The Life and Times of Col. Daniel Boone, Hunter, Soldier, and Pioneer

A low "whist" from the guide admonished the spies of danger, and, as agreed beforehand, they sank flat upon their faces and waited for the signal that all was right, before going further. Peering cautiously through the dense gloom, they became aware that the girl was missing, and she was gone so long that they were filled with serious misgivings.

Finally her shadowy figure came out of the gloom, and she told them she had succeeded in having two sentinels removed whose position was such that it would have been impossible for them to get by undiscovered.

In the same noiseless manner the flight was resumed, and the three phantoms, moved along through the gloom for a half hour, when they were startled by the barking of a dog close to them. Instantly White and M'Clelland cocked their guns, but their guide whispered that they were now in the very middle of the village, and their lives depended on the utmost silence and secrecy. They needed hardly to be assured of that, and they signified that her directions would be followed implicitly.

A minute later they were accosted by a squaw from an opening in her wigwam; the guide made appropriate reply, in the Indian tongue, and without pause, moved on. Her voice and manner disarmed suspicion, and the three were not disturbed.

Only a short distance further was passed, when the girl assured them they were beyond the limits of the village, and the great danger was ended. She had shown extraordinary wisdom and shrewdness in leading the spies out of their great peril. She knew the Shawanoes had their sentinels stationed at every avenue of escape, and instead of taking those which it would seem most natural to follow under the circumstances, she adopted the bold plan of disarming all these precautions by passing directly through the center of the village. The very boldness of the plan proved its success.

The fugitives now made for the Ohio River, and, at the end of three days' hard travel, they safely reached the block-house. Their escape prevented the contemplated attack by the Indians, and the adventure itself is certainly one of the most remarkable of the many told of the early days of Ohio and Kentucky.

Among the members of Mr. Finley's church was a quiet, plain-looking woman who was mild, gentle, and consistent in her talk and conversation. And yet this Mrs. Merril was the heroine of the following wonderful exploit:

In 1791, the house of Mr. Merril, in Nelson county, was assaulted by Indians. He was fired upon and fell wounded into the room. The savages attempted to rush in after him, but Mrs. Merril and her daughter succeeded in closing the door. The assailants began to hew a passage through it with their tomahawks; and, having made a hole large enough, one of them attempted to squeeze into the room. Undismayed, the courageous woman seized an axe, gave the ruffian a fatal blow as he sprang through, and he sunk quietly to the floor. Another, and still another, followed till four of their number met the same fate. The silence within induced one of them to pause and look through the crevice in the door. Discovering the fate of those who had entered, the savages resolved upon another mode of attack. Two of their number clambered to the top of the house, and prepared to descend the broad wooden chimney. This new danger was promptly met. Mrs. Merril did not desert her post; but directed her little son to cut open the feather bed, and pour the feathers upon the fire. This the little fellow did with excellent effect. The two savages, scorched and suffocated, fell down into the fire, and were soon dispatched by the children and the wounded husband. At that moment a fifth savage attempted to enter the door; but he received a salute upon the head from the axe held by Mrs. Merril, that sent him howling away. Thus seven of the savages were destroyed by the courage and energy of this heroic woman. When the sole survivor reached the town, and was asked, "What news?" a prisoner heard his reply: "Bad news! The squaws fight worse than long knives."

William Kennan, a noted scout and ranger, was the hero of many extraordinary incidents.

He had long been remarkable for strength and activity. In the course of the march from Fort Washington, he had repeated opportunities of testing his astonishing powers in those respects, and was admitted to be the swiftest runner of the light corps. On the evening preceding the action, his corps had been advanced in front of the first line of infantry, to give seasonable notice of the enemy's approach.

