderson claimed Kentucky
by virtue of purchase from the Cherokees, and if such claim was
recognized, then no protection could be demanded from Virginia, no more
than from Pennsylvania. In General Clark's judgment the wiser course
was for the people to appoint agents with the power to negotiate with
Virginia, and in the event of the State refusing to acknowledge the
claim of the colony upon her, then General Clark proposed to use the
lands of Kentucky as a fund with which to obtain settlers and establish
an independent State. The sovereign people had determined otherwise,
and with many misgivings as to their recognition, General Clark and his
colleague set out for the capital of Virginia.
The way was long, and there were no public conveyances of which to
take advantage. When they reached Williamsburg, the legislature had
adjourned _sine die_. Thereupon Gabriel Jones made his way to the
settlements on the Holston, while General Clark, with the resolution
to accomplish something for the imperiled settlers on the frontier,
proceeded to the home of Governor Henry, who was lying sick in his room.
The Governor was so impressed by the statements of Clark, that he
gave him a letter to the Executive Council of the State, and, with
this document, the officer hastened to that body, and briefly but
graphically depicting the needs of the colony, asked the Council to
loan him five hundredweight of powder to be used in the defence of the
several stations.
The members of the Council expressed themselves as anxious to do
everything in their power for the endangered colonists, but there
was a threatened legal entanglement, which prevented them from
making the loan in the manner desired. On account of the efforts of
Colonel Henderson and Company, the inhabitants of Kentucky had not
yet been recognized as citizens, and until that important question
was settled, the utmost that could be done was to loan the ammunition
to the Kentuckians as friends, at the same time holding General Clark
personally responsible, in case of the failure of the State to give
citizenship to the colonists.
General Clark lost his patience with this proposition. He had made his
way to Virginia at great personal risk, to obtain the gunpowder, and he
was ready to give his utmost services in defending the colony, but he
could not admit the justice of becoming responsible for the value of
the ammunition so sorely needed by the settlements, and he therefore
declined to receive it upon such terms. Rather than do so, he announced
that he would go back to Kentucky, put in operation his original
scheme, and use all the resources of the territory to erect it into an
independent and sovereign State.
This determination General Clark declared in a letter to the Council,
after taking time to deliberate fully over the proposition. Its
reception produced a result which he hardly dared hope. The Council
called him before it, reconsidered their action, and ordered that the
powder be sent to Pittsburg at once, where it was to be turned over to
General Clark to be used in the defence of the settlements of Kentucky.
This took place in the latter part of August, and in the autumn of
the same year the memorial was laid before the Virginia Legislature.
The delegates could not be admitted to seats, but, before the session
was over, they secured legislative action that marked an epoch in
the history of the colony, which was its erection into the county of
Kentucky, by which it was entitled to a separate county court, two
justices of the peace, a sheriff, constables, coroners, and militia
officers. Thus to General Clark must be given the credit of securing
the first political organization of Kentucky, by which it was entitled
to representation in the Virginia Assembly, and to a separate judicial
and military establishment.
Having accomplished this important purpose, General Clark and Gabriel
Jones made ready to start to Kentucky again. The powder and a large
quantity of lead were still at Pittsburg, awaiting them, and they
proceeded to that point and took charge of the supplies. With seven
boatmen they started on their voyage down the Ohio.
General Clark felt the importance of making all possible haste in the
matter, for the Indians were sure to attempt its capture if they knew
of the prize passing through their country.
By some means or other they learned the truth, and the boat, with its
small crew, was scarcely out of sight of Pittsburg, when the Indians
appeared along the banks and began firing upon it with the hope of
disabling the crew. Then they entered their canoes and began a pursuit
of the boat containing the ammunition.
Without offering resistance, General Clark devoted his energies to
flight, and his men plied their oars with such success that they held
the advance all the way to the mouth of Limestone Creek, where General
Clark resorted to stratagem to save the valuable property in his hands.
His men had rowed with such unremitting energy that they could not hold
out much longer. The boat was therefore turned up Limestone Creek,
speeding along between the banks with such swiftness, that it kept out
of sight of the Indians for a long time.
At the proper point, the craft was run ashore, the men sprang out,
and the powder was concealed in the bushes. Then the boat was turned
adrift, and the little party started overland for Harrodsburg, where
they arrived without mishap. A few days later, the General returned
with a strong force, recovered all the ammunition, delivered it at
Harrodsburg, without the loss of a pound, and shortly after it was
distributed among all the stations, which were thus provided with the
indispensable means of defending themselves against the impending
assaults.
It will be admitted that General George Rogers Clark did a most
important service for Kentucky in thus furnishing her with ammunition,
and in securing her erection into the County of Kentucky: but this did
not end his services, and when it was least expected by his enemies, he
assumed the offensive.
General Clark possessed rare military gifts, as he demonstrated on more
than one important occasion. The Governor of the Canadian settlements
in the Illinois country was using his utmost endeavor to incite
the Indians to devastate the American frontier. This being established
beyond question, the Governor of Virginia placed two hundred and fifty
men under Clark, with permission to march against the settlements.
He descended the Ohio, landed and hid his boats, and then started
overland for his destination, his soldiers carrying the small amount
of provisions they had on their backs. These were soon exhausted, and,
for two days, they ate nothing but roots and a few berries, but all the
time pushed vigorously forward.
As silently as phantoms, and as totally unexpected, it may be said,
they appeared before Kaskaskia in the dead of night. The place was
captured before anything like resistance could be thought of. This
was a noteworthy exploit, for Kaskaskia but a short time before had
resisted a much larger force.
General Clark understood the value of promptness and celerity in
military movements, and without an hour's unnecessary delay he sent out
detachments against three other towns, which in every instance were
captured, the obnoxious Governor Rocheblave himself being one of the
prisoners. He was sent to Virginia, there being found among the papers
on his person instructions from Quebec to do his utmost to rouse the
Indians against the settlers, and even to go to the extent of offering
bounties for the scalps of Americans.
The Illinois settlers transferred their allegiance to Virginia, which
owned the territory by right of charter and conquest, and, in the
autumn of 1778, erected it into the County of Illinois--thus sealing
an act of brilliant generalship on the part of Clark, which has few
parallels in the history of the West.
The danger, instead of being over, only deepened, for Hamilton, the
Governor of Detroit, was a resolute official, and, burning under
the smart inflicted by the audacious American officer, began the
organization of an overwhelming force of British and Indians, with
which to move up the Ohio, to Fort Pitt, capturing all the settlements
on the way, purposing also to lay siege to Fort Kaskaskia itself.
This was alarming tidings to Clark, who saw no probability of being
able to hold the country, though he resolved to make its re-conquest
dear to the invaders. The forces which Governor Hamilton was gathering
far outnumbered his and were equally experienced, and their march up
the country promised to be practically irresistible. Besides this,
the Governor gathered hundreds of Indians, who were thirsting for the
opportunity for massacre and plunder. Thus, never in the history of the
frontier did a more portentous cloud gather in its sky.
