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

As we have stated, the most remarkable of the many associations formed for the settlement of Kentucky was that organized by Colonel Richard Henderson of North Carolina.

It was intended to obtain by purchase from the Cherokee Indians their right to the same, and then to take possession of the immense area. As soon as the organization of the company was effected, Daniel Boone was fixed upon to conduct the negotiations with the Cherokees. As might have been anticipated, he met with perfect success, and Colonel Henderson went to Wataga, a small place on the Holston River, where, in solemn council, on the 17th of March, 1775, he delivered to them a consideration in merchandise, for which he received in return a deed to Kentucky, signed by all the leading chiefs.

This was a most important step indeed, but another of no less importance remained to be taken, and that was to assume possession of the territory claimed by Colonel Henderson.

This gentleman was too energetic and clear-sighted to delay such a necessary measure, and his wisdom was further shown by fixing upon Captain Daniel Boone for the carrying out of his intentions.

A small company of brave and trustworthy men were at once selected, who were sent to Kentucky under the direction of Boone, with instructions to open a road from the Holston to the Kentucky River, and to erect a station at the mouth of Otter Creek, on the latter stream.

This was serious business, and none appreciated it more than Boone and his companions, who knew that the treaty signed with the chiefs would not afford them the slightest protection against the treacherous Indians. They proceeded with the greatest care and caution, keeping their most vigilant sentinels on the lookout at night, while every man, it may be said, was on guard through the day.

They pushed steadily forward, until they reached a point about fifteen miles from where Boonesborough stands, using all the dispatch possible, and escaping molestation up to that time. But at the place named, they were suddenly fired upon by Indians, who, springing up from their ambush, attacked them with great ferocity. Two of the whites were killed and two wounded, but they repulsed their assailants a few minutes later.

Boone and his friends lost no time in pressing ahead; but three days later, they were fired upon by Indians again, and two of their number were killed and three wounded. Well might Kentucky be named the Dark and Bloody Ground, for its soil has been crimsoned with the life-current of its earliest pioneers, from the very hour they first placed foot within its borders.

The settlers, however, had no thought of turning back, but fought their way, as may be said, to the Kentucky River, which they reached on the 1st of April, 1775, and began the erection of the fort of Boonesborough at a salt lick, about two hundred feet from the south bank of the river.

A few days later, the Indians shot one of the men, but the others paused in their work only long enough to give their late comrade a respectful burial, and to shed a few tears of sympathy over his loss, when they resumed cutting and hewing the logs and placing them in position.

They continued steadily at work, and the fort was finished by the middle of June following, when, having satisfactorily discharged his duty, Boone returned to his family at the Clinch River settlement.

Kentucky was formally taken possession of on the 20th of April, 1775, which, it may be stated, was on the very day that Colonel Richard Henderson reached the age of forty years, there being about two months difference between his age and that of Daniel Boone.

Henderson was a native Virginian, who had been a judge in the Superior Court of the Colonial Government of North Carolina; but the halls of justice were shut up by the anarchy occasioned by the Regulators, and he engaged a number of the most influential of North Carolinians in the Utopian scheme of founding the Republic of Transylvania. It was with this grandiloquent project in their mind, that Kentucky was taken possession of on the date named, and everything considered necessary was done for laying the foundation stones of the model republic in the heart of American territory.

The death-blow of the grand scheme was received before it was fairly born. Governor Martin of North Carolina issued a proclamation, declaring the purchase of the lands by Colonel Henderson and his association from the Cherokees illegal; but, as a matter of equity, the State subsequently granted 200,000 acres to the company.

Virginia did the same thing, granting them an equal number of acres bounded by the Ohio and Green Rivers. Tennessee claimed this tract, but gave in compensation therefor the same number of acres in Powell's Valley. Thus ended the attempt to found the Transylvania Republic, but the original projectors of the movement acquired individual fortunes, and Colonel Henderson himself, when he died, ten years later, was the possessor of immense wealth, and was loved and respected throughout the entire territory.