As day was dawning, he observed about thirty Indians within one hundred yards of the guard-fire, approaching cautiously toward the spot where he stood, in company with twenty other rangers, the rest being considerably in the rear. Supposing it to be a mere scouting party, and not superior in number to the rangers, he sprang forward a few paces in order to shelter himself in a spot of peculiarly rank grass, and, after firing with a quick aim at the foremost Indian, fell flat upon his face, and proceeded with all possible rapidity to reload his gun, not doubting for a moment that his companions would maintain their position and support him.

The Indians, however, rushed forward in such overwhelming masses, that the rangers were compelled to flee with precipitation, leaving young Kennan in total ignorance of his danger. Fortunately, the captain of his company had observed him, when he threw himself in the grass, and suddenly shouted aloud: "Run, Kennan, or you are a dead man!" He instantly sprang to his feet, and beheld the Indians within ten feet of him, while his company were more than one hundred yards in front.

Not a moment was to be lost. He darted off, with every muscle strained to the utmost, and was pursued by a dozen of the enemy with loud yells. He at first pressed straight forward to the usual fording-place in the creek, which ran between the rangers and the main army; but several Indians, who had passed him before he arose from the grass, threw themselves in his way and completely cut him off from the rest.

By the most powerful exertions, he had thrown the whole body of pursuers behind him, with the exception of one young chief, probably Meeshawa, who displayed a swiftness and perseverance equal to his own. In the circuit which Kennan was obliged to make, the race continued for more than four hundred yards. The distance between them was about eighteen feet, which Kennan could not increase, nor his adversary diminish. Each for the time put his whole soul in the race.

Kennan, as far as he was able, kept his eye upon the motions of his pursuer, lest he should throw the tomahawk, which he held aloft in a menacing attitude, and, at length, finding that no other Indian was at hand, he determined to try the mettle of his pursuer in a different manner, and felt for his knife in order to turn at bay. It had escaped from its sheath, however, while he lay in the grass, and his hair almost lifted the cap from his head when he found himself wholly unarmed.

As he had slackened his space for a moment, the Indian was almost within reach of him when he started ahead again; but the idea of being without arms lent wings to his flight, and for the first time he saw himself gaining ground. He had watched the motions of his pursuer too closely to pay proper attention to the nature of the ground before him, and suddenly found himself in front of a large tree, which had been blown down, and upon which had been heaped brush and other impediments to the height of eight or nine feet.

The Indian, heretofore silent, now gave utterance to an exultant shout, for he must have felt sure of his victim. Not a second was given to Kennan to deliberate. He must clear the obstacle in front or it was all over with him. Putting his whole soul into the effort, he bounded into the air with a power which astonished himself, and, clearing limbs, brush, and everything else, alighted in perfect safety on the other side. An exclamation of amazement burst from the band of pursuers bringing up the rear, not one of whom had the hardihood to attempt the same feat.

Kennan, however, had no leisure to enjoy his triumph. Dashing into the creek, where the high banks would protect him from the fire of the enemy, he ran up the edge of the stream until he found a convenient crossing place, and rejoined the rangers in the rear of the encampment, panting from the fatigue of exertions which had seldom been surpassed. But little breathing time was allowed him. The attack instantly commenced, and was maintained for three hours with unabated fury.

When the retreat took place, Kennan was attached to Major Clark's battalion, which had the dangerous service of protecting the rear. The corps quickly lost its commander, and was completely disorganized. Kennan was among the hindmost when the flight commenced, but exerting those same powers which had saved him in the morning, he quickly gained the front, passing several horsemen in his flight.

Here he beheld a private in his own company, lying upon the ground with his thigh broken, who, in tones of distress, implored each horseman as he hurried by to take him up behind. As soon as he beheld Kennan coming up on foot, he stretched out his hands and entreated him to save him. Notwithstanding the imminent peril of the moment, his friend could not reject such an appeal, but, seizing him in his arms, placed him upon his back, and ran in this manner several hundred yards.