In this hour of gloom and almost despair, General Clark learned that
Governor Hamilton, who had reached Fort St. Vincent--now known as
Vincennes--had divided his force, by sending most of the Indians
against the adjoining settlements.
This opportunity was similar to those the great Napoleon was so quick
to perceive, nearly a half century later, and which did so much to
establish his marvelous military genius in the eyes of the world.
It was in the dead of winter, being February, 1779, and yet the runner
had scarcely come into Kaskaskia with the important tidings, when
General Clark, with one hundred and fifty picked men, was threading his
way through the wilderness in the direction of Vincennes. Fortunately
the weather was unusually mild, but when within nine miles of the
enemy, they reached the drowned lands of the Wabash, where they were
compelled to wade to their armpits for a long distance, and to use so
much caution in advancing, that it was five days before the entire body
got safely across.
On the 23rd of February, the American force appeared before the fort,
and General Clark demanded its surrender. This was promptly refused,
and Clark made his preparations to take it. As the garrison had not
expected them, he began a siege, carefully investing it as best he
could, and confident that it could not hold out long.
So it proved. At the end of eighteen hours it was surrendered by
Governor Hamilton, the Americans not losing a man. The governor was
sent a prisoner to Williamsburg, and a large quantity of stores fell
into the hands of General Clark.
This was a brilliant achievement indeed, but it was not all. General
Clark captured a convoy from Canada on its way to the post which had
just surrendered, and secured the mail, $45,000, and forty prisoners.
Shortly after an express arrived from Virginia, thanking him and his
gallant companions for the reduction of the Kaskaskia country; and not
long after, Virginia, through the agency of General Clark, extended her
western establishments and erected a number of fortifications.
CHAPTER XI.
Boone leads a Party to the Blue Licks to make Salt--Capture
of Boone and Surrender of the Entire Party--Conducted to
Detroit--His Captors Refuse to Exchange him--He is Adopted by the
Shawanoes--He discovers a Formidable Expedition is to move against
Boonesborough--His Escape and Arrival at Boonesborough--The Attack
Postponed--Boone leads a Party against an Indian Town on the
Sciota--Encounter with a War Party--Returns to Boonesborough--The
State Invested by Captain Duquesne and a Large Force--Boone and
the Garrison determine to Defend it to the Last--Better Terms
Offered--Treachery Suspected--The Attack--The Siege Raised.
We have been compelled, in the preceding chapter, to carry forward
for a few years the history of the military and political movements
connected with the earlier history of Kentucky in order to give an
intelligent idea of the work performed by its great pioneer Daniel
Boone.
During the exciting military occurrences to which we have referred,
Boonesborough was stirred by a startling disaster.
The settlement was greatly in need of salt, and, as it was a work
of extreme difficulty and danger to secure its importation from the
Atlantic States, the much simpler method was resorted to of having it
manufactured at the Blue Licks, where there was such an abundance of
brackish water that the work was easily done.
Collecting some thirty men, Boone set out for the Blue Licks which
were at no great distance, and they began immediately the process of
evaporating the water and collecting the saline deposit. Salt is one of
the prime necessities of life, and they were desirous of making enough
of it to last them for a long time to come.
The operation of salt-making is not a complicated one, even in these
modern days, and there was scarcely the work to keep the whole thirty
men busy all the time. As might be supposed, Boone spent many hours in
hunting.
It is probable that the Indians, learning of the weakened condition
of Boonesborough, had determined on attacking it with a force which
promised to insure its capture. For this purpose they gathered two
hundred warriors and started for the settlement, without Boone or any
of his party suspecting the danger that was moving down upon their
friends.
Still further, knowing that the unsuspicious white men were engaged
at the Licks, the large force of Indians turned in that direction and
advanced with the noiselessness of so many shadows.
Daniel Boone, at that juncture, was alone, hunting in the woods, when
he came face to face with the two hundred warriors, who appeared as
suddenly as if cast up by the earth.
Without stopping to parley, Boone whirled about and started on a dead
run, darting in and out among the trees, doing his utmost to dodge the
bullets that he expected would be sent after him, and to place himself
beyond sight of the Indians, who were desirous of securing so renowned
a man as he.
But Boone was not so young as when he had his former desperate
encounters with the red men, and the dozen warriors who instantly sped
after him were among the fleetest of their tribe.
The pioneer made good progress, but as he glanced furtively over his
shoulder every few seconds, he saw that the savages were gaining
rapidly upon him, and his capture was certain. He held out as long as
there was the slightest hope, but soon abruptly halted and surrendered.
There is something singular in the consideration which the Indians
showed Boone on more than one occasion. It will be remembered that
when he and Stuart were captured, they were kept day after day, until
they gained a chance to escape; and, in the present instance, the
captors conducted him back to the main body, where he was still held a
prisoner, no harm being offered him.
This was at a time when the fury of the savages was stirred to the
highest point against the settlers, and when the treacherous bullet,
the crashing tomahawk, the deadly knife and the smoke of the burning
cabin were more typical of the manner of warfare, than were any of the
amenities of civilized, contending forces.
It may have been the Indians recognized the importance of the capture
they had made in the person of the great Daniel Boone, for they treated
him kindly and conducted him back to the Blue Licks, where the rest of
the settlers were encamped.
There, upon the solemn promise of the Indians to spare their lives and
give them good treatment, Boone surrendered the entire command to them.
Boone was court-martialed for this act, and, whether he deserved credit
for it or not, is hard to determine. Such a daring officer as General
Clark never would have surrendered under such circumstances, and thirty
frontiersmen of to-day would give a good account of themselves against
an aboriginal force of ten times their number.
On the other hand, the partisans of the pioneer plead that he saw
that it was unquestionably the best thing to be done, inasmuch as the
majority of the Indians would turn back with their prisoners, and thus
Boonesborough would be saved from an attack, which, in its weakened
condition, it would scarcely be able to resist.
It will be seen that this is not a conclusive argument by any means,
for if the war party had appeared before the stockades with the thirty
prisoners and threatened to put them to the torture, before the eyes of
their families, they could have secured any terms they chose. On the
other hand, the two hundred savages could have exterminated the little
band in the woods as utterly as did Sitting Bull and his warriors the
forces of General Custer nearly a hundred years later. It may be set
down, therefore, that the court-martial which acquitted Boone, voiced
the sober second thought of his friends in this much disputed matter.
There is reason to believe that the Indians felt a genuine admiration
for the pioneer, for they kept in spirit and letter the agreement they
made respecting the treatment of himself and comrades. The capture of
so large a force, including the leader himself, was an achievement on
the part of the Indians calling for great self-congratulation, as they
started with their captives for old Chillicothe, on the Miami.
