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<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/cover.jpg" width-obs="546" height-obs="800" alt="cover" title="cover" /></div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h1>DANIEL BOONE<br/> <small>BACKWOODSMAN</small></h1>
<p class="noic">SECOND EDITION</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="noic"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i></p>
<p class="noi adtitle">JOHN SMITH<br/>
<small>GENTLEMAN ADVENTURER</small></p>
<p>An interesting work on the life and times of this famous
soldier of fortune and American colonist, intended primarily
for the young, but of such a character as to appeal
to all.</p>
<p class="noi works">“A good, strong, interest compelling narrative, and a valuable
addition to a boy’s library.”—<cite>The Sun</cite>, New York.</p>
<p class="noi works">“Historical fiction that appears to show him [Smith] in a
clearer and more truthful light than has ever before been
shed.”—<cite>The Courier-Journal</cite>, Louisville.</p>
<p class="noi works">“The book will be read with great interest by both old and
young, for all men love adventures of the Smith type.”—<cite>The
Republic</cite>, St. Louis.</p>
<p class="noi works">“Should mightily interest every boy who loves his country.”—<cite>The
Inter-Ocean</cite>, Chicago.</p>
<p class="noic"><i>With four full-page illustrations in color by</i><br/>
HARRY B. LACHMAN</p>
<p class="noi">12 mo. <span class="flright">Cloth, $1.50</span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="i_frontis"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_frontis.jpg" width-obs="397" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /></SPAN><br/> <div class="caption"><span class="smcap"><SPAN href="#Page_196">Immediately He Became a Target</SPAN></span></div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="noic"><span class="noi smcap title">Daniel Boone</span><br/>
<span class="noi author">BACKWOODSMAN</span></p>
<p class="p2 noic">BY</p>
<p class="noi author">C. H. FORBES-LINDSAY</p>
<p class="noic works">Author of “John Smith, Gentleman Adventurer,” “India:<br/>
Past and Present,” “America’s Insular<br/>
Possessions,” etc.</p>
<p class="p2 noic"><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</i></p>
<p class="noi author">FRANK McKERNAN</p>
<div class="p2 works">
<div class="poem byronpoem">
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Who passes for in life and death most lucky,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Of the great names which in our faces stare<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Is Daniel Boone, backwoodsman of Kentucky.”<br/></span></div>
<p class="right padr2">—<span class="smcap">Byron</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="pad2">
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/logo.jpg" width-obs="115" height-obs="115" alt="logo" title="logo" /></div>
</div>
<p class="noic">PHILADELPHIA & LONDON<br/>
<span class="noi adauthor">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span><br/>
1909</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="noic"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1908</span></p>
<p class="noic"><span class="smcap">By J. B. Lippincott Company</span></p>
<p class="p4 noic">Published September, 1908</p>
<p class="p6 noic"><i>Electrotyped and printed by J. B. Lippincott Company<br/>
The Washington Square Press, Philadelphia, U. S. A.</i></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
<col style="width: 15%;" />
<col style="width: 70%;" />
<col style="width: 15%;" />
<tr>
<th class="smfontr">CHAPTER</th>
<th class="tdl"></th>
<th class="smfontr">PAGE</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">I</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#I">The American Backwoodsman</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">9</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">II</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#II">Hardy Goodfellow</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">24</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">III</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#III">The Young Hunter</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">39</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">IV</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#IV">The Daring Pioneer</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">54</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">V</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#V">In Fair Kentucky</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">68</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">VI</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#VI">Hardy’s First Indian</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">86</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">VII</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#VII">The Capture of Boone</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">101</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">VIII</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#VIII">The Hannibal of the West</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">116</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">IX</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#IX">The Victory of Vincennes</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">131</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">X</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#X">A Feat of Strength</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">145</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XI</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XI">“Big Turtle”</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">160</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XII</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XII">Diamond Cut Diamond</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">174</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XIII</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XIII">Boonesborough is Besieged</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">188</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XIV</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XIV">Kenton’s Story</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">202</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XV</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XV">The Young Scout</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">216</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XVI</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XVI">The White Squaw</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">229</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XVII</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XVII">A String of Disasters</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">243</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XVIII</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XVIII">“The Bloody Year”</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">257</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XIX</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XIX">Simon Girty, Renegade</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">270</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XX</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XX">Battle of the Blue Licks</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">285</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XXI</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XXI">An Old Bird</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">300</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XXII</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><SPAN href="#XXII">The Last Hunt</SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb">311</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</SPAN></h2>
<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations">
<tr>
<th> </th>
<th> </th>
<th class="smfontr">PAGE</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang"><SPAN href="#i_frontis"><span class="smcap">Immediately He Became a Target</span></SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb"><i>Frontispiece</i></td>
<td class="tdrb"> </td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang"><SPAN href="#i_096fp"><span class="smcap">“My Scalp, I Reckon, Young Fellow”</span></SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb"> </td>
<td class="tdrb">96</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang"><SPAN href="#i_154fp"><span class="smcap">Boone was Nearing the Limit of His Endurance</span></SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb"> </td>
<td class="tdrb">155</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang"><SPAN href="#i_296fp"><span class="smcap">His Weapon Whizzed through the Air and Buried
Itself in the Skull of the Foremost</span></SPAN></td>
<td class="tdrb"> </td>
<td class="tdrb">296</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</SPAN></span></p>
<p class="noi title">Daniel Boone</p>
<h2><SPAN name="I" id="I">I.</SPAN><br/> <small>THE AMERICAN BACKWOODSMAN</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">The backwoods town in colonial days—The place of the
backwoodsmen in the march of progress—Boone and
his descendants among the leading pioneers—How
the backwoods fighters forced the boundary westward—The
frontier farmer was necessarily hunter and
fighter—The character of the backwoodsman and his
manner of life—The dwellings, dress and weapons of
the frontier—Daniel Boone, a typical backwoodsman—His
birth and boyhood in a frontier settlement—His
parents migrate to North Carolina—Then he
marries and settles on the border—He explores Kentucky
and forms a determination to settle there.</span></p>
<p class="p2">We shall be able to follow the story of Daniel
Boone with a better understanding if, before entering
upon it, we take a brief survey of the country
in which his entire life was passed and the people
among whom he lived—the American backwoods
and the American backwoodsmen.</p>
<p>At the outbreak of the Revolution the American<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</SPAN></span>
colonies extended no farther west than the Alleghany
Mountains, and consisted of the narrow strip
of territory lying between that rocky wall and the
Atlantic seaboard. By far the greater portion of
the population dwelt along the coast in urban
centres, or in comparatively closely settled districts
which had been cleared and cultivated. In this belt
were found the large plantations and wealthy slave-owners.
Beyond it, the land was covered with virgin
forest, dense, impenetrable, except along the
trails, and infested by wild beasts and savages.</p>
<p>In the portion of this region that lay nearest to
civilization a rude backwoods town might be found
here and there. It lay in a clearing of a few hundred
acres, and usually at the junction of several
frequented trails. It consisted of a cluster of log
cabins, a general store, perhaps a smithy, a school, a
tavern, and court-house. The inhabitants seldom
numbered more than three or four hundred. It
may not be strictly proper to speak of a people to
whose midst the schoolmaster and the judge penetrated,
as beyond the bounds of civilization, and, of
course, the expression is used in a comparative sense.
The backwoods dominie was hardly worth considering
as an educational factor. He was generally<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</SPAN></span>
ignorant, frequently intemperate, and sometimes
immoral. The law lost much of its wonted majesty
in a community where an unpopular judge was
liable to be mobbed and a dishonest sheriff to be
lynched.</p>
<p>The fact is that these people were entirely different
from the colonists of the coast—different in
origin, in religion, in manners, and customs. With
splendid natural qualities, such as made them peculiarly
fitted to act as the pioneers of the nation, they
were rude, unlettered, and impatient of restraint.
In the upbuilding of the infant nation, these pathfinders
formed the muscle and sinew, whilst the
older communities supplied the brain. Although
both classes were essentially Americans, in the Revolutionary
period they had hardly anything in common
but their patriotism.</p>
<p>The inhabitants of the backwoods towns were in
general the less bold spirits. Deeper in the forest
wilderness were found more daring souls, scattered
along the mountain border that divided the colonies
from the Indian territory. They lived face to face
and in constant touch with the fierce savages, and
acted as a buffer to their countrymen behind them.</p>
<p>The term “backwoods” conflicts somewhat with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</SPAN></span>
a proper sense of the actual situation. From the
time that they turned their backs on the mother
country, our people faced steadily towards the west,
and maintained a forward march in that direction
until they reached the distant shores of the continent.
A marked peculiarity of the class we have under
consideration is that when they arrived in the country,
they pushed through the ranks of the colonists
and, assuming the vanguard, continued at the head
of the advance, first taking possession of Kentucky
and Tennessee, then settling Mississippi and Missouri,
and ultimately marching across the continent
to the Pacific. Son followed father, and continued
on when the latter lay in the peace of the grave.
Two children of Boone were among the first Americans
to make homes beyond the “Father of
Waters”; a grandson was the first settler in Kansas;
another among the earliest in Colorado; and
a third—the famous Kit Carson—acted as scout
and guide to the expedition of General Frémont.</p>
<p>Many backwoods families devoted themselves,
through several generations, to the winning of the
wilderness with rifle and axe. The debt of the
nation to these people is a heavy one. They may
be compared to the outposts of an encamped army,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</SPAN></span>
the border settlers being the sentries, stretching
along the enemy’s face, and the backwoods towns
the pickets. As an army sleeps in security behind
its outposts, so was the main body of the colonists,
screened from the Indians by the backwoods settlers,
enabled to build up towns and cultivate its plantations
in safety. And as, when an army resumes
the march, the outpost of the night before forms
the advance guard, so these border sentinels were
ever in the front of our territorial progress.</p>
<p>In 1783 the western boundary of the United
States had been carried forward to the Mississippi
River. The large area between it and the Alleghanies
had been won for us by the dauntless backwoodsmen
after a decade of intense struggle. By
holding the border Indians in check they performed
a valuable service to the colonies in their fight for
freedom. The settlement of Kentucky made possible
the capture of the British posts in the Illinois
and Indiana regions, and paved the way for the
acquisition of our Western territory.</p>
<p>Whilst working out the destiny of a nation, the
simple-minded backwoodsmen were quite unconscious
of any such high purpose. They pushed
forward into the wilderness because land was to be<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</SPAN></span>
had there for practically nothing. They desired to
make homes for their children, and were willing
to risk their lives in the venture. As to the hardships,
they and their fathers had been accustomed
to arduous poverty in the old country. The life
of the hunter, which was an inseparable part of
backwoods existence, appealed to them as it does
to all healthy men. In fact, the majority of them
grew to love their hard lot, with its constant adventure.
Many, like Boone, became so enamoured of
the life, despite its dangers and hardships, that they
shunned the approach of civilization and moved
farther into the forest whenever the region they
had opened up began to be at all thickly populated.</p>
<p>The backwoodsman was at once hunter, fighter,
and farmer. He could not look for aid or protection
from the Government. He had to depend upon
his own resources and, even in the acquisition of
new territory, upon his own strong right arm. This
was particularly the case with the pioneer settlers
of Kentucky, for the movement took place when all
the men and material available were needed to
strengthen the Continental forces, and the backwoodsmen
battling with the Indian allies of the
British had difficulty in getting sufficient powder<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</SPAN></span>
and lead to carry on the conflict. Every man and
youth was a home-made soldier. Most of the
women could handle a rifle, and the annals of the
frontier teem with stories of brave mothers and
daughters who, in the absence of their men-folk,
successfully defended their cabins against the attacks
of savages. In the frequent sieges of the forts the
women loaded the weapons, moulded bullets, and
sometimes stood to a port-hole. It is significant
of the life of the backwoodsmen that every male
among them who was old enough to carry fire-arms
was spoken of as a “gun.”</p>
<p>For the most part, the people of the backwoods
were of Scotch or Irish descent, with a strong
sprinkling of English and Germans, but in the second
generation differences of nationality were rarely
detectable. Their characters and even their physical
traits were greatly affected by the peculiar conditions
of their lives, which created a type the members
of which were all much alike, whilst they differed
widely from the colonists in general. Their
isolation tended to develop some of the best human
qualities. It taught them independence and self-reliance
and at the same time prompted them to help
one another. On the border men practiced the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</SPAN></span>
golden rule and maintained a homely code of morality
and justice. They were hard, rough and self-contained,
but neither ungenerous, cruel, nor
morose.</p>
<p>In their dealings with hostile Indians the backwoodsmen
may appear to have exercised merciless
severity, but that is hardly to be wondered at when
the provocation is considered. The wanton barbarity
of their enemies hardened them and goaded them
to revenge. This sometimes took the form of deplorable
cruelty but, as a rule, the backwoodsmen
were neither inhuman nor bloodthirsty. They
fought in defence of their homes and property, and
when they carried the conflict into the Indian’s country
it was usually in retaliation for an attack and
with a view to checking further hostilities. The
settler was always glad to live in peace if he might.</p>
<p>As to the respective rights of the white men and
their red foes, a great deal has been said on both
sides, and perhaps it would be impossible to exactly
weigh the equities in the case. It was, however,
inevitable that a growing and energetic race should
have contested the possession of the soil with the
mere handful of savages that did not occupy it but
merely roamed over it, hunting and camping here<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</SPAN></span>
and there and keeping up a perpetual warfare among
themselves. They set up claims, it is true, to the
exclusive possession of certain large areas but, even
among themselves, such claims were only sustained
by superior strength, and one tribe frequently ousted
another from its accustomed territory.</p>
<p>The most ardent defenders of the Indians must
find it difficult to establish a case of trespass against
the settlers of Kentucky. The territory that is now
comprised within that State was ceded by the Indians
in more than one treaty and purchased for a definite
sum. Moreover, it had not been the home or country
of any particular tribe, but was held as a hunting-ground
common to all and in which none were
allowed to settle. It contained no permanent Indian
villages, nor was an acre of its soil cultivated until
the white man cleared the land.</p>
<p>The pioneers of the wilderness made their settlements
in groups of five or six families. The first
thing they did was to erect their cabins and form a
fort. This was usually accomplished by raising the
former in a row and making their backs one side of
a palisaded enclosure, with blockhouses at the corners.
This was the refuge of all during an attack
by the Indians, but otherwise each family lived in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</SPAN></span>
a cabin upon its farm. The clearings were generally
four hundred acres in extent and lay at some
distance from each other in the heart of the forest.
The trees having been felled, the settler left the
stumps standing, rolled the trunks to one side and
burned the branches on the spot. He then planted
his fields with maize or other cereals. Some stock
was raised and a few sheep, but only in sufficient
numbers to supply local needs. Corn, or maize, was
the principal reliance of the frontier farmer. His
wife made a coarse flour and hominy from it, and
a bag of the parched grains served him for food on
his hunting expeditions.</p>
<p>The backwoods cabin was commonly a one-roomed
structure of unhewn logs, chinked with
clay and moss. After a while, when the owner
became fairly settled and had his fields in good
order, this would give place to a larger building,
containing perhaps as many as three rooms and an
attic reached by a ladder. A huge stone fireplace
occupied one end of the cabin, and the door was
always furnished with heavy bolts. The logs were
hewn, at least on the inside, and the roof covered
with clapboards. There was little furniture and few
utensils in such a place. The table was a board<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</SPAN></span>
set on trestles, and three-legged stools served to sit
upon. The beds were rough wooden contrivances
covered with skins. The dishes and platters were
often of wood and the spoons and forks of pewter,
the hunting-knife serving admirably to cut the meat.
The family depended very largely upon its head to
furnish the larder with venison and bear-steaks.</p>
<p>The dress of the backwoodsman was a distinctive
one. He wore a hunting-shirt of buckskin, or
homespun, ornamented with a fringe of the same
material, or perhaps with porcupine quills. It was
a loose tunic, descending nearly to the knees and
fastened round the waist with a belt, from which
were suspended the tomahawk and hunting-knife.
From his shoulders hung by a strap the powder-horn
and bullet-pouch, in which he also carried spare
flints. On his head he wore a fur cap or a soft
felt hat, and his feet were covered with moccasins,
after the fashion of the Indians, from whom the
dress was in large part borrowed. His legs were
encased in leather leggings or trousers.</p>
<p>The backwoodsman’s principal weapon was the
heavy flint-lock rifle. It was five feet, and sometimes
slightly more, in length, and although it did
not carry very far was exceedingly accurate. The<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</SPAN></span>
most marvellous feats of marksmanship were performed
by some of the pioneers with these weapons.
Every boy learned to shoot almost as soon as he was
strong enough to lift a gun, and his training in
woodcraft commenced even earlier, so that it is not
surprising that many a youth, such as Kit Carson
and Simon Kenton, exhibited the qualities of the
expert hunter and Indian fighter before his beard
was grown.</p>
<p>There was little money in the backwoods, pelts
serving instead. Almost all the needs of the people
were supplied by themselves. The women made
homespun, in which they clothed the children and
themselves. Every man was something of a smith,
and most of the rifles were of backwoods manufacture.
The men tanned the skins and their wives
sewed them into foot-gear and garments. Trenchers
and bowls, and even harrows and sleds, were
made without much difficulty.</p>
<p>There were, however, a few very necessary
articles for which the settlers had to depend upon
the outside world. These were salt, iron, powder
and lead. In the fall the members of a settlement
would make a joint collection of fur-skins and send
two or three of their number to some large town,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</SPAN></span>
such as Baltimore, to get what was needed. Thus,
a train of several peltry-laden horses would make
the long, slow journey over a distance which we may
cover in these days in two or three hours.</p>
<p>Daniel Boone was a typical backwoodsman. Born
in a frontier settlement, he passed his long and adventurous
life in sparsely-peopled regions and died
in a pioneer community beyond the Mississippi.
Boone’s father, a native of England, after living in
different parts of Pennsylvania, took up some land
on what was then the frontier, in Oley township,
about eight miles from the site of the present city
of Reading. Here Daniel was born in November,
1734. His early life was that of the ordinary backwoods
boy. It embraced no considerable opportunity
for scholarship. He learned to read and
write but, having little occasion in the course of his
active life for the exercise of either accomplishment,
his spelling was poor to the day of his death. He
helped his mother with the chores and, when old
enough, was entrusted with the care of the stock
at pasture. His days were spent in the open and
he grew to be a lusty lad, well versed in nature
and the ways of wild beasts and the less dangerous
denizens of the forest. When he had reached the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</SPAN></span>
age of twelve, his father gave him a rifle, with which
he soon became a good shot and furnished his
mother’s kitchen with an ample supply of game.
His winters were now spent in hunting, and he
often roamed long distances from home in his solitary
expeditions, returning with skins secured by his
trap or gun.</p>
<p>In 1750 Boone’s parents with their children migrated
south and settled on the banks of the upper
Yadkin, in the northwestern corner of North Carolina.
The location was even wilder than that they
had left, and their lives were harder and more adventurous.
Attacks by the Indians were not infrequent,
and a few years later a border war cost many
lives in the Yadkin Valley. Here Daniel, following
the custom of young backwoodsmen, married as
soon as he had arrived at manhood and set up housekeeping
in a log cabin.</p>
<p>Ten years were passed after the usual manner
of backwoods existence, in hunting, farming, and
fighting Indians. But Boone’s hunting expeditions
sometimes partook of the character of explorations.
He went far beyond the frontier in various directions,
and on two or three occasions crossed the
mountains into Kentucky. The beauty and richness<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</SPAN></span>
of the country and the abundance of game filled
him with an irresistible desire to make his home
there. In the fall of 1773 Boone sold his farm on
the Yadkin and set out at the head of a company,
consisting of his own family and several others
that he had induced to accompany them, to make
new homes in the lovely valleys of Kentucky. It
is at this point that we take up his story.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="II" id="II">II.</SPAN><br/> <small>HARDY GOODFELLOW</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Boone leads a company toward the promised land of
Kentucky—They are attacked by Indians in Powell’s
Valley—Six of the party are slain and among them
Boone’s eldest son—The sorrow of a strong man and
his sense of duty—The dead are buried and the march
resumed—Boone’s lonely watch over the sleeping
settlers—His encounter with Hardy Goodfellow in
the gray dawn—“Now that father’s dead, I’m all
alone”—Hardy finds a new father and Boone another
son—Man and boy make a strange compact—“Maybe
the Lord meant it that way—who knows?”</span></p>
<p class="p2">“Isn’t it about time to make camp, Captain?”</p>
<p>“Pretty near that, but I don’t exactly fancy
campin’ right on a trace. I reckon we’ll push on
a bit and see if we can’t find a likelier location.”</p>
<p>The first speaker was not a backwoodsman but
a Charlestown surveyor. The day’s march had
wearied him to the point of exhaustion, and he felt
faint for lack of a good meal, for the frontiersman
ate plenteously but once in the twenty-four hours
and that at the close of the day. He turned to his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</SPAN></span>
pipe for solace, first offering his plug of strong
tobacco to his companion.</p>
<p>“Have a fill, Captain?”</p>
<p>“Thanks; I don’t use it.”</p>
<p>“You don’t smoke, Captain?” said the other, in
astonishment.</p>
<p>“No; I never learned and I don’t see that it
would have done me any particular good if I had.
It seems to take pretty hard hold on a man. I’ve
seen hunters well nigh crazy when their tobacco run
out, and I shouldn’t like to be that way myself.
Then it’s apt to make trouble in other ways. A deer
could scent your pipe half a mile away, and an
Injun’s nose is near as keen.”</p>
<p>“You don’t think there are any Indians hereabouts,
do you?” asked the surveyor, with some
show of apprehension.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t like to say one way or the other.
There might be a hundred in there”—he jerked
his head in the direction of the dense undergrowth—“and
we not know it till they showed themselves.
You see, a redskin’s like a copperhead—you don’t
know where he is till he strikes.”</p>
<p>The men who thus conversed were following a
forest trail, or “trace,” as it was called at the time,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</SPAN></span>
in Powell’s Valley, which lay near the point where
the States of Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee
meet. On either side stretched forest so dense that
the sun never penetrated the canopy of leaves.
Even at midday a gloom prevailed, and now, as
evening approached, it was impossible for any but
the keenest eyes to see farther than a few yards in
the growing dusk. The undergrowth was so thick
as to be impenetrable at most points without the aid
of the axe. Only a practiced woodsman dare enter
that tangle of shrubs and vines. Had Mr. Sproul,
the surveyor, ventured a hundred yards from the
trail, he could only have found it again by accident
and would in all probability have died of hunger,
unless, indeed, his sufferings had been cut short
by wild beasts or Indians.</p>
<p>It was precisely in this manner that Stuart,
Boone’s companion in his first expedition to Kentucky,
lost his life. He wandered from their camp
and, failing to find his way back, probably died of
starvation after his ammunition became exhausted.
Years afterwards his skeleton was found in a hollow
sycamore and identified by the powder-horn
which bore his initials.</p>
<p>Of the two men we have under notice, one would<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</SPAN></span>
have attracted immediate attention in any company,
or under any conditions. He was verging upon his
fortieth year and in the prime of life. Five feet
ten inches in height, his erect carriage gave him an
appearance of greater stature. His body, encased
in the deerskin dress of the backwoodsman, was
splendidly formed, the extraordinarily broad and
deep chest giving evidence of great strength. A
sculptor might have taken the head, with its noble
brow and fine features, for a model. The long hair
was plaited and rolled into a knot. The clear, keen,
blue eye had a mild expression, but force was written
in the large, aquiline nose and the square chin,
while the thin, compressed lips denoted resolution.
It was a face on which courage and composure were
strongly stamped. As he swung along with easy
stride, his rifle over his shoulder, the movement of
the sinewy limbs betrayed strength and agility.</p>
<p>It did not appear to the surveyor that his companion
was particularly mindful of his surroundings
but, as a matter of fact, nothing escaped the ever-watchful
eyes of Daniel Boone. To him a twig, a
leaf, a stone, the bark of a tree, or the lightest impression
on the earth, told a story that none but a
master of woodcraft might read. Throughout the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</SPAN></span>
day his piercing glance had fallen on this side and on
that, taking in every detail as he passed along the
trail. This caution was habitual with the backwoodsman,
but on the present occasion Boone’s vigilance
was, if possible, keener than usual because he
was responsible for the safety of a large company
which included many women and children. Behind
the leader came a train of settlers bound for the
promised land beyond the mountains.</p>
<p>The band, which had left their homes at Boone’s
persuasion, numbered about forty men and the
women and children of five families including his
own. The majority were old neighbors from the
Yadkin Valley who had been fired by the glowing
accounts of Boone and other hunters who had penetrated
to the wonderful country that was the favorite
hunting-ground of the Indians. The settlers had
crossed the Blue Ridge and some lesser ranges and
were approaching the Cumberland Gap, which was
the gateway to the region they sought. The hardships
of a backwoods migration were nothing to
them, but they were a little apprehensive about pushing
so far into the interior and going hundreds of
miles from the nearest settlement. Such a thing
had never been done, and probably would not have<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</SPAN></span>
been attempted except under the guidance of Boone,
who was already an acknowledged leader on the
frontier and one in whom all placed the utmost
reliance.</p>
<p>It was now the 6th of October and the party had
left the Yadkin district on the 25th of the preceding
month. Their progress was necessarily slow, owing
to the nature of the country they had to traverse
and the character of the cavalcade. The narrow
and rough trail forbade their using wagons as did
the later pioneers in crossing the prairie regions. A
string of pack-horses, tied head to tail, carried their
bedding, clothing, and other belongings. Aside
from corn, maple-sugar, and salt, they did not need
to burden the animals with provisions, for the men
could always be depended upon to supply the evening
camp-kitchen with an abundance of meat. Wild
turkeys were numerous, and at this time of the year
fat and lazy. Pigeons, quail, and other game birds
abounded in the forest, and an occasional deer or
bear was to be had.</p>
<p>Here and there in the line a woman rode, holding
a child before her, but for the most part the backwoods
women tramped along with the men. Some
mothers placed their infants in baskets, Indian fashion,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</SPAN></span>
and hung them to the sides of the ponies.
Others carried them slung to their backs or straddled
across their hips. Early in life the little ones
became accustomed to tramping and a boy or girl
of ten years, born in the wilderness, made small
matter of a ten or twelve miles journey on foot.</p>
<p>At night they encamped near some spring or
creek. Meat was broiled over the flames of the fire,
and bread baked in the ashes. Each family or
group of men made its fire in front of the shelter
for the night, so that they might lie with their feet
to it. A low structure, open in front and sloping
towards the back, was readily raised by means of
poles covered with skins. A comfortable bed was
made of dry leaves or grass, with a blanket or pelt
for covering. With such accommodations, these
hardy, simple people deemed themselves well provided
for, and without doubt they enjoyed better
health than would have been their lot under the
softer conditions of city life.</p>
<p>Boone and Mr. Sproul—whom it is needless to
describe, for he does not figure any further in our
story—were pacing the path in silence when several
shots fired in rapid succession rang out. The surveyor
dropped his pipe and stood paralyzed with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</SPAN></span>
alarm. At the first sound the hunter had wheeled
about, and before the last report, which his trained
ear told him was half a mile at least in the rear,
had died away, he was speeding past the string of
pack-animals with his rifle in readiness. In passing
he called on five men to follow him and ordered the
remainder to guard the women and children.</p>
<p>It was evident that the attack—for the character
of the firing clearly indicated an attack—had been
upon the party set to guard and drive the cattle,
which often lagged a long way behind. Boone remembered,
with a sudden pang, that his young son
was one of the cattle escort that day, and the thought
spurred him onward. Presently a savage whoop of
triumph broke upon his ears and the next instant
he was upon the scene.</p>
<p>The animals had plunged into the thicket and
scattered. Six figures lay upon the earth, still in
death. Five Indians, each exultantly brandishing a
bleeding scalp, were in the act of diving into the
neighboring undergrowth. A sixth bent over one
of the prostrate forms, with his fingers entwined
in the hair and knife raised to make the circular
sweep in the crown of the head. Boone’s rifle went
up, and had hardly touched his shoulder before it<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</SPAN></span>
spoke. The Indian dropped, shot through the brain.</p>
<p>The father had the poor consolation of having
saved his boy’s body from mutilation. That to a
backwoodsman was a source of satisfaction, but it
did not go far towards mitigating Boone’s present
grief. He stood for some minutes, leaning upon
his rifle and looking down at the face of his dead
boy. The convulsive twitching of his features told
of the inward commotion. But there was urgent
duty at hand and Boone sternly put his grief behind
him and turned to it. When he lifted his head, his
companions saw that the features, though drawn,
were calm and the eyes keen and alert as ever.</p>
<p>Reloading his rifle, Boone stepped into the forest
at the point where the Indians had disappeared. In
ten minutes’ time he rejoined the anxiously waiting
men.</p>
<p>“Only seven,” he said. “No likelihood of another
attack. McCurdy, you go and fetch back
five men—and don’t tell them what’s happened as
yet.”</p>
<p>With the reinforcement, the party set to work
digging a broad and shallow grave, in which they
laid their dead without further preparation or ceremony.
It was but an incident of backwoods life<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</SPAN></span>
and the men who performed the service to-day might
be in need of it to-morrow. Having marked the
grave with stones and blazed some neighboring
trees, they rejoined the main body, which resumed
the march, leaving the cattle to be sought for the
next day.</p>
<p>A little farther on, the party came upon a favorable
spot and went into camp for the night. As
soon as Boone had made the shelter for his family
and built a fire, he devoted himself to comforting
his stricken wife. But even this task could not be
pursued uninterruptedly. The camp needed guarding
with special vigilance. It is true that Boone
believed the attack of the afternoon to have been
made by a small party of wandering Indians who
killed the settlers for the mere sake of securing their
scalps. On the other hand, they might have been
a scouting party sent out by a large band. Although
Boone was as fearless as any man that ever lived,
he was never imprudent, much less reckless. In
the course of their conversation Mr. Sproul had said
something about “trusting to Providence.” The
hunter had replied that he didn’t “believe in trusting
to Providence until you have done all you can<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</SPAN></span>
for yourself. After that, Providence is much more
likely to lend a willing hand.”</p>
<p>As soon, therefore, as the other settlers had composed
themselves to rest, Boone went out and seated
himself upon a fallen tree, prepared to spend the
night in watchfulness. His ears were alive to the
slightest sound and he could instantly detect the
origin of each. Now and again the stillness of the
forest would be broken by the howl of a wolf, or
the hoot of an owl. At such times the hunter would
raise his head and listen intently, for the Indians
imitated the cries of birds and animals in signalling
to one another. Boone was himself a very good
hand at that form of reproduction and was seldom
deceived by the performance of another.</p>
<p>Boone’s vigil had extended to the gray dawn when
his attention was attracted by a dim figure moving
on the farther side of the camp. He thought that
it was probably one of the settlers suffering from
indigestion or, perhaps, walking in his sleep. However,
prudence demanded that he should stalk the
figure, and he accordingly slipped noiselessly round
the back of the shelters in his moccasined feet. The
manœuvre brought him suddenly within sight of the
person at a few feet distance. The light was just<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</SPAN></span>
strong enough to enable him to discern the form of
a youth who was struggling to suppress the sobs that
convulsed his frame at intervals.</p>
<p>Boone took the boy by the arm and gently led
him to the fallen tree by his own camp fire.</p>
<p>“Sit down,” he said. “Now, what’s the trouble,
young man?” He spoke in a low, soft voice that
told the lad that he had fallen in with a friend.
“Take your time,” continued the hunter, soothingly;
“I know it hurts, whatever it is, and you’re taking
it like a man, anyhow.”</p>
<p>He placed an arm across the boy’s shoulders and
the youngster felt the touch strengthen and calm
him as had not all the comforting words of the
sympathetic settlers’ wives. After a while he controlled
himself sufficiently to speak.</p>
<p>“My father was killed yesterday,” said the lad,
at last, “and—and I didn’t see him.”</p>
<p>“Too bad, too bad,” said Boone, drawing the
boy closer to his side. “I wouldn’t worry about
not seeing him, though. I saw him—I buried him,
and he looked peaceful and I don’t doubt is happier
than you or me at this moment. Where’s your
mother, young man?”</p>
<p>“Mother died long ago, before we left England.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“You don’t mean that you’re all alone?”</p>
<p>“Yes, now that father’s dead, I’m all alone.”</p>
<p>The thought of his utter loneliness overcame the
lad, and for a few minutes he was again shaken
with grief. Boone waited silently until the boy
had somewhat recovered himself. Then he asked:</p>
<p>“What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Hardy Goodfellow, sir.”</p>
<p>“I like that name,” said the hunter. “Hardy
Goodfellow sounds like it ought to fit a backwoodsman.
What are you going to do, Hardy?” The
hunter did not wait for an answer to his question
but went on: “We can’t leave you here and there’s
no way of sending you back, at present. Do you
want to go on to Kentucky, Hardy?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’d rather go on,” replied the lad. “I
think father would want me to, if he knew.”</p>
<p>“Why do you think he would?”</p>
<p>“Well, I’ve often heard him say he hated to see
a man turn back when he’d once started to do anything—but,
of course, I’m not a man.”</p>
<p>“I’m not so sure of that, Hardy. You don’t need
to have a certain number of years nor a certain number
of feet to be a man, leastways not in the backwoods.
It’s more a matter of the heart and head,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</SPAN></span>
Hardy, and I think you’ve got as much pluck and
sense as many of your elders.”</p>
<p>After this speech the hunter lapsed into silent
thought and so sat for ten or fifteen minutes. When
he turned again to his young companion it was with
an air of satisfied decision.</p>
<p>“Hardy, the same Injuns that killed your father
killed my son. The eldest he was—the other’s only
a baby. Now, if you’re willin’, I’ll try to take the
place of your father and you shall take the place of
our Jim. What do you say?”</p>
<p>The boy strove to speak but his emotions choked
him. He looked up at Boone and the hunter could
see gratitude and joy written on his face.</p>
<p>“Shake on it—that’s enough,” said Boone, extending
his hand. “That’s settled, then, and I
don’t think either of us will ever be sorry for the
bargain. My woman will make you a good mother
and I’ll go bail you’ll make her a good son. Now
crawl into your new home, Hardy, and get an hour’s
sleep. I’ll stretch my legs a bit.”</p>
<p>It may seem strange that Boone should on such
short acquaintance have taken a boy into his family
on the footing of a son. However, Boone’s judgment
of human character amounted to almost unerring<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</SPAN></span>
intuition and he felt strongly drawn towards
Hardy, largely perhaps on account of his recent
bereavement. Moreover, he was not devoid of the
backwoods trait of superstition, as was evidenced by
his muttered remark as he turned on his heel after
seeing the boy enter the shelter: “Maybe the Lord
meant it that way—who knows?”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="III" id="III">III.</SPAN><br/> <small>THE YOUNG HUNTER</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">The emigrants show the white feather—They retrace
their steps to North Carolina—Boone refuses to turn
his back upon Kentucky and Hardy proves staunch—“Didn’t
we make a bargain?”—The new home in the
cabin on the Clinch—Hardy enters upon his backwoods
education—Boone finds him an apt and willing
pupil—The hunting expeditions in the glorious Indian
summer—Hardy soon learns to shoot straight and to
stalk a deer—Hardy has a lesson in tracking a man—“I
laid flat, thinking you might fire”—Winter trapping
and camping—The Indians invade the settlements—Hardy
serves in Dunmore’s War.</span></p>
<p class="p2">When the first rays of the rising sun called the
settlers from their rude couches, Boone appeared in
camp, after a bath in the branch, as fresh and alert
as though he had enjoyed a long rest like the others.
The night before he had instructed them not to
strike their shelters in the morning, for he designed
to remain in the camp until the next day and devote
the interval to searching for the strayed cattle.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</SPAN></span>
These were a very valuable property. Their milk
was needed for the young children, and they were
intended to form the nucleus of the stock in the
new settlement. A party was sent out to search the
thickets, but Boone was doomed to meet with a great
disappointment before the close of the day and to
have his cherished plans entirely upset.</p>
<p>At about noon the heads of the families among
the emigrants came to the leader and expressed their
determination to return. The attack of the day
before had convinced them that the Indians would
oppose their farther progress, and they deemed it
suicidal to venture into an unknown region, far
beyond the limits of settlement. Many of the other
men were married and had joined the expedition
with a view to prospecting for land. These, also,
were bent on returning to their homes. A few of
the single men, who had no ties, were indifferent as
to their future course, and of these perhaps half a
dozen stayed in the district.</p>
<p>Boone felt that if there was to be any turning
back, the sooner it took place the better, and he did
not try to dissuade the settlers from their purpose.
For his own part, he had made up his mind to go
to Kentucky and get there he would. He should<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</SPAN></span>
stay where he was until an opportunity for going
forward presented itself.</p>
<p>While this understanding was being reached,
Hardy stood beside his adoptive father, an interested
listener. Boone now turned to him.</p>
<p>“Hardy,” he said, with a grim smile, “here’s a
fine chance to go back again, if you want to.”</p>
<p>The boy looked up at the hunter with an expression
of mingled surprise and reproach.</p>
<p>“Didn’t we make a bargain?” he asked.</p>
<p>“That we did, Hardy,” replied Boone heartily,
slapping the lad on the back, “that we did, and
I’m to blame for doubting you.”</p>
<p>So it was settled, and the next morning the entire
party set out on the back trail. Boone accompanied
the returning settlers for a distance of about forty
miles and then bade them farewell and good luck.
They parted company in the Valley of the Clinch,
near the headwaters of the river of that name.
Boone had noticed a deserted cabin and a small clearing
on the banks of the stream and had marked
the place for his future home. When the retreating
band had disappeared from view, Boone turned his
pack-horses towards the spot and before nightfall<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</SPAN></span>
his little family was comfortably ensconced in the
lonely hut.</p>
<p>The Boones were not beyond the bounds of settlement.
During the few years previous to their
arrival, restless pioneers from the borders of Virginia
and North Carolina had pushed out to the
valleys this side of the Cumberland Mountains, and
there were several scattered “stations” at no great
distance, as backwoodsmen computed distance. Indeed,
Russell’s Station was next door, being only
eight miles away. Boone felt confident that among
these adventurous spirits he would soon find some
to make up another expedition for the settlement of
Kentucky. Meanwhile, there was much to be done.
The cabin needed repairing and the clearing had to
be attended to. Then there was the winter’s stock
of meat to be laid in and some furs, which, as we
have said, represented money, to be secured.</p>
<p>Then commenced for Hardy Goodfellow the happiest
time of his life. Boone, as soon as he had
seen his wife and little ones comfortably settled at
home, began to take hunting trips. This was a very
necessary part of a backwoodsman’s life, and his
wife was quite accustomed to being left alone for
weeks and months at a time. For Hardy these excursions<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</SPAN></span>
afforded the most delightful experience and
the most useful education. While he was somewhat
better schooled than the average backwoods
boy, he was almost a greenhorn in the matters that
went to the making of an accomplished frontiersman,
his father having but recently arrived with him
from England. He had, however, unusual advantages
to favor his development into an expert backwoodsman.