At length the enemy was gaining upon them so fast, that Kennan saw their death was certain unless he relinquished his burden. He accordingly told his friend that he had used every exertion possible to save his life, but in vain; that he must relax his hold about his neck, or they would both perish. The unhappy man, heedless of every remonstrance, still clung convulsively to Kennan's back, until the foremost of the enemy, armed with tomahawks alone, were within twenty yards of them. Kennan then drew his knife from its sheath, and cut the fingers of his companion, thus compelling him to relinquish his hold. The wounded man fell upon the ground in utter helplessness, and Kennan beheld him tomahawked before he had gone thirty yards. Kennan, relieved from his burden, darted forward with the activity which once more brought him to the van. Here again he was compelled to neglect his own safety to attend to that of others.

The late Governor Madison, of Kentucky, who afterward commanded the corps which defended themselves so honorably at the River Raisin, was at that time a subaltern in St. Clair's army. Being a man of feeble constitution, he was totally exhausted by the exertions of the morning, and was found by Kennan sitting calmly upon a log, awaiting the approach of his enemies. Kennan hastily accosted him, and inquired the cause of his delay. Madison, pointing to a wound which had bled profusely, replied he was unable to walk further, and had no horse. Kennan instantly ran back to the spot where he had seen an exhausted horse grazing, caught him without difficulty, and having assisted Madison to mount, walked by his side till they were out of danger. Fortunately, the pursuit ceased soon after, as the plunder of the camp presented irresistible attractions to the Indians. The friendship thus formed between these two young men continued through life. Kennan never entirely recovered from the immense exertions he was constrained to make during this unfortunate expedition.

CHAPTER XVIII

The Three Counties of Kentucky united into One District – Colonel Boone as a Farmer – He outwits a Party of Indians who seek to capture him – Emigration to Kentucky – Outrages by Indians – Failure of General Clark's Expedition

Kentucky now enjoyed a season of repose. The revolution was ended, the independence of the colonies recognized, and the cession of the British posts in the northwest was considered inevitable. The Indians had not the same incentives to warfare and massacre as heretofore, though murder was so congenial to their nature, and their hatred of the whites was so intense, that it was unsafe to trust to any regard of treaties on their part.

The year 1783, although marked by few stirring incidents, was an important one in the history of Kentucky.

She still belonged to Virginia, but the subject of separation was discussed among the people, and it was apparent to all that the day was not far distant when she would be erected into an independent State; but she organized on a new basis, as may be said. The three counties were united in one district, having a court of common law and chancery, for the whole Territory. The seat of justice was first established at Harrodsburg, but was soon after removed to Danville, which continued the capital and most important town in the State for a number of years.

Upon the cessation of hostilities between England and the Colonies, it was stipulated that the former were to carry away no slaves, were to surrender to the United States her posts in the Northwest, and were permitted to collect the legal debts due her from our citizens.

Each party violated these conditions. Virginia peremptorily forbade the collection of a single debt within her territory until every slave taken away was returned; while England, on her part, refused to surrender a post until all the debts due her subjects had been legally recognized and collected. The result of these complications was that England held her posts in the Northwest for ten years after the close of the war.

Colonel Boone, as was his custom, devoted himself to his farm, and was engaged in the cultivation of considerable tobacco, though he never used the weed himself. As a shelter for curing it, he had built an enclosure of rails which was covered with cane and grass. The raising of tobacco has become so common of late in many States of the Union, that nearly all understand the process. Boone had placed the plants so that they lay in three tiers on the rails, the lowermost one having become very dry. One day, while in the act of removing the lower pile, so as to make room for the rest of his crop, four stalwart Indians entered, carrying guns.

When Boone looked down into the grinning faces of the warriors, he understood what it meant: they had come to take him away prisoner, as he had been taken before.

"We got you now, Boone," said one of them; "you no get away; we carry you to Chillicothe."

Boone, of course, had no gun at command, as he was not expecting any such visit, while each of the Shawanoes carried a rifle and held it so as to command him.

When Boone looked more narrowly into their faces, he recognized one or two of the Shawanoes who had captured him five years before near the Blue Licks.