Old Chillicothe was the principal town of the Shawanoes who had taken
Boone, and as it was in the depth of winter, the march through the
wilderness occupying three days was very severe. On this journey the
Indians treated the whites well, sharing their food with them, and only
showing by their unremitting vigilance that they regarded them in the
light of prisoners.
They were kept at the Shawanoe village several weeks, and then the
pioneer and ten of his men were conducted to Detroit (which at that
time was a British garrison), and, with the exception of Boone, were
presented to the commandant, who showed them much consideration.
The commandant was desirous of securing Boone, and requested the
Indians to bring him in, but they refused. A number of prominent
gentlemen in Detroit, who knew of the pioneer, joined with the officer
in offering a large reward for Boone, with the purpose of exchange, or
of sending him back to his family at Boonesborough.
The Shawanoes were deaf to the proffers, and, to end the annoyance,
started for their villages on the Miami, taking the leader with them.
The truth was, the red-men had formed a feeling of strong friendship
for their famous prisoner, and were determined to adopt him. It was
with such an intention that they left Detroit and made their way
through the woods to their own towns, occupying more than two weeks in
the journey.
Reaching their destination at last, Boone was formally adopted into the
Shawanoe tribe. Respecting this novel ceremony, Peck, the biographer of
Boone, says:
"The forms of the ceremony of adoption were often severe and ludicrous.
The hair of the head is plucked out by a painful and tedious operation,
leaving a tuft some three or four inches in diameter on the crown for
the scalp-lock, which is cut and dressed up with ribbons and feathers.
The candidate is then taken into the river in a state of nudity, and
there thoroughly washed and rubbed, 'to take all his white blood out.'
This ablution is usually performed by females. He is then taken to the
council-house, where the chief makes a speech, in which he expatiates
upon the distinguished honors conferred on him. His head and face are
painted in the most approved and fashionable style, and the ceremony is
concluded with a grand feast and smoking."
Boone had now been changed from a white to a red man; that is, in the
eyes of the red-men themselves, and his native shrewdness and cunning
told him that his true course was so to conduct himself as to give the
Shawanoes the impression that he shared their opinion with them.
Having received the ceremony of adoption, and well aware of the strong
friendship the members of the tribe felt for him, he knew he was in no
personal danger, so long as he chose to remain one of them.
But nothing could be further from his intentions than that of spending
any considerable time with the Shawanoes, but he was well aware that
but one opportunity of escape would be offered him; should he fail, no
second chance would present itself. It will therefore be seen that no
precaution was to be neglected that promised to add to the prospect of
success.
He could not but feel anxious concerning his wife and children, and he
was uneasy over the situation of Boonesborough; so much so, that he
resolved to seize the first opportunity of leaving, and to press his
efforts with such vigor that he could scarcely fail.
He adopted his old custom of pretending to be satisfied with his
condition, and of holding no thought of running away. Although little
else was left for him to do, it was not to be expected that it would
deceive the Indians or lead them to relax their vigilance to any
perceptible extent. They must have known it was the very stratagem he
had adopted successfully a few years before with their people, besides
being the one which would naturally occur to a prisoner.
In the month of June, 1778, a company of Shawanoes went to the Sciota
Licks to make salt, taking Boone with them. He thought the chance
promised to be a good one for getting away, and he was on the alert.
But the Indians were equally so, and they kept him so busy over the
kettles that he dared not make the attempt. Finally, having secured
all they wished of salt, they started homeward again, and reaching old
Chillicothe, Boone's heart was filled with consternation at the sight
of 450 warriors in their paint, fully armed and ready to march upon
Boonesborough.
This was a formidable force indeed, more than double that against which
the garrison had ever been forced to defend themselves, and it seemed
to the pioneer as if the settlement, his family and all his friends
were doomed to destruction.
It was now or never with Boone: if his escape was to prove of any
benefit to others than himself, it would not do to delay it any longer.
The settlers were unaware of their danger and unless duly warned, were
likely to fall victims to Shawanoe cunning and atrocity.
Boone determined to leave within the succeeding twenty-four hours, no
matter how desperate the chance, and once beyond sight of his captors,
he would push forward night and day until he could reach Boonesborough.
But eager as he was to go, no opportunity presented itself that day
or evening. His active brain continued busily at work, and, before he
closed his eyes in snatches of fitful slumber, he had decided on the
course to pursue.
He rose early the next morning, and started out for a short hunt, as he
had frequently done, for such a stratagem promised to give him more
chance of getting a good start of his pursuers, it being naturally
supposed that the hour of a hunter's return is one of the most
uncertain occurrences in this world.
The pioneer was one hundred and sixty miles from Boonesborough, but
he was scarcely out of sight of the Indians, when he headed straight
for the settlement, and ran like a man who realizes it is a case of
life and death. It was a long distance to tramp, where the need was
so urgent, but the fugitive was spurred on by the strongest of all
incentives.
He did not spare himself. He had concealed enough for one meal about
his person before starting, and this was all he ate while making
the long journey occupying five days. He did not dare to stop long
enough to shoot any game, for fear his pursuers would be upon him.
He took many precautions to conceal his trail, but was fearful that
the piercing eyes of the Shawanoes would not be deceived. He was
apprehensive, too, that if he should fire his gun, the report would
bring his vengeful captors upon him.
Climbing some elevation, he looked searchingly back over the route
traveled, for sight of the smoke of the tell-tale camp-fire, or that of
the moving figures close on his trail.
But he saw none, and at the close of the fifth day, tired, hungry, and
worn, he made his appearance in front of the Boonesborough stockade and
was admitted with amazement and delight by his friends, who believed
he had been killed long before. So general, indeed, was this belief
in his death that his wife and family had moved back to their home in
North Carolina some time previous.
Just as he had feared, he found the station in the very condition
to fall a prey to the Indians. Its immunity from attack for months
previous had induced carelessness and indifference, and had the immense
war party of Shawanoes appeared at the same time with the pioneer, the
fort could not have held out an hour before a vigorous attack.
But Boone's presence inspired courage, and the garrison and settlers
set to work instantly. Everything was done to put the station in the
best possible state for defence. There was not an hour to lose, for
it was supposed the savages would be directly upon the heels of the
pioneer, and a constant and vigilant lookout was maintained.
But the hours passed, and no Indians appeared: in fact, the escape of
Boone proved the salvation of the settlement named after him, in a
manner altogether unsuspected.
Shortly after the flight of the pioneer, another of his friends
succeeded in getting away, and he came into the station with the
gratifying news that the march against Boonesborough had been postponed
for three weeks on account of the flight of Boone, whose purpose was
divined at once by the Indians.
This postponement was a most providential thing, not only for
Boonesborough itself, but for all the stations along the frontier, for
it gave them time in which to make every preparation for the attacks
which were foreshadowed by the Indian spies that were encountered in
every direction.