The old fort at Boonesborough, being the first real foothold gained by the pioneers, was sure to become most prominently identified with the Indian troubles that were inevitable. It was to be a haven of safety to many a settler and his family, when the whoop of the vengeful Shawanoe or Miami rang through the forest arches, and the sharp crack of the warrior's rifle sent the whizzing bullet to the heart of the white man who had ventured and trusted his all in the wilderness.

It was to be the lighthouse on the coast of danger, warning of the peril that lay around and beyond, but offering protection to those who fled to its rude shelter, as the cities of the olden times received and spread their arms over the panting fugitive escaping from his pursuers.

The old fort was a most notable figure in the history of the West, a hundred years ago. There have been gathered in the structure of logs and slabs, the bravest men who ever trailed the red Indian through the wilderness. There those mighty giants of the border, Boone, Kenton, Wells, M'Clelland, the Wetzel and McAfee Brothers, M'Arthur, and scores of others converged from their long journeyings in the service of the Government; and, closing about the fire, as they smoked their pipes, they told of the hand-to-hand encounter in the silent depths of the woods, of the maneuvering on the banks of the lonely mountain stream, of the panther-like creeping through the canebrake on the trail of the Indian, of the camps at night, when the Shawanoes were so plentiful that they did not dare close their eyes through fear that their breathing would betray them, of the smoking cabin with the mutilated forms of husband, wife, and babe showing that the aboriginal tigers had been there, of the death-shots, the races for life, and the days of perils which followed the daring scout up to the very stockades of Boonesborough.

Sometimes one of the rangers of the wilderness would fail to come into the fort when expected. There would be mutual inquiries on the part of those who had been accustomed to meet him. Perhaps some one would say he was scouting for the Government, but nothing would be known with certainty, and a suspicion would begin to shape itself that he had "lain down," never to rise again.

Perhaps some ranger in threading his way through the long leagues of trackless forests would stop to camp from the snow which was whirling and eddying about him, while the wintry wind moaned and soughed through the swaying branches overhead; and mayhap, as he cautiously struck flint and steel in the hidden gorge, he saw dimly outlined in the gathering gloom the form of a man, shrunk to that of a skeleton, in which the spark of life had been extinguished long before.

The bullet-hole in the chest, or the cleft made in the skull by the fiercely-driven tomahawk, showed why it was the scout had been missing so long, and why his cheery voice and ringing laugh would never be heard again.

Boonesborough, as we have stated, stood about 200 feet from the Kentucky River, one of its angles resting on its banks near the water, and extending from it in the form of a parallelogram. The length of the fort, allowing twenty feet for each cabin and opening, was 260 with a breadth of 150 feet. The houses were built of rough logs, and were bulletproof. They were square in form, one of the cabins projecting from each corner, the remaining spaces along the sides being filled with cabins, constructed more with an eye to strength than beauty.

On the side facing the river was a large strong gate moving on wooden hinges, and a similar one was placed on the opposite side.

The cabins along the four sides were connected by pickets, which consisted of slabs, sharpened at one end and driven deep into the ground. Such forts would be of little account in these days, but they were effective against the Indians who followed such desultory warfare, and who were thus compelled, as may be said, to transfer the advantage which they naturally sought to their enemies.

A frontier fort like Boonesborough did not afford that absolute protection which would allow the garrison to lie down and slumber in peace, certain that all danger was removed. The Indian was wily and catlike by nature; he knew the advantage of mining, and took naturally to the most insidious methods of warfare; but the whites, if vigilant, were sure to detect such demonstrations, and they possessed the power to countermine, and defeat any and every movement of the savages. Besides this, and above all, the garrison possessed a shelter from which to aim their deadly rifles, and they might well scorn the attempt of any force of warriors that could be gathered together.