He affected to be pleased, and called back, with a laugh,

"How are you, friends? I'm glad to see you."

But they were not disposed to wait, for they had ventured, at considerable risk, to steal thus close to the settlement, in their eagerness to secure such a noted prisoner as Colonel Boone.

They, therefore, pointed their guns at him in a menacing way, and suggested that the best plan for him to induce them not to pull the triggers was to descend immediately.

"I don't see as there is any help for it," was the reply of the pioneer, "but, as I have started to shift this tobacco, I hope you'll wait a few minutes till I can shift it. Just watch the way I do it."

The four warriors were unsuspicious, and, standing directly under the mass of dry pungent stuff, they looked up at the pioneer as he began moving the rails. He continued talking to his old acquaintances, as though they were valued friends, who had just dropped in for a chat, and they turned their black eyes curiously upon him, with no thought of the little stratagem he was arranging with such care and skill.

By and by Boone got a large pile of the tobacco in position directly over their heads, and then suddenly drew the rails apart, so as to allow it to fall.

At the same instant, with his arms full of the suffocating weed, he sprang among them and dashed it into their faces. Distributing it as impartially as he could, in the few seconds he allowed himself, he dashed out of the shed and ran for his house, where he could seize his rifle, and defend himself against twice the number.

Great as was his danger, he could not help stopping, when he had run most of the distance, and looking back to see how his visitors were making out.

The sight was a curious one. The eyes of the four warriors were full of the smarting dust, and they were groping about, unable to see, and resembling a party engaged in blind-man's buff. These warriors were able to speak English quite well, and they used some very emphatic expressions in the efforts to put their feelings into words. If they expected to find Boone in these aimless gropings they were mistaken, for he reached his cabin, where he was safe from them, had they been in the full possession of their faculties.

When the Shawanoes had managed to free their eyes to some extent from the biting, pungent dust, they moved off into the woods and made no more calls upon the pioneer.

Emigration to Kentucky increased, and new settlements were continually forming. Strong, sturdy settlers erected their cabins in every quarter, and the forests were rapidly cleared. Livestock increased in numbers, and naturally a brisk trade sprang up in many commodities. Trains of pack-horses carried goods from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, where they were taken down the Ohio in flat-boats and distributed among the various settlements.

As the expression goes, in these later days, everything was "booming" in Kentucky during those years, and the Territory made immense strides in material wealth and prosperity. Most of the immigrants came from North Carolina and Virginia, and they were hospitable, enterprising, vigorous and strongly attached to each other.

The time for "universal peace," along the frontier had not yet come; small affrays were continually occurring between the settlers and Indians, and in the spring of 1784, an incident of a singular nature took place. A Mr. Rowan, with his own and five other families, was descending the Ohio, one flat-boat being occupied by the cattle, while the emigrants were in the other. They had progressed a considerable distance, when, late at night, they were alarmed by the number of Indian fires which were burning for a half mile along the banks. The savages called to the whites and ordered them to come ashore, but, without making any reply, the settlers continued floating silently down the river. Finding their orders disregarded, the savages sprang into their canoes and paddled rapidly toward the boats; but, in this instance, certainly silence proved golden, for the unnatural stillness which continued seemed to awe the Indians, who, after following the craft awhile, drew off without inflicting the slightest injury. Most likely they were fearful of a surprise, in case of an open attack.

In the month of March, 1785, a settler named Elliot was killed and his family broken up, and while Thomas Marshall was descending the Ohio, he was hailed in the fashion often adopted by the decoys employed by the Indians. In this instance, however, the white man said he was a brother of the notorious Simon Girty, and he wished to warn the settlers against their danger. He admonished them to be on the watch every hour of the day and night, and under no circumstances to approach the shore.

He added the remarkable information that his brother repented the hostility he had shown the whites, and intended to return to them, if they would overlook his former enmity. But, as Simon remained a bitter enemy until his death, nearly thirty years later, his repentance could not have been very sincere.