Finally Boone determined to make an offensive movement, with a view
of striking something like fear into the hearts of the Indians who
were meditating these attacks, and exciting a corresponding degree of
confidence among his friends.
On a bright morning early in August, with nineteen picked men, he left
the station and started for one of the Indian towns on the Sciota,
intending to effect its capture before anything like an effective
resistance could be made.
To accomplish such a work in an Indian country, requires the utmost
secrecy and celerity of movement. No time, therefore, was lost on the
road, when once the start was made, and, threading their way rapidly
through the forest, they advanced straight toward the Indian town, and
were within a few miles, when, to their astonishment, they encountered
thirty of its warriors who were hurrying to join the main body that at
that moment was marching against Boonesborough.
The instant the forces caught sight of each other, a regular
bushwhacking fire began, lasting only a few minutes, when the Indians
broke and fled, having one brave killed and two wounded. None of the
whites were hurt, and they captured several horses and such property as
the Indians could not take away with them.
Two of the swiftest runners were instantly sent to the Indian town,
and they came back with news that it was evacuated. The flank movement,
therefore, of the settlers had accomplished nothing.
Only one thing remained to be done: the Indians were moving upon
Boonesborough, but there was a possibility of Boone and his men getting
there ahead of them. They turned about and the race began.
On the sixth day, Boone found himself at the same distance from
Boonesborough as was the main body; by the exercise of great care,
he and his men avoided observation and got ahead of them, reaching
the station on the seventh day, while the formidable enemy made their
appearance before the town on the eighth day.
The war party was a large one, indeed, and looked irresistible. It had
the British banners flying, and was commanded by Captain Duquesne, with
eleven other Canadian Frenchmen and a number of the most prominent
Indian chiefs, while the woods seemed to be literally alive with
warriors. Many a settler, as he looked out upon the scene, felt that
resistance to such a force was useless and the end of Boonesborough was
close at hand.
Captain Duquesne, with great confidence in his ability to capture the
place, sent in a demand to Captain Boone to surrender it at once in the
name of his Britannic Majesty. Boone, in reply, asked to be allowed
two days in which to consider the summons, and Duquesne granted the
request.
Boone at once summoned his friends to council, and found, when
they were gathered, that there were only fifty; but, after a full
interchange of views, they decided to defend the station to the last
man. The investing force numbered at the least calculation fully ten
times as many as they, and a prolonged resistance would be sure to
excite them to the highest degree of fury; but the resolution was
unanimous, and there was no faltering on the part of the intrepid
commander or any of his comrades.
At the expiration of the two days, Boone appeared at one of the
bastions and announced his intention of defending the place, at the
same time thanking the French commander for his courtesy in giving him
the forty-eight hours in which to make his preparations against attack.
Captain Duquesne was surprised and disappointed over this decision,
for he seems to have been confident that the settlers, after soberly
thinking over and discussing the matter, would see not only the
uselessness, but the suicidal folly of a resistance, which would
exasperate the Indians, who would be irrestrainable in their vengeance,
after the fall of the station.
The British commander was so anxious to secure the surrender of
Boonesborough, that he immediately proposed more advantageous terms,
making them so liberal, indeed, that Boone and eight of his companions
accepted the invitation to go outside with a view of holding a
conference.
Boone and his escort went forth in good faith, but they had not been
in the clearing long when it became evident that a trap was set and
treachery intended.
By a sudden concerted movement, the whites escaped from the Shawanoes,
who were seeking to surround them, and dashing into the gates, closed
them and hastened to the bastions, where they stood ready to answer the
British captain at the muzzle of the rifle.
The fight commenced at once, a hot fire being opened from every
direction upon the fort, but the pioneers returned it so sharply, and
with such precision, that the Indians were forced to shelter themselves
behind stumps and trees, from which they could discharge their guns
with less certainty of aim.
Captain Duquesne gained a more appreciative idea of the skill of the
Kentucky marksmen than he had ever held before, for the station was not
only well guarded on every side, but it seemed impossible for a warrior
to show himself for a second without being perforated by some settler,
whose rifle sent out its sharp, whiplike crack, whenever an "opening"
presented itself.
So ceaseless was the vigilance of the whites, and so accurate and
deadly their aim, that Captain Duquesne quickly perceived that despite
the overwhelming numbers at his command, he would have to try some
other method other than the desultory firing, which promised to
accomplish absolutely nothing at all.
He therefore determined to undermine and blow up the garrison.
It was not quite two hundred feet from the fort to the bank of the
river, where the Canadians and Indians at once began digging in the
direction of the stockades.
But the dangerous work of mining is always open to defeat by
countermining, as was proven by the gallant defenders of Fort
Presq'Isle, when they were so sorely pressed, and Boone instantly set
his men at work.
As the dirt was cast up, it was also thrown over the pickets, the
purpose being that Captain Duquesne should be apprised that his scheme
was discovered, and the settlers were engaged in the same proceedings.
Boone learned what the besiegers were doing, by observing that the
water below the fort was muddy, while it was clear above.
Captain Duquesne saw that it was idle to prosecute this method of
attack, when the enemy were countermining, and he gave it over.
But he had with him, as we have shown, the most formidable force that
in all the history of Boonesborough was ever gathered before it, and he
doubted not that it must fall before a regular siege.
Accordingly he invested it, intending to starve the garrison into
submission, if no other method presented itself, for there was nothing
to be feared in the way of re-enforcements coming to the assistance of
the defenders.
The siege lasted nine days. During this time, the settlers had only
two men killed, while some of the besiegers were constantly falling
before their deadly rifles. They could accomplish nothing, and Captain
Duquesne decided to raise the siege.
CHAPTER XII.
The Peculiar Position of Boonesborough--Boone rejoins his Family in
North Carolina--Returns to Boonesborough--Robbed of a Large Amount
of Money--Increased Emigration to the West--Colonel Rogers and his
Party almost Annihilated--Captain Denham's Strange Adventure.
It must have caused Captain Duquesne great mortification to come to
this conclusion, after setting out with a force ten times as great as
that against which he contended, and with every reason to count upon
success; but his provisions were almost exhausted, and nearly every
time he heard the sharp crack of a rifle from the defences it meant
that he had one less warrior than before. The prospect of his triumph
was diminishing slowly, but none the less steadily, day by day.
Under such circumstances there was but one thing to do, and that was to
raise the siege. This was done at the close of the ninth day after the
attack, having lost, as is stated, thirty-seven men, with a much larger
number wounded.
Boonesborough was never again subjected to a formidable assault by
Indians. It had gone through its crucial period, and there was many a
day and hour when it seemed certain that the advanced station in the
wilderness must succumb to the hordes of Indians who, like so many
fierce bloodhounds, were bounding against the stockades.