The fort with its cabins was completed in the early summer of 1774, including also the cabins and buildings intended for the friends and families who were expected to join them a few months later. Colonel Henderson and a couple of the proprietors visited the place, and gave it its name in honor of the great pioneer who had built it.

These leaders took with them some forty new settlers, a large number of pack-horses, and a goodly supply of such articles as were needed at a frontier-post like Boonesborough. And now it will be admitted that Boone and his employers were fully warranted in believing that at last a permanent settlement had been planted on Kentucky soil.

CHAPTER VII

Boone Rejoins his Family at the Clinch River Settlement – Leads a Company of Immigrants into Kentucky – Insecurity of Settlers – Dawn of the American Revolution – British Agents Incite the Indians to Revolt against the Settlements

Daniel Boone showed his faith in the success of the enterprise, by announcing his intention of bringing his family into Kentucky to stay as long as they lived.

Accordingly he proceeded to the Clinch River settlement, where he gave more glowing accounts than ever of the beauties and attraction of the new country.

The result was inevitable. The stories of foreign lands never lose any of their brilliant coloring when they come from the mouth of one who has passed through the enchanting experiences of which he tells us.

What though he speaks of the deadly peril which lingers around the footsteps of the explorer, is it not one of the laws of this strange nature of ours that the attraction is thereby rendered the greater? is it not a sad fact that the forbidden pleasure is the one that tastes the sweeter?

Boone set his neighbors to talking, and by the time his family was ready to move to Kentucky, a number were fully as eager as he to go to the new country.

The pioneer was chosen to lead them. They turned their backs forever upon North Carolina in the autumn of 1775, and facing westward, set out for their destination.

When they reached Powell's valley, several other families were awaiting them, and, thus re-enforced, the company numbered twenty-six men, four women, five boys and girls – quite a formidable force, when it is remembered they were under the leadership of Daniel Boone, to whom the trail had become so familiar during the preceding years.

This little calvacade wound its way through Cumberland Gap, all in high spirits, though sensible of the dangers which, it may be said, hovered about them from the very hour they left Clinch River.

Good fortune attended the venture, and for the first time of which we have record, the entire journey was made without the loss of any of their number at the hands of the Indians.

Never forgetting that the utmost vigilance was necessary to insure this exemption, if such insurance be considered possible, Boone permitted nothing like negligence, either when on the march or in camp.

But, in recalling those first expeditions to the West, one cannot help wondering at their success. Had the Indians shown a realizing sense of the strength in union, which they displayed at the battle of Point Pleasant, the Thames, and in the defeats of St. Clair, Crawford and others, they could have crushed out these attempts at settlement, and postponed the opening up of the country for many years. What more easy than to have concentrated several hundred of their warriors, and, waiting until the little companies of settlers had penetrated too far into their territory to withdraw, led them into ambush and annihilated every man, woman and child?

But they chose, when not engaged in their rare movements on a large scale, to fight in a desultory fashion, firing from behind the tree or from the covert, or watching for the unsuspecting settler to appear at the door of his cabin.

This manner of fighting made the feeling of uncertainty general, for no man could know when the peril threatened his wife and little ones, nor when the spiteful attack would be made by some small band of warriors, venturing from the main body and relying upon their own celerity of movement to escape before the settlers could rally in time to strike back.

This species of warfare, we say, was extremely perilous to the settlers and pioneers, but it could never become an effective check to the advancing hosts of civilization, which were beginning to converge from a dozen different directions upon the fair forests and fertile plains of Kentucky.

When Boone and his party reached the headwaters of Dick's River, a halt was made, and a division took place. Several of the families preferred to settle at Harrodsburg – the cabin of Harrod having been erected there the year previous. With mutual good wishes, therefore, they separated from the main company, and pushing resolutely forward, reached their destination in safety.

As a matter of course, there was but the one haven which loomed up invitingly before Daniel Boone, – that was the station named after himself, and which was now at no great distance away. He and the main body reached it without molestation, and they helped to swell the numbers that were already making Boonesborough the strongest post in the West.