He was a lusty, well-formed lad,
rather tall for his fourteen years. His childhood
had been passed in a rural district, and he delighted
in outdoor life. He possessed, as Boone had quickly
discerned, plenty of pluck and an ample fund of
common sense. But Hardy’s greatest good fortune
lay in having such an instructor as Boone who, besides
being an expert hunter and a master of woodcraft,
was a man of splendid character and one calculated
to stimulate and develop the inherent good
qualities in a pupil.</p>
<p>The glorious “Indian summer” of the South was
upon them when they began these wanderings together.
Their days were spent mainly in hunting
deer, the skins of which were worth a dollar apiece
and the meat the most desirable for storing. Under
Boone’s directions Hardy soon learned to shoot<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</SPAN></span>
straight, and also became fairly adept in stalking
the game. After a while the hunter would allow his
young companion to take the direction of the day’s
hunt, when Hardy would be required to calculate
from the state of the weather and the condition of
the surrounding country where the deer were likely
to be found, and to decide from the course of the
wind upon the point at which they were to be
approached.</p>
<p>Every minute of the day added to the boy’s knowledge
and his strength, while his powers of observation
and reasoning steadily developed. Hunting is
hard work and Boone was no light taskmaster, but
despite the fatigue and the bruises and the scratches,
Hardy fairly revelled in his new experience, as any
healthy boy would. As they tramped along, Boone
showed the eager youngster how to detect “signs”
of Indians and animals; how to tell whether an upturned
stone or leaf had been disturbed by the wind
or by the foot of man or beast. He explained to
him how, from the barks of trees and other indications,
to determine the points of the compass, so
that he might travel the wilderness without guide.
They studied the habits of birds and animals and
practiced mimicking their cries.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Sometimes they would halt in a small glade and
Boone would set up a mark for Hardy to shoot at,
impressing upon him the wisdom of never pressing
trigger until he should be sure of his aim. This
exercise was varied with that of throwing the tomahawk,
a very useful accomplishment. The Indian
fighter who expended a shot without bringing down
his foe, might not have time to reload, when he
would have to resort to the weapons in his belt. On
such and many other occasions the tomahawk came
into play. At times they would engage in running
matches and wrestling bouts, and although at first
the hunter could pick Hardy up by the belt and hold
him at arm’s length, the boy soon became too strong
and agile to be treated as an altogether indifferent
antagonist.</p>
<p>As they were constantly on the move, they made
what was called an “open” camp,—that is to say,
at night they rolled themselves in their blankets
under the sky, or beneath the trees. As they sat beside
their fire, after the meal of venison and cornbread,
Boone would instruct Hardy in the ways of
Indians, or tell him tales of frontier life—stories of
hairbreadth escape from wild beast or cruel Indian;
of women defending their cabins in the absence of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</SPAN></span>
their men; of fierce fights; of captivity and torture;
of wanderings in the trackless wilds; of various
adventures in a world that was as yet little known
to the lad. The hunter liked to tell and Hardy to
hear of Boone’s excursions into Kentucky—how he
spent three months alone, hundreds of miles from a
white man and without even a horse or dog for company;
how the Indians captured him, and how he
escaped. These stories fired Hardy with an intense
longing to become a full-fledged frontiersman, and
he bent every effort towards that end.</p>
<p>Sometimes Hardy would awake in the morning
to find Boone gone. Then he understood that he
was expected to trail the hunter to the next camp.
The man took care that the task should not be too
difficult and Hardy met with such success that he
was quite elated at it. One night he boasted of his
skill and the next day received a lesson that abated
his pride and convinced him that he had a great deal
yet to learn.</p>
<p>The next morning Hardy found himself alone and
at once started off on Boone’s trace, which was
plainly visible. He followed it with comparative
ease until some time after noon. Then he began to
be uncertain and at last was entirely at a loss. For<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</SPAN></span>
hours he wandered about, carefully examining the
ground, the bushes, and the trees, but not a sign
could he find. For all trace of him that Hardy
could see, the hunter might have flown straight up
from the earth. Evening found the lad still at
fault. There was nothing for it but to camp for
the night.</p>
<p>Hardy felt somewhat downcast as he looked
around for a resting place. He had perfect confidence
in Boone and knew that he would turn up
on the morrow, but it was the first time that Hardy
had been alone in the wilderness and he didn’t quite
like the experience. However, he concluded to
make the best of it, and to hearten himself, said
aloud:</p>
<p>“Cheer up, Hardy! You’ll never make a frontiersman
if you’re afraid to be alone in the woods.”</p>
<p>A short chuckling laugh came from the depths of
the neighboring undergrowth. Hardy started and
peered apprehensively into the gloaming, his rifle
half way to his shoulder. He could see nothing
to cause alarm and the most profound silence
reigned.</p>
<p>“Ugh! a gobbler I reckon,” concluded Hardy,
turning once more to his preparations for the night.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>He made a fire and was broiling a venison steak
on the end of his ramrod, when a well-known voice
greeted him with, “Got a bit of meat to spare,
Hardy?” and Boone strode into the circle of light,
a quizzical smile overspreading his face. He took
in the preparations for the night’s camp at a glance,
rested his rifle against a tree within arm’s reach, and
sat down beside the young hunter.</p>
<p>It goes without saying that Hardy was delighted
to have his adoptive father with him just as he was
looking forward to a solitary and cheerless night,
but he was not a little nettled to learn that Boone,
after purposely throwing him off the track, had
stalked him to his camp and was able to tell him of
every movement that he had made.</p>
<p>“Son,” said the hunter, after he had explained
the situation, “if I had been an Injun, I’m afraid
that you’d a had less hair on your head than you
have. But I shouldn’t have laughed just now.
That was foolish. As soon as I’d done it, I laid flat,
thinking you might fire. I was glad to see that you
minded what I’ve told you, not to shoot till you can
see what you’re shooting at. You’ve nothing to be
ashamed of, son. Dan’l Boone’s thrown many an
Injun off his track before now.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Notwithstanding the reassuring remarks of his
mentor, Hardy had sense enough to realize from
this incident that he was not so smart as he had
imagined himself to be, and he redoubled his efforts
to become expert in woodcraft.</p>
<p>With the approach of winter the hunters took
out pack-horses and brought home the skins from
where they had cached them. They also laid in a
store of smoked venison. Some time was spent in
making the cabin weather-tight and in cutting logs
for the great fireplace. In this work Hardy learned
to wield the long-handled backwoods axe, which was
as important a factor in frontier life as the rifle.
When all was made snug at home, the hunters were
ready to set out again.</p>
<p>Hardy now entered upon an entirely new experience.
Winter hunting he found quite different
from what had gone before. They did not wander
about, as in the fall, but stayed in one place for
weeks at a time. Trapping was their chief occupation,
and their object to secure the furs of beaver,
otter, mink, and other desirable animals. The rifle
was only used for the purpose of providing food.</p>
<p>They had plenty of tramping to do, for making
the rounds of the traps involved a journey of several<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</SPAN></span>
miles; but at night they always came back to the
spot where their shelter stood and where their stores
were kept. This was called a “closed” camp, or a
“half-faced cabin.” It was made in the following
manner: A log was placed for the back and two or
three logs along each side. These were chinked
with moss to keep out the cold wind. Boughs or
poles were laid over the top and skins or bark covered
these, sloping down to the back-log. The
shelter was open in front.</p>
<p>When Indians were not to be feared, a fire was
kept burning before the cabin all night and the hunters
lay with their stockinged feet to it, their wet
moccasins being hung to dry. The bed was made of
boughs covered with a blanket, or a skin with the
hair on it. Except in the very severest weather,
this kind of shelter afforded sufficient protection to
the hardy hunters. During the winter of 1773-1774,
Boone and Hardy Goodfellow occupied such
a camp during two trapping expeditions which resulted
in good takes.</p>
<p>With the approach of spring, conditions on the
border became such that Boone was obliged to abandon
hunting and take up another phase of the backwoodsman’s
life, that of Indian fighter.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>With the increase of population in the colonies
and the corresponding increased demand for lands,
the border had been steadily pushed forward
towards the Indian country. The savages had gradually
become alarmed at the threatened invasion of
their hunting-grounds and at the time of our story
were preparing to contest the advance in force.
They had shown many evidences of ill temper, but
as yet no open declaration of war had been made.
There were frequent conflicts between small parties
or individuals of the two races and, in fact, whenever
a redman met a white the rifle generally came
into immediate play. Now, however, there were indications
that the tribes upon the western border
were preparing to go on the war-path unitedly.</p>
<p>Although the backwoodsmen were a fine class
as a whole, there were among them some ruffians.
In the spring of 1774, a band of such men committed
a dastardly deed that acted as a firebrand
upon the inflammable minds of the Cherokees and
Shawnees. This was no less than the cold-blooded
and unprovoked murder of the family of Chief
Logan. Logan was an Indian of exceptionally fine
character and peaceable disposition, and the whites,
no less than his own people, deplored the outrage.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</SPAN></span>
The Indians were aroused to a pitch of fury. The
tomahawk was dug up; the war-pipe was carried
through the villages; runners were sent to recall
hunting parties; and all the usual preparations for
a war to the knife were put in train.</p>
<p>The danger was, of course, greatest on the frontier,
and every man and boy who could bear arms
was mustered into the militia. Boone received a
commission as captain and was given command of
three stockaded forts, in one of which Hardy Goodfellow
served as rifleman. A few hundred soldiers
were distributed among the frontier posts but they
were not the valuable accession that might be supposed.
The regulars always proved to be much
inferior to the Indians in forest fights. The former
were brave enough but utterly ignorant of the tactics
of backwoods warfare. In conflicts with the
savages, one frontiersman was worth a score of
redcoats.</p>
<p>But before actual hostilities had broken out, it was
found that a company of land prospectors and surveyors
were in Kentucky, with great danger of being
cut off and massacred. Lord Dunmore, the Governor
of Virginia, sent a messenger to the Clinch
Valley with the request that Boone and another<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</SPAN></span>
should go out and endeavor to bring the party back.
Boone immediately accepted the dangerous and difficult
task and taking with him Michael Stoner, a
backwoodsman of experience, started upon the long
journey without delay. “If they are alive,” wrote
Russell to Colonel Preston, the commandant in the
Valley, “it is indisputable but Boone must find
them.” So, indeed, he did and accomplished his
errand successfully, having travelled upwards of
eight hundred miles in sixty-five days, including a
halt of more than a week.</p>
<p>A detailed description of Dunmore’s War, as it
is called, is not necessary to our story. Suffice it
to say that after a fierce battle, in which fifteen hundred
braves were opposed by a force of frontiersmen,
under General Lewis, the Indians were glad
to sue for peace and entered into a treaty waiving
all claim to the country now known as Kentucky.</p>
<p>Boone and Hardy, who had their share of the
fighting, came through the campaign without serious
mishap. Before the close of the year they were
cheered by the opening of a prospect of pursuing
the desire which both possessed to go on to the fair
land of Kentucky.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="IV" id="IV">IV.</SPAN><br/> <small>THE DARING PIONEER</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Colonel Henderson plans a semi-independent republic—He
employs Boone to spy out the land—Boone makes
a hazardous journey into Kentucky alone—He locates
the site of Boonesborough and after six weeks’
absence returns—Boone gathers the Indian chiefs at
Sycamore Shoals—The Indians sell Kentucky to
Henderson and his associates—Boone with a small
band starts out to blaze the way into the interior—They
are attacked by Indians and see buffalo for the
first time—They commence the erection of a fort—Hundreds
of speculators flock to the new territory.</span></p>
<p class="p2">The important part played by Daniel Boone in
the settlement of Kentucky was due to the extraordinary
combination of qualities possessed by this
ideal backwoodsman, a combination which was not
found in any other of the pioneers who were associated
with him. George Rogers Clark was his
superior in intellect, but Clark lacked Boone’s calm,
even temper and infinite patience. Kenton was as
fearless, but he had not Boone’s prudence and foresight.
Harrod, Logan, Todd, and others were able<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</SPAN></span>
captains, but each was wanting in some of the qualities
that combined to fit Boone so perfectly for the
rôle he filled in frontier history.</p>
<p>The men of the border, with their independent
dispositions, were extremely difficult to control.
Even when imminent danger demanded concerted
action, they were amenable only to the lightest discipline.
If they followed a leader, it was not from
any consideration of their obligations as militiamen,
but because they had confidence in him and personal
regard for him. These sentiments Boone excited
in almost every one with whom he came in contact,
and his influence over the rough, untrammelled backwoods
fighters was probably greater than that exerted
by any other leader. In the time of dire danger
and stress that came upon the Kentucky settlers,
when hundreds fled at the approach of the storm,
had not Boone stood his ground, the new country
must have been deserted.</p>
<p>The affection and respect which the settlers
evinced for Boone were enhanced by the fact that
he was in all respects one of themselves. Born on
the border, of backwoods parentage, he was wedded
to the hard life led by the frontier people, and like
most of them he was poor and unlettered. There<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</SPAN></span>
is much in his simple, honest character, with its
homely common sense and cheery humor, to remind
us of Abraham Lincoln, and it is not difficult to believe
that Lincoln, under similar circumstances,
would have been just such a backwoodsman as
Boone.</p>
<p>The high qualities which made Daniel Boone a
natural leader among his fellows were not lost upon
men of superior station with whom he happened to
have relations. Colonel Richard Henderson, of
Granville County, North Carolina, had the highest
opinion of the pioneer’s character and ability. Henderson
was a judge whose circuit included the backwoods
town of Hillsboro, and here he had frequently
met Boone at the time that the latter lived upon the
Yadkin. In fact, there is a tradition that Boone
once saved Henderson from ill-treatment, if not
death, at the hands of a band of Regulators.</p>
<p>Boone’s descriptions of Kentucky had keenly interested
the Judge and ultimately awoke in his mind
the idea of establishing in that wonderful region a
semi-independent republic, to be called Transylvania.
Of course, such a movement would meet with the
disapprobation of the British authorities, but active
opposition was hardly to be feared in such a remote<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</SPAN></span>
part of the country. Three brothers named Hart
who, like Colonel Henderson, were men of means,
associated themselves with him in this romantic
project. The defeat of the Indians in Dunmore’s
War and the subsequent treaty of peace seemed to
open a promising prospect of prosecuting the enterprise
with success.</p>
<p>Towards the close of the year, Colonel Henderson
put himself in communication with Boone, in
whose judgment and discretion he had, as we have
said, implicit confidence. The plan was outlined to
the backwoodsman and his services as prospector
were readily secured. Though Boone was not, perhaps,
so sanguine as the promoters in the ultimate
success of the undertaking, he fully appreciated its
advantages as a preliminary step. He knew that
in the past, the dwellers upon the frontier had been
left to fight their own battles and manage their own
affairs, with no considerable aid from the colonial
authorities, and he did not believe that they would
fare much better in the contemplated case with a
corporation at their backs; but he realized that the
efforts of Henderson and his associates might have
a powerful effect in starting the settlement and he
entered into the scheme with hearty good-will.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Leaving Hardy, who was duly proud of the responsibility,
to look after the family on the Clinch,
Boone started in January, 1775, upon a solitary expedition
into Kentucky. His ostensible purpose was
hunting, but in reality he was engaged in spying out
the land for his employers. He struck the Kentucky
River near the Virginia border and followed it to
the site of Harrodsburg, which had been surveyed
the year before. Thence he took a diagonal course
across the great valley to the Cumberland Gap, and
so home.</p>
<p>It was a hazardous journey, but just such an adventure
as Boone delighted in. He found a genuine
pleasure in the solitude of the wilderness, and felt
safer when alone than with a companion whose imprudence
might lead him into trouble. Kentucky
was the common hunting-ground of several tribes
and did not contain any permanent Indian villages.
There were, therefore, few savages about in the
winter. Perils of other kinds were, however, plentiful.
Panthers, wolves, and bears sometimes attacked
lone men. There was the possibility of becoming
lost or, worse still, of suffering a crippling
accident. Imagine the plight of a man with a
broken leg, lying in the snowy wastes hundreds of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</SPAN></span>
miles from a human being. Such a fate befell
more than one scout and pioneer, but Boone accomplished
his task without mishap and returned after
an absence of about six weeks to the cabin on the
Clinch.</p>
<p>When Boone reported the result of his observations
to Colonel Henderson and his associates, who
now called themselves the Transylvania Company,
it was determined to entrust him with a task calling
for qualities of a different nature from those exercised
in his exploration. It was proposed by the
Company to purchase from the Cherokees the land
which they decided on Boone’s recommendation to
settle, and to him was entrusted the matter of opening
negotiations.</p>
<p>It should be understood that the Cherokees had
no better title to the territory in question than had
the Choctaws, Shawnees, or Iroquois. In fact, the
last named had some few years previous transferred
to the British Crown all the lands lying between
the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers. However, the
Company felt that its position would be strengthened
by securing some title, however shadowy, from
an Indian tribe, and the Cherokees were selected
because they commanded the path that would be<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</SPAN></span>
followed by the settlers from the South in going
to the new country.</p>
<p>As usual, Boone accomplished his errand and in
March brought twelve hundred Cherokees to the
Sycamore Shoals, on the Watauga River, where the
promoters met them and after considerable bickering
struck a bargain. It was agreed that in consideration
of the payment of fifty thousand dollars,
the tribe should cede to Henderson and his partners
in the Transylvania Company all the land lying between
the Kentucky and Cumberland Rivers, and
should allow them a free road to the region through
Powell’s Valley and the Cumberland Gap.</p>
<p>According to the general practice of the time, the
purchase price was paid in merchandise, consisting
of cloth, clothing, guns, ammunition, cooking utensils,
hatchets, and ornaments. The goods filled a
large cabin but when it came to distributing them,
each warrior’s share proved to be small. One brave,
to whom was allotted a deerskin hunting-shirt, expressed
his disgust in no uncertain terms. What a
fool he had been, he said, to sell for such an article
his hunting-grounds, where in a single day he could
kill deer enough to make half a dozen such garments.</p>
<p>Thus, at the outset, the arrangement met with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</SPAN></span>
the dissatisfaction of the Indians. Indeed, before
the meeting broke up one of the chiefs warned
Boone that he must not expect to effect the settlement
of the region without trouble. He pointed
out, truthfully enough, that the Indian chiefs could
no more control their young men than the frontier
leaders could the hot-heads among themselves. The
Cherokees as a nation might, he said, be at peace
with the Virginians—they called all frontiersmen
“Virginians”—and a few individuals on either side
wantonly commit some act that would bring on war.
The chiefs could not, he declared, guarantee the
safety of emigrants upon the promised path, much
less of settlers in Kentucky itself.</p>
<p>This was not very promising, but it did not daunt
the promoters, for they had expected nothing better.
All they had looked for from the agreement was
something that would give them a moral right to
fight for the possession of the land and entitle them
to the countenance of the Crown authorities. In
this hope they were, however, immediately disappointed;
for the Governors of North Carolina and
Virginia denounced the transaction as soon as
knowledge of it reached them.</p>
<p>By this time the colonists, and especially those on<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</SPAN></span>
the borders, had begun to treat the representatives
of King George with scant respect, and the Transylvania
Company was in no measure deterred from the
prosecution of its enterprise by the proclamations
issued against it by Governors Martin and Dunmore.
Boone counselled immediate action, reasoning
that the Indians might be expected to observe
the treaty for a few months and that by driving the
entering wedge home before they should awake to
active opposition, much would be gained. In this
view the promoters concurred and again they relied
upon their trusty agent to carry out their designs.</p>
<p>In his expedition of the preceding January, Boone
had marked a spot for the first settlement of the
Transylvania Company, and now it was arranged
that he should go out at the head of a body of thirty
picked backwoodsmen to mark a path through the
wilderness to the place selected. The party started
immediately after the conclusion of the meeting
on the Watauga and arrived at their destination on
the sixth day of April. They encountered many
difficulties on the way and were more than once
attacked by Indians, several of their number being
killed and wounded.</p>
<p>The point at which it was decided to locate the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</SPAN></span>
capital town of Transylvania, as the colony was to
be called, was Big Lick, just below Otter Creek on
the Kentucky River. The site was a plain on the
south side of the river, and as the pioneers approached
it they were confronted with a sight which
to most of them was entirely novel. Hundreds of
buffalo occupied the destined ground, where they
were engaged in licking the earth for the salt with
which it was impregnated. As the men advanced,
the huge beasts scattered in every direction, some
running, some walking, others loping carelessly
along with young calves skipping and bounding
at their sides. Such a sight was common enough
in Kentucky at that time, but soon after the advent
of white men the great herds of bison moved westward.</p>
<p>The pioneers immediately commenced the erection
of a fort and raised a few cabins along the
river bank, but it was long before the stockade of
Boonesborough, as the settlement was named, was
completed. In the absence of women, it was hard
to induce the backwoodsmen to devote themselves
to measures of defence while such tempting opportunities
for hunting presented themselves. They
were a self-confident and somewhat reckless lot.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</SPAN></span>
Their first thought was to mark off a claim by a
rude method of surveying which entailed endless
after trouble. Their second, to pursue the game
which abounded in a plenteousness far surpassing
anything in their past experience.</p>
<p>Before the close of April, Colonel Henderson
arrived with a reinforcement of thirty men and a
quantity of tools and ammunition. In the succeeding
months arrivals were numerous from various
quarters and by different routes. During the course
of the year upwards of five hundred men from the
frontiers of Pennsylvania, Virginia, and North
Carolina went into Kentucky, but the majority of
them were not settlers. Some were merely hunters
but the greater number land speculators or “cabiners,”
as they were termed, who ran up a shanty on
a piece of land as evidence of occupation and returned
to the colonies in the hope of selling the
tract.</p>
<p>At the close of the summer Boone brought in his
family from the Clinch Valley and his wife and
daughters were, as he proudly declared, “the first
white women to stand on the banks of the Kentucky.”
Shortly afterwards, several other families
came in, and there were before the end of September<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</SPAN></span>
four or five settlements, the principal being
Boonesborough and Harrodsburg, about fifty miles
to the west of the former place. Two or three hundred
acres of corn had been planted, fruit trees had
been set, and horses, cattle and hogs had been introduced.</p>
<p>The settlers were for the most part of Scotch-Irish
extraction, sturdy, patriotic men, attaching
themselves to the soil with a tenacity that nothing
could shake. In the struggle to maintain their
homes in the new territory they greatly aided their
countrymen in the Revolution, which was just about
to break out. Indeed, they guarded the western
flank of the colonies and even carried the war into
the Crown dominions on the north. Among those
who came into Kentucky in this first year of its settlement
were a number whose names figure prominently
in border story and in the history of our western
march—George Rogers Clark, Simon Kenton,
the Lewises, Benjamin Logan, James Harrod, John
Todd, the brothers McAfee, Bowman, Hite, Randolph,
McClellan.</p>
<p>During the latter months of 1775 the Indians
gave little trouble and many settlers began to congratulate
themselves upon the prospect of occupying<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</SPAN></span>
the land without serious opposition, but in the closing
days of the year several attacks were made on
the whites at different points. These were the signal
for the hurried departure of the timid, and of
speculators, surveyors, and others who had no permanent
interests in the country, making it apparent
that in time of stress the tenure of the land would
depend upon a few bold spirits.</p>
<p>In order to dispose of the Transylvania Company
once for all, we shall anticipate the course of time
somewhat. The settlers found many causes of dissatisfaction
with the Company’s methods of managing
affairs, and the declaration of independence by
the colonies in July, 1776, made it evident that a
proprietary government could not long exist. Under
the circumstances, the settlers of Kentucky
wished for definite inclusion in the new republic
and with that view they sent a delegation to the
Virginia Assembly praying that body to give them
recognition as part of the State. In accordance with
this petition, Kentucky was organized as a county of
Virginia, with David Robinson as county lieutenant,
John Bowman colonel, Anthony Bledsoe and George
Rogers Clark majors, and Daniel Boone, James Harrod,
Benjamin Logan and John Todd captains.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</SPAN></span>
Ultimately the Transylvania Company was compensated
for the forfeiture of its possessions by a large
grant of land.</p>
<p>But before all this happened, Kentucky had entered
upon the stormy days that earned for it the
grim title of “the dark and bloody ground.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="V" id="V">V.</SPAN><br/> <small>IN FAIR KENTUCKY</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">The settlers find themselves in a rich and beautiful
land—But soon learn that they must fight for the
possession of it—A night alarm on the border—How a
woman and two children defended their home—The
stockade at Boonesborough—Two girls carried off by
the savages—Hardy raises an alarm and a party is
soon in hot pursuit—Boone circumvents the wily
redskins—They are overtaken and caught unprepared—A
volley, a charge, and the girls are safe—Back to
Boonesborough and a happy reunion.</span></p>
<p class="p2">The country in which Boone and his companions
found themselves differed greatly from the gloomy,
forest-covered region that they had left. Here were
extensive forests, it is true, but they were not so
dense as those along the Alleghanies, and furthermore
they were interspersed with stretches of fertile
plain and valleys of succulent grass. Hill and vale,
river-bottom and prairie, timber-land and cane-brake,
succeeded one another in pleasing variety and
offered the widest opportunities for agricultural
pursuits. Game was so plentiful that the settler<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</SPAN></span>
might almost shoot it from his door-sill, but this
very abundance induced to reckless and unnecessary
killing, with the result that in a few years there
was an actual scarcity and more than once the little
community was hard pressed to secure a sufficient
supply of food. The wanton killing of game
continued until recent years.</p>
<p>Settlers were allowed to acquire lands on very
easy terms. An advertisement inserted by Henderson
in the newspapers of Virginia stated that: “Any
person who will settle on and inhabit the same before
the first day of June, 1776, shall have the privilege
of taking up and surveying for himself five hundred
acres, and for each tithable person he may
carry with him and settle there, two hundred and
fifty acres, on the payment of fifty shillings sterling
per hundred, subject to a yearly quit-rent of two
shillings, like money, to commence in the year 1780.”
The deeds required the holders of the lands to pay
this nominal rent “yearly and every year for ever,”
so that had the Company’s title been confirmed, a
large portion of Kentucky might have been subject
to proprietary control at this day.</p>
<p>Having selected his land, the settler proceeded
to clear it of timber and brush and to erect upon<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</SPAN></span>
it a cabin. In this work he was aided by his neighbors,
and himself stood ready to help the next comer.
The farms were widely separated from one another
and were in many cases situated several miles from
the town or fort. Families lived upon them in times
of quiet and almost invariably in the winter, when
it was the habit of the Indians to retire to their villages.
During troublous periods, one half of the
men were engaged in scouting and guarding the
settlement, whilst the other half tilled the ground.
Often runners would make the rounds of the outlying
farms warning the occupants of impending
attack. There might not be a moment to spare, in
which case all the worldly possessions of the family
would be abandoned and they would make a hasty
retreat to the stockaded village.</p>
<p>Doctor Doddridge, who was born and reared on
the frontier says: “I well remember that when a
little boy the family were sometimes waked up in
the dead of night by an express with a report that
the Indians were at hand. The express came softly
to the door or back window, and by gently tapping
waked the family; this was easily done, as an
habitual fear made us ever watchful and sensible
to the slightest alarm. The whole family were instantly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</SPAN></span>
in motion: my father seized his gun and
other implements of war; my stepmother waked up
and dressed the children as well as she could; and
being myself the oldest of the children, I had to
take my share of the burthens to be carried to the
fort. There was no possibility of getting a horse
in the night to aid us in removing to the fort; besides
the little children, we caught up what articles
of clothing and provisions we could get hold of in
the dark, for we durst not light a candle or even
stir the fire. All this was done with the utmost
despatch and the silence of death; the greatest care
was taken not to awaken the youngest child; to
the rest it was enough to say ‘Indian,’ and not a
whimper was heard afterwards. Thus it often happened
that the whole number of families belonging
to a fort, who were in the evening at their homes,
were all in their little fortress before the dawn of
the next morning. In the course of the succeeding
day their household furniture was brought in by
parties of the men under arms.”</p>
<p>On the other hand, it frequently happened that
when the assembled settlers looked round after such
a hasty gathering, it was discovered that one or
another family was missing. Then a party of men<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</SPAN></span>
would go out after them and, if fortunate, bring
them in, but it might be that they had wandered
from the trail in the darkness and become lost, or
that they had encountered the savages and been massacred.
Some men of reckless disposition would
not leave their cabins until actually forced to do so
by the approach of the enemy, or would return to
their farms before the removal of danger. Such
individuals caused serious trouble to the settlers with
whom they were associated and often jeopardized
their safety.</p>
<p>Such warnings as we have described were attendant
upon the advance of the Indians in force, but
the lone cultivator, upon his isolated farm, was in
constant danger of attack from small bands or single
savages that skulked unseen through the forest.
The clearing was generally surrounded by woods
or thicket that afforded ample cover to the foe in
his stealthy approach. The settler, driving his team
along the furrow, never knew but that watchful eyes
were following his every movement, awaiting the
opportunity for a favorable shot at him. His boy,
going to the spring for water, might be suddenly
seized from behind, gagged before he could utter a
sound, and carried away to meet a cruel death, or<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</SPAN></span>
to be brought up in some Indian’s wigwam. The
mother, standing in the doorway of the cabin, oblivious
to all danger, might be shot through the heart
in the very sight of her husband. Perhaps, when
the head of the family was away on a short hunt, or
a trip to the fort, a party of Indians who had patiently
awaited the chance for days would make an
attack on the cabin. If the occupants had time to
throw the heavy bolts across the door, there was a
fair chance of their beating off the assailants, even
though their success depended upon the courage of
one woman and a half-grown boy. Many a thrilling
border story turns upon the heroism of frontier
women and children under such circumstances.</p>
<p>A typical affair of the kind occurred in Nelson
County, Kentucky, during the year 1791. A party
of about a score of Indians attacked the cabin of
a settler named Merrill. The place was at some
distance from the nearest habitation and no help
could reasonably be looked for. The family were
taken entirely unawares, the first intimation of the
presence of the dreaded redskins being a volley
from the neighboring brush aimed at the father
who was working near his home. He fell grievously
wounded but contrived to struggle to his feet<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</SPAN></span>
and staggered into the cabin with the foremost
savage at his heels. The wife of the settler succeeded,
however, in closing the door and throwing
the heavy bar across it, before the Indian could
enter. Meanwhile, her husband sank helpless upon
the floor.</p>
<p>The defence of the home now depended upon
the woman and her son and daughter, neither of
whom was much more than a child. But the desperate
situation did not daunt the brave mother.
She seized an axe and prepared to defend the family
as best she might with it. There were no firearms
in the cabin. Merrill, after the manner of
backwoodsmen of the time, had carried his rifle to
work with him and after being hit had been unable
to regain it from the tree against which it had been
placed.</p>
<p>The assailants at once began to hack an opening
in the door with their tomahawks and of course
the defenders were unable to offer any obstruction
to this proceeding. At length a hole was made big
enough for a man to squeeze through and one of
the savages entered the room by this means. The
woman stood beside the door with axe poised and
as soon as the Indian was fairly inside, but before<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</SPAN></span>
he could rise to his feet, she brought the weapon
crashing down upon his skull. He expired with
scarce a groan.</p>
<p>Close behind the first intruder followed a second.
He met with a similar fate and so with a third and
a fourth. Each had entered as fast as the way became
clear and the death-blows had been delivered
swiftly and surely. The Indians now began to
suspect that something untimely had befallen their
fellows and before another essayed to enter the
house they made a cautious survey through the
crevice of the door. By the fitful light of the fire
four motionless figures stretched upon the floor
were discernible and their fate was easily surmised.</p>
<p>The attackers now decided upon another line of
tactics. Two of them clambered to the roof of the
cabin and began a descent of the capacious chimney.
The alert woman had heard the noises made
by the climbers and anticipated their designs. Still
maintaining her vigilant watch at the door, she
bade her children cut open the feather bed and
throw its contents upon the fire. The burning
feathers flew up the chimney in a fountain of flame
and acrid smoke. The two savages half way down
strove to regain the roof but were unable to do so<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</SPAN></span>
and at last fell into the fireplace, scorched and
suffocated. They were easily despatched by the
children and the wounded father.</p>
<p>Hardly had the attack been repulsed at one end
of the room than it was renewed at the other. A
fifth savage made an effort to gain entrance by
way of the door. He was not more than half way
through when the well-wielded axe ended his career.
This put an end to the assault. The Indians were
more than satisfied and beat a retreat. When they
reached their village they assured the tribesmen that
the squaws fought better than the “Long Knives”
themselves.</p>
<p>Although the fort at Boonesborough was not completed
until some months after the point at which
we have arrived in our story, it will be well to describe
it here. There was a close resemblance between
all these frontier stockades, and the picture of
one serves as a general description of any other.
The Boonesborough fort stood about two hundred
feet from the river. It was a parallelogram, about
three hundred feet in length and half as wide. The
sides were formed of cabins set close together, the
spaces between being closed with double rows of
logs, planted endwise in the ground and standing<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</SPAN></span>
about ten feet in height. At each corner was a
blockhouse, two stories in height, the upper section
extending two feet beyond the lower, with the floor
of the projection loop-holed so that attackers immediately
below might be fired upon. The cabins and
palisades were plentifully loop-holed along each of
the sides. Stumps, brush and everything that might
afford cover, was cleared from the immediate vicinity.
In the middle of each of the long sides was a
strong, heavy gate, with wooden hinges and bolts.
In the centre of the enclosure stood a storehouse for
provisions and ammunition, a few trees, and posts
for stretching clothes-lines. In time of siege, cattle
and horses were driven into the stockade.</p>
<p>Such a fortress could not, of course, stand against
artillery and in some instances, where the Indians
were supported by British gunners and cannon, the
defenders of stockades were obliged to surrender.
But it was seldom, indeed, that any force of savages
unaided succeeded in carrying a frontier fort by
assault when there were a handful of unerring backwoods
rifles to defend it. In fact, the redskins had,
long before this date, learned the futility of direct
attack and usually resorted to subterfuge, or attempted
to starve out the garrison. But this was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</SPAN></span>
not so easily accomplished in the case of such resourceful
and determined men as the pioneers of
Kentucky. When food began to fail, one would
leave the fort in the dead of night and, stealthily
creeping through the cordon of besiegers, take to the
woods in search of game. The return, heavily
laden, was even a more dangerous and difficult feat
than the departure, and many laid down their lives
for the sake of their fellows in such enterprises.
But though one fell to-day, another was ready to
essay the task to-morrow, and in the end some
would succeed.</p>
<p>The Indians generally relied upon stratagem to
overcome the defenders. A favorite subterfuge was
pretended retreat. Simulating discouragement or
alarm, they would act as though retiring from the
country. The object was to draw the garrison into
pursuit and entrap them in ambush. As we shall
see, these tactics were sometimes highly successful
with men who were ever ready to embrace any excuse
for escaping the irksome restraint of the fort.</p>
<p>With the approach of summer, Indian outrages
became increasingly frequent. No large bodies of
savages were seen, nor was any concerted attack
made upon a settlement. It was evident, however,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</SPAN></span>
that numbers of redskins were in the country, which
was not strange, for at this time of the year hundreds
of them had been in the habit of hunting in
Kentucky. Settlers were picked off at the plough,
or while traversing the forest. Women and children
were killed and scalped or seized and carried
into captivity. Cattle and horses were frequently
found dead, with arrows in their sides, for the redskins
still used that weapon upon animals in order
to save valuable ammunition for fighting.</p>
<p>Another and more extensive exodus took place.
All but three of the stations were abandoned, those
maintained being Boonesborough, Harrodsburg, and
McClellan’s, and the last-named was deserted early
in the following year. There were hardly one hundred
“guns,” that is, fighting men, left in the entire
territory.</p>
<p>Fair Kentucky was soon to be in the throes of a
life-and-death struggle for possession of the soil.
As yet the settlers did not realize the fearful danger
that beset them. Had they done so, all but the very
stoutest hearts must have quailed before it. The
Revolution was now in progress and, incited and
armed by British agents, the Shawnees, Cherokees,
and Mingos were preparing to exterminate the invaders<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</SPAN></span>
of their old-time hunting-grounds. Virginia
could afford but scanty aid to her distant territory.
All the men and munitions that the State
could command were needed to support the Continental
Army. To the devoted band of backwoodsmen,
isolated from their fellows and dependent upon
their own resources, two courses were open,—either
to retreat, or to stand their ground and face the
flood of savage onslaught. It is characteristic of
such men as Boone and his companions that the
former alternative was not even considered by them.</p>
<p>Among the families at Boonesborough was that
of Colonel Richard Callaway, an intimate friend of
Boone. One day early in July, 1778, the two
daughters of the former and Jemima Boone entered
a canoe near the fort and cast it off from its moorings.
This act was contrary to the injunctions of
their parents, who realized that lurking Indians
might be encountered even in the immediate neighborhood
of the stockade. However, the girls were
young and careless and as they drifted idly upon the
placid stream that lovely summer evening, no
thought of danger entered their minds.</p>
<p>Thick woods and dense undergrowth came down<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</SPAN></span>
to the water’s edge upon the opposite bank. Here
a party of savages crouched, motionless and silent,
peering hungrily through the leafy screen at their
intended victims. Laughing and chatting, while
they aimlessly paddled the little craft, the girls gradually
approached the farther bank. At length they
were within a few feet of it, when suddenly the
foliage parted in several places and five hideous
forms sprang into the shallow water, seized the
horror-stricken young women, and plunged into the
thicket with them.</p>
<p>The screams of the girls as their captors bore
them away were heard in the fort. Hardy, who was
seated in the doorway of the Boones’ cabin, cleaning
his rifle, sprang up and ran to the river bank. The
empty canoe, drifting in the current, and a bonnet,
floating on the stream, told the story. Hardy’s first
thought was to plunge into the river and swim
across, but he quickly realized that he could accomplish
no good by following the abductors alone, and
so he turned to the fort for assistance. Both
Boone and Callaway were some miles distant, surveying
a piece of land. In two minutes Hardy was
astride a horse and galloping in the direction they<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</SPAN></span>
had taken. He was fortunate in coming upon them
without loss of time, but night had fallen before the
party regained the stockade of Boonesborough.</p>
<p>Of course every man in the settlement was eager
to join in the pursuit, but Boone determined to take
but seven picked men with him. Even though the
Indians should prove to be a large body, it was more
important to come upon them by surprise than in
force. The main point was to recover the girls
before the savages should have time to kill them.
The smaller the body of pursuers, then, the greater
the likelihood of their success. Hardy Goodfellow
begged, but without success, to be allowed to accompany
the party. He was greatly disappointed but,
although he did not suspect it, his eagerness for
Indian fighting was soon to be satisfied.</p>
<p>At the first streak of dawn the eight men crossed
the river, the two fathers in the lead. At the outset
they experienced a check, but this was no more than
their knowledge of Indian tactics had led them to
suspect. The redskins, on leaving the river bank,
had separated and made their way at considerable
distance from one another through the thickest cane-brake.