A peculiar condition of the settlement of the West now acted as a
shield to Boonesborough. Between the site of the station and the Ohio
River were continually springing up smaller stations, and many of these
were so weak as to invite attack, while Boonesborough had proved her
powers of resistance.
The Indians were too wise to pass beyond the weaker stations with a
view of attacking one further away and much stronger. It therefore
came to pass, as already stated, that the siege of which we have made
mention was the last danger to which Boonesborough was subjected.
Something like peace and quietness came to the station, where every
stockade was pierced with bullets, and the settlers began more
earnestly the work of clearing the land for cultivation.
The opportunity having presented itself for the first time, Boone set
out for North Carolina to join his family. As they were mourning him
for dead, their excitement and delight possibly may be imagined, when
the hardy hunter came smilingly out of the woods, and, catching up his
little ones in his arms, kissed them over and over again and pressed
his happy wife to his heart.
He had a strange story to tell them of his captivity among the
Indians--his escape, his tramp through the forest, the attack upon
Boonesborough and the repulse of the British and Indians, and finally
his long journey over mountain and wood to rejoin them.
Boone stayed in North Carolina all winter with his family, who
doubtless would have been glad to remain there still longer; but the
fires of the Revolution were flaming and bringing great suffering and
privation, and the pioneer showed that Boonesborough could never again
be placed in serious peril.
The following summer, therefore, Boone and his family went back to
the station, where he set the good example of devoting his energies
to the cultivation of the tract of land which belonged to him, and to
assisting other immigrants that were pouring into the country. This
was a work as substantial in its way as roaming the woods in search of
game, as was his favorite custom in his earlier days.
And yet, while thus engaged, he was subjected to a great annoyance if
not humiliation. He was openly accused of cowardice for his surrender
of his party at the Blue Licks the preceding year. Colonel Richard
Callaway and Colonel Benjamin Logan brought charges against him, which,
as hinted in another place, led to his trial by court-martial. His two
friends were induced to do this as an act of justice to Boone, and with
a view of setting at rest the accusations continually made in certain
quarters.
Without giving the particulars of the court-martial, it is sufficient
to mention as its direct result, Captain Boone's promotion to the rank
of major and his increased popularity with all his citizens.
A misfortune, however, overtook the pioneer, which probably caused him
more mental suffering than anything that took place during his long,
eventful life.
A commission having been appointed by legislature to settle Kentucky
land claims, Major Boone attested his faith in the future of the young
State by gathering all his funds, with which he started for Richmond,
with the intention of investing the entire amount in lands.
On the road he was robbed of every dollar. Boone makes no mention of
the distressing circumstance in his autobiography, and none of the
particulars are known; but, as he had a great many sums entrusted to
him by friends, it will be understood that this misfortune amounted in
reality to a public calamity.
However, the robbery did not impair the confidence which was generally
felt in Boone's integrity. Those who knew him best, knew he was the
soul of honor,--one who would undergo privation and suffering at any
time rather than inflict it upon others.
The opinion of the people is best shown in the following letter written
by Colonel Thomas Hart, of Lexington, Kentucky, dated Grayfields,
August 3, 1780:
"I observe what you say respecting our losses by Daniel Boone. (Boone
had been robbed of funds in part belonging to T. and N. Hart). I had
heard of the misfortune soon after it happened, but not of my being
partaker before now. I feel for the poor people who, perhaps, are to
lose their preemptions; but I must say, I feel more for Boone, whose
character I am told suffers by it. Much degenerated must the people
of this age be, when among them are to be found men to censure and
blast the reputation of a person so just and upright, and in whose
breast is a seat of virtue too pure to admit of a thought so base and
dishonorable. I have known Boone in times of old, when poverty and
distress had him fast by the hand; and in these wretched circumstances,
I have ever found him of a noble and generous soul, despising every
thing mean; and therefore I will freely grant him a discharge for
whatever sums of mine he might have been possessed of at the time."
There was general peace, so to speak, along the frontier, and that part
of our country took immense strides in the march of civilization; and
yet the year 1779 is noted for the occurrence of one of the bloodiest
battles that ever was fought in that portion of the West.
In the autumn of the year, Colonel Rogers, who had been to New Orleans
to procure supplies for the posts on the upper Mississippi, made his
way back until he came opposite the present site of Cincinnati.
As he reached that point he discovered the Indians coming out of the
mouth of the Little Miami, in a large number of canoes, and crossing
to the Kentucky side of the Ohio. He determined at once to attempt a
surprise, with a view of cutting them off, as they effected a landing.
The Ohio was quite low at that season, and was very shallow on the
southern shore, a long sand-bar extending along the bank. Colonel
Rogers landed his men, some seventy in number, upon this bar, and
started them for a point a short distance away, where he hoped to
effect the capture of the entire party of Indians.
But Rogers had made a most fearful miscalculation.
They had scarcely started toward the spot, when they were fiercely
attacked by a large force of Indians, numbering fully two hundred. They
first poured in a terrible volley and then springing to their feet,
rushed upon the panic-stricken whites, with their knives and tomahawks.
Before this hurricane-like charge, Colonel Rogers and more than forty
of his men were almost instantly killed. Those who were not shot down,
made a frenzied flight to the river, with the warriors at their heels.
But the guards left in charge of the boats were so terrified by the
disaster, that they hurriedly rowed out in the river again, without
waiting to take their imperiled comrades aboard.
Caught thus between two fires, the remnants turned about, and, making
a desperate charge upon their enemies, succeeded in forcing their way
through the furious warriors, and those who survived managed to reach
Harrodsburg.
In this battle, or massacre, as it may well be called, sixty whites,
including the commander, Colonel Rogers, were killed, a loss only
equaled by that of the Blue Licks some time previous. The disaster
spread a gloom over the frontier, and awakened a dread in some
quarters that the Indians would be roused to combined action against
the settlements, and that a long series of disasters were likely to
follow.
It was at this battle that an incident took place, almost too
incredible for belief, but it is established upon the best authority.
Among those who were wounded by the terrific volley poured into the
whites was Captain Denham, who was shot through both hips in such a
manner that the bones were broken, and he was deprived of the use of
his legs. Nevertheless he managed to drag himself to the top of a
fallen tree hard by, where he hid himself until the battle was over and
the Indians gone.
His condition was deplorable, for as his friends had fled, he could not
expect any assistance, and it looked indeed as if it would have been a
mercy had he been killed outright.
However, he kept up a brave heart and was able to reach the side of
the river to drink, when his consuming thirst came upon him. Thus he
lived until the close of the second day, when he discovered that some
one else was hiding near him. Whoever he was, the captain concluded it
must be a wounded person and most likely one of his own race, inasmuch
as the Indians always take off their wounded when the opportunity is
presented them.
Accordingly the captain hailed him, and sure enough found it was a
comrade, who was wounded in both arms, so as to make them useless.