A brief while after this, Captain Ward was attacked on the river and all his horses were killed, his nephew also falling a victim. In October an emigrant party was fired into, and six slain, then another company lost nine; and the desultory warfare was pushed with such persistency by the savages, that the settlers demanded that the Indian country should be invaded and a blow delivered which would prove effectual in keeping them away for a long time to come.

The situation of affairs became so exasperating that General Clark, in accordance with the fashion, issued his call for volunteers, and in a brief space of time a thousand veterans flocked about him at the Falls of the Ohio.

This was an army which, if properly handled, was irresistible and could have marched straight through the Indian country, laying the fields and towns waste and dispersing any force the tribes could combine against them.

But, from the first, it encountered two most serious difficulties: General Clark had lost prestige from his habits of intoxication, which unfitted him to assume the leadership of such an important enterprise, where a man needed to be cool, collected, and with the command of every faculty of his being.

But for this one fatal weakness, which has stricken so many a genius to the dust, Clark would have risen to far greater eminence, and would have reached and held the position through life to which his commanding genius entitled him.

The provisions for the soldiers were sent down the river in keel boats, but the obstructions delayed them, and, when two weeks passed without their arrival, the dissatisfaction of the men broke out in open insubordination. Desertions began, and in one instance, it is said, three hundred soldiers left in a body. General Clark protested, begged and entreated, but all in vain. His force went to pieces, like snow melting in the sun, and he was finally forced to return to Kentucky, humiliated beyond measure.

Whenever any such movement was started by the whites, the Indians kept themselves informed of every step of its progress. Their spies were out and allowed no incident, however slight, to escape their observation. It was natural, therefore, that when they saw the formidable force break up and go to their homes, they should conclude that the settlers were afraid to invade their territory, with the lesson of the former repeated failures before their eyes.

The Indians were stimulated to greater audacity than ever, and it may be said that the whole border became aflame with the most murderous kind of warfare.

CHAPTER XIX

General Harmar's Expedition against the Indians – Colonel Hardin Ambushed – Bravery of the Regulars – Outgeneraled by the Indians – Harmar and Hardin Court-martialed – General St. Clair's Expedition and its Defeat

The outrages upon the part of the Indians became so alarming that Congress was forced to see that the only way to check them and to give anything like security to the frontier, was to send a regularly-organized army into the country, which should so cripple the power of the combined tribes that they would be compelled to sue for peace.

A force of eleven hundred men was therefore organized and placed under the command of General Harmar, who was directed to march against the Indian towns of the Northwest. In the latter part of September, Harmar, at the head of this large body, moved against the villages on the Miami. The savages, as a matter of course, knew of their coming, and were gone. General Harmar laid waste their cornfields and applied the torch to their lodges, making the destruction as complete as possible. Discovering a fresh trail, he detached one hundred and eighty of his men, and placing them under the command of Colonel John Hardin and Ensign Hartshorn, sent them with orders to move with all speed with a view of overtaking the fugitives.

Pursuit was pushed with great vigor, when the whole force ran directly into ambush and were assailed on all sides by a large force of Indians. At the beginning of the attack, the militia, numbering five-sixths of the whole force, broke and scattered, while the few regulars stood their ground and fought bravely, until nearly every man was shot down.

When night came, the Indians held a jollification dance over the dead and dying soldiers, and the great victory they themselves had again obtained. Among the witnesses of the curious scene were Ensign Hartshorn (who, having stumbled over a log in the tall grass, was prudent enough to lie still where he was unnoticed) and Colonel Hardin, who was sunk to his chin in mud and water, where he stayed until he gained an opportunity of crawling out. He and Hartshorn succeeded in rejoining the main body.

The news of the frightful slaughter so discouraged General Harmar that he broke up his camp and began a retrogade movement toward the settlements. When a few miles from the Indian towns which he had burned, he halted and sent out Colonel Hardin with three hundred militia and sixty regulars.