The pursuers could not follow any one of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</SPAN></span>
these tracks without danger of being misled. It
was noticed that they all pointed in one general
direction and that gave a clue as to their destination
and Boone concluded that they were bound for the
Ohio River and the Indian villages beyond it.</p>
<p>It was probable that the savages would drop scouts
in the rear to ascertain whether they were being followed,
and if they had reason to believe that they
were not, that they would relax their speed and their
vigilance. Taking these probabilities into consideration,
Boone formed a plan of action with his usual
decision. He abandoned the track and took his
party by a rapid march over a circuit of thirty miles,
coming round to a point where he hoped to again
pick up the trail of the warriors. Sure enough, it
was discovered in a buffalo path and the backwoodsmen
were delighted to find that the Indians had
made a considerable turn in order to cross their
trace, and so had lost much headway. It was evident,
too, from the signs that they had begun to
travel carelessly and imagined themselves safe from
pursuit.</p>
<p>The men under Boone pushed on as rapidly as
possible and with every mile saw that they were getting<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</SPAN></span>
nearer to their quarry. Vigilance was of no
less consequence than speed. They knew that at
the first alarm the redskins would bury their tomahawks
in the skulls of the girls and scatter in the
forest. Noiselessly, then, and tirelessly, the trackers
followed the trail, every moment bringing them
closer to the now slowly-moving savages. At
length, towards the close of the third day, and after
a journey of fifty miles, Boone decided that nightfall
would bring them within striking distance of the
Indians’ camp.</p>
<p>The pace was now slackened and each man bent
his efforts to a stealthy advance without sound.
The moccasined feet, hardly less adept than those
of the redskins, trod so lightly as scarcely to disturb
a twig or leaf. And so, several feet separating each
man from the next, they crept forward until at
length they came in sight of the abductors. In a
small glade surrounded by thick cane they were in
the act of building a fire at which to cook their
evening meal.</p>
<p>The party had been instructed as to their action
in this situation, which had been anticipated. Four
rifles went up in careful aim, the others reserving<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</SPAN></span>
their fire. The instant that the reports rang out,
the whole body charged forward with a yell. The
manœuvre was a perfect success. Two Indians fell.
The others dashed into the forest, leaving their
rifles, and even their knives, tomahawks and moccasins
behind them. The girls were unharmed, and
without delay the party turned about and retraced
its steps to Boonesborough.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="VI" id="VI">VI.</SPAN><br/> <small>HARDY’S FIRST INDIAN</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">The war-cloud gathers over Kentucky—Hardy goes
a-hunting and bags a fat turkey—He practices the
difficult feat of barking squirrels—He detects a dusky
foe spying upon him from behind a tree—And plans
to outwit the wily savage—Hardy fires and scatters
the head-feathers of the Indian—Hardy is now reduced
to his tomahawk for defence—He makes a good
throw and barely misses the mark—Powerless, he
awaits death as the savage advances—A friend in
need is a friend indeed—“My scalp, I reckon, young
fellow!”—Simon Kenton, the daring dandy of the
backwoods.</span></p>
<p class="p2">Before the close of the summer the Kentuckians
became fully alive to the fact that they were threatened
with a great Indian war. Most of the settlers
were too careless or lacking in foresight to take
measures in advance for their safety, and the preparations
for the protection of the settlements devolved
upon a few leading men among them. There
were constant consultation, exchange of views, and
formation of plans. The two principal objects desired<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</SPAN></span>
were the inclusion of the new territory in the
State of Virginia and the procurement of a supply
of ammunition. By effecting the former, it was
hoped to secure aid from the State in the impending
struggle, and without the latter the backwoodsmen
would soon be reduced to a state of helplessness, for
they depended upon the rifle for their supplies of
food, no less than for defence against the Indians.
George Rogers Clark was sent to Virginia as the
representative of the Kentucky settlers, and before
the close of the year succeeded in having the desired
legislation passed and, after a hazardous voyage
down the Ohio, returned with a large quantity of
powder.</p>
<p>Daniel Boone was of course indispensable to the
councils of the leaders, and his time was entirely
occupied in the affairs of the community, which took
him frequently from home. Under these circumstances
it fell to the lot of Hardy to look after the
family and perform the ever-pressing duty of hunter.
The search for game did not entail long journeys as
in North Carolina, but he made frequent trips into
the woods and met with such success as to excite the
praise of his adoptive father.</p>
<p>The settlers, had not at this time contrived to plant<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</SPAN></span>
anything like a sufficiency of corn, nor did they until
several years afterwards. Before the country had
been two years in occupation the live stock had become
reduced to very small numbers, and beeves
were not slaughtered for food but carefully kept
for breeding purposes and as a reserve against
emergency. The sole source of meat supply was
the hunter’s rifle, and in the use of that Boone and
other leaders were urging economy, for ammunition
was running alarmingly low.</p>
<p>It was a fine, mild morning in October when
Hardy set out for a day’s hunt, by which he might
with reasonable good luck secure enough meat to
keep the family pot boiling for a week. He was not
in search of big game, but intended to make his bag
of birds, of which many edible kinds were to be
found in the neighborhood. He filled his powder-horn
and bullet-pouch, put a generous piece of corn
bread into his wallet and, with tomahawk and knife
in belt and rifle over shoulder, left the cabin, with
a promise to return before nightfall.</p>
<p>Hardy paddled himself across the river and, after
hiding his canoe in a secluded spot, he made his way
into the woods. It was not long before he heard
the gobble of a turkey. Listening closely for a few<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</SPAN></span>
minutes, and satisfying himself that the sounds
came from a bird and not from an Indian, he commenced
stealthily to approach his intended victim.
This was not to be easily accomplished, however.
The turkey detected Hardy’s movements before he
got a sight of the bird. The chase lasted for an
hour or more. Now the quarry would take alarm
and make off with long, awkward strides, and anon,
lulled into quietness by the hunter’s caution, would
again allow him to come almost within range, only
to run off just as the rifle was coming into position.
At length a good chance came to the patient tracker.
In one of its sudden retreats the turkey incautiously
started across an open space about sixty feet in
breadth. Hardy was eighty yards away from his
mark but determined not to lose this opportunity.
He dropped on one knee and, taking careful aim,
fired as the bird reached the middle of the glade.
The turkey fluttered for a few paces and then fell
dead.</p>
<p>It proved to be a fine, fat bird, and would have
justified Hardy in considering the day’s hunt as
finished and returning to the many tasks of a less
attractive nature that awaited him. But the weather
and the surroundings were so enticing that he could<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</SPAN></span>
not resist the temptation to remain out a little longer.
He hid his turkey where he could find it on the return,
and determined to indulge himself for a while
in the sport of “barking” squirrels. This was a
favorite pastime with Hardy, because it involved a
very high order of marksmanship, in which he was
eager to excel. At the same time, it was the last
use to which he should have put his rifle at this time,
when, as he knew, powder and shot were precious
and every load should be made to count.</p>
<p>As the reader may imagine, a squirrel hit by a
rifle ball would be torn to pieces, so that neither its
flesh nor its fur could be of any service. In order
to secure the animals intact, the backwoodsmen
resorted to a skilful expedient which was called
“barking.” The marksman aimed, not at the squirrel,
but at the bark of the tree immediately below
its feet. If he hit the exact place at which he fired,
the animal flew into the air and came down, killed
by the concussion, but whole. To accomplish this
feat required the greatest precision. If the course
of the bullet was an inch too high, the squirrel was
shattered; if it was as much too low, the ball sank
into the wood of the tree without the desired effect.</p>
<p>“Barking” squirrels was one of the favorite<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</SPAN></span>
methods with the backwoodsmen of showing off
their marksmanship. Boone could bring down his
animal, without injuring a hair, every time at fifty
yards. When far advanced in years, he gave such
an exhibition of his skill to Audubon that made the
naturalist wonder exceedingly. It is hardly necessary
to say that Hardy, although a very creditable
pupil, had not attained to anything like the same
expertness. Indeed, if he “barked” one squirrel
in five attempts he was doing very well. To-day
it appeared, however, that our young hunter was
in unusually good form, for by careful approach
and steady shooting he succeeded in getting three
whole squirrels with ten shots. Fragments of a
number of others had been uselessly scattered over
the ground.</p>
<p>Hardy was blessed with a healthy appetite, and
had not yet trained his stomach to the one plenteous
meal a day which was the custom with the backwoodsmen.
It was now past midday, and feeling
keenly hungry he decided to eat one of his squirrels
and take a short rest before turning homeward.
Whilst his fire was burning up, he skinned and
dressed the little animal and soon had it broiling on
the end of his hickory ramrod. Well-cooked squirrel<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</SPAN></span>
and corn bread, washed down with cool spring
water, make a very enjoyable meal to a hungry
hunter, especially when his taste has not been spoiled
by condiments and dainties.</p>
<p>Hardy sat with his back to a large linden, leisurely
eating and thinking of nothing in particular, when
presently he began to <em>feel</em> that eyes were upon him.
We have all had a similar experience more than once
in our lives. The knowledge—or belief, if you
will—that he was being watched, coming upon him
gradually in this manner, instead of suddenly with
the apparition of the watcher, did not upset his self-control
or cause him to betray any uneasiness. On
the contrary, whilst continuing to pick the bones of
the squirrel with apparent disregard for everything
else, he furtively scanned the neighboring landscape.
It was not long before he discerned an Indian peering
at him from behind a tree. Averting his face,
but not sufficiently to prevent a watch of the spot
out of the corner of his eye, Hardy fell to considering
the situation.</p>
<p>No question as to the intentions of the skulking
savage entered into his mind for, although Hardy
had not yet encountered any Indians, he had fully
imbibed the border doctrine, begotten of bitter experience,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</SPAN></span>
that every redskin was a natural enemy.
In his present position, the Indian behind the tree
was considerably beyond range, and Hardy’s watchful
concern was chiefly directed to seeing that he
did not approach nearer unobserved. The boy concluded
that he was alone, because had there been
others with him they would surely have attacked ere
this.</p>
<p>It would not do to retreat. In the first place, such
a movement would give the other a decided advantage,
and in the second place—well, Hardy didn’t
think of it. Clearly there was to be a duel between
them. The point was, how should Hardy set about
playing his part in it. Suddenly he struck upon a
plan based on the recollection that Boone had once
said that an Indian will seldom fire at beyond fifty
yards’ range, because he is not confident of his
marksmanship and also because he uses a light
charge.</p>
<p>These reflections only occupied a few minutes and,
when he had decided upon his plan of action, Hardy
rose with a well-feigned air of indifference as to
the direction he should take. He was gratified to
find that, although his heart beat somewhat faster
than usual, he had no feeling of fear, and in fact<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</SPAN></span>
rather enjoyed the situation. After looking around
carelessly, he set out walking slowly and taking a
line that would carry him past the Indian’s tree but
at a distance of about one hundred yards. Hardy
was confident of his own aim at that range, and
unhesitatingly relied upon Boone’s statement that
the Indian would not fire at that distance.</p>
<p>Out of the corner of his eye, Hardy kept a watch
on the savage’s hiding place as he strolled leisurely
along. When he had passed the point he wheeled
suddenly about, and at the same time brought his
rifle to his shoulder. As he had anticipated, the
Indian, believing himself undiscovered, had come
from cover and was preparing to steal upon Hardy
from behind. The latter’s sudden turn surprised
the redskin and he stood stock-still in his tracks.
The next instant Hardy’s rifle cracked and the Indian’s
head-feathers flew.</p>
<p>Hardy had missed his mark by a scalp’s breadth.
Almost his sole chance of safety lay in taking to
his heels. He thought of it and started to run but
something restrained him and, instead, he stepped
behind a tree and waited. Later in life Hardy
learned that even such dare-devils as Simon Kenton
and Lewis Wetzel recognized discretion as the better<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</SPAN></span>
part of valor under similar circumstances, and
were not ashamed to resort to flight in the face of
great odds.</p>
<p>The advantage was now enormously in favor of
the Indian, and he fully realized it. He ran forward
instantly and circling round Hardy’s tree kept
him so busily dancing about in order to remain under
cover that it was impossible to reload his gun. This
manœuvre had brought the savage within fifty feet
of his adversary, and he would in all probability
have presently fired. Instead of awaiting such
action and trusting to the possible miss which would
have placed them on even terms again, Hardy—who,
it must be confessed, had become somewhat
excited—made a foolish move. He took his tomahawk
from his belt and, seizing a favorable moment,
threw it with all the force he could command at the
Indian. It was well aimed but the nimble redskin
dodged and the missile whizzed over his left
shoulder.</p>
<p>Hardy noted his failure with a sinking of the
heart. His first impulse was to run but he checked
at thought of that bullet in his back. He would
rather meet death face to face than have it overtake
him in flight. Then there was a slim chance of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</SPAN></span>
fight left, he remembered, as he drew his hunting-knife
from its sheath. The Indian now approached
boldly with his gun presented, intending to make a
sure shot at the closest range. Regardless of the
fact that the weapon was directed full at him, Hardy
stood, with head exposed, staring spell-bound at
the hideous features of the exultant redskin.</p>
<p>He never could tell afterwards what thoughts
passed through his mind in those few seconds, that
seemed an eternity. He remembered only that he
seemed to have fallen into a trance from which he
was awakened by the whip-like report of a rifle
behind him, and at the moment it broke upon his
ear the Indian fell in a convulsive heap at his feet.</p>
<p>“<SPAN href="#i_096fp">My scalp, I reckon, young fellow.</SPAN> Sorry you
didn’t get him. Better luck next time.”</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="i_096fp"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_096fp.jpg" width-obs="371" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /></SPAN><br/> <div class="caption">“<span class="smcap"><SPAN href="#Page_96">My Scalp, I Reckon, Young Fellow</SPAN></span>”</div>
</div>
<p>The words were spoken in a cheery, musical voice,
and before he had finished the utterance the
speaker’s knife had secured the prize to which he
referred.</p>
<p>Hardy looked up to the handsome beardless face
of a young man of extremely attractive presence.
The countenance was made up of contradictory features.
The sternness suggested by the square jaw
and large nose was belied by the smiling lips and the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</SPAN></span>
merry glint in the eyes. The careful dress, with its
adornment of porcupine quills, the embroidered moccasins,
the raccoons’ tails pendent from the back of
the cap, the long, curled locks that fell below the
shoulders,—all these betokened the backwoods
dandy; but the great stature, the erect form, the
muscular limbs and the weather-beaten face proclaimed
the practiced hunter and fighter.</p>
<p>“Simon Kenton, at your service,” said the newcomer,
extending his hand with a smile that instantly
won Hardy as it did everyone who came in
contact with the young frontiersman.</p>
<p>“My name is Hardy Goodfellow,” replied our
friend, who had not yet quite recovered his composure.
“I live at Boonesborough.”</p>
<p>“Well, if you’ve nothing to keep you, Hardy,
we’ll make tracks for the fort. No telling how
many more Indians there may be about, and I’d
rather eat than fight just now.”</p>
<p>He threw his rifle over his shoulder and led the
way to the beaten path with easy swinging strides,
whistling as he went. Hardy presently ranged up
alongside of him and immediately proceeded to
unburden his mind.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“You saved my life,” he said. “I hope I may do
as much for you some day.”</p>
<p>“Well, if I’m ever caught in the same kind of a
fix,” said Kenton, with a laugh, “I hope you may be
somewhere around. But it’s nothing to make a
palaver about. In the backwoods it’s every man
for himself and every man for his neighbor. If
we didn’t stick together and help one another the
redskins would soon wipe us out.</p>
<p>“Say, that was a right pretty throw of yours
with the tomahawk,” continued Kenton. “Who
taught you?”</p>
<p>“Daniel Boone,” replied Hardy, proudly. He
then went on to explain his relationship to the great
hunter. With boyish enthusiasm he told Kenton
how Boone had taken him, a forlorn orphan, into
his family and had treated him as a son. How the
great hunter had tutored him in woodcraft, in the
use of the rifle and the tomahawk and in the rude
arts of the backwoods. When he had concluded
his companion extended his hand, saying:</p>
<p>“Shake again, Hardy! We shall see a good deal
of each other, if I’m not mistaken. I’ve been at
Hinkston’s, but when they all cleared out for fear<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</SPAN></span>
of the Indians I made up my mind to come over
here, because I know that there won’t be any backing
down with Boone. He’s here to stay and so am I.”</p>
<p>Their mutual admiration of Boone brought these
two close together in a very short while. Kenton
had only had one brief meeting with Hardy’s adoptive
father but that had made a deep impression on
him, and he listened with avidity to his young companion’s
enthusiastic accounts of the man who had
fostered him in his loneliness and had cared for him
since.</p>
<p>They picked up Hardy’s turkey on their way and
Kenton helped to eat it at the Boone cabin a few
hours later. The party was completed by the arrival
of the head of the family from Harrodsburg in time
for supper. Boone warmly welcomed Kenton to the
settlement, for that young man had already made a
name for himself as a good fellow, a fearless fighter,
and an expert hunter. Boone strongly suspected
that the time was fast approaching when such men
would be invaluable to the community.</p>
<p>As to Hardy, from the first he was strongly drawn
to this handsome, cheery son of the wilderness and
the more he saw of him the better he liked him. In<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</SPAN></span>
fact, their dramatic encounter in the forest proved
to be the beginning of a friendship that lasted
through life. Many years afterwards, when another
generation dwelt peacefully in Kentucky,
Colonel Goodfellow was a frequent guest at the
humble home of General Kenton in Urbana, Ohio.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="VII" id="VII">VII.</SPAN><br/> <small>THE CAPTURE OF BOONE</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">The Indians burst upon the frontiers and overrun Kentucky—Boonesborough
is besieged once and again—Boone
spies on the Indian camp, is detected and
wounded—Kenton runs to the rescue in the nick of
time—Boone goes salt-making with a band of settlers—He
is tracked by Indians and caught in an ambush—He
makes a great race for life and liberty but is
captured—Boone wisely decides to surrender his men
who are surprised and powerless—“It was a sorry
day for the Indians when they captured me and my
salt-makers.”</span></p>
<p class="p2">With the opening of spring the Indians, who had
spent the preceding winter in preparation, burst
upon the frontiers. Had they made a concentrated
attack, with the aid of the British, upon the Kentucky
settlements at this time, there can be little
doubt but that they would have succeeded in clearing
the country of the “buckskins,” as they sometimes
called the pioneers. Fortunately, they scattered
their forces and directed their first attack mainly
against the borders of Virginia and Pennsylvania.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</SPAN></span>
Sufficient numbers, however, assailed the four stations
of Kentucky to tax the courage and resources
of the defenders and to keep them in a constant state
of disquietude. Men, women and children were
unremittingly alert, for the forest swarmed with
skulking savages. Frequent attacks in force were
made upon the stockades, which were from time to
time subjected to the characteristically brief sieges
of the Indian. The ground was tilled and crops
were tended under guard. Scouts scoured the surrounding
country, and saved the settlers from many
a surprise.</p>
<p>During March an attack was projected against
Harrodsburg. About four miles from that place
the Indians came unawares upon a small party of
whites, who were engaged in making a new settlement.
One of these was killed and another taken
prisoner, whilst a lad named James Ray, whom we
shall have further occasion to mention, contrived
to make his escape and warn the settlers at the
station. This intimation of approaching enemies,
although it gave scanty time for preparation, enabled
the defenders to gather their entire number within
the fort and to beat off the Indians without any
loss to themselves.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>At about the same time a movement was made
against Boonesborough, but there was small chance
of that stronghold being taken by surprise. Aside
from the ever-wakeful Boone, the station now had
the advantage of the services of such splendid
rangers as Kenton, the McAfee brothers, and other
expert woodsmen who had recently come in. The
approach of the foe was announced in good time,
and when the Indians arrived within sight of the
stockade every rifleman was at his post awaiting
them.</p>
<p>On one side, Boonesborough was protected by the
river, which the bravest warriors dared not cross
in the face of the backwoods marksmen. On the
other sides, open ground stretched for a sufficient
distance to prevent near approach under cover. The
Indian of the forest regions was accustomed to the
tactics of the skirmisher and guerilla. He would
seldom fight in the open, but would take cover behind
trees, stumps, bushes, or in long grass. The
facility with which he could hide his body and the
stealthiness of his movements sometimes proved an
efficient offset to the superior gunplay of his adversary.</p>
<p>On this occasion the savages besieged Boonesborough<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</SPAN></span>
for several days, during which the attack and
the defence took the form of a series of duels. On
each side vigilant eyes marked individuals on the
other and patiently watched for an opportunity to
shoot with fair chance of success. In such contests
the backwoodsmen were sure to inflict the greater
injury, provided they remained behind their stockades;
but it was seldom possible to ascertain the loss
of the Indians, because, unless hotly pressed in
flight, it was their custom to carry off their dead and
wounded.</p>
<p>The siege of a fort was usually raised after a few
days. The redskin warriors lacked the patient determination
necessary to the success of such an
undertaking and, moreover, as they depended upon
the country for their food supply, the attacking body
was frequently weakened by the detachment of
hunting parties. In the present instance, the Indians
soon retired, having killed one of the settlers and
wounded four others.</p>
<p>It seldom happened that the Indian attacks were
characterized by determination or concerted action.
Large bodies were usually composed of detachments
from several tribes and were led by a number of
chiefs who acknowledged no superior. The will of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</SPAN></span>
the majority as expressed in council theoretically
controlled the action of all, but as a matter of fact
a dissatisfied member often acted contrary to the
decision of the allied chiefs in action.</p>
<p>Furthermore, tribal discipline was very low at
this time. Even such powerful chiefs as Cornstalk
and Blackfish had difficulty in controlling the young
braves and less renowned leaders had hardly any
influence over their followers. Hence a band of
Indians engaged in warfare was apt to break up in
the most sudden and unexpected manner.</p>
<p>A few months later a more serious assault was
made upon Boonesborough. Had they but known
it, the Indians could hardly have chosen a less propitious
date than the fourth of July for such a venture,
but it was on that day that a band of two hundred
warriors made its appearance before the fort.
They seem to have been particularly anxious to reduce
the place, which they doubtless knew was commanded
by the great chief, Daniel Boone. Detachments
had been sent to make feints against the other
stations, in order to prevent their extending relief
to Boonesborough.</p>
<p>At the outset, the whites came near to suffering
what would have been an irreparable loss not only<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</SPAN></span>
to them but to the settlers in general. On the morning
after the arrival of the besiegers, Boone, being
anxious to learn something of their numbers and
disposition, left the stockade just before daybreak
and made a reconnoissance of the Indian camp.
The day dawned to find him still several hundred
yards from the fort. He was picking his way
cautiously, taking advantage of all the cover available,
when an Indian discovered him. The redskin
fired and hit Boone upon the ankle.</p>
<p>Short of a mortal wound, nothing could have
been more effective than this ill-aimed bullet. Boone
fell to the earth heavily, and as he did so his trusty
rifle escaped from his grasp and flew to some distance.
He was unable to rise and utterly helpless.
The Indian, seeing his plight, advanced rapidly with
uplifted tomahawk to despatch him, and Boone
calmly awaited what he believed to be his end.</p>
<p>But the watchful eye of Kenton had noted the
incident and Boone had hardly fallen when the scout
was outside the stockade and speeding towards the
spot with the swiftness of the deer. As soon as
the Indian came into the open, Kenton stopped, took
aim, and at the moment that the redskin reached the
side of his intended victim sent a bullet through his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</SPAN></span>
brain. Kenton was now little more than one hundred
yards from Boone, but by this time a number
of warriors had appeared at the edge of the clearing.
There was not a second to be lost and, although he
appeared to be rushing into the jaws of death, Kenton
flung aside his gun and flew to the spot where
Boone lay anxiously awaiting the issue.</p>
<p>At the same instant several Indians bounded forward,
yelling and brandishing their weapons. They
had advanced but a few yards when a dozen rifles
in the stockade spoke and four of the redskins fell.
The others hastily regained cover and turned their
weapons upon the gallant ranger who was in the
act of lifting Boone onto his serviceable leg. Half
carried by his rescuer, Boone hopped slowly to the
gate of the fort, while a shower of bullets played
unceasingly around. The half light favored the
wounded man and his companion, who gained the
shelter of the stockade without being touched.</p>
<p>Boone was a reticent man, estimating his own
deeds lightly and little given to bestowing praise
on others. But the splendid courage, strength and
skill displayed by Kenton in this dashing exploit excited
unwonted emotion in the great pioneer and he
expressed his admiration and gratitude in the warmest<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</SPAN></span>
terms. He recognized in the young, debonair
scout a man after his own heart and one of his own
kind. Ever after this episode Boone and Kenton
were the fastest friends.</p>
<p>During the ensuing months, whilst his wound
was slowly healing, Boone took up his quarters in
the upper story of one of the blockhouses, where
he could command the scene and direct the defence
in case of another attack. But the experience of the
Indians on this occasion, which included the loss of
seven of their number, appears to have cooled their
ambition to take Boonesborough, and that place
enjoyed a respite during the remainder of the year,
although attacks were made at intervals upon other
stations.</p>
<p>Salt was always one of the prime needs of the
settlers, as it had been when they dwelt farther back
in the borderland. To secure it now from the coast
towns was a matter of much greater difficulty than
it had been then. Resort was had to the simpler
method of manufacturing the coveted commodity
from the waters of the salt licks in which the territory
of Kentucky abounded. At first this was accomplished
in a manner far from satisfactory, owing
to imperfect knowledge of the process and lack of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</SPAN></span>
proper utensils. But just about this time the authorities
in Virginia sent out a number of kettles and two
experienced salt-makers.</p>
<p>In view of the prospect of further hostilities, and
perhaps protracted sieges, it was determined to lay
in a large stock of salt. The men of the station were
divided into two parties, which were to go out in
turns and manufacture the material. As there was
less danger of attack by Indians in the dead of winter
than later on, Boone decided to take command
of the first party, so that he might be at the fort
with the opening of spring.</p>
<p>On the first day of the year 1778, Captain Boone
with thirty men and the necessary utensils left
Boonesborough and set out for the Lower Blue
Licks, fifty or more miles to the north. Here they
established a camp and set to work. From time to
time a small party was sent to the fort with the
pack-horses laden with salt. On their return they
brought back supplies of parched corn and, perhaps,
a few of the simple comforts that the hardy backwoodsmen
looked upon almost in the light of superfluous
luxuries. Thus the work progressed satisfactorily
and the six weeks’ spell, at the end of which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</SPAN></span>
time the party was to be relieved, approached its
termination.</p>
<p>Of course, a considerable amount of meat was
constantly needed to satisfy the appetites of thirty
vigorous men. Boone, as the most expert hunter
among them, undertook the duty of keeping the
general larder supplied. The task was a thoroughly
congenial one to him, which we cannot imagine salt-making
to have been. It was his habit to go out
some miles from camp every morning, returning at
the close of the day with as much game as he could
carry and often leaving a quantity to be sent after
with a pack-horse.</p>
<p>One afternoon in the early part of February
Boone was making his way towards the lick, after a
successful hunt, when he suddenly found himself
surrounded by a hundred Indians. Not having seen
a redskin for months, and knowing the unlikelihood
of their presence in numbers at that time of the
year, Boone was perhaps not as keenly on the alert as
usual. But, in any case, he could hardly have
escaped his present predicament. He had not
crossed the trail of the Indians nor encountered any
signs of them. They had seen him earlier in the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</SPAN></span>
day and had secreted themselves about his return
path.</p>
<p>As soon as Boone was fairly within the circle of
the ambuscade, the savages suddenly arose on every
side and made at him. He took in the situation at
a glance and, dropping the carcass with which he
was encumbered, started to run with all the speed
he could command. A few years before, Boone had
been a match for the swiftest runners among the
redskins, but he had now reached middle age, when
the limbs of the best lose something of their supple
agility. Moreover, he had spent the day in toilsome
exertion, without rest or food, whereas his pursuers
were comparatively fresh. Still he held his own
for awhile and put the Indians to their utmost
endeavor to overtake him. At length, however, seeing
that further effort was useless, Boone stopped
and surrendered, with a complimentary remark to
the foremost braves to put them in a good humor.</p>
<p>It was at once evident to Boone that the band
which had captured him was upon the war-path, and
their destination could be none other than Boonesborough.
They knew of the presence of the party
at the lick and had, in fact, tracked the hunter from
that place in the morning. As they journeyed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</SPAN></span>
thither, Boone’s mind was busy with a consideration
of the conditions and the best course to be followed
under the circumstances. His judgment was remarkably
sure and his decisions unusually quick.
Before they had arrived at the camp, he told the
Indians that, if they would assure his men of kind
treatment, he would order them to surrender without
resistance. The proposition appealed to the
savages and they readily gave the required promise.</p>
<p>When the scene of the salt-making was reached
the Indians secured to themselves all the advantage
possible by surrounding the unconscious workmen,
who were in an exposed spot, before discovering
themselves. When the Indians made their presence
known the whites were taken utterly by surprise,
but they quickly seized their rifles and no doubt
would have made a stout, though hopeless, resistance
had not Boone signed to them to restrain their fire.
He then approached with an escort of his captors
and informed his men that he had agreed to their
surrender. The declaration elicited some murmurs,
but so great was the confidence in Boone’s resourcefulness
and the wisdom of his conclusions, that
the men laid down their arms without further ado
and agreed to accompany the Indians.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>This action of Boone’s excited the censure of some
of his fellow-officers and the disapprobation of many
of the settlers. These feelings continued to be
evinced after the outcome had shown the wisdom
of his course, and prompted Boone, some time later,
to secure a court-martial of himself. The evidence
produced before this body and the frank explanation
made by Boone induced his honorable acquittal, and
not only that, but his promotion to the rank of
major.</p>
<p>The considerations that moved Boone (who was the
last man to avoid a fight when it could serve a good
purpose) to surrender his command, were as follows:
The settlement at Boonesborough, weakened by the
absence of half the garrison, was in no state to make
a successful defence against a large number of the
enemy, should they take it by surprise. That they
would do so, was more than probable, for the settlers
were accustomed from long experience to consider
themselves safe from attack in the winter
months, when the Indians almost invariably rested
and took refuge from the weather in their villages.
Familiar as he was with the character and habits of
the Indians, Boone calculated with confidence upon
their abandoning their expedition and returning to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</SPAN></span>
their country in triumph with their prisoners. It
was ever the tendency of these savages to repair to
their towns after a great victory, to indulge in a
celebration and in their customary vauntings and
boasting.</p>
<p>Boone thus deliberately sacrificed himself and his
men for the sake of saving the settlement with its
women and children. That they would soon learn
what had happened and be put upon their guard he
felt sure, for three of the party of salt-makers were
absent at the fort and would soon return. The
event proved that all his calculations were justified,
and the incident ultimately tended to the welfare
of the community.</p>
<p>The shrewdest among Boone’s men began to
divine their leader’s purpose when the Indians
turned their backs on Boonesborough and with all
possible speed took the direction of the Ohio. Up
to this time the Kentucky settlers had no definite
knowledge of the location of the Indians’ towns.
It would have been well for the savages had this
ignorance continued. In after life, Boone said:
“It was a sorry day for the Indians when they captured
me and my salt-makers and showed us the way
to their villages and the lay of their land.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The prisoners were not subjected to any cruelty
by the Indians, who were highly elated by their capture
and especially by having the renowned captain,
Daniel Boone, in their power. They seem to have
given the whites their fair share of food and to have
allowed them a sufficiency of covering when they
were camped at night. The captives were at a loss
whether to accept this consideration as an evidence
of friendly feeling, or a measure designed to keep
them in good condition to stand extreme torture
when they should reach their destination. Most of
them knew the fickle and childlike temper of the
Indian and the uncertainty of any deductions that
may be drawn from his behavior.</p>
<p>Here we must leave Boone for a while, trudging
through the snow-swept wilderness with philosophical
readiness to accept with equanimity whatever fate
might have in store for him, but with a determination
to turn circumstances to the best account whenever
opportunity should offer.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="VIII" id="VIII">VIII.</SPAN><br/> <small>THE HANNIBAL OF THE WEST</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Clark comes to Kentucky “to lend a helping hand”—He
immediately takes a leading part in the affairs of the
settlers—He goes to Virginia for much-needed ammunition—The
race down the river with Indians in
pursuit—The powder and shot are safely delivered—Clark
makes a daring raid on the British posts in
Canada—The party surprises the Kaskaskians in the
midst of a revel—The fort and town are taken without
the loss of a life—The inhabitants take the oath
of allegiance—Cahokia and Vincennes are quickly
captured—But the situation of the victors is precarious.</span></p>
<p class="p2">In order to follow the story of the Kentucky settlers
with intelligent understanding, it will be necessary
to take a brief survey of the achievements of
that very remarkable man, George Rogers Clark.
Not only were Clark’s direct services to the new
settlement powerfully influential in its development,
but his campaigns in British territory were also of
the utmost consequence to the Kentuckians, as we
shall see.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>George Rogers Clark was born in Albemarle
County, Virginia, November 19, 1752. Roosevelt,
in “The Winning of the West,” thus tersely describes
him as he was at the beginning of his career:
“He was of good family, and had been fairly well
educated, as education went in colonial days; but
from his childhood he had been passionately fond
of the wild roving life of the woods. He was a
great hunter; and, like so many other young
colonial gentlemen of good birth and bringing up,
and adventurous temper, he followed the hazardous
profession of a backwoods surveyor. With chain
and compass, as well as axe and rifle, he penetrated
the far places of the wilderness, the lonely, dangerous
regions where every weak man inevitably succumbed
to the manifold perils encountered, but
where the strong and far-seeing were able to lay the
foundations of fame and fortune. He possessed
high daring, unflinching courage, passions which he
could not control, and a frame fitted to stand any
strain of fatigue or hardship. He was a square-built
thick-set man, with high broad forehead, sandy
hair, and unquailing blue eyes that looked out from
under heavy, shaggy brows.”</p>
<p>Clark made a short visit to Harrodsburg in 1775<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</SPAN></span>
and returned in the following year. Long afterwards,
General Ray, who in 1776 was a boy of sixteen
living at the station established by Colonel Harrod,
told the following story of Major Clark’s second
arrival in Kentucky:</p>
<p>“I had come down to where I now live (about
four miles north of Harrodsburg) to turn some
horses in the range. I had killed a small blue-wing
duck that was feeding in my spring, and had roasted
it nicely on the brow of the hill, about twenty
steps east of my house. After having taken it off
to cool, I was much surprised on being suddenly
accosted by a fine soldierly-looking man, who exclaimed,
‘How do you do, my little fellow? What
is your name? Ain’t you afraid of being in the
woods by yourself?’</p>
<p>“On satisfying his inquiries, I invited the traveller
to partake of my duck, which he did, without
leaving me a bone to pick, his appetite was so keen,
though he should have been welcome to all the game
I could have killed, when I afterwards became
acquainted with his noble and gallant soul.”</p>
<p>Having satisfied his hunger, the stranger asked
a number of questions about the settlers, the Indians,
and the general conditions in the locality. These<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</SPAN></span>
the boy answered as well as he could and then ventured
to ask the name of his guest.</p>
<p>“My name is Clark,” he answered, “and I have
come out to see what you brave fellows are doing
in Kentucky and to lend you a helping hand if necessary.”</p>
<p>Clark immediately took a leading part in the
affairs of the struggling community. His superior
talents were so unmistakable and his personality
so impressive that he readily inspired the confidence
of the Kentucky settlers. At a general meeting,
held at Harrodsburg in June, 1775, he had been
appointed with another to represent the young community
in negotiations with the Assembly of Virginia.
The delegates proceeded at once to Williamsburg,
where it soon became apparent that their
errand could not be accomplished without great difficulty.
At the first serious check Clark’s companion
returned to Kentucky, but Clark determined to persevere,
and by the exercise of diplomacy and persuasion
ultimately succeeded in his purpose.</p>
<p>In August the Council, with the approval of Governor
Patrick Henry, caused a large quantity of gunpowder
to be shipped to Pittsburg and there to be
delivered to Major Clark for the use of the Kentucky<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</SPAN></span>
settlers. At the fall session of the Legislature,
the determined soldier, who had now been
rejoined by his fellow-delegate, Gabriel Jones, successfully
urged the political organization of the new
settlement and the bill was passed that created it a
county of the State of Virginia. This was an important
step, as it secured for the crude commonwealth
in the wilderness a judicial and military
establishment.</p>
<p>Clark now proceeded to Pittsburg, where the
precious powder awaited him and where he entered
upon an extremely perilous phase of his mission.
The country about Pittsburg swarmed with Indians,
who were not only hostile to white men in general
but, like all their race at the time, ready to go to any
extremes in the effort to secure ammunition. Clark
decided that speed and secrecy would serve his purpose
more effectively than a strong force which,
encumbered and travelling slowly, could be constantly
harassed and would be probably cut up before
reaching its destination. Accordingly, he
quietly embarked with seven sturdy boatmen and
commenced a rapid journey down the Ohio.</p>
<p>The Indians almost immediately got wind of the
expedition and Clark’s vessel had but an indifferent<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</SPAN></span>
start when they were in pursuit of it by land and
water. The powder escort soon became aware of
the pursuit and bent its efforts to out-distancing the
redskins, it being no part of the leader’s plan to offer
fight, except in the last extremity. Indeed, although
they were frequently fired upon from the shores
and from the following canoes, Clark forbade his
men to retaliate but required them to devote all their
care and energies to the preservation of the cargo.</p>
<p>This grim race was maintained until it became
evident to Clark that his men could not much longer
continue their arduous labor at the oars. The Indians,
on the other hand, being subjected to much
less strain, might have kept up the pursuit indefinitely.