Both were plucky soldiers, and as there seemed to be a man "between
them," they formed a strange partnership.
The captain did the shooting, while his friend carried him about on his
shoulders, from place to place.
In this manner they existed until the 27th of September, when they
hailed a passing flat-boat, which took them to Louisville, where they
eventually recovered and lived many years afterward.
CHAPTER XIII.
Colonel Bowman's Expedition--Its Disastrous Failure--Death of Boone's
Son--Escape of Boone--Colonel Byrd's Invasion--Capture of Ruddell's
and Martin's Station--Daring Escape of Captain Hinkston.
An invasion of the Indian country is always popular on the frontier,
and when Colonel Bowman, known to be a good soldier, issued his call
for volunteers, shortly after the massacre of Colonel Rogers and his
command, there was no lack of responses.
He requested them to meet at Harrodsburg, for the purpose of moving
against the Indian town of Chillicothe, and there in a short time
were gathered three hundred men, among them being the veteran Indian
fighters, Harrod and Logan, each holding rank as Captain, but Boone was
not a member of the expedition.
The company was a formidable one, and it started from Harrodsburg
in the month of July, pressing forward through the woods with such
celerity and skill that it reached the neighborhood of the Indian towns
at nightfall without its approach being suspected.
Here a consultation was held, and it was decided to attack the place at
the favorite hour of the savages--just before the break of day--and the
plan of assault was agreed upon.
Advancing close to the Indian town, the little army separated into two
equal divisions, Colonel Bowman retaining command of one, while Captain
Logan led the other. The latter officer was to move half way round the
town, while the Colonel was to go the other way, until they met, when
the superior officer would give the signal for an attack "all along the
line."
Captain Logan obeyed his orders promptly, and, reaching the point
agreed upon, halted and awaited his superior. But unaccountably Colonel
Bowman did not appear.
Logan remained motionless until his impatience gave way to uneasiness,
as he saw the minutes slipping by, and he determined to find out the
cause of the delay. His men were concealed in the long grass, when the
light of day broke over the woods, but Logan, moving here and there,
could learn nothing of his superior.
Several of his own men, in shifting their positions, the better to
hide themselves, attracted the attention of some Indian dogs, which
instantly set up a barking. This brought out a warrior, who moved
cautiously in the direction where the object that alarmed the canine
seemed to be. He probably had no thought that white men were near at
hand, and he might have been made prisoner, but, as is often the case,
and as seems to have been the rule on the frontier, at the very crisis
the whites committed a fatal piece of carelessness. One of the hunters
fired his gun.
As quick as lightning the truth flashed upon the warrior, and whirling
about, he ran like a deer to his cabin. In an incredibly short space of
time, the entire village was alarmed. Logan plainly heard the Shawanoes
hurrying the women and children to the woods, through the cover of a
ridge stretching between them and the other division of soldiers.
Meantime the warriors prepared themselves for the attack, by gathering
with their guns in a strong cabin, doubtless intended as a fort or
means of defence, while Logan and his men took possession of a number
of lodges from which the savages had withdrawn.
He determined upon using the material of these simple structures as
shields in reaching the stronghold of the Shawanoes, and his men were
about to make the advance, confident of success, when orders came from
Colonel Bowman to retreat at once.
The Colonel discovered that the Indians had not been completely
surprised, as was intended, and he thought it too dangerous to venture
upon an attack under such conditions--hence the order to Captain Logan
to extricate his force while there was opportunity of doing so.
The order was received with amazement, but there was no choice but to
obey, "though they knew some one had blundered." The position of the
assailants was such that an orderly retreat was difficult, and it soon
became impossible; the men felt that each must look out for himself,
and they broke and scattered for the wood, running the gauntlet of the
destructive fire of the warriors, who shot, as may be said, at their
leisure.
After the loss of several lives Logan's force got out of its dangerous
advanced position, joined the other division under command of Colonel
Bowman, and the retreat was continued in the direction of Harrodsburg
with some semblance of order.
But nothing gives a foe greater courage than the sight of a retreating
opponent, and when the Shawanoes saw the strong force of volunteers
hurrying away, they too rushed from their fort and assailed them. There
were less than fifty warriors, while the whites numbered almost six
times as many, and yet the retreat was continued in the face of the
insignificant number of savages, who fired upon them from every point
of vantage, the settlers continually falling back, as did the British
before the galling shots of the volunteers at Lexington.
There have been those who defended the course of Colonel Bowman in this
distressing affair, and who insist that his only course was to retreat
before the attack of a much more numerous force than his own, but it
seems clear he lost his head from the moment he came in sight of the
village. He failed to comply with his share of the movement as arranged
by himself, and when the Shawanoes rallied and pursued his men, instead
of turning about and scattering them, he continued retreating in a
disorderly fashion, giving no orders, but allowing every one to do as
he thought best.
But some of his subordinates were better officers than he, and when
the Colonel halted his force in the worst possible position, Logan,
Harrod, and several others mounted the pack-horses and dashed through
the woods in the direction of the galling shots. The noted Blackfish
was leading the warriors, and unless checked, the indications were that
the whites would be cut off to a man.
Captains Logan and Harrod, with their brave comrades, charged wherever
they caught sight of Indians, or whenever the flash of a gun was seen,
and after some vigorous work, they killed the chief Blackfish and
dispersed the rest of his warriors.
The road thus cleared, Colonel Bowman's crippled command continued its
retreat, and finally reached Harrodsburg without further molestation.
The expedition had proven itself one of that long list of failures
and disasters which mark the history of military expeditions against
the Indians on the frontier from the earliest settlement down to the
massacre of Custer and his command.
The Revolution was approaching its close, it being the year 1780, and
hundreds of settlers from the East had swarmed into Kentucky and taken
up land. In their eagerness to acquire possession, they almost forgot
the danger which hung over them, laying themselves so invitingly open
to attack, that the British and Indians took up the gauntlet which, it
may be said, was thus thrown in their faces.
The conquest of Kentucky was a favorite scheme with the British, and in
the summer of 1780, a formidable invasion was made under the direction
of Colonel Byrd, at the head of six hundred Indians and Canadians, and
with six pieces of artillery.
His first demonstration was against Ruddell's station, on the Licking.
This had a weak garrison, and when Captain Ruddell was confronted with
the formidable force and summoned to surrender, he saw that it would be
folly to refuse. The artillery at the command of his foe could speedily
batter the fort to pieces, and he agreed to capitulate on condition
that his garrison should be under the protection of the British.
Colonel Byrd readily agreed to this reasonable stipulation, and the
gates were thrown open.
The instant this was done, the Indians poured tumultuously in, and
laying hold of the soldiers claimed them as prisoners. Captain Ruddell
remonstrated indignantly with Colonel Byrd at this violation of his
agreement, but the British colonel, although he did his best to
restrain his Indians, was unable to do so.