It is one of the facts of which the pioneer was proud throughout his long, eventful life, that his wife and daughter were the first white women who ever "stood upon the banks of the wild and beautiful Kentucky."

But, as we have stated, settlers, speculators, surveyors, and adventurers were converging to the Dark and Bloody Ground, which was receiving an influx almost daily – the most of the new-comers being of a character desirable and useful to a new country.

The latter part of 1775 was specially noteworthy for the number of settlers who entered Kentucky. The majority of these made their rendezvous at Boonesborough, which soon became what might be called the headquarters of the pioneers. Many attached themselves to Boone's colony, others went to Harrodsburg, while some, having completed the survey of their lands, returned home.

It was during these stirring days that Boone received visits from Kenton, the McAfees and other men, who became so noted afterward as scouts and border rangers.

Those were momentous times in the Colonies, for, as the reader will observe, our forefathers were on the very verge of the American Revolution. The country was trembling with excitement from one end to the other. In the spring of the year occurred the battle of Lexington, when was fired the shot that was "heard around the world," and the war opened between Great Britain and the Colonies. Men left the plow in the furrow, the shop and their homes, and hastened to arms, while Boone and his brother colonists were planting their homes hundreds of miles beyond the frontiers of the Carolinas. Many believed the treaties previously made with the Indians would protect them from molestation at their hands, but in this expectation the pioneers were wofully disappointed.

It was necessary for the mother country to put forth the most gigantic efforts to subdue her American colonies, or she would be confronted with rebellions among her colonial possessions all around the globe.

Despite the treaties with the aborigines, English emissaries were soon at work, inciting the Indians to revolt against the intruders upon their soil. There is good reason to believe that more than this was done, and Great Britain furnished the tribes with guns and ammunition, with which to give practical expression to their enmity toward the white settlers in Kentucky and Tennessee.

The American Indian, as a rule, does not require much persuasion to begin the work of rapine and massacre, as we have found from dealing with him ourselves. When they have received their supplies from our Government agents, and have had their usual "palaver" with the peace agents, they are fully prepared to enter upon the war-path.

The student of Western history will recognize the date named as the beginning of the most troublous times on the Kentucky frontier. The settlers had planted themselves on the soil with the purpose of remaining, and they were prepared to defend their homes against all comers. But the most resolute bravery and consummate woodcraft cannot give absolute protection from such a foe as the original American.

The sturdy settler who plunged into the woods, with his glittering axe in hand, was not secure against the shot from behind the tree which bordered his path, and the plowman who slowly guided his team to the opposite end of the clearing, could have no guarantee that one of the painted warriors had not been crouching there for hours, waiting with his serpent-like eyes fixed upon him, until he should reach the spot in order to send a bullet through his heart; the mother, busy with her household duties, was not sure that the leaden messenger would not be aimed, with unerring skill, the moment she showed herself at the door, nor could she be assured that when her little ones ventured from her sight, they would not be caught up and spirited away, or that the tomahawk would not be sent crashing into their brain.

The sounds of what seemed the hooting of owls in the dead of night were the signals which the Indians were exchanging as they crept like panthers from different directions upon the doomed cabin; the faint caw of crows, apparently from the tops of the trees, were the signals of the vengeful warriors, as they approached the house which they had fixed upon as the one that should be burned and its inmates massacred.

There was the fort known as Harrod's Old Cabin and Boonesborough, while other rude structures were reared in the clearings with the intention of being used as a protection against the red-men. These served their good purpose, and many a time saved the settlers from the peril which stole upon them like the insidious advance of the pestilence that smites at noonday, – but they could give no security to the lonely cabins with the stretches of forest between and the faint trail connecting them with the fort.