Realizing that the sole chance of success lay
in bringing the journey to a speedy end, Clark called
on his rowers for a supreme final effort with a view
to getting beyond sight of the Indians for a short
space of time. The men responded heartily. The
boat was then at the mouth of Limestone Creek,
near the present town of Maysville. It was headed
into the small stream and shot up it with such swiftness
that the pursuers were left far behind.</p>
<p>At a favorable point the boat was run into the
bank, the powder hastily brought ashore, and the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</SPAN></span>
craft turned loose to drift down the branch. The
barrels were now quickly conveyed to a hiding place
in the densest brush, the carriers carefully covering
their tracks. This accomplished, the entire party
struck across country for Harrodsburg. They
arrived without mishap and Clark immediately returned
with a sufficient guard for the powder, which
was found safe and uninjured where it had been
secreted. Thus, towards the close of 1776 the Kentucky
settlers were assured of the means of defending
their homes in the impending struggle.</p>
<p>It must be remembered that the war of the Revolution
was by this time in full swing, and, whereas
Boone and his associates had entered Kentucky as
British subjects, they were now rebels. It is not
strange, therefore, that the authorities of the Crown
dominions in the north treated them with hostility,
nor that the Indian tribes friendly to the British
were employed in the attacks upon the settlers. The
practice of the times fully sanctioned the employment
of savages and the colonists were not above
accepting such aid when it was available. Clark,
in fact, employed Indians in the defence of Vincennes,
although he declined their aid in attacking
the town.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Several writers, in ignorance of the facts, or regardless
of them, insist on attributing the worst
barbarities to the higher officials in Canada, and the
frontiersmen of the time were prone to credit them
with the utmost cruelty. They believed, and quite
recent writers have stated, that the Indians were
urged by these officials to massacre the whites in
Kentucky unsparingly, and that they offered rewards
for scalps with the distinct understanding
that they were preferable to prisoners.</p>
<p>Now the most cursory examination of the records
proves these statements to be utterly false and shows
that Governor Hamilton and other officials rescued
prisoners from the Indians and ransomed them
whenever possible. Thus, Boone’s fellow captives
in the year 1778 were secured from the Shawnees
and kindly treated. Every effort was made to induce
them to give up Boone, and when these failed,
money and gifts were pressed upon them by the
officers at Detroit.</p>
<p>It is true that certain agents of the British, such
as Caldwell and McKee, were guilty of the worst
kind of atrocities in their dealings with the American
settlers; but these were men of the Simon Girty
stamp, natural blackguards, for whose actions their<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</SPAN></span>
superiors cannot be justly held accountable. It
would be difficult to find in human history records
of more cruel and bloody deeds than some of those
attributable to men amongst the Kentucky pioneers
themselves, but the historian who should blame the
settlers as a body, or their leaders, for the villanies
of such brutes as Greathouse, or Lewis Wetzel,
could not more effectually prove his unreliability.</p>
<p>It was well understood that the Governor of
Canada was doing his utmost to encourage and aid
the Indians in the war which all felt to be imminent,
but it remained for Clark to devise the daring
scheme of crippling the enemy by adopting the
policy of Hannibal in his conflict with the Carthaginians,
when he “carried the war into Africa.”
Clark conceived that the most effective way of defending
Kentucky lay in attacking the posts in the
British territory on the north. He hoped thus to
keep the garrisons in Canada too busy in their own
defence to consider aggressive action, and also to
curtail the supplies of ammunition that they would
be willing to give to the Indians. The former
object was of vital importance, for had they enjoyed
freedom of movement during this momentous
period, a few small bodies of English with cannon<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</SPAN></span>
might have enabled the Indians to clear Kentucky
of the American colonists.</p>
<p>Clark’s plan met with the approval of the authorities
in Virginia and he was permitted to raise a body
of one hundred and fifty men, and was furnished
with tents, supplies and ammunition. It was a
very small force for such an ambitious enterprise,
but the leader was a man of dauntless courage and
resource and the men were picked fighters who had
the utmost confidence in their captain. The whole-souled
devotedness that Clark inspired in his followers,
and the willing manner in which they coöperated
in his most hazardous plans, mark him as one
of the truly great leaders that this nation has produced.
Had his exploits been performed in the
full limelight of the revolutionary stage, instead of
in the shadow of the wings, he must have attained
to a greatly wider fame than actually fell to his lot.</p>
<p>In May, 1778, Clark and his force, which had
been somewhat increased by the addition of a score
or so of Kentucky volunteers, descended the Ohio
in flat-bottom boats as far as the mouth of the
Tennessee, where preparations were made for the
advance upon the Illinois posts. At this juncture
the leader was extremely fortunate to fall in with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</SPAN></span>
some American hunters who had recently been in the
French settlements. From these friends he acquired
useful information, and secured their services
as guides.</p>
<p>At length a force of fewer than two hundred
men started upon the march across the wilderness
to Kaskaskia. This place was fortified and garrisoned
by a strong body of militia, so that the only
prospect of capturing it lay in effecting a surprise.
The party, therefore, proceeded with the utmost
caution, their front and flanks screened by scouts.
After a toilsome journey of fifty miles through
dense forest, they emerged upon the prairie and the
difficulties of the march were lightened whilst the
danger of discovery increased. However, the adventurers
seem to have been attended by the most
extraordinary good fortune, for on the evening of
the fourth of July they arrived without mishap on
the southern bank of the river, upon the opposite
side of which stood the town they sought.</p>
<p>The Americans lay concealed in the woods until
nightfall, when they crossed the stream in some
boats which they had happily found. When all
were landed, Clark divided his force into two bodies.
Whilst one of these formed a cordon round<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</SPAN></span>
the fort, he led the other into it. Never was more
strikingly illustrated the old adage that “Fortune
favors the bold.” The entire population of the
place was gathered in or about a large hall, where
the officers of the garrison were giving a ball. Even
the sentries had deserted their posts to watch the
dancing and hear the music. Clark had found a
small gate, through which he and his men easily
gained admittance to the fort. They traversed the
deserted streets without exciting attention and at
last took up posts in the vicinity of the hall, from
the windows of which floated the mingled sounds
of music and merry laughter.</p>
<p>Clark went forward and stood with folded arms
in the doorway of the building, calmly surveying the
scene. Some minutes passed before his presence
was noted. Then a woman, seeing the dread figure
of an American backwoodsman silhouetted in the
opening, screamed in terror. Confusion instantly
prevailed. Shriek followed shriek. The violins
ceased. The dancers stood riveted to the floor, or
ran hither and thither aimlessly. The men, as soon
as they had overcome the first shock of surprise,
advanced towards the entrance.</p>
<p>Clark’s waiting men now entered the building and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</SPAN></span>
made the French officers prisoners. A house-to-house
patrol disarmed all the inhabitants and
ordered them on the penalty of death to remain
within doors until daylight. These creole subjects
of the British King had been taught to believe the
American backwoodsmen to be more cruel and barbarous
than the Indians, and they were filled with
the worst fears for their fate. Clark sought to
increase their wild fancies, for he fully appreciated
the precarious nature of his situation, in the midst
of a hostile population many times more numerous
than his own force and surrounded by Indians ready
to come to their aid.</p>
<p>The next morning, Clark proved himself to be a
diplomat no less than a soldier. The news of the
alliance of France with the young American republic
had just reached the old-time colony of the former
in Canada. Counting upon this and his knowledge
that the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">habitans</i> were inclined to give allegiance
to any ruler who would insure them peace
and protection, he relaxed the acerbity of his demeanor
and adopted a friendly attitude towards
the Kaskaskians. He assured them that it was not
his desire to treat them with severity. That as
British subjects they were enemies to the Americans,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</SPAN></span>
but if they were willing to take the oath of
allegiance and to support the American cause, no
harm should befall them. He assured them that
their religion should not be interfered with, that
they should enjoy the fullest protection for their
property, and that all their rights should be scrupulously
respected.</p>
<p>The creoles, relieved of the terrible dread that had
been upon them and overjoyed at the prospect of
resuming the peaceful, pleasure-seeking lives they
loved beyond everything else, cheerfully assented
to sever the slender tie that bound them to the British
Crown. The oath was administered, and the
American flag floated in British territory.</p>
<p>The fickle Frenchmen were now moved to enthusiastic
admiration and friendliness for their conquerors,
and many of their young men displayed
eagerness to fight for them. When Clark organized
an expedition against Cahokia a body of these volunteered
to augment his meagre detachment, and
he was only too glad to avail himself of their services.
Cahokia was taken without resistance on
the part of the inhabitants, who were readily persuaded
by the French contingent in the American<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</SPAN></span>
force to take the oath of allegiance as they had
done.</p>
<p>Encouraged by these successes, Clark despatched
a French priest, who had displayed genuine regard
for the Americans, to the important post of Vincennes,
with the object of persuading its garrison
and population to follow the example of the people
of Kaskaskia and Cahokia. The expedition was entirely
successful. Père Gibault gathered the inhabitants
of Vincennes in the church and at the close of
a convincing argument induced the majority of them
to take the oath of allegiance to the American Congress.
Clark was delighted at the result of this
venture but, having no garrison to spare for Vincennes,
was compelled to content himself with a
commander, who was permitted to raise the American
flag without any opposition.</p>
<p>It was now August, so that in three short months
an intrepid leader in command of fewer than two
hundred men had succeeded in reducing three British
posts and placing a considerable extent of territory
under the flag of his own country. And this
wonderful achievement had been accomplished without
the loss of a single life on the side of the
invaders.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="IX" id="IX">IX.</SPAN><br/> <small>THE VICTORY OF VINCENNES</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Hamilton raises a strong force and regains Vincennes—He
prepares to move upon the other posts but Clark
forestalls him—A desperate march through the
“drowned” lands—The band struggle along day after
day through icy water—The food gives out and starvation
stares them in the face—“No provisions yet,
Lord help us!”—The bold march upon Vincennes
and the attack on the fort—The backwoodsmen give
the British a lesson in marksmanship—The fort is
surrendered and the garrison made prisoners—Governor
Hamilton is sent to Virginia.</span></p>
<p class="p2">At the close of the year 1778, Clark found himself
in possession of three British posts commanding
a territory of many hundreds of square miles,
in which dwelt an undependable population of
creoles, and large bands of Indians who might
become active enemies at any moment. His force
had become diminished by the return to their homes
of a number of men whose terms of enlistment had
expired. He had barely one hundred Americans
with him, and the French with whom he filled the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</SPAN></span>
vacancies in his ranks were sorry substitutes for
his sturdy backwoodsmen.</p>
<p>Henry Hamilton, the Governor of Canada, had
been on the point of making an aggressive movement
against the American settlements in the West
when knowledge of Clark’s invasion of British territory
came to him. Hamilton was brave and energetic.
He immediately turned his attention to the
task of ousting the Americans from Canada. At
Detroit, the headquarters of the dominion, preparations
were made for a formidable expedition.</p>
<p>Early in October, Hamilton started for Vincennes
at the head of a force of about one hundred and
eighty whites and sixty Indians. The latter contingent
was joined by many bands on the way, until
the total strength of the command was brought up
to five hundred. Many difficulties were encountered
on the journey, which involved the crossing
of Lake Erie and the passage of several rivers under
highly unfavorable conditions. At length, however,
after seventy days of toilsome progress, the mixed
force reached its destination.</p>
<p>At the first appearance of the British commandant
the creole population of the town rushed to tender
their allegiance. The garrison of the fort promptly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</SPAN></span>
abandoned its arms and followed suit. There were
but three Americans in the place, and of course
nothing remained for them but to surrender. They
were placed under parole and treated with consideration.
Thus by the middle of December the British
had without any difficulty regained the principal of
the captured posts.</p>
<p>Hamilton was now justified in the conclusion that
he had complete command of the situation. Clark
could not possibly stand against the overwhelming
force that the British commander could bring
against him. The latter decided to defer further
operations until after the passage of the cold
weather, during which, in fact, it was almost impossible
to traverse the country. Meanwhile, he
made his plans not only for the comparatively easy
task of subduing Clark but also for an expedition
of a thousand Indians, supported by artillery, into
Kentucky.</p>
<p>Had the opening of spring found the British
Governor in a position to prosecute his designs the
most momentous consequences must have ensued.
Without doubt he would have cleared the invaders
from Canada, when that large section of country
below the Lakes which accrued to us from the treaty<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</SPAN></span>
of 1783 would have been lost. But he must also
have swept the settlers from Kentucky, and would
probably have worked incalculable damage all along
the colonial frontier.</p>
<p>Clark, who had timely news of Hamilton’s movements,
fully appreciated the dangers of his situation
and knew that he could not hope to hold out against
the regular soldiers, trained militia, and hordes of
Indian warriors that Hamilton would bring to the
attack. He did not despair, however, but calmly
determined to make the most of circumstances, and
the good fortune which ever attended Clark in his
early career here afforded an opportunity for the
exercise of his peculiar genius. In reviewing the
incidents of this important campaign, it will not do
to overlook the fact that only one man in a million
would have found an opening for action in the circumstances
that afforded Clark an avenue to victory.</p>
<p>In January, 1779, a Spanish trader named Vigo
came to Kaskaskia. He had recently been in Vincennes,
and he imparted to Clark the news that the
Indians, according to their custom, had repaired to
their villages for the winter, and that Hamilton had
but eighty men in the garrison. Vigo also informed
the American leader of the plans made by the British<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</SPAN></span>
commandant for the spring advance upon Kentucky.
Clark instantly decided to forestall his opponent by
attacking him without delay.</p>
<p>During all this time,—nearly a year,—since his
departure, Clark had received no aid, nor any word,
from Governor Henry, or any of the officials of
Virginia. Perhaps his wonderful success was in
large measure due to the freedom from interference
that enabled him to exercise his judgment and daring
without trammel. The adventure which he now
entered upon was one that only the stoutest heart
could have contemplated without quailing. If Hamilton,
with his greatly superior resources, deemed the
passage of the country between Vincennes and Kaskaskia
impracticable in winter, how much more
formidable an undertaking was it to the ill-provided
force of Clark!</p>
<p>On the seventh of February the American leader
started at the head of one hundred and seventy
men, nearly half of whom were creoles, for Vincennes.
The distance was two hundred and forty
miles, and the way lay through what was in summer
time a beautiful region of woodland and prairie,
but now much of it was what the Indians called
“drowned,” that is, flooded. Fortunately, the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</SPAN></span>
weather was unusually mild, or the troops must
have suffered intensely from cold, for they carried
little baggage of any kind and had no tents. During
the earlier stages of the march they secured a
sufficient supply of game and made enormous fires
at night, round which they slept in comparative
comfort.</p>
<p>For a week the experiences of the party were only
such as backwoodsmen and trappers were commonly
accustomed to, but at the end of this time they
reached the branches of the Wabash and the rigors
of the journey began. Their road lay first across
the two forks of the Little Wabash. These were
three miles apart and hidden beneath a great lake
five miles in breadth and nowhere less than three
feet in depth.</p>
<p>Clark immediately constructed a pirogue, with
which he crossed the first channel and erected a
platform on the other side. He then ferried his
men across, and next brought the baggage over and
placed it upon the platform. Last of all, he swam
the pack-horses through the stream, reloaded them
beside his temporary landing, and marched the entire
party over the flooded land to the farther fork.
This was passed in a similar manner. The passage<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</SPAN></span>
of a little more than three miles occupied as many
days.</p>
<p>They had now approached within twenty miles of
Vincennes, but every step of the way hereafter was
fraught with dangers and difficulties, and progress
was painfully slow. All day long they labored
through ooze, or water, which was sometimes breast-high.
The floods had cleared the country of game
and the pangs of hunger were soon added to the
other privations of the desperate adventurers.
Clark and his officers directed their utmost efforts
towards keeping up the spirits of the men, for they
knew that only thus could they hope to tide them
over the terrible last stages of the journey.</p>
<p>On the seventeenth, they reached the Embarrass
River, but could find nothing in which to cross nor
a dry spot to camp upon. They passed that night
huddled together, wet and hungry, upon a small
hillock that was just clear of the water. In the
morning they were cheered by the sound of the
sunrise gun at the fort, but had they known the
weary way that still lay between them and their
objective, some of them must have abandoned the
struggle there and then.</p>
<p>Three days were now spent in building canoes.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</SPAN></span>
On the twentieth the men had been two days without
food, and the control that Clark maintained of these
rude levies may be inferred from the fact that they
still had the horses, which he did not propose to eat
except in the last extremity. In the course of the
day, they captured a boat containing five Frenchmen
from Vincennes, and were cheered to learn that
conditions in the town remained in the state described
by the trader Vigo. In the evening a deer
was caught, and the situation of the party was
thereby materially improved.</p>
<p>The following morning Clark ferried his troops
across the river, but found it impossible to bring
his horses any farther. The captive French were
carried along, protesting that it was impossible for
human beings to reach the town by way of the intervening
submerged lands. But Clark was determined
to go forward, and he led his men through
the chill waters that often came up to their necks.
Thus they advanced slowly and painfully for three
miles, and at night camped upon a little knob of
wet ground.</p>
<p>The following morning the march was resumed,
but some of the men had become too weak to walk
and these were conveyed in the canoes. They now<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</SPAN></span>
came to a stretch of land where the difficulties of
wading were enhanced by the presence of thick
bushes. This was passed after wearisome effort,
but nightfall of the twenty-second found them still
six miles from the fort. Most of the men had
clearly approached the limits of their endurance,
and it required all the encouragement of the leader
to keep them up. In this he was materially aided
by “a little antic drummer,” as he calls him in his
memoir of the expedition. This youngster seemed
to have the most buoyant spirits and with his merry
quips and pranks made the men laugh in the midst
of their misery. One of the officers closes the entry
in his diary for this day with the words: “No provisions
yet. Lord help us!”</p>
<p>This night was bitterly cold. Half an inch of
ice formed on the stagnant water. The miserable
adventurers, with empty stomachs and drenched
clothing, who cowered in the open, or moved about
to keep their blood in circulation, suffered intensely.
But the morning broke with a bright sun overhead,
and with their leader’s assurance that the evening
would see them at the goal for which they had
striven so valiantly, the almost exhausted men
steeled themselves to a final effort. And, indeed,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</SPAN></span>
they needed all the fortitude and determination that
they could summon, for the final stage of the march
proved to be the most trying of all.</p>
<p>Between the advancing force and Vincennes lay
a broad sheet of water without as much as a hand’s-breadth
of land visible. It was four miles across,
and on the farther side of it lay dense woods.
Clark once more exhorted his men in fiery words
to exert their energies to the utmost. He then ordered
one of the officers to the rear with a guard
and instructions to shoot anyone who should refuse
to go forward. Having provided this sinister rearguard,
he assumed the lead and dashed into the
water, which came up to the middle of his breast.</p>
<p>By the time they had reached the middle of the
flooded plain, cold and exhaustion caused the weakest
to faint. Their more hardy comrades held them
in their arms until the canoes could take them on
board and carry them to dry land. As long as they
were able, men on the verge of collapse struggled
on, those with a little superfluous strength lending
a supporting hand or shoulder where it was sorely
needed. Clark was unceasing in his efforts to animate
the poor fellows. Constantly his voice came
to them in cheery tones, joking, exhorting and praising.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</SPAN></span>
Not once by word or sign did he evince the
least discouragement or the slightest thought of
turning from his purpose.</p>
<p>When at length they reached the margin of this
icy lake, the strongest had approached the limits of
their powers of endurance. Many threw themselves
down with their faces in the water, and but
for the interference of their comrades would have
allowed themselves to drown. Fires were immediately
built and had hardly been started when a providential
supply of meat was secured. A party of Indian
squaws was captured in a canoe that proved to
contain a large portion of the carcass of a buffalo.
Cheered by this good fortune and revived by the
food, the troops set out again in excellent spirits.</p>
<p>A short march brought them to a grove of trees,
in which they halted. Before them, at a distance
of two miles, stood the town and fort of Vincennes,
the prize for which they had endured as much as
mortal men might. In the middle ground lay a
plain over which in different directions rode a number
of creole hunters shooting ducks. Clark despatched
a party which succeeded in capturing one
of the sportsmen. From the prisoner Clark learned
with some annoyance that a party of two hundred<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</SPAN></span>
Indians were then in the town. This would make
the armed force at the command of the British commandant
four times the number of his own men.
Still he determined to proceed without delay. He
was particularly anxious to avoid killing any of the
inhabitants or Indians, whose good-will he hoped to
gain. He decided, therefore, not to rely upon the
uncertain chance of a surprise but to make his advance
openly and give notice of his intended attack.
The creole was despatched to the town with a message
to the inhabitants stating that if they observed
strict neutrality and remained in their houses during
the fighting, no harm would befall them.</p>
<p>At sundown Clark marched his men in regular
ranks against Vincennes. As he had anticipated,
the creole population offered no resistance and the
town was occupied without any opposition. The
proclamation had not only induced the inhabitants
to passivity but had also caused the Indians, who
were not in a fighting temper, to take their departure.
One of the chiefs offered to support Clark
with his band but the American leader declined the
aid, saying that if the Indians would refrain from
any interference he would ask no more of them.</p>
<p>During the night Clark took advantage of the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</SPAN></span>
darkness to throw up intrenchments against the fort,
and at sunrise the garrison found the Americans in
a strong position. Firing was at once commenced
and maintained during the next few hours, with the
result that six or seven of the defenders were killed,
or wounded, while the attacking party suffered no
loss. Before midday Clark sent forward a flag of
truce with a demand upon the fort to surrender.
His troops took advantage of the short lull in hostilities
to eat a hearty breakfast, which was the first
sufficient meal any of them had enjoyed in six days.</p>
<p>Hamilton refused to capitulate but proposed a
truce for three days. This proposition Clark, of
course, instantly rejected and hostilities were resumed.
After further losses on the side of the
British it became apparent that the Detroit militia
were weakening, although the regulars held firm.
At the approach of evening Hamilton proposed a
meeting of the respective commanders, and they
accordingly repaired to an old French church in
the vicinity. After considerable discussion, Hamilton
agreed that his garrison of seventy-nine men
should surrender as prisoners of war.</p>
<p>This was a most notable achievement. Clark had
without the loss of a man taken a strong fort defended<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</SPAN></span>
by trained soldiers and protected by cannon.
It was also highly important in its results, for it
assured to the infant republic a large territory and
saved the Kentuckians from an attack which would
surely have overwhelmed them. In the contemplation
of the exploits of the Revolutionary heroes
this splendid performance of the “Hannibal of the
West” is too frequently overlooked or not properly
appreciated.</p>
<p>Clark sent Hamilton and a score or more of the
prisoners to Virginia. The remainder he paroled.
Reinforcements soon arrived and strong garrisons
were placed in the captured posts. The Indians
were placated and in many cases friendly relations
were established with them. They soon learned to
have the greatest confidence in Clark, and up to
the time of his death he exercised an influence over
them to which few other white men attained.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="X" id="X">X.</SPAN><br/> <small>A FEAT OF STRENGTH</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">The warriors and their prisoners start for the
Indian country—Boone lightens the journey and
puts the captors in good humor—Stephen Halliwell
falls ill of a fever—He is in danger of being tomahawked
by the savages—Boone undertakes the care
of the feeble man—“No Indian shall raise your hair
whilst I can raise a hand to prevent it”—Halliwell
is doomed to death but Boone stays the executioners—He
carries the exhausted man over the last stage
of the march—The party arrives at Chillicothe—Boone
and others are taken to the British post at
Detroit.</span></p>
<p class="p2">The month of February, 1778, was unusually
mild. A few inches of snow fell during the night
following the capture of Boone and his men but
the next day a thaw set in. The condition of the
ground rendered walking tiresome and disagreeable
and made it difficult to secure a dry bed at night.
It also obliterated ordinary traces and almost precluded
the possibility of pursuers finding and following
the trail of the band of Indians and their prisoners.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</SPAN></span>
Boone noted this circumstance with satisfaction.
His chief anxiety now was lest the men of Boonesborough
should attempt a rescue, which could only
end in disaster and might induce the savages to
revert to their original design of attacking the fort.
Before starting upon the march he instructed his
men not to resort to any of the usual devices for
creating a trace, such as leaving scraps of clothing
on bushes, breaking off twigs, pieces of bark, and
so on.</p>
<p>The Indians divided their captives into three
equal squads of nine each, and themselves into four
bodies of twenty-five warriors, sandwiching the
former between the latter, and this order was maintained
upon the daily march. The whites had, of
course, been deprived of their weapons and could
not have made any concerted attack on their captors
with the least chance of success. Any individual
attempt at escape during daylight must have been
even more hopeless.</p>
<p>A consignment of salt having been sent to Boonesborough
a few days before the capture, there was
but one pack-horse in the camp at the licks when
it fell into the hands of the Indians. This animal
was loaded with as much of the plunder as it could<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</SPAN></span>
carry and the heavy rifles were distributed among
the Indian ponies, but the arrangement left a large
amount of baggage unprovided with carriage and
this was distributed among the prisoners. Each
had a burden of fifty or sixty pounds, which consisted
largely of the blankets and skins with which
he was permitted to cover himself at night. Such
a load would tire the ordinary man in an hour, but
these hardy backwoodsmen could carry it all day and
over fifteen miles of heavy ground, not without
great fatigue, of course, but without breaking down.
Thus they tramped along under the dripping boughs
of the silent forest, their moccasins squelching the
spongy earth and their long hair hanging wet and
stringy about their necks.</p>
<p>At night the camp was pitched in some place that
afforded natural protection from the wind, and this
was, perhaps, supplemented by a screen of boughs.
Game was plentiful that season and they suffered
nothing from lack of food. Whilst the Indians
naturally retained for themselves the choicest portions,
the prisoners received sufficient to satisfy their
appetites. In the centre of the camp a large fire
was made and around this the twenty-seven white
men stretched themselves to sleep, with their feet<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</SPAN></span>
towards the blazing logs. This group was encircled
by a ring of smaller fires at which the hundred savages
lay close together, forming a human belt round
the encampment.</p>
<p>The arrangement was a sufficiently comfortable
one for the captives, but it presented little prospect
of escape. The prisoners lay in the full glare of the
girdle of flame and could not stir whilst an Indian
remained awake without attracting attention. But
even though every one of them was sunk in slumber
it would be a task of the utmost difficulty to
pass through their prostrate ranks undetected, for
the savage has the dog-like habit of sleeping with
senses on the alert. The slightest sound, a strange
smell, the lightest touch, will arouse him to full
intelligence in an instant.</p>
<p>No doubt Boone might have effected his escape
had he been so minded. He was one of the few
frontiersmen who acquired the peculiarly subtle
qualities of the savages, and even excelled the craftiest
of them in many respects. No redskin could
wriggle over the ground more stealthily than he, nor
tread the earth with less disturbance. He knew the
character of the Indians thoroughly, and this knowledge
he turned to account in the several instances<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</SPAN></span>
that he fell into their hands. From the first moment
of capture, he always turned his attention to arousing
a desirable condition of mind in his captors, and
this will account for the fact that they invariably
treated him well.</p>
<p>He knew how to play upon their feelings, how to
tickle their sense of humor, how to excite their self
esteem, how to allay their suspicions. He would
interest them with stories of the white folks. He
would entertain them with feats of strength or dexterity.
He would gratify them by imparting some
bit of useful knowledge or some practical suggestion.
Or, mindful of their love of debate, he would
lead them into some discussion, taking care, whilst
infusing sufficient zest into his contention, to leave
his dusky opponents final masters of the argument.</p>
<p>And all the while he would maintain a perfect
appearance of the utmost unconcern with regard to
himself and his fate. Never by word, look, or gesture
would he display the slightest fear or uneasiness
of mind. As a matter of fact, this attitude was
in complete consonance with the state of his feelings.
From his first capture by Indians, during his expedition
to Kentucky in 1769, until the day of his
death, Boone always felt, when in their hands, the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</SPAN></span>
utmost confidence in his ability to influence them and
to make his escape from them. No band ever held
him prisoner without coming under the spell of his
magnetism and admiring his calm self-possession.
If any other man enjoyed the same exemption from
fear of the redskins, and possessed the same power
of arousing their better natures, it was George
Rogers Clark.</p>
<p>As we have intimated, to have given his present
captors the slip would have been no great feat on
the part of Boone, but he did not entertain the idea.
In the first place, he was restrained by the conviction
that the loss of their chief prize would arouse
the savages to fury and prompt them to wreak vengeance
upon the other captives. Furthermore, he
considered it his duty to remain with his men, who
had no one among them capable of filling his place
as leader or counsellor. Had Boone entertained any
different ideas, circumstances which arose at the
close of the first day’s march would have put them
to rout.</p>
<p>In the squad of prisoners that included Boone
was a young fellow named Stephen Halliwell, who
had been sickening for days previous to the capture.
By almost superhuman effort he got through the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</SPAN></span>
first march and when camp was reached fell upon
the ground in a state of collapse. Boone was
seriously concerned about the man, but not so much
on account of his fever as because it was the invariable
practice of the Indians to tomahawk sick or weak
prisoners in order that they should not impede
progress. Boone made a comfortable bed for the
sufferer beside himself, using most of his own covering
in doing so, and he exerted himself more than
ever that night to put the Indians round the camp
fires in good humor.</p>
<p>The next morning poor Halliwell braced himself
for the fearful struggle of another day. Boone
had learned from the Indians that they expected to
reach their town at the close of the third full day’s
march. This prospect alone gave the fever-stricken
man the courage to proceed. Boone carried Halliwell’s
pack in addition to his own and the sick man’s
comrades took turns in supporting his tottering
steps. Many a sinister glance was cast by the
nearby savages at the evidently exhausted captive,
but Boone was ever ready to avert the impending
doom. He tramped along carelessly, almost jauntily,
under his double load and constantly kept the neighboring
redskins entertained—now he joked with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</SPAN></span>
them, offering to match himself against any squaw
in their tribe at carrying a pack; now he pointed
to the faint trace of some game animal that had
lately passed that way and started a discussion of
the best manner of tracking it. Anon he gave them
a description of one of the great coast towns of
the “Long Knives,” of which he knew only by
hearsay. Again he sang a song or started a contest
in mimicry with some brave, each being required
to imitate the cries of certain beasts and birds. And
so the weary day drew to a close and Halliwell,
almost carried by one of his companions, reached the
night’s camp.</p>
<p>The sick man was in a sorry plight. He had
neither the will nor the power to make the slightest
effort for himself. He dropped almost inanimate
and so lay until Boone and another made his bed
and rolled him in the blankets. A large stone was
then heated in the fire and placed at his feet, with
the object of producing a sweat. He was with difficulty
induced to swallow a little broth, and then lay
for hours in a semi-comatose condition, groaning
feebly.</p>
<p>Towards midnight Halliwell awoke from a brief<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</SPAN></span>
and restless slumber and turned to Boone, who was
watching him.</p>
<p>“Captain,” said the sick man, in feeble tones—“Captain,
you’ve done all you could for me and
more than I had a right to expect, but I’m afraid
it’s no use. I’ve shot my bolt, Captain.” The last
words were uttered with an air of the deepest
despair. A moment after, ashamed at the show of
weakness, he continued, with a pitiful attempt at
bravado: “I’m half minded to ask you to whip my
scalp off, Captain, so as to cheat these red devils.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got to make a better stand than that,
Steve,” replied Boone. “If I’d had any idea of letting
you lose your scalp, I shouldn’t have gone to the
trouble of carrying your pack to-day. We haven’t
got to to-morrow yet. Now you go to sleep and
don’t worry until worrying can do you some good,
which’ll be never. If it’ll give you any satisfaction,
I’ll say this much. No Indian shall raise your hair
whilst I can raise a hand to prevent it.”</p>
<p>This assurance evidently cheered the wretched
man. With a sigh of relief, he composed himself
to sleep, whilst Boone rearranged his coverings.</p>
<p>The morning of the third and last day’s march
opened to find Halliwell quite incapable of going<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</SPAN></span>
farther. He could hardly stand, and his legs bent
under him when he attempted to walk. As his dismayed
companions stood around him, at a loss what
to do, two warriors approached, tomahawk in hand.
They had been ordered to do away with the unfortunate
man, who had already occasioned sufficient
delay in the start to excite the impatience of the
Indians.</p>
<p>Boone stepped between the appointed executioners
and their intended victim, and with upraised hand
motioned them to stop. There was something in
the quiet air of command that constrained the savages
to obey the unarmed man. Boone then addressed
the five chiefs, who stood together at a
short distance. He said that it would serve no good
purpose to kill the man and might bring great
trouble upon themselves. If their only object was
the professed one of avoiding delay, it might be accomplished
without recourse to the measure they
contemplated. He would carry the sick man
through the last stage of the journey and would
undertake that they should not impede the march.
If he failed to fulfill his promise, they might tomahawk
both himself and his charge.</p>
<p>To this proposition the Indians assented without<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</SPAN></span>
hesitation. They were not, however, moved to this
action by any sense of humanity but by the respect
they already felt for Boone and, even more, by the
desire to see him perform the extraordinary feat of
carrying a man weighing something like one hundred
and fifty pounds for a distance of thirteen
miles. The arrangements were quickly made.
Boone’s pack and that of Halliwell were divided
among their comrades. With a buffalo skin and
thongs of elk’s hide a sling was constructed and so
adjusted as to secure the greatest degree of ease to
the sick man whilst causing as little unnecessary
strain upon Boone as possible. This done, Halliwell
was lifted into the contrivance and the march
commenced.</p>
<p>Boone knew that he was making no idle boast
when he undertook the task that amazed the Indians.
He had more than once carried an equal weight of
dead matter for as great a distance. It was not,
nevertheless, any light undertaking. Before the
journey was more than half completed, he began to
look forward to its close with eager anticipation,
and when at length the party arrived within sight
of Chillicothe, on the banks of the Little Miami,
<SPAN href="#i_154fp">Boone was nearing the limit of his endurance</SPAN>. But<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</SPAN></span>
the savages, who frequently looked at him with
curious wonder, had not the satisfaction of learning
this. He turned upon them his usual calm, inscrutable
countenance, and replied to their jibes with
perfect good-nature.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="i_154fp"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_154fp.jpg" width-obs="383" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /></SPAN><br/> <div class="caption"><span class="smcap"><SPAN href="#Page_155">Boone was Nearing the Limit of His Endurance</SPAN></span></div>
</div>
<p>A great concourse awaited their coming on the
outskirts of the town. The larger part of the crowd
was composed of unkempt squaws, in dirty clothing,
many of them with babies strapped to their backs.
Young boys and girls, with a sprinkling of aged
grandsires, made up the remainder, whilst the mongrel
dogs of the Indians yelped an excited welcome
to their returning masters. A mile from the town
the warriors had begun to chant their song of victory,
and as they neared the waiting throng they set
to brandishing their weapons and shouting exultantly.
The prisoners were conducted to the great
square and there subjected to the curious scrutiny
of the women and children for the space of an
hour or two. The greatest interest was displayed
in the white squaw who had come in carrying his
sick papoose upon his back.</p>
<p>The Shawnees kept Boone and his companions
at old Chillicothe for nearly three weeks, during
which time they were well treated and, from the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</SPAN></span>
Indian point of view, comfortably lodged. At
length ten of the prisoners and Boone were sent,
under the escort of forty of the savages, to Detroit.
Here they were, as Boone declared, “treated by
Governor Hamilton, the British commander at that
post, with great humanity.” Boone did not forget
this kindness and afterwards, when Hamilton was
an execrated prisoner in the hands of the Americans,
Boone befriended him to the best of his ability.</p>
<p>The ten men who had been brought to Detroit
in company with their captain were readily ransomed
by the British, but the Indians declined to dispose
of Boone in the same manner. The Governor
offered one hundred pounds sterling—an extraordinary
sum—for his release, intending to liberate
him on parole. The offer must have been an extremely
tempting one, but the Shawnees resolutely
refused it. Boone had created a deep impression
on their chiefs, and it had been determined, although
the fact was not then announced, to adopt him into
the tribe.</p>
<p>Boone made no effort to influence the issue one
way or the other. Perhaps he realized that it would
be futile to attempt to turn the Indians from their
purpose. Perhaps he thought it advisable to go<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</SPAN></span>
back to the remainder of his men. Or, which is
highly probable, he was anxious for the opportunity
of learning more about the tribe which constituted
the chief menace to his people in Kentucky. Whatever
his motive, he displayed such willingness to
accompany the Shawnees back to Chillicothe that
they were deluded into the belief that he was really
disposed to become one of themselves.</p>
<p>Some of the officers at Detroit pressed gifts of
money and various useful articles upon Boone, but
he declined them all, saying that so far as he could
foresee, the opportunity to repay their proffered
kindness would never occur and he could not allow
himself to lie under a perpetual obligation to them.
Their good wishes he thankfully acknowledged, and
left them with feelings of respect and admiration
for him.</p>
<p>Early in April the Shawnees turned homeward
with the prisoner upon whom they set so high a
value. Their satisfaction in the possession of him
prompted them to guard him with the utmost care,
but he soon discovered that he had risen in their
estimation and regard since the visit to Detroit.
The march was a long and tedious one of three<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</SPAN></span>
weeks’ duration, but during its course everything
was done to promote the comfort of the captive.
Boone was not slow to foster the good feelings
evinced by his captors, and by the time they arrived
at Chillicothe the most cordial relations existed between
them and himself.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XI" id="XI">XI.</SPAN><br/> <small>“BIG TURTLE”</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Boone is formally adopted by the Shawnees—He becomes
the son of Blackfish and is given the name of Big
Turtle—The Indians treat him well but watch him
closely—A description of old Chillicothe and its
people—Boone gains the confidence of the tribe so
that they allow him to go on short hunting trips—He
accumulates a store of ammunition and secretes it—A
war-party of various tribes visits the town—Boone
learns their purpose to attack the Kentucky settlements—He
contrives his escape and makes for Boonesborough—Arrives
after a remarkable journey.</span></p>
<p class="p2">Adoption was a common practice among the Indians,
and probably had always been so. They
readily extended it to include white men, as the
history of the earliest settlements proves. There
are grounds for believing that, while most of the
members of the “lost colony” of Roanoke were
doubtless massacred, some of them survived as Indians
by adoption and left descendants. John
Smith was adopted by the Powhatans as the son of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</SPAN></span>
their great Werowance, and the Susquehannas were
anxious to make him their chief.</p>
<p>At the time to which our story relates, the practice
was prevalent among the Indians of the border and
was usually resorted to with a view to filling the
places of warriors killed in battle. Once admitted
to the tribe, the white Indian was treated with kindness
and often with more consideration than would
have been the case had he been born among his
adoptive relatives. He was, however, closely
watched until his captors believed him to be fully
reconciled to his new condition.</p>
<p>It was seldom that adult whites, thus forcibly
affiliated with the redskins, missed a favorable
opportunity to escape, and consequently the Indians
became more disposed to the adoption of children.
With respect to the latter, their designs were naturally
attended by better success. The boy, prepared
perhaps by a disposition inherited from backwoods
ancestors, readily adapted himself to his new
surroundings and soon became enamoured of the
free and active life of the village and the camp.
In many instances, youths recovered by their natural
parents after many years’ residence with the Indians
displayed the greatest repugnance to the ways of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</SPAN></span>
civilization, and sometimes ran away, returning to
the people of their adoption.</p>
<p>Shortly after Boone’s return from Detroit, he
was informed that his captors had determined to
admit him into the tribe and that he was to become
the son of the renowned warrior Blackfish, who was
the chief of the band that inhabited Chillicothe.
Boone professed to be gratified by the announcement
and duly appreciative of the great honor of
being adopted by the most powerful Indian of those
parts. The tribesmen were delighted by his complacence
and entered upon the ceremony with the
utmost enthusiasm, for many of them had become
sincerely attached to their extraordinary captive.</p>
<p>The ceremony of adoption, which the Indians
naturally viewed with a sense of solemn importance,
occupied several days and included features that
were not altogether pleasant to the central figure in
it. Indeed, the first stage of the initiation severely
taxed Boone’s patience and fortitude, and more than
once he was forced to convert a grimace of pain
into a pretended grin of amusement. The operation
of forming the scalp-lock was performed in
the presence of the warriors, who closely noted the
manner in which the victim bore his sufferings.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Boone was required to seat himself and was expected
to remain passive while two Indians tore his
hair out by the roots. The ordeal was the more
severe because the operation was protracted and the
hair plucked in small strands. It was customary
to allow the subject of this ceremony one or two
intervals for rest and the recovery of his nervous
system. The usual respite was offered to Boone
but he replied that if the operators were not too
tired to proceed he should like them to go ahead and
finish their work. This they did and at the end of
several hours Boone’s long locks had all disappeared
with the exception of one thick tuft in the centre
of the crown. This was the scalp-lock. When it
had been tied up with ribbon and fixed with feathers
the operation was pronounced complete and our hero
stood forth literally and metaphorically a redskin,
so far as his head was concerned.</p>
<p>The next morning Boone was conducted to the
river, stripped of his clothing and led into the water.