Colonel Byrd seems to have been a gentleman, and, when the Indians
proposed to attack Martin's Station, a short distance off, and which
they were confident of capturing, he refused to move and threatened
to withdraw from Kentucky altogether, unless the chiefs and sachems
should pledge themselves that in every case the prisoners taken should
be given in charge of him, the Indians confining themselves entirely to
the plunder and booty obtained.
The agreement was made on the part of the leaders, and then Colonel
Byrd marched against Martin's Station. The artillery he took along
undoubtedly proved irresistibly persuasive in almost every instance,
for he captured the station with little difficulty, and the Indian
chiefs compelled their warriors to adhere to the pledge they had given.
The Indians now became eager to attack Bryant's Station, but Colonel
Byrd did not seem to have much enthusiasm over the invasion of
Kentucky, and he declined to go further. He collected his stores, and,
placing them upon boats, retreated to Licking Forks, where his Indians
withdrew, taking with them the prisoners captured at Ruddell's Station.
Among the captives was Captain John Hinkston, a noted Indian fighter,
who, as may be supposed, was on the alert for a chance to get away from
his captors, knowing, as he did, that he was liable to suffer torture
at their hands.
On the second night, succeeding the separation of the Indians from the
command of Colonel Byrd, the warriors halted close to the river. When
they started to build a camp-fire, the fuel was found to be so wet that
it was fully dark before they could get the flames going, and so many
of the guard were called upon to assist in the difficult work that
Captain Hinkston made a sudden dash, broke through the lines, and amid
a storm of hastily aimed bullets succeeded in reaching the shelter of
the woods.
As night had just settled, Hinkston felt secure in his escape, though
the Indians immediately scattered and began such a vigorous search that
he heard them moving in all directions about him, sometimes so close
that he could almost touch them, and was forced to stand as motionless
as the tree trunks beside him, lest they should detect his cautious
movements.
But he gradually worked away from the Indian camp, when the vigor
of the hunt had relaxed somewhat, and, starting in the direction of
Lexington, kept going all night; for, as he was confident the Shawanoes
would take his trail at daylight, it was important that he should make
all progress while the opportunity was his.
His hopes rose as hour after hour passed, and he was congratulating
himself on the goodly distance made, when to his consternation he came
directly up to the very Indian camp from which he fled long before. He
had committed that error which people lost in the woods are so prone to
commit, that of walking in a circle instead of in a straight line.
As may be supposed, Hinkston was startled, and he did not stand long
surveying the smoking camp-fires, with the grim warriors gathered about
them; but turning once more, he re-entered the woods, making his way
with so much caution, that whatever might happen, he was sure of not
repeating the blunder committed.
The night was so cloudy and dark, that he was deprived of the compass
of the hunter, the stars in the sky, and he wet his finger and held
it over his head. This enabled him to tell the direction of the wind
which was gently blowing, and by repeating the act, he was enabled to
pursue substantially the same direction through the night, so that when
daylight came, he was sure of one thing, he had placed a goodly number
of miles between him and his enemies.
He was so worn out that he crept close to a fallen tree, where he slept
several hours. When he awoke he found he was surrounded by a dense
fog, which shut out objects a dozen feet distant. The moisture was
dripping from the leaves, and the day was as dismal as can be imagined;
but such weather served to help conceal his trail, and he was hopeful
that none of the keen-eyed Indians would succeed in tracing him to his
resting-place.
But the Shawanoes were prosecuting a most vigorous search, and he
stepped along with the greatest care, glancing to the right and left,
expecting every minute to see some brawny warrior suddenly spring out
of the fog upon him.
On the right he would hear the call of a turkey, answered a moment by
another on the left, followed perhaps by a general chorus from all
points of the compass.
Those wild turkeys were Indians signaling to each other, and they
frequently approached so close, that more than once Hinkston felt it
impossible to break through the fiery ring that was closing about him.
Sometimes the pursuers varied their signals by imitating the howling of
wolves, or the bleating of fawns, and they were often so close that
discovery would have been inevitable but for the London-like vapor
which enveloped the trembling fugitive.
But good fortune waited on Captain Hinkston, and he finally extricated
himself from the perilous vicinity and reached Lexington without harm.
CHAPTER XIV.
Colonel Clark's Invasion of the Indian Country--Boone is Promoted
to the Rank of Colonel--His Brother Killed at Blue Licks and
Boone narrowly Escapes Capture--Attack upon the Shelbyville
Garrison--News of the Surrender of Cornwallis--Attack upon Estill's
Station--Simon Girty the Renegade--He Appears before Bryant's
Station, but Withdraws.
This same year 1780 was noteworthy for two memorable incidents in the
history of Kentucky. The first was Colonel Byrd's invasion, and the
other was the retaliatory invasion of the Indian country by the gallant
Colonel Clark, and his attack upon the Shawanoe towns.
The prisoners taken by the Indians at Ruddell's Station were kept by
their captors, who released a few after the expiration of several
years, but a great many perished by the tomahawk and knife.
Byrd's invasion created great excitement, and the proposed retaliatory
measure of Colonel Clark was received with enthusiasm. The brave
settlers rallied to his standard from every direction, and in a short
time he had a full thousand men under his command.
Such a force, composed of such material, might well be considered
invincible, for no combination of Indians could have been formed on the
frontier capable of checking its march.
Colonel Clark, at the head, marched directly into the Indian country,
spreading devastation wherever he went. The towns were burned and
the corn-fields laid waste--a piece of cruelty, but war is always
cruel--and by destroying their crops, the warriors were given
something else to do besides forming expeditions against the frontier
settlements. No attempt was made to check the advance of Colonel Clark,
and his force having inflicted an incalculable amount of injury,
withdrew and disbanded.
Only one skirmish had taken place; that was at an Indian village where
about twenty men were killed on each side.
In the same year the organization of the militia of Kentucky was
perfected. Colonel Clark was appointed brigadier-general and
commander-in-chief of all the militia. Major Daniel Boone was advanced
to the rank of colonel, and with Pope and Trigg held second rank,
Floyd, Logan and Todd holding first.
A singular fatality seemed to attach itself to Blue Licks, already the
scene of several disasters to the whites. In October, 1780, Boone and
his brother visited the place, and had scarcely reached it when they
were fired upon by a number of Indians in ambush, and the brother fell
dead.
Boone himself dashed into the woods and fled for life, the Indians
pursuing with the help of a dog. The latter clung so close to the heels
of the fugitive, that, when he got a safe distance, he turned about and
shot him, then resuming his flight, he soon placed himself beyond all
danger from the savages.
In March, 1781, a number of straggling Indians entered Jefferson county
at different points, and hiding along the paths, treacherously shot
down several settlers. This served as a reminder to the pioneers that
it was too soon to count upon any degree of safety from the red men.