When the Shawanoes and Miamis came, it was like the whirlwind, and many a time they delivered their frightful blows, withdrew, and were miles away in the recesses of the woods, where pursuit was impossible, before the garrison at the station could answer the call for help.

But, as we have said, these frightful atrocities and dangers could not turn back the tide of emigration that was pouring westward. The trail which Boone had marked from Holston to Boonesborough was distinct enough for the passage of pack-horses, and the long files which plodded over the perilous path always had their heads turned to the westward.

The flat-boats that swung slowly with the current down the Ohio were pierced with bullets from the shores, and, in some instances, nearly all the occupants were picked off by the Indian marksmen; but had it been in the power of these cumbrous craft to turn back, they would not have done so.

The American pioneer is daunted by no danger, baffled by no difficulty, and discouraged by no adversity. The time had come for opening up the western wilds, and nothing but the hand of Providence himself could stop or delay the work.

CHAPTER VIII

Comparative Quiet on the Frontier – Capture of Boone's Daughter and the Misses Callaway by Indians – Pursued by Boone and Seven Companions – Their Rescue and Return to their Homes

It was the summer of 1776, and the colonies were aflame with war. Those were the days which tried men's souls, and the skies were dark with discouragement and coming disaster. There were many hearts that could only see overwhelming failure in the momentous struggle in which the country was engaged.

For a time, comparative quiet reigned in the neighborhood of Boonesborough. The settlers improved the time to the utmost. While some hunted and fished, others cleared the land, and a promising crop of corn had been put in the rich soil. Only one of the colony had been shot by Indians during the preceding winter, the band which did it having withdrawn before any retaliatory measures could be taken.

On the afternoon of the seventh of July, Miss Betsey Callaway, her sister Frances, and a daughter of Daniel Boone entered a canoe under the bank of the river, as children would naturally do to amuse themselves. Betsey was a young lady, but the other two were about thirteen years of age, – all bright, joyous girls, who had no thought of danger, as they paddled about the rock where the frail boat had been moored.

They were laughing and paddling, when suddenly a rustling among the overhanging bushes arrested their attention, and, turning their gaze, they saw with consternation the painted face of an Indian warrior.

The girls were almost paralyzed with terror. The savage warned them by signs to make no outcry, through penalty of being brained with the tomahawk griped in his hand. They could only huddle together in terror and await his pleasure, whatever it might be.

The sinewy Indian then stepped cautiously into the canoe, and took up the paddle, which he handled with the skill peculiar to his people. With scarcely the slightest plash, he silently forced it out from the undergrowth and started for the other shore.

The terrified girls looked appealingly in the direction of the stockades, but they dare make no outcry. The stalwart savage dipped the paddle first on one side and then on the other, and the canoe rapidly neared the shore, beneath whose overhanging bushes it glided the next moment like an arrow.

Turning toward the girls, the Indian signified that they were to leave the boat, and the poor girls could do nothing less. Several other warriors who were in waiting, joined them, and the journey was instantly begun toward the interior.

No more unfavorable time for the captives could have been selected. It was late in the afternoon, and before anything like pursuit could be organized it would be night, and the trail invisible. The Indians would use all the woodcraft at their command, and doubtless the morning would see them many miles removed from the settlement.

The captors took the very precautions of which we have spoken, directing their steps toward the thickest cane, where they separated and made their way through it with the utmost caution, with a view of rendering their footprints so faint that pursuit would be out of the question.

Having assured themselves, so far as they could, that their trail was hidden from the scrutiny of the settlers, the Indians with the three girls made another turn, and striking a buffalo path, pushed forward without delay.

The girls had been reared in a society where outdoor life and exercise were a part of their creed, and they stood the unwonted task forced upon them with much greater fortitude than would have been supposed. They walked nimbly along, taking great consolation in each other's company, though they were almost heartbroken at the thought that every mile through the gloomy forest was taking them so much further away from their loved ones, and lessened in the same degree their chances of rescue by their friends at Boonesborough.