He was then vigorously washed and rubbed “to
take all his white blood out.” Following this ablution,
he was led to the council-house, where the
chief, in this case the adoptive father, made an
address. The initiate was informed of the great<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</SPAN></span>
honors and benefits that would accrue to him by
admission to the tribe; he was instructed as to the
duties that would devolve upon him and the course
of behavior he would be expected to follow. The
assembled warriors were also reminded of the rights
and future status of their new brother and exhorted
to accord to him proper treatment and consideration.</p>
<p>At the completion of the chief’s speech, which
was received with grunts of approval, two Indians
approached Boone, who stood in the centre of the
chamber, and with pigments of various hues proceeded
to paint his head and face after the most
approved fashion. This was the final step in the
ceremony. Boone was now a full-blown Shawnee,
and his fellow-tribesmen crowded round to congratulate
him. A big feast was now spread. After
they had eaten heartily, pipes were lit and the company
sat smoking and talking far into the night.
Boone’s natural dignity and habitual self-control
enabled him to adapt himself to his new rôle with
ease, and before the gathering broke up the warriors
had begun to look upon him as a kindred spirit and
boon companion.</p>
<p>The town of which Boone was now an inhabitant
under the name of Sheltowee, or “Big Turtle,” was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</SPAN></span>
situated on the banks of the Little Miami River.
The buildings were ranged round a great square
which, like the market-place of a country town, was
the common resort of loungers and the general rendezvous
of the community. Here they performed
their ceremonial dances, erected the war-post, celebrated
victory or bemoaned defeat, indulged in
various sports, including the torture of prisoners,
divided spoils, held mass-meetings, and in short
gathered for any purpose of general interest.</p>
<p>The council-house was the principal building in
the town. It stood on somewhat elevated ground
at the northern end of the square and was constructed
of logs in part painted and carved. The
roof was finished with slabs of bark and the interior
furnished with mats and the skins of various animals.
A platform, raised to the height of about
two feet, ran round three sides of the wall, leaving
a sort of pit in the centre. Upon this platform the
warriors squatted on the occasions of councils, the
receptions of delegations from other tribes, or deliberations
on the fate of prisoners; the visitors, or
captives, occupying the central and less elevated
space.</p>
<p>The cabins of the population, which numbered<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</SPAN></span>
about six hundred, were of a permanent character
and not unlike those of the poorer class of settlers
in form. Scattered about amongst them were corn-cribs,
poultry-houses and dug-outs. The last were
by the Indians called “hot-houses,” and consisted
of holes in the ground to which the people resorted
in particularly severe weather.</p>
<p>Boone, or “Sheltowee,” as the Indians now
always called him, was assigned to lodgings in a
small hut with two young braves for companions.
The accommodations were far from what he could
have desired, but they were as good as those enjoyed
by the chief, his adoptive father, and he accepted
them with his usual philosophy. Accustomed to
fresh air in abundance, Boone found the close and
foul atmosphere of the wigwam almost intolerable.
The place was often filled with acrid smoke and
always infested by insects. How filthy it was he
could only guess, for the light of day never penetrated
to its interior.</p>
<p>Even the strong stomach of Boone rebelled
against the food that was presented to him. It was
plentiful and of materials that in another form
would have been appetizing, but the Indian methods
of cooking spoilt it. Meat, corn, hominy, beans, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</SPAN></span>
other vegetables were stewed in bear’s oil, with
little care for cleanliness, and served in one repellent
mess. But Boone forced himself to swallow his
meals with feigned enjoyment and, indeed, made a
point of affecting satisfaction and contentment with
all the conditions of his new life.</p>
<p>Boone soon discovered that he was watched during
every moment of the day, but he did not allow
the Indians to know that he was aware of the fact.
The surveillance was often cleverly contrived to
evade his detection but never succeeded in that respect.
The copper-colored urchin who with precocious
cunning pretended to casually encounter him
on the outskirts of the town was instantly recognized
as a spy, but treated as a welcome friend, and after
a joyous romp carried home on the shoulder of the
man he had been set to watch. At night no guard
was placed, nor was any necessary, for although
Boone might with little difficulty have eluded his
sleeping companions, he could not have walked
twenty paces outside the hut without arousing the
dogs which fairly swarmed about the town. These
gaunt mongrels were particularly exuberant when
they smelt a white man and snarled and snapped
at any that came near them.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>But it was not in Boone’s mind to make any
attempt to escape for the present. It was his purpose
to turn his captivity to good account by improving
his knowledge of the Indians and gaining
information as to their contemplated movements
against the settlers. His efforts were now bent
towards increasing the feeling of friendliness that
they entertained towards him and exciting their
confidence in him. He took part in the sports and
contests of the young braves, but shrewdly regulated
his conduct so as to arouse their admiration without
exciting their envy. In the shooting matches he
might easily have outdone the best of them, but he
contented himself with making a good showing
without equalling the performances of their best
marksmen.</p>
<p>Boone’s judicious behavior soon created in the
Indians the state of mind that he had desired.
Blackfish grew quite fond of his adopted son, and
in the course of a few weeks began to entertain the
belief that he had made up his mind to remain with
the Indians and continue the life that appeared to be
so congenial to him. Boone was now permitted to
go on occasional hunting trips alone, but the chief
was not yet entirely devoid of suspicion. The<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</SPAN></span>
hunter’s hours were limited and he was given to
understand that if his absence exceeded the stipulated
period of liberty, a party would be sent in
search of him. The number of bullets and the
charges of powder issued to him were carefully
counted, and he was held to a strict accountability
for the supply. But Boone was even more shrewd
and cunning than Blackfish. By cutting his bullets
in two and using reduced charges of powder, the
backwoodsman contrived to accumulate a considerable
store of ammunition, which he secreted for use
in emergency.</p>
<p>Early in June Boone was sent with a party of
braves to the salt springs of the Scioto, where they
remained ten days engaged in the manufacture of
salt. On his return to Chillicothe, he was greatly
concerned to find in the town something like five
hundred strange warriors, fully armed and bedecked
in war-paint and feathers. Boone’s knowledge of
the Shawnee language was more thorough than he
had allowed the Indians to imagine, and mingling
with the crowd in the square he had no difficulty
in picking up all the information that he needed.
He learned that the war party was organized for an
immediate attack upon Boonesborough, to which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</SPAN></span>
they had been instigated by the British commandant
at Detroit. He ascertained the proposed route and
other details of the expedition.</p>
<p>Boone decided that he must escape without an
hour’s unnecessary delay. That night the Indians
engaged in their war dances and other ceremonies
and no doubt he might have slipped away from the
town without being missed until he should have
gained several hours’ start, but many considerations
induced him to defer his departure. Boone
never lost his head. Indeed, the greater the emergency
the more carefully he laid his plans before
action. The first stages of his journey would be
through a district difficult to traverse and with which
he was little acquainted, whilst the warriors of
Chillicothe were perfectly familiar with every rood
of it. Consequently a night start would give him
less advantage than an equal number of hours’ headway
in the daytime. Furthermore, he had that day
made a long march and was somewhat fatigued.
The task he proposed for himself would tax his
strength to the utmost and he determined to fortify
himself with a night’s rest before setting out upon it.</p>
<p>The next morning Boone left the town with his
rifle as though going upon one of his usual hunting<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</SPAN></span>
trips. This was the more easily contrived because
the presence in the place of so many strangers made
it necessary for the young braves to secure a much
larger supply of meat than ordinary. He had not
dared to excite suspicion by providing himself with
any considerable quantity of food but he managed
to secrete a small piece of jerked venison in his hunting-shirt.
He made directly for the spot where his
reserve stock of ammunition lay hidden and filled
his powder-horn and bullet-pouch. Thus equipped,
he headed for the Ohio with all the speed he could
command.</p>
<p>Boonesborough was one hundred and sixty miles
away, and Boone proposed to cover the distance in
the least possible time. He knew that he would
be pursued within a few hours and realized that the
greatest danger of his recapture would be passed if
he should gain safely the other side of the Ohio.
He therefore exerted himself to the utmost at the
outset, combining speed with skilful efforts to hide
his trail. His route lay through dense forest and
led him across several streams and through more
than one swamp. Where the ground was firm and
fairly open, he ran with long, loping strides for
hours at a time. The first night the moon served<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</SPAN></span>
him until early morning and he kept on his way until
it set, stopping to sleep for a few hours only before
dawn. The next day similar progress was made,
and on the morning of the third Boone arrived at
the bank of the Ohio River. He had covered more
than seventy miles in about forty-four hours.</p>
<p>Here an obstruction confronted the fugitive that
had not been unforeseen. Boone was an indifferent
swimmer. Recent long-continued rains had swelled
the river and it was running with a strong current.
It would be hazardous to delay long and Boone was
hastily skirting the bank, almost decided to commit
himself to the stream with a log upon the chance
of reaching the other side, when he stumbled upon
an abandoned canoe. The paddle lay with it but
a large hole gaped in one end. This Boone stopped
with his hunting-shirt, and launching the rickety
craft succeeded in gaining the farther bank.</p>
<p>Although he began to feel confident of eluding
his pursuers after putting the river between them
and himself, Boone realized that he was not out of
danger and pushed on rapidly. His own safety
was not the only incentive to speed. If the war
Party had adhered to its plan it must have left Chillicothe
two days after Boone and every hour gained<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</SPAN></span>
to Boonesborough for defence would be of account.</p>
<p>On the third day, after crossing the Ohio, Boone
shot a turkey and made a hearty meal upon it, and
this was the only one that he allowed himself in five
days. At other times he had eaten morsels of his
jerk as he went along. At the close of the fifth day
he walked into the stockade at Boonesborough, having
averaged more than thirty miles of travel for
every twenty-four hours from the time of leaving
Chillicothe.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XII" id="XII">XII.</SPAN><br/> <small>DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Boone sets the defences of Boonesborough in order—He
learns of the departure of his family—“You see, they
all thought you were dead, Dad”—Boone carries “the
war into Africa”—His party have a skirmish with
the Indians—The run back to Boonesborough—Blackfish
and his warriors appear before the stockade—Parleying
and fencing—Boone gains time and sends
for relief—Blackfish plans a treacherous manœuvre—He
seeks to beguile the settlers with a false
treaty—The trap is laid with skill—But the whites
break out of it after a desperate struggle.</span></p>
<p class="p2">Boone appeared in the stockade like one coming
from the dead. Nothing had been heard of any of
the party captured at the salt licks, and it was generally
believed that all had been killed. It was, therefore,
with feelings of unbounded joy that the settlers
crowded round their regained leader, eagerly demanding
his story. But Boone declined, for the
present, to satisfy their curiosity. He had more
momentous matters in his mind. On entering the
fort he had noticed that the defences had been<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</SPAN></span>
allowed to fall into a condition of neglect and that
a general state of unpreparedness for attack prevailed.
Weary and hungry as he was, he set about
improving affairs before attending to his personal
needs and comfort.</p>
<p>He warned the settlers that they might expect
the arrival of the Indians in great force within three
or four days’ time, and urged upon all the necessity
of the utmost exertion in the meanwhile. The
women were to busy themselves moulding bullets
and the men in repairing the stockade. Three
mounted messengers were immediately despatched
to the Holston, with a request to Colonel Campbell
for reinforcements. Others were sent to Harrodsburg
and Logan’s Station on similar errands. Runners
began the circuit of the outlying farms to round
up all the people belonging to Boonesborough and
scouts set off in the direction from which the Indians
would approach.</p>
<p>Having taken all the measures immediately possible
for the defence of his post, Boone turned
towards his cabin. It was characteristic of him
that, notwithstanding he missed his family from
among the throng that greeted his return, he had
made no inquiry for them, although Hardy and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</SPAN></span>
Kenton had been the first to welcome him, but had
addressed himself at once to the business in hand.
Now, as he walked with these two friends across the
square, the desire to hear of his loved ones was
uppermost in his mind.</p>
<p>“Mother took the children and went back to her
father’s place on the Yadkin,” began Hardy, anticipating
the question that hung on Boone’s lips.
“You see, they all thought you were dead, Dad.
But we didn’t. Did we, Kenton?”</p>
<p>“Well, hardly,” replied the scout, with a chuckle.
“I kinder thought I’d hear something drop, Captain,
in case your hair was raised.”</p>
<p>“Well, if I wasn’t scalped, I was plucked, and
that’s the next thing to it,” said Boone, removing
his felt hat and displaying his bald pate and scalp-lock
to his astonished companions. “I’m a full-blooded
Indian, Hardy. Your dad is Sheltowee,
the Big Turtle, and he’s apt to go on the rampage
any time, so watch out, young man.”</p>
<p>By this time the trio had arrived at Boone’s cabin,
but before they could set about their preparations for
supper neighbors began to arrive with an abundance
and variety of food, prompted equally by a desire
to serve their leader and impatient curiosity to hear<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</SPAN></span>
his story. The party made a hearty meal in the
open, and then Boone related to them all that had
befallen him since the New Year’s Day on which
he set out for the Lower Blue Licks with the band
of salt-makers. The tale was long in the telling,
for the description of the Indian village and the
customs of its inhabitants was new to the auditors.
They, in their turn, had many matters of more or
less moment to mention to Boone, so that the summer
night was far advanced when this man of iron
turned to his couch for a much needed rest.</p>
<p>The next day work upon the necessary repairs to
the fort was entered into with vigor. From time to
time settlers, alarmed by the urgency of the call,
came in with their families. Men, women and children
were kept busy from early morning until night,
for there was work in which all could take some
part. When the fourth, and then the fifth, day
passed without the appearance of the Indians, there
was some inclination to desist, but Boone insisted
upon a completion of the preparations without delay,
and would not allow any of the men to return
to their farms until the fort was in a satisfactory
state.</p>
<p>After ten days’ hard labor the stockade was in the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</SPAN></span>
most effective condition attainable to resist attack.
The line of palisades had been made entire, new
gates had been erected, the blockhouses strengthened,
double bastions constructed, provisions laid in,
and cattle collected. Just before the termination
of the task, one of the captives from Chillicothe,
who had contrived to escape shortly after Boone
left, arrived at the fort. From him it was learned
that the war-party, disconcerted by Boone’s escape,
had postponed its departure for three weeks, and
meanwhile had sent to Detroit for a reinforcement
of whites. The latter news was alarming, but it was
offset by the consideration that the delay greatly
increased the chance of the hoped-for aid from the
Holston arriving in time.</p>
<p>Boone now determined to adopt Clark’s tactics
of “carrying the war into Africa.” He thought
that by arousing the apprehensions of the Indians
for the safety of their own towns, he might succeed
in diverting the impending attack against Boonesborough,
or at least in inducing the leaders of the
expedition to detach a portion of their strength for
the defence of their country. With this idea, then,
he took nineteen men and started on a rapid march
for an Indian village on Paint Creek, a branch of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</SPAN></span>
the Scioto. Hardy, who was now a full-fledged
“gun,” made one of the party.</p>
<p>On the way frequent traces were discovered that
indicated that small parties of Indian scouts were
abroad in Kentucky, and pointed to unusual preparation
for the ensuing expedition. When within four
miles of their objective point, Boone’s band suddenly
fell in with a force of thirty warriors on the way to
Kentucky. The two bodies had approached closely
before either discovered the presence of the other,
but immediately they did so the men on both sides
sprang behind trees and a typical backwoods fight
followed.</p>
<p>These guerilla combats always took the form of
so many independent duels, each individual acting
upon his own responsibility and without direction.
Every man singled out an adversary and awaited
an opportunity to get a shot at some exposed part of
his body. Frequent ruses, such as poking a cap
out upon the end of a ramrod, were employed to
induce an enemy to show himself. The Indians
almost invariably defeated regular troops in this
kind of skirmishing. The latter adhered to their
accustomed tactics of charging in close order and
fell easy victims to the active savages. On the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</SPAN></span>
other hand, the backwoodsmen were greatly the
superior of the redskins in fighting from cover.
Such men as Boone possessed all the cunning and
dogged patience of the Indian, whilst vastly excelling
him in marksmanship.</p>
<p>In such a case as the present, where the disparity
in numbers was not overwhelming, the ultimate issue
was a foregone conclusion. After two or three
hours of conflict the Indians took advantage of the
growing dusk to withdraw, abandoning their horses
and baggage. What their loss in killed and
wounded was had to be left, as usual, to conjecture.
The settlers escaped without any casualties. Immediately
after this affair Boone learned, to his dismay,
that the war-party from Chillicothe had already set
out and was now between him and Boonesborough.</p>
<p>Boone now started for the settlement with all
possible speed, his front and flanks guarded by
scouts feeling for the large body of Indians which
he was striving to overtake. On the third day the
Indians were reported to be but a few miles away
and immediately in the course of the returning settlers.
Boone now made a détour and redoubled his
speed. The army of warriors was successfully
passed and left behind. The raiders entered<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</SPAN></span>
Boonesborough, after their three hundred miles’
march, in time to allow the occupants of the fort
nearly twenty-four hours’ time for preparation.</p>
<p>The following day the Indian force made its
appearance. It consisted of about four hundred
warriors, for the most part Shawnees, but including
Wyandots, Miamis and Delawares. They were
under the command of Blackfish, Boone’s adoptive
father. Accompanying the Indians was a small
body of French-Canadians led by Captain De
Quindre, of the Detroit militia. This formidable
battalion marched to within a few hundred yards of
the stockade and sent forward a white flag with a
demand upon the garrison to “surrender the fort in
the name of his Britannic Majesty.”</p>
<p>There were at Boonesborough fewer than seventy
males capable of bearing arms, and a number of
women and children. Whilst the defences were in
good condition and a plentiful supply of ammunition
was on hand, the settlers were not fully prepared
to resist a protracted siege, such as the present
situation promised. There was far from a sufficiency
of water stored, and the cattle, which was
collected at the time of the first alarm, had been
permitted to return to the woods. In fact, a party<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</SPAN></span>
that had been sent out the previous day to round
up and bring in some beeves had not yet returned to
the stockade.</p>
<p>Despite these drawbacks and the apparent hopelessness
of resistance, Boone did not for an instant
entertain the idea of capitulating. Nor did he canvass
the opinions of his men, but took it for granted
that they were of the same mind as himself. In
answer to the summons, however, he declared that
the garrison needed time for consideration, and so
sure of ultimate success were the assailants that they
granted two days’ respite from hostilities. This
intermission was employed by the settlers in filling
all their water-vessels and in getting the party with
the cattle safely within the walls.</p>
<p>At the termination of the truce De Quindre approached
the fort for the purpose of receiving the
answer of the defenders. Boone had devised a ruse
to deceive the Canadian as to the number of men in
the place. When De Quindre neared the gate, which
was thrown open that he and Boone, with their
escorts, might meet just outside of it, the officers
perceived seventy backwoodsmen grouped in the
foreground, whilst standing about in other distant
parts of the square were some thirty more “buckskins.”<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</SPAN></span>
The latter, however, were women and girls
dressed in the clothing of their husbands and
fathers.</p>
<p>To the amazement of Captain De Quindre, Boone
announced the determination of the garrison to defend
the post, at the same time thanking the enemy
for the time allowed the defenders for the completion
of their preparations. De Quindre was chagrined
to realize that he had been tricked but did not
evince any resentment and, after a brief consultation
with Blackfish, returned to Boone with a fresh
proposition. He declared that the attacking party
was not in the least desirous of resorting to severity,
and that if Boone and a few of the other leading
men in the fort would meet the Indian chiefs on the
following day, a treaty could be effected upon the
most advantageous terms to the settlers.</p>
<p>Boone was quite satisfied that some deception
was intended by this proposition, but he readily
acceded to it because every day’s delay improved
the prospect of relief arriving from the Holston.
It was agreed that Boone and eight of his men
should go out to a spot about eighty yards from the
fort and there confer with a delegation from the
Indian camp, both parties to be absolutely unarmed.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</SPAN></span>
The truce was to be extended to the termination of
this conference.</p>
<p>The commissioners met as agreed but instead of
an equal number of Indians, Blackfish appeared attended
by eighteen warriors, so that there were two
Indians to each white man. Boone took no notice
of this early indication of treachery, for he had
posted twenty guns in concealment behind the palisades
ready for an emergency. A table with writing
materials had been brought out, that any agreement
which might be arrived at could be inscribed
and signed.</p>
<p>Blackfish opened the proceedings with a speech
in which he pretended to be moved almost to the
point of tears. He professed to be heartbroken
at the desertion of his son Sheltowee, and reproached
him with ingratitude in leaving the Indians
after their kind treatment of him. To this
Boone replied that it was but natural that he should
cleave to his own people. That he had been allowed
no voice in the adoption, and could not justly have
been expected to observe it. That he was truly
grateful to Blackfish and his tribe for their gentle
treatment of him and would wish for nothing better
than to be on friendly terms with them. But if they<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</SPAN></span>
persisted upon attacking the whites, he, Boone,
would fight them to the bitter end.</p>
<p>This point having been disposed of, they proceeded
to the question of the treaty. On the single
condition of the settlers owning allegiance to the
King of Great Britain, the Indian chiefs promised
to withdraw to their own country and to leave them
in peaceful possession of Boonesborough and their
property. They did not demand hostages, nor any
other pledge of sincerity. The signatures of Boone
and his eight companions to a brief agreement embodying
the conditions on both sides would be sufficient
to secure the retirement of the Indians from
Kentucky and the avoidance of future hostilities.</p>
<p>This absurdly liberal proposition bore all the earmarks
of a subterfuge. Boone knew full well that
these Indians had not been at the trouble of coming
fifty leagues for the sole purpose of inducing the
allegiance of a band of backwoodsmen to the King
of Great Britain. He felt sure that the proposed
treaty would be preliminary to some contemplated
treachery, and that it would be shortly followed by
some act rendering it null and void. He had, therefore,
little hesitancy about signing it; and, moreover,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</SPAN></span>
he wished to play the game to a stage where its
object would become apparent.</p>
<p>Boone, therefore, expressed himself as highly
gratified at the liberal terms offered and willing to
accept them. The agreement was accordingly
drawn up and signed by Boone and the eight men
accompanying him, as well as by Blackfish, the other
Indians, and De Quindre. Blackfish now appeared
to be overjoyed at the happy termination of the
affair and suggested that the amicable understanding
should be signalized by an old Indian ceremony
indicative of friendship. This required that each
hand of every one of the whites should be grasped
and shaken by an Indian in token of good faith.</p>
<p>Boone perceived the trap involved in this artifice
but he was determined that the Indians should have
no excuse for the treachery which they clearly contemplated.
He agreed to the proposal and two of
the redskins advanced on each of the whites and
seized his hands and arms. At the same instant,
Blackfish shouted: “Go!” and his followers attempted
to drag the settlers away. But this was
not so easy a task as they had imagined that it would
be. A desperate struggle ensued. Boone, Kenton,
Montgomery, and Buchanan quickly threw off their<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</SPAN></span>
assailants and felled them with their fists. They
then turned to the assistance of others less strong
than themselves. At the same time the rifles in the
stockade began to crack and the Indians broke away
and fled to cover.</p>
<p>The affair of the treaty had ended as Boone expected
from the first that it would, but it was not
without good results to the defenders. They had
gained one more day and so increased the likelihood
of succor. But better still, whilst the parley was
in progress a little band of five men from Logan’s
had entered the fort and among them Stephen Hancock,
one of the best riflemen in Kentucky.</p>
<p>Boone now proceeded without a moment’s delay
to assign the men to their several posts in anticipation
of the attack which he felt sure would not
now long be delayed. Women were also detailed
for specific duties at certain points, some to supply
food and water to the men, others to load guns, and
not a few, in the last resort, to man port-holes.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XIII" id="XIII">XIII.</SPAN><br/> <small>BOONESBOROUGH IS BESIEGED</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">The night attack upon the stockade—“Not a shot, mind,
till I fire, and then let them have it”—The Indians
are repulsed but come again with firebrands—They
set fire to a cabin—Hardy’s brave fight with the
flames—“That was well done, son,—very well done”—The
savages are beaten off after fierce fighting—A
renegade negro snipes the settlers from a tree-top—Boone
puts a bullet through his brain at long range—The
Indians attempt to undermine the fort—The
scheme is frustrated and they raise the siege—Boone
goes after his family.</span></p>
<p class="p2">Fortunately for the brave hearts at Boonesborough,
the summer nights afforded but brief
cover of darkness. In fact, at the time of the siege
a bright moon shone during the early hours and
only for a short space before dawn was it possible
for a man to approach within thirty or forty yards
of the palisades without detection. Nevertheless,
serious determined night attacks by the entire Indian
force could hardly have failed to overwhelm the
little garrison in time. During that dangerous
period Boone required every man to be alert at his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</SPAN></span>
post. At other times of the night sentries were
placed, but those off immediate duty slept with their
rifles ready to the hand and within a few feet of the
port-holes they were required to command. Boone
never closed his eyes between suns whilst the siege
lasted but passed his time on the lookout and in
visiting his sentries. For rest he depended upon
snatches of sleep in the daytime when favorable
opportunities occurred. Very few hours sufficed to
recuperate him after the hardest day.</p>
<p>The night succeeding the fiasco of the treaty was
wearing towards its close. It was the hour preceding
dawn, when all nature seems to be silently
crouching for the spring into the life of a new day.
Boone stood at the port-hole of the upper story of
one of the blockhouses, the cool breeze from the
west fanning his brow. A sigh escaped him as he
thought of the many lives that had been sacrificed
for the possession of “the dark and bloody ground”
of Kentucky, and the many more that would be demanded.
For Boone was a fighter of necessity, not
from choice. Action was the very spice of life to
him and he loved the stress of conflict, as every
strong man must, but he found no pleasure in
bloodshed. Boone killed as a measure of self-preservation<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</SPAN></span>
and for the protection of others. Although
he was moved as much as any man to sorrow
and indignation at the thought of the women and
children barbarously murdered or carried to a cruel
captivity, he never allowed vengeful passion to sway
him. And the stern, cool temper in which he met
the foe made him the more terrible and dangerous
antagonist. Such he looked now, his mind having
passed on to the thought that, no matter what the
cost, Kentucky must and should be held by the
people who were willing to convert its wilderness
into fair fields and rich pastures.</p>
<p>From time to time the tireless watcher moved
from a port-hole and stepped noiselessly to another,
commanding a different direction. The ordinary
man could with difficulty have discerned an object
upon the ground immediately below Boone’s position,
but the keen eyes of the hunter, accustomed
to the gloom of the forest, penetrated the darkness
to at least the distance of fifty yards.</p>
<p>Suddenly the silence was broken by the hoot of
an owl. Boone listened intently. In a few seconds
the cry was repeated, as though by a bird at some
distance from the first. Boone stretched forth his
foot and touched the form of a sleeper upon the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</SPAN></span>
floor. In an instant Kenton was on his feet, and
at the same moment the owl’s cry again floated over
the night air to them.</p>
<p>“Injuns on the move, Kenton,” said Boone in
low tones and without a trace of excitement in his
voice. “Give Hardy a jolt. Now you two slip
round the stockade in opposite directions. Have
every man stand to his post as quietly as possible
and wait for the signal from me. Not a shot, mind,
till I fire, and then let them have it. Quick!
They’re in the clearing already, if I’m not mistaken.”</p>
<p>When Kenton and Hardy had disappeared down
the ladder, Boone took up his rifle and ran his hand
over the flint-lock. Satisfied that it was ready for
service, he stood it against the wall by his side and
peered out of the port-hole. Hardly more than five
minutes had elapsed when he imagined that he discerned
a dark wall moving towards him. A minute
later he was certain. The Indians were about
eighty yards away and stealing forward as noiselessly
as shadows. Without removing his eyes
from the advancing foe, Boone slowly brought his
rifle into position and dropped his right cheek upon<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</SPAN></span>
the stock. When he judged the line of redskins
to be fifty yards distant he pressed the trigger.</p>
<p>Boone’s signal shot had hardly sounded when
seventy reports rang out almost in a volley. The
Indians checked in surprise. Then with a yell they
rushed forward, and again seventy trusty guns spoke
with tongues of fire. Still the redskins came on,
discharging their pieces as they ran. They were
within a few paces of the stockade—some, indeed,
had reached it—when once more the defenders fired
into their ranks. Had they pushed the assault the
savages might have carried the fort with their
tomahawks, but they checked again and then fell
back to reload.</p>
<p>Then occurred one of those strange lulls that commonly
happen in fights and even in battles. No
movement was detectable on either side and comparative
silence prevailed. Suddenly Kenton’s voice
was heard serenely singing the lines of a popular
ballad of the time:</p>
<div class="poem byronpoem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“If they hang poor Paddy for a thing like that,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Whatever will they do with me?”<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>“That fellow will sing going to his own funeral,”
muttered Boone, but he was pleased to hear the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</SPAN></span>
cheery laugh that ran round the stockade in response
to Kenton’s song.</p>
<p>Anon the chiefs were heard exhorting their tribesmen
to renewed efforts, and soon it was seen that
they had kindled a fire. This was far enough back
to be out of effective range from the fort. As soon
as the flames sprang up, a long line of the redskins
filed past the fire and each one of them ignited a
resin-soaked torch. The defenders instantly divined
the purport of this movement, and realized that they
were about to be subjected to one of the most
dreaded forms of attack. When employed determinedly,
fire was the most effective auxiliary the
Indians could enlist. Even though they failed to
burn a breach in the defences, they gained the advantage
of drawing a number of riflemen from the
firing line to the task of fighting the flames.</p>
<p>The garrison had enjoyed but a brief respite when
the Indians were again upon them. Just as the first
gray tints of dawn appeared in the sky, and before
Kenton had finished the third verse of his lyric, the
ranks of dusky warriors began to advance in a wide
crescent formation calculated to envelop three sides
of the stockade. Interspersed through their line
were some thirty or forty torch-bearers, who immediately<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</SPAN></span>
became the marks of the riflemen. Many
of the savages carried bundles of sticks and grass
to be laid against the walls of the cabins and blockhouses
and lighted. Boone was now in the square,
where he could best direct operations against this
new form of attack.</p>
<p>When they had come within one hundred yards
of the palisades the Indians rushed forward with the
most unearthly yells and whoops. The efforts of
the defenders were chiefly directed towards preventing
the men bearing torches and combustibles from
approaching near enough to lay the latter or to
throw the former on the roofs of the buildings.
At the same time the horde of howling redskins
had to be held back. Fierce fighting followed along
every side of the stockade. Every man strove and
strained for dear life. The women worked hard,
loading spare rifles, of which there were fortunately
a considerable number in hand. Here and there an
Indian gained the top of the palisade, when a hand-to-hand
struggle with tomahawks ensued. The din
of musketry, the cries of the combatants, the howling
of dogs, and the bellowing of cattle, created a
veritable pandemonium.</p>
<p>Presently it was discovered that the roof of one<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</SPAN></span>
of the cabins had ignited and was burning fiercely.
Kenton and Hardy were the first at the spot.</p>
<p>“Give me a boost up, Hardy,” cried Kenton,
standing with his face to the building and arms uplifted.
Instead, Hardy took a flying leap upon his
friend’s back and grasped the eaves of the cabin.</p>
<p>“Come off that!” shouted Kenton, trying to seize
Hardy by the leg, but the youngster wriggled out of
reach and gained a footing on the roof.</p>
<p>“How’s that for impudence, Captain?” said Kenton
to Boone, who was now beside him. “Order
him down, won’t you?”</p>
<p>“I’m all right, Dad! Hurry up the buckets!”
shouted Hardy.</p>
<p>Boone loved the lad more than he had realized
until he saw him in his present extremely perilous
position. For an instant Boone hesitated, but only
for an instant, before he answered the scout:</p>
<p>“Let him be, Kenton. He’s playing a man’s part
and we haven’t the right to baulk him. Not
water!” he cried to the women, who now arrived
with several buckets of the fluid. “Not water!
We shall need every drop we have. We must make
sand serve, if it will. Hurry with some empty
buckets.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>In the meanwhile, Hardy had sense enough not to
expose himself unnecessarily but lay prone along
the edge of the roof. In a few minutes half a dozen
women were digging energetically in the sandy soil
of the square and filling the buckets, which Boone
and Kenton handed up to Hardy. The lad was now
obliged to stand, and <SPAN href="#i_frontis">immediately his form</SPAN>, clearly
outlined in the lurid light, <SPAN href="#i_frontis">became the target</SPAN> for
a hundred rifles. A frontiersman would have
brought him down in a minute, and although the
Indians were poor shots, it was a miracle that he
lived through the fusillade that they directed
against him. At one time he felt a sudden stinging
sensation in his right thigh and looked down to see
if an ember had burned through his leggings. A
little later, a hot iron seemed to sear his cheek, and
when he put his hand to the place it came away covered
with blood.</p>
<p>In hardly more than five minutes after the buckets
began to come up Hardy had the fire out, and, shouting
a warning to those below, dropped upon his
stomach and slid off the roof into the arms of
Kenton.</p>
<p>“That was well done, son,—very well done,”
said Boone. “Now back to your post. The Injuns<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</SPAN></span>
will draw off at daybreak, but they may come strong
once again before that.”</p>
<p>The fire which Hardy had extinguished was the
only one that got well under way, and the failure
in that case seemed to discourage the Indians. The
attack slackened perceptibly and soon they withdrew,
carrying away their dead and wounded. When the
defenders checked up their casualties it was found
that only two men had been killed outright. A
number had received more or less severe injuries,
and among these was Hardy. His clothing had
been pierced in four places. His hurts were slight.
They consisted of a flesh wound in the thigh and
an abrased cheek, and though the former incapacitated
him during the remainder of the siege, it soon
healed.</p>
<p>This attack, in which they lost heavily, thoroughly
disheartened the Indians. The siege was maintained
for nine days longer with almost constant
fighting, but no such assault as that of the first
night was again attempted. Occasionally small parties
endeavored to set fires against the walls under
cover of darkness, but they always found that a
vigilant watch was maintained and no redskin could<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</SPAN></span>
approach within a hundred yards of the fort except
at the peril of his life.</p>
<p>During the day, the besiegers kept up a constant
fire against the stockade, but did little damage.
They wasted an enormous amount of ammunition,
for after their departure the garrison gathered up
over two thousand pounds of musket-balls in the
vicinity, not to mention the number that were embedded
in the walls of the stockade. The settlers,
on the other hand, husbanded their resources and
fired only when there was a good chance of doing
execution. Men stood to the port-holes constantly,
and an Indian could not show himself in the clearing
during daylight but he immediately became the
target of some sharpshooter.</p>
<p>A negro had escaped from the fort during the
parley that preceded the attack which has been described,
carrying with him a rifle and ammunition.
This man took up his station in a tree, at a distance
which he considered safe to himself but which
rendered his fire practically harmless. He spent
several days in shooting at the occupants of the
stockade, but little attention was paid to him until
one of his nearly spent bullets hit a woman on the
hip, causing a painful contusion. Then some of the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</SPAN></span>
men tried to dislodge him. They had expended
half a dozen or more charges without effect when
Boone sauntered up to them.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid you’re using up a lot of good powder
and shot needlessly, Aiken,” Boone said to one just
about to aim.</p>
<p>“We’re trying to get the range, Captain,” replied
the man.</p>
<p>“Well, let me see if I can get it for you.”</p>
<p>The head of the negro was presently seen as he
peered out from between two forking branches of
the tree. Boone’s eye ran over the ground in a calculation
of the distance. Then he rested his rifle on
a post and took a long, steady aim. There was a
whip-like crack, and the body of the negro came
hurtling to the ground. Afterwards it was found
with a ball in the skull, the shot having been made at
one hundred and seventy-five yards. The Indians
who buried, or carried away, their own dead, would
not touch the body of the negro.</p>
<p>The siege had continued for five or six days when
Boone, from his lookout in the upper story of a
blockhouse, noticed one morning that the water below
the fort was muddy whilst that above ran clear
as usual. The bank was high and nothing could<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</SPAN></span>
be seen to account for the strange condition. Boone
watched for several hours, during which time the
phenomenon continued, and came to the conclusion
that the Indians, directed by their white allies, were
endeavoring to enter the fort by mining.</p>
<p>Having calculated with sufficient precision the
direction of the tunnel under construction by the
besiegers, Boone began counter-operations. He set
men to work digging an underground passage from
within the stockade. The earth that was excavated,
he ordered to be thrown over the palisade as an intimation
to the attackers of what he was about. This
had the desired effect. The Indians realized that
they were baulked, and on the following day abandoned
their project.</p>
<p>On the twentieth day of August the discomfited
chiefs, Blackfish and De Quindre, withdrew their
forces and took the route to the Indian country.
They left with a very wholesome opinion of the
prowess of the backwoodsmen, and of the people of
Boonesborough in particular. In fact, that place
was never again directly attacked by the Indians,
who seemed to accept the idea that it was impregnable.</p>
<p>The settlers were now justified in the belief that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</SPAN></span>
they would be left in peace for some months at least.
Small bodies of marauding redskins might molest
isolated individuals and families, but after such a
crushing defeat as they had experienced the chiefs
would not be willing to plant the war-post again
for some time. Gladly the backwoodsmen, who detested
confinement, went out to their clearings.
There they found things in a sorry state. The Indians
had burned the cabins, killed the cattle, and
destroyed the growing crops. But these incidents
the hardy frontiersmen accepted as part of the necessary
conditions of their adventurous lives, and they
set cheerfully about repairing the damage.</p>
<p>Shortly after the siege the trial by court-martial,
from which Boone emerged so triumphantly, took
place. At its conclusion he set out alone upon the
long journey to the Yadkin, with a view to bringing
his family back to Kentucky. We may imagine the
joy of the wife and children upon being reunited
to the beloved one whom they had mourned as dead.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XIV" id="XIV">XIV.</SPAN><br/> <small>KENTON’S STORY</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Simon Kenton’s boyhood—His fight for a sweetheart—His
defeat and his victory—Flight into the wilderness—Three
adventures in Kentucky—Attack by the
Indians and the death of Strader—A terrible journey
and a timely rescue—Kenton is captured by the
Indians—He is tortured and made to run the gauntlet—He
is sentenced to be burned at the stake—Girty
saves his old comrade’s life—Kenton is sent to Logan’s
village and befriended by the great chief—Again he
is doomed to death by torture—And finds a new friend
in a British agent—He goes to Detroit a prisoner of
war—Escapes with the aid of a trader’s wife—And
at last finds himself safe in Kentucky.</span></p>
<p class="p2">During Boone’s captivity Hardy had attached
himself to Kenton, and when the former went upon
his journey to North Carolina these two became
inseparable companions. Neither had any work to
do at Boonesborough. Hardy was too young to
take up land and Kenton lacked the desire to do so.