In fact there was a state of continual unrest along the border. Among
those killed in the manner mentioned, was Colonel William Linn. Captain
Whitaker, with the resolve to punish the assassins, started in hot
pursuit of them.
Striking their trail, he followed it rapidly to the Ohio, where he
entered several canoes purposing to cross and continue the pursuit. He
supposed that the warriors had already gone over, but such was not the
case, the Indians being concealed on the Kentucky shore.
Just as Captain Whitaker and his men were pushing off, the savages
fired, killing and wounding nine of them, but the others turned with
such fierceness, that the Indians were put to flight, several of their
number being left dead.
In the succeeding month a small station near Shelbyville, which had
been founded by Boone, became so alarmed that the settlers determined
to remove to Bear's Creek. While engaged in doing so, they were
attacked by Indians and many killed.
Colonel Floyd hastily gathered twenty-five men and started in pursuit,
but he was ambushed, half his party killed, and he himself would have
been tomahawked, but for the assistance of the noted scout, Captain
Wells, who helped him off the ground.
Toward the close of 1781, news reached Kentucky that Lord Cornwallis
had surrendered at Yorktown, that the war was ended, and the
Independence of the American colonies secured forever. It is impossible
to imagine the delight which thrilled the country at this joyful
tidings. America now took her place among the nations, and began that
career of progress, advancement and civilization which has made her
people the foremost of the world.
The settlers along the frontier believed their day of security and
safety had come at last, and that now they might give their whole
attention to the development of the country.
But the hope was an unsubstantial one. The American Indians, as a rule,
are as regardless of treaties as are we, and they showed no disposition
to recognize the fact that the war was over and the dawn of universal
peace had come.
In May, 1782, twenty-five Wyandots suddenly appeared in front of
Estill's Station, and after killing one man, and taking a prisoner,
retreated. Captain Estill, with an equal force, started in pursuit,
and overtook them at Hinkston's, where he savagely attacked them. His
lieutenant, Miller, showed the white feather, failed to carry out
instructions, and Captain Estill and nine of his men were killed and
scalped, the Indians also losing their leader and half their warriors.
Simon Girty the renegade figures as an actor in the darkest deeds in
the history of the West. He was a soldier at the fierce battle of Point
Pleasant, but was so maltreated by his Commander, General Lewis, after
the battle, that he forswore his race, and became one of the leaders of
the Indians and the most merciless enemy of the settlers.
In the month of August, a runner arrived at Bryant's Station with
news that Girty, at the head of a large force of Indians, was pushing
through the woods with the intention of capturing the station.
Immediate preparations were made to receive them, and when the Indians
appeared, on the 14th of August, everything possible had been done to
put the place in the best form of defence.
Girty was at their head, as had been announced, and he at once advanced
to the clearing and summoned the settlers to surrender, telling them
that no other course was left, for, besides the large force under him
he had a number of re-enforcements marching to join him with artillery.
The sound of the last word was alarming to most of the settlers, but
Reynolds, one of their number, took upon himself to answer Girty, who
had assured them of honorable treatment in case of capitulation, and
the tomahawk in the event of their failure to accept the terms.
The answer of Reynolds to this demand was of the most insulting
nature. He laughed at the threats of Girty and challenged him to make
them good; he said he was the owner of one of the mangiest and most
worthless curs ever seen, and that he put the last crowning disgrace
upon the poor dog by naming him "Girty;" that if he had military
artillery or re-enforcements, he was invited to exhibit them, and that,
finally, if Girty remained two hours longer before the fort, they would
go out and scalp him and all the warriors he had with him.
This was an emphatic reply to the question, and Girty expressed in turn
his regret that the settlers were so blind to the fate of themselves
and those dependent upon them; but he had given them fair warning, and
their blood must be on their own heads.
They had deliberately chosen to disregard the proffer of peace and
safety, and the world could not blame him now for carrying out his
threat--that of putting every one to death with the tomahawk.
The resistance which they had determined to offer would only excite
the Indians to the highest point of fury, and they would now be
irrestrainable.
Thereupon Simon Girty went back to where his Indian allies were
awaiting him, placed himself at their head, and then deliberately
turned about and marched away, without firing a shot at the station!
CHAPTER XV.
Arrival of Boone with Re-enforcements--Pursuit of the Indian
Force--Boone's Counsel Disregarded--A Frightful Disaster--Reynold's
Noble and Heroic Act--His Escape.
On the morning succeeding the departure of Girty and his Indians
from the front of Bryant's Station, Boone reached the place with
re-enforcements, among them being his son Israel and his brother
Samuel. Before the day closed, Colonel Trigg came in from Harrodstown,
and Colonel Todd from Lexington, each with a similar force, so that the
retreat of the noted renegade was the best thing that could have taken
place for his own personal safety.
The company that gathered within the station was a curious
one--numbering about two hundred, one-fourth of whom were commissioned
officers. A noisy consultation was held, and amid much uproar and
wrangling, it was resolved to pursue the Indians at once, without
awaiting the arrival of Colonel Logan, who was known to be approaching
with a large force, and was certain to arrive within the succeeding
twenty-four hours.
Accordingly the pursuit was begun without delay, and it proved most
easy to keep up, for the retreat of Girty and his Indians was marked by
such a broad and plain trail that there could be no mistaking it.
The bushes had been bent down, the bark was hacked off the trees with
tomahawks, and articles were strewn along the way with most remarkable
prodigality.
Indeed there was so much pains taken to show the trail that Boone and
his older companions were alarmed. They believed Girty had caused it
to be done for the very purpose of drawing them in pursuit, and Boone
spoke to many of the officers. But they laughed at his fears and
pressed forward with the ardor of Kentuckians who see the certainty of
a fierce struggle close at hand, where the victory is likely to be on
their side.
When the settlers reached Blue Licks--an ominous name for them--they
discovered several Indians on the other side of the Licking, who
leisurely retreated into the woods, without showing any special alarm
over the pursuit of the Kentuckians.
As it was certain that Girty and his whole force were immediately
in front, another consultation was held; for the pursuers began to
feel the need of care and caution in their movements. After a long
discussion, all turned to Boone, who they felt was the best qualified
to advise them in the emergency.
The grave face and manner of the great pioneer showed that he
appreciated the danger.
"Our situation is a critical one," said he; "you know nothing of
the nature of the country on the other side of the Licking, and the
Indians have acted in such a manner that I'm satisfied they have laid
an ambush for us. In my opinion, we have the choice of two courses:
the first is to divide our men and send one half up the river to
cross it at the Rapids and attack in the rear, while the rest make a
simultaneous assault in front. But the other course and the one which
I most earnestly urge is to await the coming of Colonel Logan and his
re-enforcements. We have a strong body in front of us, and we have been
taught more than one lesson by the disasters of the past few years,
which we cannot afford to forget to-day. At any r
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