His occupation was scouting. When Indians were
in the country he went out and watched their movements,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</SPAN></span>
warning the settlements of impending attack.
When an expedition into the Indian territory was
contemplated, he went in advance and ascertained
the state of the intervening country and the condition
of the town against which the movement was
directed. He preceded armed bodies on the march
and guarded them against surprise and ambush.
He conducted settlers from one point to another and
performed many other services of a similar nature.
Kenton was one of a number of scouts whose names
are perpetuated in the stories of border adventure.
The vocation demanded qualities of the highest
order. In order to follow it with success, a man
needed to be fearless, vigorous, a good shot, a master
of woodcraft; to be familiar with the country over
which his operations extended, and to have a thorough
knowledge of the Indian character and customs.
The scouts were regularly attached to the
military establishment, received pay from the authorities,
and were amenable to their orders. The
militia officers frequently took counsel with them
and sometimes entrusted to them important details
in the arrangement of an expedition. The calling
of scout was a highly responsible and honorable one.</p>
<p>After the Indians retired from Boonesborough<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</SPAN></span>
Kenton trailed them back to their own country, and
returned to report that they had dispersed to their
several villages and would probably not be heard
from again until after the winter. When Boone
went away Kenton and Hardy started upon a long
hunt and scout in the country lying south of the
Ohio. Now and again they crossed the river and
made short excursions into the region inhabited
by the redskins. November was drawing to a close
when they reappeared at Boonesborough.</p>
<p>The two friends took up their abode in Boone’s
cabin for the winter. In the long nights, when the
wind whistled around the walls and the wolves
howled in the neighboring forest, they sat for hours
before the great log fire and exchanged experiences.
The scout was glad to learn what Hardy could tell
of life in England, and in turn told the story of his
adventures. It was a wonderful tale, considering
that Kenton was but twenty-three years of age in
this year 1778. It was related piecemeal and at
many sittings, so that we must be content with a
brief <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">résumé</i> of it.</p>
<p>Simon Kenton was a born backwoodsman. He
first saw the light of day in a little cabin on the
borders of Virginia. His boyhood was that common<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</SPAN></span>
to frontier children—a little schooling, a good
deal of hard work, and a fair admixture of adventure.
When only sixteen years old he was attracted
by the charms of a young girl in the settlement.
This aroused the resentment of a youth several years
older than Kenton, who imagined that he had engaged
the affections of the backwoods maiden, although
she would not admit as much. As Kenton
declined to abandon his suit, the rivals determined
to settle the matter by one of the fist fights that were
not uncommon incidents of border life.</p>
<p>The encounter took place in the presence of the
assembled settlers, as was usual. Kenton made a
plucky stand, but in the end was beaten by the man,
who had immeasurably the advantage of him in
physical development. He accepted his defeat
cheerfully but a year later, when he had grown into
a muscular giant of six feet, he challenged his former
antagonist to try conclusions once more. The
other was a powerful man and readily accepted the
cartel.</p>
<p>These backwoods fights were often terrible
affairs. Everything short of the use of weapons
was permissible, and the participants were frequently
seriously injured. In this instance, the former victor<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</SPAN></span>
was fired by intense hatred for Kenton, who
was determined on this occasion to win. The conflict
which ensued was terrifically fierce. At first
the younger man got the worst of it and was severely
hurt, but his courage continued unabated. He renewed
the struggle, and in the end so beat his
antagonist that he lay unconscious.</p>
<p>Kenton looked down at the prostrate form in horror,
fully believing it to be that of a dead man.
Then he turned and fled with all the speed possible,
stopping only to snatch up his rifle and ammunition
from the stump upon which they lay. So convinced
was he that the sheriff with a posse would shortly
be in pursuit of him that he continued his flight with
little cessation for two days.</p>
<p>On the third day Kenton, still apprehensive and
downcast, was traversing the forest in an unsettled
part of the country when his eye was suddenly gladdened
by the sight of a man upon the trail ahead of
him. The stranger proved to be a wanderer named
Johnson, as homeless and as careless of his destination
as was Kenton. Each man was glad of the
prospect of company and after a brief comparison
of notes they agreed to become partners, as they
say in the West.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>These two travelled in company for some weeks
and until they reached a settlement on the Monongahela,
where Kenton decided to stop. This decision
was prompted by learning that two young men at
the place, named Strader and Yager, contemplated
a journey into Kentucky and were willing that he
should join them. The three set out shortly afterwards
and for a year or more they lived in the
wilderness, hunting and trapping, and selling their
peltries to traders at Fort Pitt.</p>
<p>They had not been troubled by Indians, and had
come to consider themselves safe from their attacks.
Of this belief, however, they were rudely disabused
one evening in March, 1773. As they sat in their
“open-face” cabin, utterly unmindful of danger, a
volley was suddenly fired at them from the surrounding
thicket. Strader, who was the most exposed,
instantly fell dead, riddled with bullets. The other
two leaped to their feet and dashed into the neighboring
cover without even taking time to pick up
their rifles.</p>
<p>The dusk and heavy undergrowth aided their
escape and they were soon beyond the reach of their
pursuers. But, though the immediate prospect of
death had been averted, these men found themselves<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</SPAN></span>
in the most perilous situation. The onslaught had
happened at a time when their belts and weapons
were laid aside. They had now nothing with which
to defend themselves against the possible attacks of
Indians or wild beasts. They lacked provisions and
blankets, and had not even a tinder-box with which
to make a fire.</p>
<p>They did not, however, abandon themselves to
despair, but struck out in the direction of the Ohio,
hoping to reach a settlement before their strength
should give out. For days they subsisted upon roots
and the bark of trees, and at night huddled together
in the brush with shaking limbs, for the weather
was unusually cold. Gradually weakness stole upon
them and on the third day both were seized with
violent cramps and nausea, probably in consequence
of having swallowed some poisonous substance.
Before the close of the fourth day they fell exhausted
to the ground and for the first time despaired
of going farther, but with the dawn of the
morrow their strength and spirits were sufficiently
revived to enable them to make another effort.
With slow and trembling steps they painfully pursued
the way and in a few hours’ time came upon a
party of traders.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>This experience decided Yager to return to civilization,
but Kenton, as soon as he had recovered
his strength and had secured a rifle and ammunition,
bade the party farewell and plunged again into
the recesses of the wilderness. The next year he
spent, for the most part alone, hunting and exploring
the country. In the spring, Dunmore’s War
broke out and Kenton performed valuable services
as a scout, this being his first employment in that
capacity. It was during this campaign that he became
acquainted with Simon Girty, the notorious
renegade, and rendered him a signal service. Girty
professed the greatest friendship for Kenton and
his after conduct proved the sincerity of his declaration.</p>
<p>Upon his return from a reconnoissance in the
Indian country, Kenton, when about to cross the
Ohio into Kentucky, was captured by a band that
had suffered recent defeat by the whites and was
consequently in a ferocious mood. Their temper
was not improved by the severe injuries that the
scout inflicted on some of their number before he
could be subdued. Few men on the frontier could
command the cool common-sense that unfailingly
characterized Boone in a critical situation. He<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</SPAN></span>
would fight against the heaviest odds whilst any
hope of success existed, but once convinced of the
futility of resistance, he avoided creating unnecessary
rancor by continuing it. Kenton on this occasion
fought like a catamount and so aroused the
resentment of his assailants that when they had disarmed
him they continued to lay on their clubs and
tomahawks until he lapsed into unconsciousness.</p>
<p>When the scout came to his senses, he found himself
“spread-eagled,” face downwards upon the
earth. His arms and legs had been extended and
pegged down so that the body lay in the form of a
Maltese cross. The position did not permit of any
movement save that of slightly raising the head.
As time wore on the body became filled with excruciating
pains and Kenton passed the night in intense
suffering. He did not doubt that he was reserved
for worse tortures. Otherwise the Indians would
have vented their anger by killing him.</p>
<p>In the morning the party took up the march after
strapping Kenton along the bare back of an unbroken
horse. All day his limbs were racked by
the fresh pains of this cruel mode of progression,
and at night he was crucified as before. This
march, with its unceasingly attendant agonies, continued<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</SPAN></span>
for three days and nights. On the fourth
the Indians arrived at the village of Chillicothe. By
this time Kenton would have welcomed death, but he
was to endure much more.</p>
<p>After his captors had refreshed themselves with
food and rest, the entire population of the place
assembled in the great square and Kenton was led
forth to afford amusement for them. After he had
been subjected to the jibes and floutings of the children
and squaws, he was bound to a post and flogged
upon the bare back with switches until the blood
flowed copiously. Meanwhile the redskins danced
around him, howling with demoniac delight. But
they tired of this pastime when it was found impossible
to extract a cry of pain from the victim.</p>
<p>Kenton was now led to the stake, stripped of his
clothing and bound with hands extended above his
head. Faggots were heaped about his feet and all
the preparations completed for burning him. At
this juncture the Indians seemed to waver in their
purpose. The chief men withdrew, leaving the
scout to the spiteful persecution of the villagers,
who found a fiendish pleasure in pulling his hair,
pricking him with knives, and beating him with
sticks and clubs. This continued until nightfall,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</SPAN></span>
when Kenton was released from his bonds and removed
under a strong guard to one of the wigwams.</p>
<p>The next morning he realized why he had been
spared from the flames on the previous day. The
chiefs had declared that it would be a pity to dispose
finally of so strong a man until he had been subjected
to all the torture he was capable of enduring.
He was now condemned to “run the gantlet,” and
when he emerged from the cabin in which he had
passed the night he saw the painted warriors assembled
and ready to perform their part in the affair.</p>
<p>Across the square two lines of braves were drawn
up, facing inwards, with a space of about six feet
between them. Each was furnished with a club,
tomahawk, or leathern thong. Kenton was required
to traverse this lane of inhuman wretches whilst they
rained blows upon him in passing. This cruel
pastime of the Indians was not designed to kill the
victim, but many a man sank dead before going
through the ordeal and none completed it without
receiving the most severe injuries.</p>
<p>Kenton was a swift runner but as he looked down
that double row of waiting warriors, more than one
hundred yards in length, he determined not to attempt
its entire passage. When he started at the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</SPAN></span>
utmost speed he could command, it was with eyes
alert for a gap in the line through which he might
make his escape. The opportunity offered when
he had covered about half the distance. Dashing
through the opening, he dodged the Indians who
attempted to intercept him and took refuge in the
council-house. Of course he was soon once more
in the clutches of his tormentors but they did not
force him to run the gantlet again. Instead, a
council was held to determine his fate. After considerable
discussion it was decided that he should
be taken to a town named Waughcotomoco and
there burned.</p>
<p>Whilst preparations were in progress for the
death of Kenton, Simon Girty, the renegade white
man, came into Waughcotomoco with a settler’s wife
and her children, whom he had captured. Curious
to see the prisoner under sentence to be burned at
the stake, he went to the wigwam where Kenton was
confined. Great was the surprise of Girty to find his
old companion and benefactor. Since they had last
seen each other, Girty had forsworn his race, and
his name had become execrated along the border as
that of an unnatural creature devoid of pity and
destitute of principle.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Girty’s conduct on this occasion proved that he
was not utterly abandoned, but it is the sole redeeming
feature of his life as we know it. With
the utmost difficulty, he induced the chiefs to defer
their purpose, and for three weeks Kenton was left
unmolested. At the end of that time he was sent to
the village of the great chief Logan, who despite the
wrongs he had suffered at the hands of the whites,
befriended the scout and treated him as kindly as
possible.</p>
<p>Even Logan’s influence did not, however, seem
sufficient to save Kenton from the doom with which
the Indians appeared to be determined to visit him.
After a short while he was sent under escort to
Sandusky, which place had been selected as the
scene of his death by torture. Here, when the
sturdy scout had abandoned hope, a British agent
named Drewyer contrived his removal to Detroit.</p>
<p>At Detroit Kenton was held as a prisoner of war
and well treated. He was required to work, but received
half wages, the other half being applied to
the cost of his keep. Some months were passed
under these conditions, when Kenton and another
Kentuckian contrived to escape with the aid of the
wife of a trader. This woman secured and secreted<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</SPAN></span>
on the outskirts of the town two rifles and a supply
of ammunition. At a favorable opportunity the
prisoners stole out of the fort, possessed themselves
of the weapons and, after a month of travel through
the wilderness, found themselves at last among
friends in Kentucky.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XV" id="XV">XV.</SPAN><br/> <small>THE YOUNG SCOUT</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">The whites suffer great reverses at the hands of the
Indians—Kenton and Hardy go on a scout to old
Chillicothe—The surprise and the flight—Kenton’s
wonderful leap and escape—Hardy falls into the
hands of the savages—The midnight visitor to the
camp—Hardy fears a snake and finds a friend—The
escape to the river—“I reckon we’ve shaken your
last night’s friends”—The journey through the Indian
country—Hardy has some new experiences and is
initiated to the calling of the scout—The companions
encounter dangers and feel hunger—Kenton continues
the education that Boone began—At last they come
in sight of Chillicothe.</span></p>
<p class="p2">During the year 1779 the settlements of Kentucky
were free from attack by large bodies of Indians
but several fierce fights took place between
the whites and their implacable foes. One of these
occurred early in the spring and resulted in a fearful
loss to the Kentuckians.</p>
<p>Colonel Rogers, who had been down to New
Orleans for supplies, returned by boat up the Mississippi<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</SPAN></span>
and Ohio with a company of about eighty
men. When they had reached the point where Cincinnati
now stands their scouts reported a large party
of Indians to be issuing in canoes from the mouth
of the Little Miami, with the evident intention of
invading Kentucky. Rogers determined to attack
the Indians and with that view landed and marched
his men towards the place where he judged that the
canoes would make the shore.</p>
<p>Perhaps the discovery made by the scouts diverted
them from a proper reconnoissance of the country
along the Kentucky side of the river. At any rate,
a large body of Indians that had already crossed remained
undiscovered. When the men under Colonel
Rogers had taken up their position on the bank, these
suddenly assaulted them in the rear. At the same
time the warriors in the canoes pushed forward to
the attack.</p>
<p>The whites were completely caught in a trap and
overwhelmingly outnumbered. The situation was
palpably a hopeless one. It was a case in which
every man sought his own safety without regard to
the others. A few—less than one-fourth of the
entire number—contrived to escape along the river
bank before retreat was completely cut off. These<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</SPAN></span>
regained the boats and made off down stream with
all possible speed. The remainder fought desperately
but were ultimately overcome by sheer
weight of numbers.</p>
<p>Upwards of sixty men were lost in this encounter,
which was the greatest disaster that ever befell the
Kentucky settlers, with the exception of the battle
of the Blue Licks, which will be described in due
course.</p>
<p>The Kentuckians, stirred by a thirst for revenge,
determined upon a formidable expedition into the
Indian country. Whilst this movement was in
course of preparation Kenton was instructed to
make a scout through Kentucky and across the
Ohio as far as the town of Chillicothe, which was
the contemplated point of attack.</p>
<p>Kenton took Hardy with him and the two set
out early in the month of June, burdened with nothing
more than their rifles and a plentiful supply of
ammunition. They did not follow the direct route
but zigzagged east and west of it, so as to cover a
wide range of territory, the object being to ascertain
if any large parties of Indians were on the move.
They came to within a day’s march of the Ohio without
having seen any sign of a war-party, though they<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</SPAN></span>
had come upon many traces of small bands and had
caught glimpses of them now and again. In response
to their inclinations, as well as with regard
to the demands of the task in which they were engaged,
they avoided unnecessary encounters. Kenton,
like Boone, never fought without provocation,
and Hardy had learned his lesson from both.</p>
<p>About seven days after leaving Boonesborough,
the scouts—for Kenton treated Hardy as a full-fledged
member of the brotherhood—camped within
sight of the Ohio. They had eaten a venison steak
and were sitting in the gloaming beside the dying
embers of their fire. Suddenly Kenton sprang up,
crying:</p>
<p>“Injuns, Hardy! Scoot!”</p>
<p>Each seized his rifle and they dashed into the
thicket, side by side, as a number of rifles were discharged
at them. The Indians were instantly at
their heels. Hardy was a fast runner but Kenton
could have easily outstripped him. However, the
tall, lithe scout kept beside his young companion
and with a light touch of the hand upon his back
helped him onward. They turned on to a sloping
stretch of a few hundred yards and raced down it
for dear life. At the bottom Kenton glanced over<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</SPAN></span>
his shoulder and saw that two of the pursuers were
gaining rapidly and must soon overtake them, whilst
six or seven more were close behind. He stopped,
wheeled round, and fired. The nearest warrior fell
and the other slackened his pace. Kenton exchanged
rifles with Hardy and they resumed their
flight.</p>
<p>Kenton realized at the outset that they were being
pursued by a number of active young braves, and he
felt that it was only a matter of time when they
would be overtaken. Alone, he could have distanced
the Indians, but Hardy’s best pace was fatally
unequal to the task. Once more Kenton stopped
the leader in the pursuit when he was within twenty
yards of them. Then the others, realizing that the
white men were practically unarmed, set up a yell
of exultation and redoubled their efforts.</p>
<p>Slowly but surely the Indians gained. At length
four of them were within a hundred feet of the fleeing
scouts, when Hardy caught his toe in a vine and
fell headlong. Kenton did not check his pace, but
on the contrary increased the speed of his flight.
The nearest Indians, leaving the fallen youth to be
captured by those behind, continued their career
after Kenton. The scout began to draw away and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</SPAN></span>
had put nearly one hundred yards between him and
the redskins when he suddenly found himself obstructed
by a narrow ravine. Running his eye along
the opening he discerned a place about two hundred
yards to the left, where the rocky sides appeared
to come close together.</p>
<p>Kenton turned his course towards the spot where
he hoped to be able to cross, but the change of direction
gave the pursuers an advantage, and by the
time the scout had approached the brink they were
within a few feet of him. Kenton went on without
check of speed and on the edge of the ravine gathered
himself together, made a mighty effort, and
sprang into the air. He landed safely on the other
side.</p>
<p>The Indians stopped short. The leap was at least
twenty feet, and none of them dared attempt it.
They proceeded hastily to reload their guns, but
before one of them was ready to fire Kenton had run
on beyond range and they turned back to their companions.
The scout, safe from pursuit, stretched
himself at full length upon the ground and lit his
pipe.</p>
<p>Hardy had been momentarily stunned by his fall.
As he struggled to his feet he saw Kenton’s form in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</SPAN></span>
mid-air, as the scout took his sensational leap. The
next instant Hardy was felled to the ground by a
rap on the head with a tomahawk.</p>
<p>The Indians immediately crossed the river with
their captive and camped for the night on the other
side. Hardy was fast bound, hand and foot, with
buffalo thongs, and stretched in the circle which the
warriors formed round the fire. Fortunately, he
had eaten his evening meal, for the redskins did
not offer him a scrap of theirs. They ate their fill,
smoked their pipes, and then lay down to sleep.</p>
<p>Hardy lay plunged in gloomy thoughts. He had
never before been in the hands of the Indians, and
it is no discredit to him that he was filled with fearful
apprehensions. That he had not been killed
he accepted, with reason, as an indication that his
captors were reserving him for the torture. He
thought with a shudder of the terrible stories of
Kenton’s experience, which the scout had related in
the long evenings of the previous winter.</p>
<p>Hardy felt somewhat aggrieved that Kenton had
abandoned him so readily. He was forced to confess
to himself that had his friend stopped to assist
him in all probability they would both have been captured.
Still Hardy could not divest his mind of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</SPAN></span>
the idea that there was something savoring of desertion
in Kenton’s flight whilst his companion lay
helpless upon the ground. Somehow, the passage
of the river seemed to Hardy to cut him off from
hope of help and he lay for hours oppressed by
forebodings.</p>
<p>The Indians were sunk in the slumber of assured
security and it was past midnight when Hardy became
conscious that something was stirring near
him. The movement was so slight and noiseless
that he supposed it to be occasioned by some insect
or reptile. Snakes were numerous in the forest and
occasionally caused death. Hardy determined to
investigate.</p>
<p>This thing, whatever it was, seemed to be just
behind his head. Slowly and cautiously Hardy
turned over upon his stomach and raised his head.
The fire had been allowed to burn low, but it still
emitted a faint light. Hardy dimly discerned the
form of some large creature within arm’s length
of him. In a few moments it took the shape of a
man. Like a flash the truth broke upon him. It
was Kenton.</p>
<p>Hardy lay still as a statue, realizing that his safety
depended upon leaving himself entirely in the hands<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</SPAN></span>
of his friend. Satisfied that the captive’s movement
had not disturbed the sleepers, Kenton resumed
his wriggling progress, advancing silently
and by inches. After what seemed to the eager
prisoner to have been an hour, Kenton was stretched
alongside of him. He felt the relaxation of the
thongs about his legs and knew that they had been
cut, though so subtle was the touch of the keen knife
that he neither heard nor felt the bonds sever. Next
the arms were freed, and Kenton whispered in his
ear:</p>
<p>“Get away easy, on your belly. Take your time.
I’ll get a rifle for you and join you in a few
moments.”</p>
<p>Hardy stealthily crawled away from the camp
until he had gained a distance of about fifty feet,
and then he rose and awaited Kenton. The scout
soon rejoined him carrying the arms and ammunition
of one of the savages. His own rifle had been
left near by, and after regaining it they set out for
the river.</p>
<p>The scouts had no difficulty in reaching the bank
of the stream, but some hours were consumed in the
search for the two canoes in which Hardy’s recent
friends had crossed. At length they were found,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</SPAN></span>
and the fugitives embarked in one, cutting the other
loose and turning it into the current. The first
signs of dawn were appearing in the sky when
Kenton took up the paddles and began leisurely to
propel the craft upstream.</p>
<p>For half an hour or so the friends sat in silence,
each occupied with his thoughts. Kenton was turning
over in his mind a plan of future action.
Hardy, since the daring rescue by Kenton, had been
troubled with qualms of conscience. He felt
ashamed at the doubts he had entertained of his
friend’s loyalty. He longed to ease his mind, but
hardly knew how to go about it. At length he said:</p>
<p>“I am afraid that I did you an injustice last
night, Kenton. You see, when you ran off, leaving
me lying upon the ground, I thought that you might—that
is, it seemed to me——”</p>
<p>“I see,” said Kenton, with a laugh. “You
thought I had given you the long leg, eh? I don’t
wonder. I’d have stayed by you, Hardy, if it could
have done any good. But if I had, we’d both be
going to a hair-raising party now.”</p>
<p>“I understand,” replied Hardy, “and I understood
then. I only want you to forgive me for
having had the least doubt about it.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“That’s all right, young ’un!” cried Kenton
heartily, extending his hand. “Say no more about
it. I think we might make shore here.”</p>
<p>To Hardy’s surprise, Kenton shot the canoe into
the north bank, that is, the one from which they
had embarked. Noting the puzzled expression on
his companion’s face, Kenton said:</p>
<p>“Why, you haven’t forgotten that we are bound
for Chillicothe, have you, Hardy? I reckon we’ve
shaken your last night’s friends and now we’ll go
about our own business. But we must hide the
canoe where we are likely to find it when we come
back. I swam over this morning, but we may be
in a greater hurry than I was when we cross going
home.”</p>
<p>They found what appeared to be a safe hiding
place for the canoe and carefully marked the spot.
Then they turned their faces towards old Chillicothe,
which lay somewhat more than two days’
journey to the north. They were now not only in
the Indian country during the season of greatest
travel, but passing through a section of it that was
cut up by trails running in every direction. It behooved
them, therefore, to proceed with the utmost
caution. They dared not light a fire, and were<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</SPAN></span>
forced to subsist upon some water-soaked parched
corn which Kenton had in his wallet and the edible
berries that they occasionally found in the forest.</p>
<p>Hardy realized that these hardships and experiences
were the best possible training for him. He
cheerfully accepted the situation and positively refused
to accept the larger portions of their scanty
fare that Kenton pressed upon him. They had
many a playful dispute on the subject, Hardy contending
that Kenton was the bigger and therefore
needed the more nourishment, and Kenton maintaining
that his stomach was the better trained and
consequently the better able to get along on short
rations. Sometimes, when they were both hungry
as wolves, they would engage in one of these arguments
for half an hour, whilst the untouched corn
and berries, lay between them.</p>
<p>With two such tutors as Boone and Kenton, it is
hardly necessary to say that a bright and eager lad
such as Hardy Goodfellow was, had by this time
developed into a really creditable woodsman. Kenton’s
method was much the same as Boone’s had
been in the dear old hunting days in Clinch Valley.
He let Hardy understand that he was depending<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</SPAN></span>
upon him and only interfered to point out some
serious oversight or failure on the part of his pupil.</p>
<p>In this journey to Chillicothe they constantly
encountered signs of Indians. Kenton required
Hardy to decide how long a time had elapsed since
the party passed, how many persons there were in
it, their sexes and physical condition, whether or not
they had carried burdens, the speed at which they
had been going, and a score of other deductions.
Hardy was very often at fault, but seldom a second
time on the same point.</p>
<p>Before noon of the third day they arrived within
sight of Chillicothe, and lay hidden in the undergrowth
to await the shades of evening.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XVI" id="XVI">XVI.</SPAN><br/> <small>THE WHITE SQUAW</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Kenton makes a reconnoissance from a tree-top—He
stalks a young brave and captures him—The Indian
guides the scouts to Micmacto—Where they watch
the dances and sports from a point of vantage—The
discovery and the alarm—“I am a white woman! For
God’s sake take me with you!”—Three against hundreds—The
attackers cannot pass the “dead line”—The
white squaw proves her marksmanship—The
escape over the precipice by night—The boldest course
proves to be the wisest—A three days’ race through
the forest—The Ohio is passed in safety—Boonesborough
again.</span></p>
<p class="p2">As the sun sank below the horizon, the scouts
began cautiously approaching the town. They
made a détour of a mile or so, in order to get to
windward and avoid discovery by the Indian dogs.
A thick grove of trees on the edge of the woods,
and less than a hundred yards from the village, was
the point at which Kenton aimed. They reached it
without mishap, and selecting a large oak clambered
into its lower branches. From this elevation, which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</SPAN></span>
was increased by the lay of the ground, the spies
commanded a good view of the square and surrounding
buildings of Chillicothe.</p>
<p>Hardy was very eager to see the town so closely
associated with the adventures of his two heroes.
Here was the place in which Boone had been held
prisoner for several weeks, and whence he had made
his wonderful journey to Boonesborough in less
than five days. It was here that Kenton had run
the gauntlet, and there upon a mound stood the
council-house into which he had fled. Here, too, in
all probability, Hardy himself would now have
been a prisoner, suffering torture and perhaps bound
to the stake, but for his rescue by Kenton a few
nights previous.</p>
<p>To Kenton the condition of the village was an
open book. He could tell from the character of the
crowd about the square, from the state of the wigwams,
from the number of the fires and the extent
of the cooking, and from a hundred details which
would have seemed trivial to the ordinary observer,
whether the town contained its usual population or
any considerable number of warriors were absent.
A short scrutiny satisfied him that a large proportion
of the men were absent, as he had expected to find<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</SPAN></span>
them at this time of the year, and that nothing out
of the ordinary was on foot.</p>
<p>There did not seem to be anything further to be
learned from their post of observation, and Kenton
was preparing to descend when they observed a
young brave leaving the village and sauntering in
their direction. The scouts crouched, still and
watchful, in their leafy hiding place, whilst the Indian
passed almost under their tree and continued
his stroll into the forest. Kenton, whispering to
Hardy to follow after an interval of a few minutes,
slipped noiselessly to the earth and followed the
redskin.</p>
<p>Hardy allowed five minutes to elapse before he
started after his companion. He had hardly reached
the ground when he heard a rustling which he
rightly inferred to be the sound of a struggle. He
hurried forward and in a few minutes came upon
Kenton, calmly sitting upon his captive, whose
mouth was stopped with the scout’s fur cap. Hardy
quickly tied the Indian’s arms to his side and loosely
hobbled his feet. He was then hurried forward,
after being made to understand that at the first outcry,
or attempt to escape, he would be shot dead.</p>
<p>The party went on for six or seven miles, during<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</SPAN></span>
which Kenton used his best endeavors to confuse the
trail. They had struck away from the beaten paths
and were in an unfrequented locality when they
came upon a small stream in the midst of woods.
Here Kenton decided to camp. He had noticed
the spoor of deer upon the bank and proposed to
get one of the animals at a later hour of the night
when they should come down to drink in the moonlight.
He and Hardy were beginning to feel the
need of substantial food, and would require a supply
for future use. He might discharge his gun and
light a fire with less risk at a late hour and, moreover,
it was not at all likely that any Indians would
be encamped so close to the town.</p>
<p>Having selected a resting place about half a mile
from the rivulet, where he left Hardy to guard the
prisoner, Kenton went down to the bank and lay
in waiting for the deer. The moon had not been
risen more than half an hour when Hardy heard
the crack of a rifle and shortly afterwards the tall
figure of Kenton appeared bending under the burden
of a large buck. The animal was soon skinned and
some choice portions were broiled. The scouts ate
heartily and gave their captive all that he desired.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</SPAN></span>
Before lying down to sleep, they set some steaks to
smoke. These were for future provision.</p>
<p>But before seeking repose Kenton pursued the
object with which he had captured the Indian. He
gave the redskin to understand that his future treatment
depended upon the truth with which he should
answer the questions that would be put to him. He
then demanded to know the whereabouts of the warriors
of Chillicothe, and what designs they entertained
against the settlers. The prisoner replied,
with apparent frankness, that the chief men of his
town were at Micmacto, where a general council of
the Shawnees was in progress. The purpose of the
meeting was to consider the advisability of a concerted
attack upon the Kentucky settlements.</p>
<p>Kenton instantly realized the importance of learning,
if possible, the outcome of this council. He
determined to go on to Micmacto, which the captive
declared was about sixteen miles to the north of
Chillicothe, or less than a good day’s march from
the camp.</p>
<p>Under the guidance of the young brave, who appeared
to be quite tractable, the scouts set out at
daybreak and before sunset reached their destination.
Leaving Hardy and the prisoner under cover<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</SPAN></span>
at a distance of a mile or more, Kenton went forward
to reconnoitre the place. As at Chillicothe,
from the vantage point of a tree on the outskirts
of the village, he secured a good survey.</p>
<p>Micmacto was built in much the same form as
Chillicothe. It was not so large a town as the
latter, but a number of abandoned cabins indicated
that it had once contained a larger population than
at present. The village lay in an open plain, upon
the bank of a small river. On the north side of the
place stood a group of high, pointed rocks, which
quickly attracted the eye of the observant scout.
These needle-like projections rose abruptly out of
the plain, and from the summit of one in particular
it was evident that a clear view of the town and the
adjoining plain could be had. Kenton decided that
no better post of observation could be wished.</p>
<p>Kenton having rejoined Hardy and the prisoner,
the party circled round the town and reached the
rocky eminence upon which it was proposed to take
up their station. It was found that whilst three
sides of this elevation were precipitous, the summit
might be easily gained by a sloping approach on the
north. The top proved to be a flat space, less than
an acre in extent, and six or seven hundred feet<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</SPAN></span>
above the level of the plain. It was broken by
crevices and strewn with bowlders, making it an
ideal hiding place.</p>
<p>The shades of night were closing over the scene
when the scouts turned their gaze upon the village
lying at their feet. The square was filled with
dusky figures evidently agitated by some unusual
occurrence. The shrill gabble of the squaws and
the barking of dogs reached the ears of the watchers
with startling distinctness. In front of the wigwams
burned domestic fires, throwing a fitful light
upon the scene.</p>
<p>Presently a huge fire was ignited in the centre
of the square and at the same time the women and
children retired to the line of buildings. Now a
score of painted and befeathered warriors advanced
to the blaze in single file and formed a circle round
it. They began to move slowly to the time of a low,
solemn chant. Gradually their pace quickened as
their voices rose in faster measure. Louder and
louder grew the song. They brandished their
weapons and broke into the wildest antics. Meanwhile
the spectators shouted applause and beat with
clubs upon the walls of the cabins, whilst the dogs
added their long-drawn howls to the din.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>At the end of perhaps half an hour a fresh party
of braves relieved the first performers, who retired
exhausted. In due course a third relay took up the
dance, and so it was continued far into the night,
finishing in a wild disorderly reel, in which many of
the younger women took part.</p>
<p>“Well, at any rate it isn’t the war dance,” remarked
Kenton, as they composed themselves to
sleep. “But when they get to cutting up those
capers, it isn’t long before they work themselves
into a crazy fit and paint the war-post. I’m afraid
there’s trouble brewing.”</p>
<p>The next day was spent by the people of Micmacto
and their guests in the usual Indian sports.
There were pony races upon the plain. There were
shooting matches, and a sham attack upon the village.
Several parties of young braves contested
in the game from which we get lacrosse. Dances
again enlivened the early hours of the night, preceded
by feasting.</p>
<p>Kenton was anxious to remain until the council
should reach a decision and break up. Their conclusion
would, he knew, be easily inferable from the
character of the closing festivities. By husbanding
their jerked venison, the scouts and their prisoner<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</SPAN></span>
could contrive to subsist for two more days, but an
immediate supply of water was needed. As a matter
of fact, it should have been secured the night before,
but so intent had they been upon watching the
Indians that the canteens had been allowed to run
dry unnoticed.</p>
<p>As the entire population of Micmacto appeared
to be engrossed in the pastimes taking place at the
village, Kenton thought that he could succeed in
reaching the river and returning without detection
in daylight. Accordingly he started for the stream,
taking advantage of all the cover available on the
way. He arrived at the bank without mishap and
was in the act of filling the canteens when a piercing
shriek broke upon his ears. He looked up to see
two squaws a short distance from him. One, still
screaming, dived into the bushes and disappeared.
The other ran towards Kenton and to his amazement
addressed him in English:</p>
<p>“I am a white woman,” she cried, holding up her
hands pleadingly. “For the love of God, take me
with you.”</p>
<p>“Come along,” replied Kenton. “Don’t talk!
You can tell me about it afterwards.”</p>
<p>The white squaw was young and active. She<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</SPAN></span>
bounded along beside the fair-haired giant, declining
his proffered aid. In a few minutes they had
gained the post upon the rocky summit where
Hardy, who had witnessed the incident, anxiously
awaited them. It was at once made evident that
the woman was not going to be an encumbrance.
She cast a surprised glance at the bound Indian but
did not waste time with enquiry about him.</p>
<p>“Will you let me have his rifle?” she asked. “I
can make good use of it.”</p>
<p>When the weapon was handed to her she loaded it
deftly, examined the flint, and then turned her gaze
with the others towards the village. A party of
warriors was already on the way to the spot where
the scouts and their new ally awaited them. In
answer to an enquiry by Kenton, the young woman
said that the place where they were could only be
reached by the northern approach. By dropping
about fourteen feet from a nearby spot it was possible
to gain a difficult pathway down to the plain,
but no one could come up by the same route, and she
fancied that few of the townspeople knew of it.</p>
<p>The Indians were soon at the bottom of the slope.
The ascent afforded no cover, and at a place about
midway, and a hundred yards from the top, the path<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</SPAN></span>
was so narrow that not more than two men could
pass along it together. It was the passage of this
restricted place that Kenton determined to contest.
He instructed Hardy and the woman not to fire
until one or more of the attackers should have
reached that point. It was also agreed that they
should shoot in turn so that one, at least, of the rifles
might be always loaded.</p>
<p>Despite the enormous disparity in numbers, the
task of the defence was not such a difficult one as it
might seem. The Indians had a rooted reluctance
to facing rifle fire in the open. They could not see
their adversaries, who were safely ensconced behind
rocks, and had no idea of their numbers. Some
half dozen braves advanced uncertainly up the slope.
They reached the “dead line” set by Kenton.
Crack! Crack! Kenton and Hardy had fired, and
the two foremost dropped in their tracks. The
others checked. Then a third came forward. The
white squaw fired and he fell with a bullet through
his brain.</p>
<p>This was too much for the redskins. Three shots
and three dead! What if there were twenty rifles
behind the rocks waiting to do similar execution?
By this time a hundred or more warriors were assembled<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</SPAN></span>
in a group at the foot of the slope. The distance
was well-nigh two hundred yards, but Kenton
decided to give them a reminder that the white
man’s rifle carried far. He aimed at an Indian
whose headdress marked him as a chief, and fired.
The savage was seen to stagger and fall into the
arms of the men about him.</p>
<p>The Indians now withdrew to a greater distance.
Small parties were detached to make an examination
of the position from different points of view, but
they evidently reported that the summit was accessible
only from the north. As no further attack
was made, the defenders concluded that the chiefs
had decided to besiege them and starve them out,
or else to assault under cover of night. In order to
frustrate the latter design, Kenton, taking advantage
of the cover of the rocks and crawling upon his belly,
contrived to collect a pile of sticks and grass at a spot
not much farther up the slope than his “dead line.”
When darkness set in, he lit this fire, intimating to
the Indians that they had little better chance of
rushing the position than in daylight.</p>
<p>But long before this time Kenton had decided
upon the future course of the little party. The
white squaw had declared her willingness to guide<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</SPAN></span>
them, and the scout readily placed himself in her
hands. There was one brief hour of darkness before
the rising of the moon, and although this increased
the difficulty of descent, it was necessary
that they should avail themselves of it. As soon as
their fire was lit, the white squaw led them to the
place at the edge of the plateau of which she had
spoken, leaving their bound captive upon the summit.
She dropped first, and alighted safely upon the ledge
below. Kenton followed and then helped Hardy
down. The woman leading, they made the slow
descent of the precipitous rock with joined hands.
At length they were upon the plain and at the outskirts
of the village.</p>
<p>All was quiet in Micmacto. The men were at
the camp of the besiegers, where many of the women
had joined them out of curiosity and for the purpose
of cooking the evening meal. Two or three fires
burned before wigwams in the village, but the square
was steeped in darkness. Kenton admired the boldness
and wisdom with which the woman led the way
directly into Micmacto. The move was calculated
to avoid exciting the dogs and it would most effectually
hide their traces. A squaw accosted them
from the doorway of her cabin, but the reply of the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</SPAN></span>
white woman satisfied her and they passed on
through the village without further incident.</p>
<p>Once beyond Micmacto, the party sped away; nor
did they halt before the sun was high in the heavens
next day. The woman, who had been ten years
a captive, during which time she had not seen a
white man until encountering Kenton, was strong
and active. Furthermore, her dread of recapture
lent her unnatural strength and she urged Kenton
to push on without consideration for her.</p>
<p>Kenton knew that they could not hope for more
than six or seven hours’ start, for they had neglected
to gag the Indian prisoner, and when he should find
himself alone at daybreak he would surely shout the
intelligence to the besiegers. The party, therefore,
made all the haste possible.</p>
<p>At the close of the third day they found themselves
upon the bank of the Ohio, and by good fortune
at a spot which they recognized as not far from
the place where the canoe had been hidden. This
was recovered without difficulty, and before midnight
they were in Kentucky. The journey to
Boonesborough was accomplished without mishap,
and the delighted white woman found herself once
more in the company of her own sex and race.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XVII" id="XVII">XVII.</SPAN><br/> <small>A STRING OF DISASTERS</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Colonel Bowman heads an expedition against the Indians—The
attempted surprise of Chillicothe—Somebody
blundered—A bungling retreat—A skirmish in the
forest—Death of Blackfish, the Shawnee chief—General
Clark takes command of the military forces—The
Indians, reinforced by artillery, invade Kentucky—Ruddle’s
and Martin’s Stations are captured—And
their people carried away to the Indian country—Clark
retaliates by attacking the Shawnee villages—Boone
returns with his family—Hardy is permitted to
take up the life of the scout—Squire Boone is slain
by the savages.</span></p>
<p class="p2">Whilst Kenton was unable to report positively
as to the conclusion of the Indian council at Micmacto,
his information, combined with that derived
from the rescued woman, pointed to a strong probability
that the Shawnees meditated a serious onslaught
at an early date. Colonel Bowman, in
charge of the expedition that had been preparing
for some weeks past, determined to start immediately,
in the hope of being able to attack Chillicothe<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</SPAN></span>
before the tribesmen could gather for the invasion
of Kentucky.</p>
<p>On an early day in July, three hundred men
marched for the Indian stronghold. Colonel Bowman
was in chief command and had under him Captains
Harrod and Logan. The force made rapid
progress and, in less than a week’s time after starting,
arrived at Chillicothe without the enemy having
gained any knowledge of their approach. Bowman
halted his men at the distance of about a mile from
the town and arranged a plan of action with his
officers. Logan was instructed to take half the
force and proceed round the town westward, forming
a cordon of investment. Bowman undertook to
perform a similar operation in the opposite direction
and to meet his lieutenant on the other side of the
place. Just before dawn the town was to be
assaulted.</p>
<p>Logan set out shortly after midnight and executed
his orders with admirable precision. An hour before
dawn his men were placed under cover enveloping
one half of the town. Time wore on but failed
to bring Bowman. At length day broke and the
village was soon astir but still no sign of his commander
relieved the anxious Logan. Presently a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</SPAN></span>
dog, straying on the outskirts of the town, scented
one of the men in ambush and set up a persistent
barking. A warrior started for the spot to investigate
the cause of the animal’s excitement. The
concealed backwoodsman fired, in violation of his
instructions, and in an instant confusion reigned,
not only in the village but also in the ranks of the
attackers.</p>
<p>It was now broad daylight and many men who
sprang from their cover on the alarm were plainly
visible to the warriors and revealed to them the fact
that an attack in force was in progress. The
squaws and children went scuttling into the woods
and the men, hastily picking up their arms, ran into
the council-house, which stood on an elevated spot
at one end of the square. The movement was performed
with such unanimity that it was clearly a
prearranged resort for such an emergency.</p>
<p>Logan now advanced his men and took possession
of the deserted cabins upon the west side of the
square. Under the instructions of their leader they
quickly formed the doors and other suitable material
into shields and under cover of them began to advance
upon the Indian stronghold. Most of the
force were in the middle of the square, whilst others<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</SPAN></span>
were creeping up behind the cabins, when Bowman
issued the order to retire. Logan was amazed and
his men were reluctant to obey. However, the commander
repeated the order in such peremptory terms
that there was no questioning it.</p>
<p>The backwoodsmen had little discipline and no
formation. When they retreated each man looked
out for himself, and the movement was always characterized
by disorder and often by unnecessary loss.
In this case the men under Logan were at a distinct
disadvantage. They had advanced into the open to
make an attack, and now there was nothing for it
but to throw down their breastworks and run. This
they did, whilst the Indians rained bullets upon
them. Several lives were lost before the force was
once more united in the forest to the south of the
town.</p>
<p>But this was only the beginning of a disgraceful
rout that strikingly exemplified the manner in which
a body of brave men will go to pieces in the hands
of an incompetent commander. Nearly three hundred
men commenced a retreat in the face of not
more than forty savages. The Indians, under
Blackfish, hung upon the rear and flanks of Bowman’s
party and picked off men at their leisure and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</SPAN></span>
without danger to themselves. At length Bowman
ordered a halt and turned to face the pursuers.</p>
<p>Here was committed another of the series of
blunders. After traversing a stretch of the densest
forest and undergrowth, the party was brought to
a stand just beyond it in comparatively open ground.
The situation gave the assailants even a greater
advantage than they had enjoyed whilst the force
was on the march. A considerable proportion of
the whites could not secure adequate cover, whilst
the redskins kept up their fire without in the least
exposing themselves. Bowman seemed to be incapable
of direction and the men were verging upon
panic. An overwhelming disaster would doubtless
have ensued had not Logan and Harrod, followed
by Kenton, Hardy, and half a dozen others, mounted
the pack-horses and charged through the neighboring
forest in every direction, dislodging the lurking
savages.</p>
<p>The turn of affairs aided the disconcerted whites
to regain their self-possession, and they turned upon
the Indians with something like their wonted energy
and intelligence. As the redskins ran from cover
before the horsemen, many of them were brought
down by the rifles of the backwoodsmen, and when<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</SPAN></span>
one of the bullets found a billet in the heart of
Blackfish, the Shawnees fled from the field of the
action.</p>
<p>It is impossible to explain the bungling conduct
of the commander of this expedition. Attempts
have been made, with indifferent success, to exculpate
Bowman. He was a man of proved courage,
had a good military record and had served with
credit under Clark in the Illinois campaign, but he
returned to Kentucky on this occasion with a shattered
reputation.</p>
<p>Bowman’s feeble incursion to the Indian country
was not calculated to have the effect for which it
was designed. The death of Blackfish, however,
induced the Indians to postpone the expedition into
Kentucky that had been contemplated. But they
were eager for revenge and sought the aid of the
British in an attack upon the settlements, which was
timed to take place in the following spring. The
authorities at Detroit were smarting under a sense
of humiliation occasioned by Clark’s success at Vincennes,
and they readily fell in with the proposition
of the Shawnees. Arrangements were made for the
despatch of a joint force against the hated Kentuckians.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>In the year 1779, numbers of bona fide settlers
came into Kentucky and some thirty time-expired
men, who had been with Clark in Illinois, returned.
The newcomers scattered over a wide area, many
stations being planted south and west of the Kentucky
River from Boonesborough to Louisville, and
upon the forks of the Licking. Early in the year
Lexington was provided with a blockhouse and
“three rows of cabins.” A few months later
Bryan’s Station was established at a point about five
miles northeast of Lexington. Kentucky was thus
in a much better condition to defend itself than it
had been the year before, as might be inferred from
the fact of Bowman being able to muster three hundred
riflemen for a raid, whereas Boone could gather
but seventy to repel the attack upon Boonesborough.</p>
<p>Shortly after this time, Kentucky was divided into
three counties. General Clark was in command of
the entire territory. He had the rank of brigadier-general
and held his headquarters at Fort Nelson,
where the city of Louisville now stands. John
Todd was the colonel commanding in Lincoln
County, which contained Boonesborough, with
Daniel Boone as lieutenant-colonel.</p>
<p>These changes had not, however, taken place in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</SPAN></span>
the spring of 1778; otherwise it is more than probable
that a greater state of preparedness against
attack would have existed. Boone had not yet returned.
Bowman was still in command of the
militia, and the settlers seem to have entertained
no apprehensions of reprisals on the part of the
Indians. The awakening was rude and sudden and
the escape from dire disaster entirely a matter of
good fortune.</p>
<p>In May, six hundred Indians assembled at Detroit
preparatory to the expedition against the Kentucky
settlements. At the close of the month they took
up the march, reinforced by a body of French-Canadians
under Colonel Byrd. The numerical
strength of the force was unusually great, but it was
rendered especially formidable by the addition of
two field-pieces. The transportation of this artillery
was a matter of extreme difficulty. The guns
and their carriages were first hauled from Detroit
to the waters of the Great Miami. They were then
floated down that stream to the Ohio; next up the
Ohio to the mouth of the Licking, and up that river
to a landing place. From this point the invaders
were forced to cut a road through the forest for
many miles to their ultimate destination.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>It is almost incredible that the slow advance of so
large a body, accompanied by the most obtrusive
operations, should have been accomplished without
the knowledge of the settlers. Clearly, there was
not a scout out in the direction of the Indian country,
although the failure of Bowman’s movement
of the previous summer should have suggested the
utmost precautions.</p>
<p>On the twenty-second of June the enemy appeared
before Ruddle’s Station and took the settlers completely
by surprise. It is true that they could not
have made an effective defence even though they had
received warning of the attack. Stockades were
helpless against artillery. But the invading force
might have been attacked with good effect whilst
on the march and encumbered by its heavy guns.</p>
<p>The garrison realized the futility of resistance,
which could only serve to infuriate the savages.
The gates were, therefore, thrown open in response
to the demand to “surrender at discretion to the
arms of his Britannic Majesty.” The Indians
rushed into the fort, made its occupants prisoners,
and secured all the property worth carrying off.</p>
<p>A few miles distant lay Martin’s Station. This
was taken in a similar manner. By this time the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</SPAN></span>
savages, who had agreed to spare the lives of the
captives, were getting out of hand and beyond the
control of the British officer. Already several of
the settlers had been tomahawked and scalped.
Colonel Byrd now declined to support the Indians
in further operations. Thus deprived of the main
element of their strength, the chiefs decided to retreat
to their own country. Had the campaign been
continued with vigor it is conceivable that the whites
might have been swept out of Kentucky.</p>
<p>No attempt was made to follow or intercept the
victorious Indians. They retired rapidly with their
plunder and prisoners. All the adults among the
latter were compelled to carry loads, and many of
them, especially the women, fell exhausted under
their burdens. These were promptly put to death
by their captors.</p>
<p>Of the settlers who survived the terrible ordeal of
this march, some were dispersed among the Indians,
to meet with variously horrible fates and in very
few cases to regain their homes. Others, more fortunate,
were carried to Detroit, where they were
held as prisoners of war until the close of the
Revolution.</p>
<p>This affair had a depressing effect upon the settlers,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</SPAN></span>
and particularly upon those who were new to
the country. It is probable that an exodus would
have commenced, but just at this juncture General
Clark assumed command and with his characteristic
energy and ability put a different complexion upon
the situation.</p>
<p>Clark immediately mustered the militia and called
for additional volunteers. His splendid reputation
insured a ready response, and he was soon at the
head of a force of several hundred men, with which
he made a rapid march into the Indian country.
The expedition was conducted with marked ability
and met with the utmost success. Several Indian
towns were taken and destroyed and a considerable
area laid waste. Some shortsighted writers have
characterized these ravages as wanton cruelty, failing
to realize that the destruction of the crops and
buildings of the Indians was one of the most effective
means of keeping their men at home to repair
the damage and engage in hunting for the subsistence
of their families.</p>
<p>Despite the disasters at Ruddle’s and Martin’s,
emigration continued and several new stations were
located during the year 1780. For the most part,
the newcomers were of a desirable class. They were<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</SPAN></span>
generally homeseekers and, like the first settlers,
inured to the hardships and exigencies of frontier
life. In many cases they came down the Ohio and
formed settlements in the region between that river
and the Kentucky, so that Boonesborough was no
longer in the front rank of the defence presented
to the Indians. Most of the new settlements were
small and weak but they depended upon aid from
their neighbors in time of trouble.</p>
<p>In October Boone returned with his family. Not
only the settlement for which he was responsible,
but the whole country experienced an access of confidence
from the presence of this tower of strength.
By the people of Boonesborough he was, as always
after an absence, welcomed with joy. Hardy and
Kenton, who entertained the strongest affection for
their leader, were of course delighted to have him
with them again. They had much to tell him of
their own adventures and of the affairs of the
settlers.</p>
<p>Kenton gave what was, perhaps, a somewhat overdrawn
account of Hardy’s share in their joint scouting
expeditions. Boone expressed as much pleasure
as his habitual reticence would permit, and when
Hardy begged to be allowed to continue upon the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</SPAN></span>
path he had entered under the guidance of Kenton,
his foster-father assented. Boone could see no
reason why Hardy should not regularly adopt the
calling of the scout, for which Kenton declared him
to be admirably adapted. It was a time when, next
to good leaders, the greatest need of the community
was good rangers. And so it was arranged that
Hardy should complete his apprenticeship under the
tutelage of Kenton.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t undertake it, Captain,” said the scout,
apologetically, “only I suppose that you’ll be tied
to the station most of the time. What he learns
from me in a twelvemonth won’t amount to as much
as you’d teach him in a week.”</p>
<p>“Make him as good a scout as yourself, Si, and
he won’t find any betters this side of the Alleghanies,”
replied Boone.</p>
<p>Late in the fall, Daniel Boone and his brother
Squire went on a hunt in the country to the north
of the settlement. One evening they were in camp
near the Blue Licks when a party of Indians opened
fire upon them from the neighboring brush. Squire
fell dead at the first discharge and Daniel Boone
sprang to his feet and fled into the forest. He
made good headway and after going three or four<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</SPAN></span>
miles had left his pursuers considerably in the rear,
but had not been able to shake off a hound which the
savages had set upon his track. At length he
stopped and shot the animal, after which his flight
was continued without interference.</p>
<p>The death of his brother affected Daniel Boone
deeply. They had been companions in many hunting
and scouting expeditions. They had shared many
dangers and difficulties. Before the entry of settlers
Daniel and Squire had spent months alone, exploring
the wilds of Kentucky.</p>
<p>In his self-contained way Boone mourned many
months for his brother. But this severe blow was
soon followed by a heavier one.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XVIII" id="XVIII">XVIII.</SPAN><br/> <small>“THE BLOODY YEAR”</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Whitaker and his men fall into an ambush—A number
are killed but the remainder rally and beat off the
Indians—Colonel Floyd goes in pursuit—He has a
fight with the savages—His force is put to flight
with the loss of half its number—Captain Wells
rescues his commander—The McAfee brothers, noted
Kentucky backwoodsmen—They have an exciting adventure
with a band of Indians—The “bloody year”
is ushered in by the loss of Laughrey’s party—One
hundred and seven men are killed or captured—Estill’s
battle with the Wyandots—Another defeat
for the whites—The Indian tribes gather and plan a
great invasion of Kentucky under the leadership of
two white men.</span></p>
<p class="p2">The winter of 1780-81 was long remembered in
Kentucky as the “hard winter.” The intensity of
the cold confined the Indians more closely than usual
to their villages. But though the settlers were thus
exempted from the annoyance of marauding parties,
they suffered severely on account of the insufficiency
of food. The crops of the previous autumn had
been in large part destroyed, and many immigrants<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</SPAN></span>
had arrived too late in the year to plough and sow.
Buffalo meat, and a scanty allowance of that, formed
the main subsistence of the people for several
months.</p>
<p>With the opening of spring a number of Indian
parties crossed into Kentucky. One of these ambushed
a body of men under Colonel William Linn
and killed four of the number, including the leader.
Captain Whitaker, with fifteen “guns,” pursued the
Indians and trailed them to the Ohio. Supposing
them to have crossed the river, Whitaker commenced
to embark his men in canoes, with the object of following.
Whilst thus engaged, the whites were suddenly
attacked in the rear by the redskins who, instead
of taking to their canoes, had stepped into
the water and walked some distance through it,
returning finally to the bank, where they formed
an ambuscade.</p>
<p>It was a very pretty trap and the whites were
completely caught in it. Nine of their number fell
in the course of a few minutes, but the remainder
rallied and attacked the Indians with such spirit
that they fled into the forest.</p>
<p>In the next month—April—the settlers at Shelbyville,
a station that had been established by Squire<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</SPAN></span>
Boone, were warned by a scout of the approach of
a strong body of redskins. There were few men
in the place and the stockade was not in a fit condition
for defence. It was determined, therefore, to
remove to a nearby settlement on Bear Creek. This
proved to be an unfortunate step, for the Indians
assailed the party <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en route</i>, dispersing it and killing
more than half its number.</p>
<p>Colonel Floyd hastily collected twenty-five men
and went in pursuit of this body of warriors, which
numbered two hundred.</p>
<p>Whilst they were fearless fighters, most of the
leaders among the Kentucky settlers lacked the cool
caution that characterized Boone’s movements. Nor
did they possess the intimate knowledge of the Indians’
habits and strategy which enabled him so
successfully to cope with the savages. Indeed, it
may be said that the only military officer in Kentucky
at that time who in any degree approached
Boone in these respects was George Rogers Clark,
and possibly Logan. As to the rest, they were constantly
blundering into ambuscades that should have
been avoided.</p>
<p>On this occasion, Floyd allowed his zeal to outrun
his discretion. In his eagerness to overtake the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</SPAN></span>
retreating warriors, he neglected the ordinary precaution
of scouting across his front and marched
his force into a carefully prepared ambush. Half
his men were slain in the fight that ensued, and the
remainder retreated in the usual disorderly fashion.
Floyd’s horse had been shot under him and he was
wounded. Weak and exhausted, he began to lag
behind and would most assuredly have fallen
into the hands of the pursuers had not Captain
Wells, who was well mounted, come to his aid.
Wells insisted upon Floyd taking his place in the
saddle and himself ran alongside, holding a stirrup.
Thus both escaped from a very perilous situation.</p>
<p>A feeling of enmity had existed between these
two, but this gallant action of Captain Wells knit
them in a close friendship that lasted through life.</p>
<p>Among the most noted of the Kentucky backwoodsmen
were three brothers named Samuel,
James, and Robert McAfee, who had planted a station
in the vicinity of Harrodsburg. One day in
May, Samuel McAfee left the fort with another
man to visit a nearby farm. They had not proceeded
more than a quarter of a mile when they
were fired upon and McAfee’s companion fell dead.
McAfee turned and ran towards the fort, but an<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</SPAN></span>
Indian sprang into the path to intercept him. The
two men raised their rifles with muzzles almost
touching. They pressed the trigger at the same
instant. The redskin’s gun missed fire, whilst McAfee’s
sent the bullet home.</p>
<p>As Samuel McAfee started afresh for the shelter
of the stockade his two brothers ran out to meet
him. Despite the warnings of the elder, Robert insisted
upon going forward to secure the scalp of the
dead Indian. By this time a number of warriors
had placed themselves between the brothers and the
fort. Samuel sped on and, although many shots
were fired at him, reached the gate untouched.</p>
<p>Dodging from tree to tree and using his rifle when
occasion offered, Robert McAfee gradually gained
to within one hundred yards of the fort, when he
made a dash for it and entered the stockade in
safety.</p>
<p>Meantime James was in a situation of extreme
peril. Five warriors confronted him. He ran to
a large tree for protection, but immediately afterwards
three Indians shot at him from behind, making
the bark fly near his head. He sought a new
retreat, but with similar result. Finding that he
was surrounded by the savages and could not secure<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</SPAN></span>
effective cover, he determined to run the gauntlet of
their fusillade. Accordingly, he set out for the fort
with all the speed he could command and, like his
brothers, arrived unhurt.</p>
<p>The Indians now attacked the stockade, which
was but poorly garrisoned. A hot fight was maintained
for more than two hours, the men being aided
in the defence by the women, some of whom stood
to port-holes whilst others loaded spare rifles.
Warned by their scouts that reinforcements were
on the way, the Indians abandoned the attack and
retreated.</p>
<p>Hardly had the redskins disappeared from before
McAfee’s than Major McGary arrived with forty
men from neighboring stations. They immediately
took up the pursuit and came in contact with the
enemy before they had covered two miles. McGary’s
men, who had been joined by the McAfees
and others, made a vigorous attack, before which
the savages fled. They were pursued for several
miles and completely routed with heavy loss.</p>
<p>Aptly has 1782 been termed the “bloody year”
of Kentucky’s history. It witnessed the most terrible
disasters that ever befell the settlers on “the
dark and bloody ground.” We shall come presently<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</SPAN></span>
to an account of the disastrous Battle of the Blue
Licks, but will first describe two affairs that happened
in the same year.</p>
<p>The annihilation of Captain Laughrey’s expedition
was the more serious, though the less interesting
of these. Laughrey was coming down the
Ohio with a force of one hundred and seven men,
designed to reinforce the Kentuckians. At a point
near the mouth of the Miami he was attacked by a
large body of Indians and his entire party was killed
or captured.</p>
<p>It is a remarkable fact that when the whites and
redskins were pitted against each other in large
bodies, the latter were generally victorious. The
backwoodsman always gave the best account of himself
when alone or when acting with one or two
companions. A few men of the stamp of Boone
and Kenton could withstand five times their number
of savages. Thus it was that the Indians held
rather a contemptuous estimate of the whites in
general, and had by contrast an exaggerated opinion
of the prowess of Boone and a few others.</p>
<p>In May Estill’s Station was attacked by a party
of Wyandots. After killing one of the settlers and
securing a prisoner they slaughtered the cattle in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</SPAN></span>
the neighboring fields and retreated. Captain Estill
assembled twenty-five men and went in pursuit of
the Indians. They had crossed the Licking and entered
a narrow valley. He overtook them as they
were about to leave it. As soon as the Indians perceived
the whites, they halted and took up position
under cover to await them.</p>
<p>The Wyandots were distinguished for bravery
above all the tribes in that part of the country.
They were rendered especially formidable adversaries
from the fact that they would maintain a
stand under heavy loss, which none of the other
tribes would do. The Shawnees, Mingos, and other
savages with whom the Kentuckians came in contact,
invariably retreated upon the loss of a few of
their number. This was not the result of cowardice
but of calculation. They justly reasoned that their
warriors were so few as compared with the whites
that a victory might easily be too dearly bought at
the expense of ten or twenty of them. The Wyandots,
however, would sometimes lose half their
number engaged and still continue the fight.</p>
<p>Estill advanced his men to within eighty yards
of the Indians, who had each taken shelter behind
a tree, and made a similar disposition of them. The<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</SPAN></span>
Indians slightly outnumbered their adversaries and
had somewhat the advantage of position. They
also excelled in the matter of taking cover, but were
inferior to the backwoodsmen in marksmanship.</p>
<p>At the outset the whites gained an advantage by
wounding the chief of the Wyandots. Seeing him
fall, his men began to waver but he was almost instantly
upon his feet again and, supporting himself
against the trunk of a tree, he continued to encourage
the warriors.</p>
<p>The combat was carried on for upwards of an
hour with the utmost determination on both sides.
The whites had lost six or seven men and several
more were wounded, the casualties among the Indians
being about the same. But there was no sign
of giving way in their ranks and Captain Estill
began to be impatient to bring the affair to an issue.</p>
<p>Considering how closely contested had been the
fight, it is difficult to understand how Estill could
have entertained the idea of weakening his line.
He did, however, decide to detach six men and an
officer in a flanking movement. The party was
placed in charge of Lieutenant Miller, who was
instructed to steal round under cover and take the
enemy in flank or rear.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Estill now faced the Indians with only twelve
men, four of whom were wounded. His weakened
condition became apparent to the enemy before
Miller had had time to execute his movement.
Urged on by their chief, the Wyandots rushed upon
the whites and forced them to retreat. Pursuing
closely, the savages killed eight of the backwoodsmen,
and among them Captain Estill.</p>
<p>Of Miller’s party but two escaped, including that
officer, who was afterwards accused of failure to
carry out his instructions. Whether or not Miller
was remiss in his duty, Estill cannot be relieved
of the prime responsibility for the disaster.</p>
<p>The Indians were reported to have lost thirteen
of their number. Shawnees would have retired
after three or four men had fallen.</p>
<p>The marked increase of immigration during the
two years preceding this time had wrought the
Indians up to a high pitch of resentment. Despite
their successes, they saw that the whites were able
to oppose fresh men to them without apparent abatement
of numbers. They realized that unless the
Long Knives were speedily driven from Kentucky
they would become rooted to the soil.</p>
<p>During the winter of 1782 the chiefs of the northwestern<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</SPAN></span>
tribes held many councils and debated upon
a concerted invasion of Kentucky. They made the
usual appeal to the authorities at Detroit, but on this
occasion found them unwontedly lukewarm. The
surrender of Cornwallis in the previous October
had taken the heart out of the British in Canada,
and they were more disposed to think of defence
than to consider aggression.</p>
<p>Two white men had great influence in the councils
of the Indians. These were Alexander McKee and
Simon Girty. The former was a British agent
among the tribes, who had gained an unenviable
notoriety for the atrocities committed with his sanction,
if not actually at his instigation. Doubtless,
the backwoodsmen of Kentucky, who execrated his
name, exaggerated McKee’s villany, but enough is
known on good authority to stamp him as one of the
most cruel and hardened wretches of his time.</p>
<p>Simon Girty was one of four brothers who were
natives of Pennsylvania. Whilst they were children
their father was slain by Indians. The mother
remarried and soon afterwards the entire family
was captured by the redskins, who burnt the stepfather
in the presence of his wife and her children.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</SPAN></span>
The woman and the boys were then sent to different
towns of the northwestern Indians.</p>
<p>After many years’ captivity, they all secured their
freedom. Simon, as has been said elsewhere, served
as a soldier and scout in Dunmore’s War. But association
with the whites was irksome to the man,
who was by taste, habits, and education a redskin.
He soon returned to the Indians and was readily
admitted to a position of leadership among them.</p>
<p>Girty acknowledged allegiance to the British, and
although he held no official position under the Crown,
had the protection and countenance of the authorities
in Canada and was permitted to establish a
trading-post in the territory. He was a close companion
and confidant of McKee. In fact they were
kindred spirits, and it would be difficult to say
which was the greater scoundrel, or the more inhuman
monster.</p>
<p>Girty had all the ferocity and bloodthirstiness of
the worst Indians. He delighted in their most
refined cruelties and looked on with glee whilst
helpless white women and children were put to the
torture, or butchered in cold blood. He excited the
passions of the savages and urged them to deeds
of violence and barbarism. He frequently led them<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</SPAN></span>
in their attacks upon the settlements, and many of
the most successful expeditions were of his planning.</p>
<p>Of such an evil and malignant disposition was this
man that it is difficult to understand his interposition
in the case of Kenton. Of the much that is recorded
and rumored of Girty, this is the solitary act that
redounds to his credit. He does not appear to have
had the redeeming quality of courage, but found a
substitute for it in cunning and treachery.</p>
<p>Under the advice of McKee and Girty the Indians
formed a plan for attacking the Kentucky settlements.
In the summer of 1782, five hundred warriors
of the Shawnees, Wyandots, Miamis, and
other tribes assembled at Chillicothe, prepared to
march under the guidance of the renegade and his
friend, the British agent.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XIX" id="XIX">XIX.</SPAN><br/> <small>SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Hardy goes on a lone scout—He encounters a mysterious
stranger—And recognizes an enemy—“If you make a
sound or signal, you are a dead man”—The ride to
the fort and the warning—Hardy reconnoitres the
Indian camp—And makes a long ride to bring aid to
Bryan’s Station—Girty and his Indians invest the
stockade—They plan a stratagem and are caught in
their own trap—They attack in force and are repulsed—Relief
from Lexington—Girty tries to cajole the
garrison—The defenders disregard his threats and
promises—“You see this cur? He’s called Simon
Girty. We couldn’t think of a better name for him”—The
Indians depart as suddenly as they came.</span></p>
<p class="p2">Kenton and Hardy, who for months had been
engaged making reconnoissances, accompanying expeditions,
and guiding settlers, separated early in
August, leaving Boonesborough in different directions.
Kenton proposed to range through the country
northward to the Ohio, whilst Hardy should
strike west until reaching Lexington and Bryan’s,
and should scout thence to the river, somewhere
upon the southern bank of which the comrades expected<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</SPAN></span>
to encounter each other in the course of a
few weeks. They moved lightly, carrying nothing
but their arms and ammunition and a little parched
corn in their wallets.</p>
<p>On the morning of the third day after parting
with Kenton, Hardy was passing along the timber-covered
ridge that formed the eastern boundary of
the valley in which lay Bryan’s Station. The surrounding
open country had been a favorite resort
of buffalo, elk, and other large game, when the first
settlers arrived, but these animals were fast disappearing.
As the scout’s eyes swept the beautiful
panorama that lay spread before them, not a living
object presented itself to his observant gaze.</p>
<p>Presently the scout’s ear caught the soft pad of
hoofs upon the grassy slope and he turned to see a
horseman coming towards him at a lope. As he
came nearer, a white man was revealed, mounted
upon an unusually fine animal. On reaching the
spot where Hardy stood he drew rein and sprang
to the ground.</p>
<p>“Hallo, young man! Can you tell me where I
am?” cried the stranger.</p>
<p>“You are about three miles from Bryan’s.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</SPAN></span>
Where did you want to be?” replied Hardy, a little
nettled by something in the other’s manner.</p>
<p>“That’s all right! I am on my way to Bryan’s.
Know, the country hereabouts?”</p>
<p>Hardy admitted that he was tolerably well acquainted
with it and, in response to the stranger’s
gestured invitation, sat down on one end of a fallen
tree. The stranger took a seat at the other, with
the horse’s bridle over his arm.</p>
<p>“My name’s Beatty. I’m from Pennsylvania.
Came in with a train, but they’re about ten miles
behind. We think of settling hereabouts.”</p>
<p>Hardy was not entirely satisfied with this statement.
Neither the man nor the horse seemed to
fit with it. The latter was as fine an animal as
Hardy had ever seen in Kentucky and not at all
like the kind of beast a settler might be expected to
ride. As to the stranger, whilst he wore the usual
backwoods costume, it was ornamented with a profusion
of beading and feathers such as adorned the
dress of Indian chiefs.</p>
<p>Hardy did not betray the uneasiness excited in
him by the stranger’s appearance and which increased
with closer observation. He cautiously answered
the other’s questions whilst closely scrutinizing<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</SPAN></span>
him. Beatty, as he called himself, was anxious
to know the number and distribution of the settlers
in that part of Kentucky, and to secure other information
such as one contemplating taking up land
might naturally desire. Nevertheless, Hardy’s
vague suspicion prompted him to return deceptive
answers whilst simulating the utmost candor.</p>
<p>Truly the appearance of the professed settler was
not such as to inspire confidence. He was an undersized
but well-knit man with a small bullet head.
Although he had in reality not reached his thirtieth
year, the seamed countenance gave the impression
of much greater age. It was an evil face. The
eyes were black, close set, and snake-like. Their
glance was at once furtive and sinister. The
swarthy surface of the face was startlingly broken
by a broad scar extending from the forehead to the
jaw upon the right side. The ears, round and flat,
stood out from the head like those of a bat. High
cheek-bones flanked a thin aquiline nose, beneath
which stretched a straight, almost lipless, mouth.</p>
<p>Hardy was an unusually plucky young man, but
he felt cold chills running up and down his spine
as he looked at the stranger. From the first moment
of their encounter he had been repelled by him and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</SPAN></span>
the sensation of distrust and aversion grew with
every moment. But more predominant than any
other feeling was a sense of having met the man
before. This he knew was not the case but still
the idea that he had seen this sinister-looking individual
somewhere held possession of him. Suddenly
the truth flashed upon his mind. He knew
the man seated at the other end of the log.</p>
<p>Whilst continuing with apparent frankness to
reply to the stranger’s enquiries, Hardy carelessly
brought his rifle across his knees and gradually
moved it until his hand was upon the trigger and
the muzzle pointed at the breast of the man beside
him.</p>
<p>“Don’t move!” he said in low but determined
tones. “No doubt your Indian friends are within
call, but if you make a sound or signal you are a
dead man. Sit still! I ought to kill you, Simon
Girty, and I believe that I would but that you once
saved the life of a friend of mine. I’ll pay that
debt, but after this, if ever I get a chance——”</p>
<p>Girty’s hand stole towards his rifle, which rested
upon the tree-trunk beside him, but the action did
not escape the sharp eye of the scout.</p>
<p>“Stop it!” cried Hardy. “Now understand me.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</SPAN></span>
If you try any tricks, I’ll blow the top of your head
off without hesitation. It would be my easiest way,
anyhow.”</p>
<p>The tone of the scout’s voice and the look in his
eyes conveyed to the other an assurance that the
threat was no idle one. He sat rigid and listened,
as Hardy proceeded.</p>
<p>“Leave your rifle where it is. Get up and lead
your horse straight ahead and keep your hand away
from your belt. I shall be a yard behind you.”</p>
<p>Girty rose and walked forward as directed.
When they had covered about one hundred yards,
Hardy took the bridle from the renegade.</p>
<p>“Now walk over to that tree,” said Hardy, keeping
the rifle threateningly pointed. “You may be
good at throwing the hatchet. A little farther—that’s
it. Now, good-by, Girty, for the present.”</p>
<p>With that Hardy sprang upon the back of the
horse, dug his heels into its flanks, and dashed off
down the slope towards Bryan’s Station.</p>
<p>In a few minutes Hardy reached the fort. He
warned the settlers that Girty, doubtless with a large
band of redskins at his back, was in the neighborhood.
Immediately the place was in the bustle of
preparation. Runners were despatched in every<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</SPAN></span>
direction to bring in the people from the surrounding
farms. As many of the cattle and horses as
possible were driven into the stockade. The women
and girls busied themselves carrying water from the
spring. Men hastily inspected the defences and
repaired, as well as they could, defective places. At
the same time, a mounted messenger was sent to
Lexington with the news and a request for aid.</p>
<p>In the meanwhile, Hardy was not idle. He surmised
that the main body of the Indians had been
some miles behind Girty and he conjectured that,
after the incident which has been described, they
would enter into one of their protracted powwows
before continuing the advance. It was quite probable,
therefore, that the attack would be deferred
for some hours or until the next day.</p>
<p>These considerations prompted Hardy to make a
reconnoissance with a view to ascertaining the
strength and composition of the attacking party.
The country around Bryan’s was, as has been stated,
comparatively open. Hardy believed, with correctness,
as the event proved, that the Indians were
about seven or eight miles distant. In order to get
around to their rear undiscovered it was necessary
that he should make a détour of about twelve miles.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</SPAN></span>
Fortunately, he had Girty’s particularly fine horse,
which was quite fresh.</p>
<p>Early in the afternoon, after making a wide
circle, Hardy struck the trail over which the Indians
had passed some hours before. He rode forward
upon it until he came within a mile of the party.
He then tied his horse to a tree and advanced cautiously
under cover. As he had anticipated, the
redskins had halted and were deliberating a change
of plan. Between five and six hundred warriors
were present, but the scout was relieved to find that
they had no artillery.</p>
<p>Having gained all the information that he sought,
Hardy made his way back to the place where he had
left his horse and rode away. He reached Bryan’s
in the evening and learned that, whilst Indian scouts
had been observed in the vicinity, no large body of
savages had made its appearance. The little garrison
was filled with anxiety on learning the strength
of the attackers and began to look eagerly for reinforcements.
As soon as Hardy had allowed his
horse a few hours’ rest, he started for Boonesborough,
fifty-five miles distant, to summon assistance.</p>
<p>Bryan’s Station was a little more than five miles
from the larger settlement of Lexington. It was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</SPAN></span>
situated on the southern bank of the Elkhorn, one
side of the stockade being within a few hundred
feet of the river. The fort was formed of two
parallel rows of cabins, containing forty in all, connected
by strong palisades and reinforced by blockhouses
at each end. The garrison consisted of fifty
men at this time, besides whom there were at least
an equal number of women and children in the place.
There was a good supply of ammunition and provisions
on hand, and the general conditions favored the
ability of settlers to stand a lengthy siege, provided
they should not be overwhelmed by weight
of numbers.</p>
<p>On the morning following the alarm the scouts
from the garrison reported large bodies of the Indians
to be in the neighborhood, and the settlers
stood to their arms in expectation of the attack.
Girty did not disclose the strength of his force, of
which he believed the garrison to be in ignorance.
Instead, he secreted his main body in some neighboring
thickets and attempted a ruse.</p>
<p>A party of about fifty warriors was advanced
against the fort with instructions to feign a determined
assault but after a while to retreat as though
in flight. Girty hoped by this stratagem to induce<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</SPAN></span>
the defenders to issue in pursuit, when he would
advance at the head of four hundred Indians, seize
the stockade, and take the settlers in the rear.</p>
<p>Had the garrison not been forewarned by Hardy
of the number of the attackers, the plan of the wily
renegade might have succeeded. As it was, the
settlers suspected the object of the feint and met it
with a counter-stratagem. Thirteen active young
men were sent out in pursuit of the retiring warriors,
whilst the remainder of the garrison stood
ready to repel the attack which they expected upon
the other side of the stockade.</p>
<p>Girty heard the firing and the designedly loud
shouts of the young men as they followed the redskins
towards the woods. He supposed that the
garrison had left the fort and confidently advanced
to the nearest gate, anticipating easy possession.
There was nothing in the appearance of the place
to undeceive him as he approached, followed by a
horde of painted savages. Not a head was visible;
not a muzzle showed from port-hole.</p>
<p>The redskins were allowed to advance to within
fifty yards of the palisades. Then a staggering fire
was poured upon them. They stopped, amazed, and
aimlessly discharged their guns in the direction of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</SPAN></span>
the fort. The garrison replied with another well-directed
fusillade, and as the savages broke and began
to run, volley after volley was poured into their
panic-stricken ranks.</p>
<p>The thirteen men who had been despatched in
pursuit of the former party of Indians, now reëntered
the stockade. Their presence was needed, for
after a brief interval the main body of the redskins
returned in an attack better sustained than their first
essay. The onslaught was maintained for several
hours with a vigor that taxed the defenders to the
utmost. Urged on by Girty and McKee, the redskins
rushed upon the stockade again and again.
But the garrison always reserved its fire until the
assailants were so near that every shot told. Never
an Indian passed that fifty-yard line but met his
death. Now and again, one, more determined than
his fellows, gained to the palisade and clambered
upon it, only to be stricken down by the tomahawk
of the nearest backwoodsman.</p>
<p>At about one o’clock in the afternoon the redskins
withdrew on hearing from their scouts that a reinforcement
was approaching. This timely succour
consisted of a body of fifty men from Lexington.
The force was about equally composed of horsemen<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</SPAN></span>
and others on foot. When they approached the station,
it was agreed that the mounted contingent
should keep to the beaten trail and charge through
the besiegers, whilst the men on foot should make
their way to the fort under cover of some favoring
cornfields.</p>
<p>The former party rode through the waiting Indians
under a shower of bullets and entered the
stockade without the loss of a man. They had succeeded
in diverting attention from their companions,
who were well hidden by the standing corn and
should have arrived at their destination with equal
safety. By some mischance, however, they blundered
on to the road and were discovered by the
savages. Fortunately the fort was near at hand,
but in the rush to that refuge six men fell.</p>
<p>This accession to the garrison, indicating as it
did that further reinforcements might be looked for
ere long, whilst it greatly heartened the defenders
had the reverse effect upon the Indians. The chiefs
were seriously alarmed, and apprehensive lest the
expedition should be cut off from retreat. They
were disposed to retire without delay to their own
country. However, Girty diverted them from their
purpose. He harangued them with the greatest earnestness,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</SPAN></span>
urging persistence. He reminded them
that it was becoming ever more difficult for them
to muster such a force as was present, whilst the
whites were constantly growing stronger and more
numerous. He warned them that if they forewent
this opportunity to drive the Long Knives from the
country, another would never present itself. His
vindictive eloquence prevailed, and the chiefs agreed
once more to place the warriors at his disposal.</p>
<p>The next day Girty endeavored to cajole the garrison
into surrender. He had been wounded by a
ball in the thigh, and now he crawled to a stump
near the stockade under protection of a white flag.
Captain Robert Patterson, who had led the reinforcement
from Lexington, being the senior officer
present, was in command. He went to the gate with
others to hear what the renegade had to say.</p>
<p>Girty commenced by expressing his admiration
for the splendid defence offered by the garrison.
He assured them, however, that further resistance
would be worse than useless. He promised, “upon
his honor,” to secure the life and safety of every
soul in the stockade in case they should capitulate
at once. Otherwise, he would abandon them to
the fury of the savages. He declared that a large<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</SPAN></span>
reinforcement of Indians and a detachment of artillery
was within a day’s march of his camp, and
should it arrive to find the settlers in arms, nothing
that he could do would save them from massacre
and torture.</p>
<p>Girty demanded an immediate answer to his proposal.
Captain Patterson turned on his heel and
walked back into the fort without deigning to reply.
But a young fellow named Reynolds had something
to say to the renegade which sufficiently indicated
the temper of the garrison.</p>
<p>“Say, do you see this cur?” cried Reynolds,
holding up a wriggling, yelping nondescript by the
slack of its neck. “He ain’t fair bird, beast, nor
fish. He’s just the meanest, ugliest mongrel that
ever walked on four legs. See him, do you? Well,
he’s called Simon Girty. We couldn’t think of a
better name for him.”</p>
<p>A loud laugh followed Reynolds’ sally and, with
derisive gestures towards the discomfited Girty, the
settlers moved into the stockade. The renegade
crawled away towards the camp of his followers,
uttering the most horrible imprecations and threats
against the defenders of Bryan’s Station. He was
soon to be glutted with revenge.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Captain Patterson and his men were not at all
disturbed by Girty’s vauntings. They felt confident
of withstanding the present besiegers and were satisfied
that the boast of an artillery accession was a
lie. In fact, Captain Patterson’s chief anxiety now
was lest the Indians should leave before the arrival
of the heavy reinforcements which he felt sure were
upon their way to Bryan’s. He regretted that he
had not parleyed with Girty and feigned uneasiness
with regard to his situation and ability to hold out.</p>
<p>The day passed without an attack by the Indians.
This did not greatly surprise the garrison, but led
them to look for an attack in force under cover
of darkness. Patterson kept every man standing
at his post throughout the night. From their positions
they could see the fires of the Indians about
half a mile away, and momentarily expected their
advance. But the day dawned without any change
having occurred in the situation.</p>
<p>Captain Patterson sent out scouts to reconnoitre.
These soon returned to report that the Indians had
departed, evidently having taken the great buffalo
trace which passed by Ruddle’s and Martin’s and
so to the Lower Blue Licks.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XX" id="XX">XX.</SPAN><br/> <small>BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Reinforcements reach Bryan’s Station—Unwise counsel
rules the leaders—Boone’s warning is not heeded—The
force starts in pursuit of the Indians—“All who
are not cowards, follow me!”—The terrific fight on
the banks of the Licking—The whites are beaten
and dispersed—Israel Boone is wounded and falls—The
father’s fierce fight for his son—Boone and
Hardy swim to safety—Reynolds’ heroic rescue of his
captain—His capture and dashing escape—Colonel
Logan arrives with reinforcements—But the Indians
escape to their own country—Boone and Hardy revisit
the scene of carnage—The blackest day in Kentucky’s
history.</span></p>
<p class="p2">Thanks to the timely warning of Hardy Goodfellow,
and the expedition employed in spreading
the news, information of the attack upon Bryan’s
Station quickly reached every settlement within
sixty miles of that place. The day after the retreat
of the Indians, reinforcements began to come in
from various directions. Before the fall of night
one hundred and eighty-two men were mustered in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</SPAN></span>
the fort. Daniel Boone arrived with a strong party
from Boonesborough, which included his brother
Samuel and his son Israel. The latter had been
almost a baby when the family lived in Clinch Valley
and had only recently come into his backwoods
heritage of rifle and axe. Colonel Stephen Trigg
brought in a force of men from Harrodsburg, and
Colonel John Todd an additional levy from Lexington.
This party included Majors Harlan, McGary,
McBride, and Levi Todd. A considerable proportion
of the newcomers were mounted.</p>
<p>Colonel Todd, as senior officer present, assumed
command of the entire forces. Early in the afternoon
a council of officers was held. The deliberations
were far from cool, and the opinions expressed
were of the most contradictory character. The majority,
however, agreed in advocating immediate
pursuit. This proposal met with the approval of
Colonel Todd, although it was not consistent with
his reputation for prudence and circumspection.</p>
<p>Colonel Todd’s decision is believed to have been
influenced by a rather selfish and short-sighted consideration.
A messenger had arrived with the tidings
that Colonel Benjamin Logan had raised a body
of four hundred and fifty men and would hurry forward<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</SPAN></span>
with them. A proper soldierly spirit would
have prompted the commander to wait for this reinforcement,
but he and others seem to have been
jealous of Logan, whose reputation as a leader was
growing apace. It is said that the determination
to advance at once was largely due to a hope that
Logan might be shut out of participation in the
affair.</p>
<p>Colonel Boone had not been present during the
long wrangle between the leading officers. With
them, he had gone out to the late camp of the Indians,
immediately on arriving at Bryan’s, but, unlike
them, he had not contented himself with a
cursory survey of the surroundings. Whilst the
officers were debating, Boone and Hardy were engaged
in a careful examination of the ground occupied
by the warriors on the previous night and the
trace left by them in their retreat.</p>
<p>The first thing noticed by Boone was that the
fires in the camp had been very few, indicating a desire
on the part of the Indians to create the impression
that their numbers were less than was actually
the case. Such deception was not consistent with
flight in fear, because it courted pursuit.</p>
<p>No attempt had been made to cover the trail, or<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</SPAN></span>
disguise the direction taken by the war-party. On
the contrary, their path was plainly marked and
strewn with a variety of articles. These signs were
readily accepted by the less experienced as evidences
of a hurried and panic-spurred retreat. But Boone
discerned in them a very thin deception, designed
to draw the whites to their destruction. Indeed, the
entire tactics of the Indians on this occasion were
such as they commonly resorted to, and no backwoods
officer claiming any degree of experience
should have been outwitted by them.</p>
<p>When Boone returned to the fort, after having
followed the Indian trail for several miles, the council
had arrived at its conclusion and preparations
were on foot to act upon it without delay. Nevertheless,
Colonel Todd was anxious to have the opinion
of the man whom all acknowledged—secretly,
at least—to be superior to themselves in knowledge
of the Indians.</p>
<p>“Well, what do you think, Boone?” the commander
asked, accosting the pioneer as he entered
the stockade.</p>
<p>“Why, Todd, it’s as clear a case of hocus-pocus
as ever I saw. It isn’t a trace they’ve left. It’s
a road marked with sign-posts every few yards.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</SPAN></span>
They’re afraid that we might miss ’em and they’ve
actually blazed the trees. They’re headed for the
Blue Licks. You know the lay of the country thereabouts,
Todd. We’re invited to walk into an ambush
just as plainly as if they had put it in a printed
paper.”</p>
<p>This was a long speech for Boone and there was
no mistaking its purport. Todd was visibly disconcerted.
Like every other leader in Kentucky, he
had learned to value Boone’s opinions highly.
However, he had not the moral courage to adopt the
course which his secret judgment told him was the
proper one. It must be remembered, too, that the
control of backwoods levies by their officers depended
upon the most slender thread of discipline.
A large proportion of the men assembled at Bryan’s
were volunteers who might decline to act further if
thwarted in their wishes.</p>
<p>“I’ve no doubt you are right, Boone, but my
officers seem set on going forward at once,” said
Todd, weakly. “And, if we don’t get on their trace
soon, the Indians may get away from us.”</p>
<p>“They won’t get away from you, Todd; never
fear,” answered Boone, with a grim smile, as he
turned to assemble his men for the march.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Boone was a loyal subordinate. After having expressed
himself to his commander, he had no further
word to say on the subject until again appealed
to. He briefly informed his men that the orders
were to pursue the enemy without delay, and he saw
to it that they were ready and in their places when
the column formed.</p>
<p>Colonel Todd marched out of the stockade at
Bryan’s Station, before dark, at the head of one
hundred and eighty men. The force pushed on
with all possible speed and on the morning of the
third day, after having travelled forty miles, reached
the bluffs of the Licking, opposite the lower Blue
Licks.</p>
<p>The country round about was unusually wild and
rugged. The licks had been for ages the resort of
buffalo and other animals which cropped the surrounding
herbage, and the rains had washed the
ground clear of soil, leaving bare rocks over a large
area. At this point, the river curved southward,
forming a U-shaped loop. Through the centre of
the enclosed area ran a ridge and from either side of
it a ravine extended down to the river. Each of
these ravines was filled with thick brushwood,
affording ideal cover.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>As the band of frontiersmen approached the
place, several Indians were seen marching over the
ridge. They took a leisurely survey of the whites
and disappeared.</p>
<p>On the bank of the river, Colonel Todd ordered
a halt and again went into consultation with his chief
officers. He sought another expression from
Boone, and this time it was delivered in the presence
of all the leaders.</p>
<p>Boone was quite familiar with the country in
which they were. Many a time he had hunted in
it, and here he had been taken prisoner by the Shawnees
in 1778. It was, as he explained to his companions,
admirably suited for an ambuscade, and he
expressed his opinion that Girty’s force was even
now secreted somewhere in the neighborhood. He
reminded the officers that the trace had led so pointedly
to the spot on which they stood that it was impossible
to escape the conclusion that the Indians
had wished to lure them to it.</p>
<p>In conclusion, Boone said frankly that he considered
their situation a precarious one. He believed
that it would be hazardous to advance and that the
prudent course would be to await the arrival of
Logan, who could not be more than a day’s march<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</SPAN></span>
distant. If, however, it was decided upon to cross
the river, he would advise a division of the force,
one half being sent round to approach the ravines
from the rear, whilst the other made a direct attack
upon the enemy, whom he strongly suspected of
being concealed there.</p>
<p>Colonel Boone’s calm statement made a noticeable
impression on his hearers and it is probable that
his advice would have been followed but for the
insubordinate action of a hot-headed officer. Boone
had hardly finished speaking when Major McGary
shouted:</p>
<p>“All who are not cowards, follow me! I will
show you where the redskins are.” With that he
raised the war-whoop and urged his horse into the
river.</p>
<p>The men, who had impatiently awaited the conclusion
of the conference and could not have known
that McGary’s action was entirely unauthorized,
rushed in a body after him and, of course, the officers
were obliged to fall in with the movement. By
the time the force reached the other side, discipline
was once more restored and Colonel Todd ordered
a halt. Retreat was now out of the question, for in
case the enemy lay hid on the peninsula they would<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</SPAN></span>
descend upon the rear of the whites recrossing the
stream and cut them to pieces.</p>
<p>But before advancing, Colonel Todd, at the suggestion
of Boone, sent forward two scouts with
instructions to carefully examine the country on
each side of the trace which led over the ridge. The
scouts performed the hazardous service in safety.
They passed along the ridge to the head of the loop
and returned without having seen an Indian.</p>
<p>The order to march was given, fifteen men under
Major Harlan forming the advance guard. Colonel
Todd commanded the centre, Colonel Trigg the
right, and Colonel Boone the left. The vanguard
had passed the ravines and the main body was
within forty yards of them, when five hundred Indians
suddenly issued and fired a withering volley
into the surprised frontiersmen.</p>
<p>A terrific combat ensued. A more disadvantageous
position than that in which Colonel Todd’s
force found itself could hardly be imagined. Across
their front stretched the Indians. On every other
side the river enveloped them. They made a gallant
stand, however, until the greatest havoc had been
wrought in their ranks.</p>
<p>The advance guard was quickly surrounded by<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</SPAN></span>
savages. Major Harlan and his men fought desperately
until he and twelve of them fell covered
with wounds. The other three contrived to make
their way through the horde of howling redskins
and escaped by continuing onward over the ridge
and into the country beyond the loop in which the
battle raged.</p>
<p>Colonel Trigg and many of the Harrodsburg
men fell under the fierce onslaught, and shortly
afterwards Colonel Todd received a mortal wound
and was seen to fall from his horse. Only Boone,
on the left, was holding his own. But when the
right crumbled up and the men in the centre, dismayed
by the death of their commander, began to
give way, the situation of Boone’s force became
precarious.</p>
<p>Seeing the disruption of the ranks, the Indians
now rushed forward with uplifted tomahawks, uttering
the most fiendish yells. Two-thirds of the
troops broke into flight and made for the ford,
with the redskins in close pursuit. Boone strove to
keep his men together, urging them to retreat in a
compact body and to present a front to the enemy.
The calm demeanor of the pioneer influenced his
men for a while after all the others had broken<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</SPAN></span>
into disorderly rout, but unfortunately Boone’s
horse, which had been wounded some time before,
suddenly fell to its knees, bringing the rider to the
ground. The men, imagining that their leader was
killed, immediately took to flight.</p>
<p>When Boone gained his feet, his son Israel and
Hardy Goodfellow alone of all his followers were
beside him. Savages were advancing from every
side, and down at the ford a raging mass of humanity
contested the passage. Boone was an indifferent
swimmer, but he instantly decided that the best
chance of safety for his little party depended upon
taking to the stream at its nearest point.</p>
<p>Boone and his young companions turned towards
the bank on the western side of the loop. They had
progressed but a short distance when five savages
attempted to intercept them. Two of these lacked
firearms. The aim of the white men was directed
at the others, two of whom fell, when Boone and
Hardy rushed upon the remaining three with drawn
tomahawks. The redskins fled without awaiting
the attack, and when Boone turned it was to see
his son stretched upon the ground. Israel had received
a bullet in his breast.</p>
<p>Without waiting to reload his rifle, Boone picked<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</SPAN></span>
the boy up in his arms and resumed the road to the
river. They were nearing the bank when three Indians
came down upon them. One of these Hardy
disposed of when they were within twenty yards,
but the other two continued to advance. They were
extremely big men and unusually courageous.
Armed only with their tomahawks they rushed upon
the whites without faltering.</p>
<p>Boone laid the boy upon the ground. His form
was convulsed in the agonies of death. As the
father rose erect his face was calm and his lips close-set,
but a tempest raged in his heart. Hardy stood
transfixed by the awful gleam of the eyes. Thus
he had never seen the man before, nor ever did
again.</p>
<p>Boone drew his tomahawk and turned on the
savages, who were now almost within arm’s length.
He sprang at them like a panther robbed of its
whelps. <SPAN href="#i_296fp">His weapon whizzed through the air and
buried itself in the skull of the foremost.</SPAN> Springing
aside he avoided a blow from the tomahawk of
the second savage, and the next instant gripped his
throat and bore him to the ground.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="i_296fp"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_296fp.jpg" width-obs="412" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /></SPAN><br/> <div class="caption"><span class="smcap"><SPAN href="#Page_296">His Weapon Whizzed through the Air and Buried Itself in the Skull of the Foremost</SPAN></span></div>
</div>
<p>Hardy ran to the spot and raised his tomahawk
but, as he was about to strike, Boone glanced up,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</SPAN></span>
and at his look Hardy dropped his arm. The Indian
was a powerful man, but in the hands of the
grief-stricken father he was as a child. Boone
struck the savage’s head upon the rocks until he
was stunned, and then drew his knife and plunged
it into his heart.</p>
<p>This whirlwind combat had occupied less time
than it takes to tell, but when Boone turned again
to his son the boy was dead. The father looked
around. From three directions new enemies were
approaching. There was nothing for it but to leave
Israel’s body to be mutilated by the savages.</p>
<p>Together, Boone and Hardy gained the bank and,
plunging into the river, succeeded in reaching the
other side in safety. They were almost the last to
leave the battle-field, and by the time they landed
upon the south side of the Licking the expiring
flames of the fatal fight were flickering out.</p>
<p>Half of the force that rashly pursued Girty’s warriors
lay dead upon the peninsula or at the ford.
There the carnage had been fearful and would have
been much worse but for the presence of mind of a
man named Netherland, who on a former occasion
had been taxed by his companions with cowardice.
With twelve or fifteen other horsemen, Netherland<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</SPAN></span>
crossed the river. The others were about to consult
their own safety by riding off, when Netherland
called upon them to halt and protect their comrades
by firing upon the Indians. They did so, with the
result of enabling many to escape who would otherwise
have been slain.</p>
<p>Among many acts of conspicuous bravery that
marked that day, was a deed of daring performed
by young Reynolds, who had taunted Girty at
Bryan’s. Reynolds was making a retreat on horseback
to the ford when he overtook Captain Patterson
staggering along under a painful wound. A
party of Indians were close behind, but the young
man stopped and dismounted, insisting upon the
officer taking his place in the saddle.</p>
<p>When he had seen the wounded man safely
mounted, Reynolds ran to a place below the ford
and swam to the other side of the river. He was,
however, pursued by a band of Indians and captured.
After a while the redskins left him in the
hands of one of their number and started in pursuit
of other victims. Seizing a favorable opportunity,
Reynolds knocked his captor down with his fist and
escaped. When he arrived at Bryan’s it was to
find Captain Patterson there.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The fugitives from the Blue Licks met Colonel
Logan and his reinforcement on the way to the
scene of action. Boone and Hardy returned with
them. A forced march was made to the battle-field,
but when they arrived there was no sign of
the Indians. It was almost certain that they had
made a rapid retreat to their own country and so
Colonel Logan dismissed his men.</p>
<p>The Battle of the Blue Licks impressed Boone,
perhaps, more than any other incident of his life.
In after years the mere mention of it brought tears
to his eyes.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XXI" id="XXI">XXI.</SPAN><br/> <small>AN OLD BIRD</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Clark heads a great invasion of the Indian country—And
devastates the fields and villages—A period of
peace and prosperity—Boone takes up the life of the
farmer—He receives a visit from old friends—The
Indians learn that “an old bird is not to be caught
with chaff”—The farmer turns his tobacco to good
account—Boone finds himself beggared—And determines
to leave Kentucky—He emigrates to the Spanish
possessions—And finds land and honors—His life is
rounded out in the performance of important duties—He
dies at the ripe old age of eighty-six—Under the
American flag.</span></p>
<p class="p2">The defeat at the Blue Licks was the heaviest
misfortune that had ever befallen the settlers of
Kentucky. They did not learn until afterwards
that the loss of the Indians had been even greater
than that they had inflicted, and that the chiefs had
returned to their villages bemoaning the victory
which had cost so many warriors. The Kentuckians
were possessed by dread of another such invasion,
and not a few of them displayed a disposition<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</SPAN></span>
to leave the country. Almost immediately
after the battle at the Licks, Boone wrote to Governor
Benjamin Harrison, of Virginia, saying: “The
inhabitants of this county are very much alarmed
at the thought of the Indians bringing another campaign
into our country this fall. If this should be
the case, it will break up these settlements. I hope,
therefore, your Excellency will take the matter into
your consideration, and send us some relief as quick
as possible.”</p>
<p>No sooner had the news of the disaster reached
General Clark than he determined upon reprisals and
immediately summoned Colonels Boone, Logan, and
other officers, as well as Kenton and two or three
more scouts, to a council at Fort Nelson. All
agreed that a blow should be struck at the Indians
before they could recover from the effects of the
recent campaign. Their force, which had been
drawn from several tribes, would be disbanded and
scattered and, if surprised, their country would
probably be found in a comparatively defenceless
condition. The main object was to strike hard
and quickly.</p>
<p>General Clark issued an urgent call for volunteers
and supplies and disseminated it throughout<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</SPAN></span>
the country with all possible despatch. The response
was instantaneous. One thousand mounted
riflemen soon assembled at the two places of rendezvous,
Bryan’s Station and the Falls of the Ohio.
Those who could not come contributed generously
to the equipment and supply of the expedition,
which had an ample number of pack-horses, beeves,
and spare mounts. The two divisions marched to
the mouth of the Licking, where General Clark
assumed the command.</p>
<p>Desiring to move with all possible secrecy and
speed, Clark declined to be burdened with the extensive
supplies. He required each man to carry a
liberal quantity of “jerk” and corn, and left the
cattle and other material behind. Although game
abounded at this time of the year, it was not deemed
prudent to send out hunting parties, and the expedition
felt the pinch of hunger before reaching
Chillicothe, which was the first point of attack.
Here they surprised the Indians so completely that
when they entered the place, from which the inhabitants
fled without offering resistance, the pots were
upon the fires. The troops were very glad to fall
to upon the meals that the squaws had been preparing
for their men.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Clark’s force spread desolation through the Indian
country. Villages were razed to the ground
and crops destroyed. Horses and cattle were driven
off and the inhabitants dispersed in the forest. The
blow paralyzed the redskins and made the greater
impression as coming immediately after a decisive
defeat of the whites. Nothing could have more
effectually convinced them of the futility of waging
war against the settlers. Their chiefs became disheartened
and their confederacy was disbanded.
At the same time, they lost the support of the British,
which had constituted a very important element
of their strength. Although small parties of Indians
continued for years to attack families in exposed
parts of the country, a formidable invasion of
Kentucky was never attempted after the year 1783.</p>
<p>General Clark’s expedition was the last occasion
on which Daniel Boone was called upon to fight in
the defence of the settlements of Kentucky. He
had been among the earliest explorers of the country.
He had led one of the first parties of settlers
into it. His rifle had been constantly at the service
of the harassed backwoodsmen and his counsel had
guided their leaders. None had made greater sacrifices
for the territory than he, and none reaped less<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</SPAN></span>
benefit. He had lost a son at the very threshold
of the promised land, and another had fallen in the
final fight. His brother Squire had been scalped
at the Blue Licks, and there his brother Samuel
was sorely stricken. And yet, when the period of
strife and stress had passed and the country presented
a peaceful picture of well-tilled fields and
cheery cabins, Boone’s sole possession was his good
name and his trusty rifle. He had not an acre to
transmit to his children, nor a habitation he could
call his own. He was a mere squatter among men
who held their lands in security largely by reason
of his determined efforts.</p>
<p>It was not, however, until some time after this
that Boone learned that through ignorance of legal
requirements and characteristic simplicity, he had
failed to make good his title to the land he occupied.
For several years he cultivated his farm and
in the hunting season followed his favorite pursuit.</p>
<p>In the meantime the population of Kentucky was
rapidly increasing. Towns were springing up at
various points and a considerable trade in furs and
merchandise developed. The settlers lived in comparative
peace, but they were by no means exempt
from attack by hostile Indians. It is believed that<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</SPAN></span>
between the years 1783 and 1790 no fewer than
fifteen hundred persons were either killed or carried
into captivity by small bands of redskins that
made stealthy inroads into Kentucky. One such
incident must be mentioned in detail.</p>
<p>The Indians probably held Boone in higher estimation
than they did any other man among the
Kentuckians, and this was particularly the case with
the Shawnees, who were best acquainted with him,
having thrice had him in their power. A few years
after the affair of the Blue Licks they conceived the
idea of again trying to capture Boone. Four of the
most agile and wily braves were assigned to the task.</p>
<p>Although he did not use the weed, Boone had a
patch of tobacco upon his farm with a view to meeting
the market demand for the leaf. A short distance
from his cabin was a small shed in which he
cured his crop. Around the inside of the shed was
a construction of rails twelve or fifteen feet in
height. Poles were laid upon these so as to extend
across the hut. Upon the poles were spread stacks
of leaves in three tiers, representing three different
stages of curing.</p>
<p>Boone was one day at work in this shed. On the
lower tiers was a large quantity of dry tobacco<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</SPAN></span>
which the farmer required to move to the uppermost
poles in order to make room for fresh leaves. He
was standing upon the rails that supported the poles
and just about to enter into his task when four Indians,
carrying rifles, entered the place.</p>
<p>“Now we got you, Boone,” cried the leader.
“We carry you back to Chillicothe and you never
get away again.”</p>
<p>The days were past when the settler constantly
had his gun beside him. Boone was unarmed, but
he did not exhibit the slightest uneasiness. He kept
his position and looked down upon the redskins with
a pleasant smile.</p>
<p>“Well, well! Is that you, Pewultee?” he cried,
recognizing one of the sons of old Blackfish.
“How is the squaw and how are the papooses?
How is everyone at Chillicothe? I think I should
like to see them all again.”</p>
<p>The Indians expressed some impatience to have
Boone come down, but his manner was so cordial
that they fell under its spell as of old. He assured
them that he would descend in a few minutes but
begged them to wait until he should have finished
his work. He kept up a running fire of talk about
the old times, about adventures and fights that he<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</SPAN></span>
and they had taken part in. The savages were soon
absorbed in the conversation. They stood leaning
upon their rifles and gazing up intently at the
speaker.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Boone had been arranging his bundles
of tobacco and at length had them adjusted to his
satisfaction. Suddenly he removed two poles and
the next instant the four Indians were buried beneath
a huge pile of dry leaves. Before they could
extricate themselves Boone had sprung through the
open door and was fifty yards away.</p>
<p>When he had reached what he considered a safe
distance, the farmer turned and at the sight that met
his eyes, burst into peals of laughter. The Indians,
blinded and half suffocated, had groped their way
out of the shed and were now aimlessly stumbling
around, whilst their frames shook with violent
coughing and sneezing. With scanty breath they
cursed Boone’s cunning and bewailed their own
folly.</p>
<p>Boone went to the cabin and secured his rifle.
He then bade the Indians, who were by this time
somewhat recovered, get their guns and begone.
He warned them that if he should catch them in
that part of the country again worse would assuredly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</SPAN></span>
befall them. It would be interesting to know the
story Pewultee and his companions told upon their
returning to Chillicothe.</p>
<p>With the development of the territory and the
return of peace, steps were taken by the authorities
for the proper surveying of land in Kentucky and
the perfection of titles. In this process hundreds
of the older settlers were dispossessed in favor of
shrewder claimants, better versed in the technicalities
of the law. Boone had always displayed an
aversion for legal forms and carelessness in matters
of business. Scrupulously honest, he credited all
others with a similar quality. His life had been
governed by the golden rule, which, indeed, generally
prevailed in the backwoods communities. He
was as ignorant as any child of the devious ways
of the speculator and land-shark. Nor was it possible
for him to conceive that the State he had served
so loyally should fail to protect him in what he
reasonably considered his rights.</p>
<p>When his beautiful farm at Boonesborough and
other tracts were wrested from him by the subtle
processes of law, he was aggrieved to think that
the community for which he had bled and suffered
could offer him no better recompense than the beggar’s<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</SPAN></span>
portion, but he did not become embittered, as
did Clark towards the close of his life. Boone laid
his misfortunes at the door of the speculators and
lawyers, and resolved to leave Kentucky and seek
a new home in the wilderness. In a memorial to
the legislature of Kentucky in 1812, he says: “Unacquainted
with the niceties of the law, the few lands
I was enabled to locate were, through my ignorance,
generally swallowed up by better claims.”</p>
<p>Hale and active, and with spirit undaunted, the
grand old pioneer set out when past sixty years of
age for the land of prairies beyond the “Father of
Waters.” His fame had reached the Spanish
dominions in America, and the Lieutenant-Governor
whose seat was at St. Louis invited him to settle
in that district with “assurance that ample portions
of land should be given to him and his family.”</p>
<p>The proposal was an alluring one to Boone.
Many Americans were settled in Louisiana, and it
was already generally believed that the country
would soon be annexed to the United States.
Boone’s eldest son, Nathan, had some years previous
taken up land in the rich country bordering on the
Missouri River. The invitation of the Spanish
official presented a means of acquiring land which<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</SPAN></span>
Boone had not the money to purchase and, finally,
the region beyond the Mississippi abounded in
game.</p>
<p>Boone accepted the liberal offer and in 1795, accompanied
by his family, journeyed to the Femme
Osage settlement, about forty-five miles from St.
Louis, and there took up his abode. Here, as promised,
a large tract of land was conveyed to him and
he was made commandant, or syndic, of the district.
The post was an important one, entailing both civil
and military duties of a responsible nature.</p>
<p>A large proportion of the people in the district
were Americans, among whom were included several
of Boone’s relatives. The population was a peaceable,
happy and prosperous one. Boone found the
new conditions of his life congenial and he passed his
last years in cheery contentment. He discharged
his duties agreeably to the community under his
control, and to the satisfaction of the Spanish authorities.
When, at length, he passed peacefully
away in the year 1820, at the ripe old age of eighty-six,
the American flag was flying over the land.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="XXII" id="XXII">XXII.</SPAN><br/> <small>THE LAST HUNT</small></h2></div>
<p class="noi chaphang"><span class="smcap">Travelers in a strange land—“I’m dying to see old Dad!”—Old
friends meet after many years—Kenton and
Hardy find the old man happy in his simple life—“I
have more than I need and no man can lay a claim
against me”—The simple creed of a sincere Christian—One
more hunt together—Boone proves that he is
still a stout backwoodsman—And shows Hardy how
to “bark” a squirrel—He tells his companions of his
early life and adventures—His strange dread of
dying in the wilderness—Kenton and Hardy part with
the old man for ever—He stood at the cabin door and
watched them out of sight.</span></p>
<p class="p2">Let us go back in our story and take a parting
glimpse at some of its characters.</p>
<p>On a bright September day of the year 1808 two
men stepped from a boat to the landing at St. Louis.
They were both bronzed and weather-beaten and
wore the familiar dress of the American backwoodsman.
One was a fair-haired giant of about forty
years, with laughing blue eyes and a musical voice.
He had the careless, joyous manner of a boy and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</SPAN></span>
the air of one to whom mere living was a delight.
His companion was a younger man but of graver
aspect. His slight but sinewy frame gave evidence
of strength and activity, and the clear-cut features
bespoke alert intelligence.</p>
<p>The travellers carried rifles but were unburdened
with baggage. They did not appear to be pressed
for time nor hampered by business. Two or three
hours were spent by them in rambling about the
quaint town with its mixed population of Americans
and Creoles, French and Spanish. Then they resorted
to a tavern and ate a hearty meal. When at
length they returned to the street it was with the
air of men refreshed and with a purpose in view.</p>
<p>“Well, Hardy, how shall it be? On horseback,
or on foot?” asked Kenton.</p>
<p>“On foot, Si, by all means. I’m dying to see
old Dad, but I don’t want to ride up to his doorstep
like a trooper. It will seem more like old times if
we come in on the tramp. In fact, I want to arrive
with a good fat buck on my back.”</p>
<p>“Right you are, but it shall be two bucks. We’ll
come on the old man just as we used to do in the
good old days at Boonesborough. Those were good
times, Hardy! Things are getting too tame in the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</SPAN></span>
back country now. You and I will have to go
farther west, I’m thinking.”</p>
<p>“Yes. If we stay this side of the Mississippi, I
shall never get a chance to pay off that little debt
I contracted to you. Do you remember—the first
time I ever saw you?”</p>
<p>Kenton laughed heartily and slapped his companion
on the back, as he said:</p>
<p>“You know better now than to aim at the crest-feathers
of a redskin and then throw your tomahawk
at him, eh, young ’un?”</p>
<p>It was a beautiful country through which the
travellers passed in their two days’ journey. On
every hand stretched timbered prairie, over which
roamed herds of buffalo, deer, and other game.
Every few miles brought them to a little settlement
surrounded by orchards and standing crops.
Many of the inhabitants were Americans. In fact,
three-fifths of the population of Upper Louisiana
were immigrants from the States at the time of
annexation.</p>
<p>On the evening of the second day, the friends
learned that they were within a few miles of their
destination. They determined to defer their arrival
until the next morning, and spent the interval before<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</SPAN></span>
bedtime in securing the two fat bucks that they had
proposed to take to their old leader as a humble
testimony of respect.</p>
<p>Early the next morning Kenton and Hardy,
laboring under their heavy burdens, approached a
cabin, to which they had been directed, on the outskirts
of a settlement in St. Charles County, Missouri.
It was a small, two-roomed, structure of
hewn logs and shingle roof. Well-fenced fields and
a large orchard lay behind the building.</p>
<p>On a tree-stump near the cabin sat an old man,
with snow-white hair falling over his shoulders.
He was repairing the lock of a gun, whilst a hound
crouched at his feet and looked up in eager expectation,
hoping that a hunt was in prospect.</p>
<p>The travellers hurried forward as well as they
could with their loads, shouting greetings as they
came:</p>
<p>“Hallo, Colonel!”</p>
<p>“Hallo, dad!”</p>
<p>The old man rose, displaying surprising activity
and erectness of carriage. He shaded his eyes with
his hand and in a moment recognized his visitors.</p>
<p>“Hardy! Si!” he cried, in accents of delight.
“Bless your dear hearts! The sight of you is<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</SPAN></span>
surely good for old eyes! It looks like old times
to see you two coming up to the cabin so.”</p>
<p>Twelve years had passed since these former followers
of Boone had seen him. Of course, they
had a great deal to tell one another. The old pioneer’s
life had been comparatively uneventful in
these later years, but his two disciples insisted on
hearing all about it. At sight of the humble cabin
they had feared that the old man might be in
straitened circumstances. They were relieved to
learn that he was very comfortably situated, and
lived in his little log hut because he felt more at
home in it than in a spacious dwelling. At times,
he told them, he would spend a few weeks in the
mansion of his son Nathan, a few miles distant, or
in the roomy frame house of his son-in-law Callaway,
but he was always glad to get back to his own
little two-roomed cabin.</p>
<p>“The Lord has dealt kindly with me,” said the
old man, reverently; “I have more than I need and
no man can lay a claim against me. I left some
debts in Kentucky but with a few good seasons’
hunting and trapping I got together a considerable
pile of money. I went back—you two boys were
in Illinois and I was mighty sorry not to see you—and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</SPAN></span>
I cleaned up every debt. When I got home
again I had just half a dollar but—oh, Hardy!—it
felt good to be a free man.”</p>
<p>“And you have been happy, Dad?”</p>
<p>“Yes, son, I’ve been happy. I won’t say that I
was not sorry to leave the country that I had hunted
over and fought for, but Kentucky was getting
crowded and I felt that I needed more elbow room.
It pleased the Lord to choose me as an instrument
for the settlement of Kentucky, but I think my work
was done before I left.”</p>
<p>Two or three days were delightfully spent by the
three friends in exchange of experiences and in
mutual reminiscences. Boone evinced particular
pleasure in recalling the scenes and events connected
with his first years in Kentucky. Without being
garrulous he had become more communicative than
when Kenton and Hardy knew him and he told them
many details of his earlier life that they had never
known.</p>
<p>Hardy had often felt curiosity on the subject of
his foster-father’s religious belief. Boone’s life and
actions marked him as a moral and God-fearing
man, but he was not given to the discussion of such
matters. During this visit, when they happened<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</SPAN></span>
to be alone, Hardy took an opportunity to ask the old
man for an expression of his creed.</p>
<p>“I never had much schooling, Hardy, and you
know that churches are not over plentiful in the
backwoods,” replied Boone, thoughtfully. “I’m
afraid my religion is the home-made kind, and I
dare say it wouldn’t seem quite the right thing to a
parson, but I’ve used it as a guide through life,
son, and it served me well enough. It’s just this,”
continued the old man, baring his head: “To love
and fear God; to believe in Jesus Christ. To do
all the good to my neighbor and myself that I can,
and to do as little harm as I can help. And to trust
in God’s mercy for the rest.”</p>
<p>One morning Kenton and Hardy rose early as
usual and, to their surprise, found the old man
bustling about in front of the cabin. Two pack-horses
stood tied to neighboring trees. Blankets,
wallets, powder-horns, and a variety of other
articles lay strewn around.</p>
<p>“Why, Dad, what’s forward now?” asked
Hardy, in astonishment.</p>
<p>“We’re going on a hunt,” answered Boone, in
the most matter-of-course tone.</p>
<p>“Bully, Colonel!” cried Kenton. “It’s just<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</SPAN></span>
what I’ve been thinking of proposing. Lend a
hand, Hardy, and let’s pack the outfit!”</p>
<p>In a few hours they started, the old man on foot
like the others. Nor did they need to slacken their
pace to accommodate him. He strode along, erect
and with a step that displayed much of its old-time
elastic swing. They found that he could cover his
twelve miles a day without undue fatigue and he
insisted that the stages should be no less. If Kenton
or Hardy attempted any subterfuges, such as
feigning weariness or a desire to examine the scenery,
for the sake of affording their aged companion
a rest, Boone was visibly annoyed and they soon decided
to let him have his own way.</p>
<p>They were delighted to find that the old woodsman’s
eye, though somewhat restricted in range, was
as keen as ever in detecting “signs.” He soon gave
them proof that he still possessed his wonderful skill
with the rifle.</p>
<p>“Can you bark a squirrel now, Hardy? Try
that fellow,” said Boone, pointing to one of the little
animals on a branch, at the distance of about fifty
yards.</p>
<p>Hardy declined to take the shot, but insisted upon
Boone doing so.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The old hunter took aim and fired. The squirrel
flew into the air and came to the ground without a
hair injured. It was a feat that few backwoodsmen
in the prime of life and practice could accomplish.</p>
<p>Boone took his young friends to Kansas River.
They spent two weeks hunting in the adjoining
country and never enjoyed themselves better in their
lives. Boone at this time was a more delightful
companion than in his younger years. He talked
freely and frankly about himself and men whom he
had known. He recounted stories of great hunts
in which he had taken part, and told his companions
of the long months he had passed in Kentucky before
the advent of settlers. He related the incidents
of his capture by the Indians and his escape
to find his companions gone and himself alone a
hundred miles and more from the nearest white
settlement.</p>
<p>Boone informed them that he was in the habit of
going on a hunting expedition twice a year with a
companion whom he had bound by a written contract
to bring his body home in case he should die in the
wilderness.</p>
<p>“It is strange,” he said, “that I, who have spent
much of my life in strife and most of it in the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</SPAN></span>
wilderness, should have a dread of leaving my bones
in the forest. I can’t account for it, but I have the
strongest desire to be buried near the habitations
of men.”</p>
<p>It was with regret that the hunters turned their
faces homewards. Each felt that it was their last
hunt together, and perhaps the closing incident of
their last meeting. Such, indeed, it proved to be.</p>
<p>The day after their return, Kenton and Hardy
bade the old man a reluctant and affectionate farewell.
He stood at his cabin door with eyes shaded
and watched them out of sight. He went out of
their lives, but in their distinguished after-careers
each felt and acknowledged that he was a better man
for having known Daniel Boone.</p>
<p class="p4 noic">THE END</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="tnote">
<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber’s Notes:</p>
<p class="smfont">Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.</p>
<p class="smfont">Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.</p>
<p class="smfont">Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.</p>
</div>
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