There are few names in the West better known, or more respected, than
that of Colonel Daniel Boone. He is regarded as the founder of Kentucky,
and in his character, was a good specimen of the early settler, who
united in his own person the offices of hunter and husbandman, soldier
and statesman. He was born in Pennsylvania, in the year 1746, and in his
boyhood gave earnest of his future career, by his surpassing skill in
the use of a gun, as exercised against squirrels, raccoons, and
wild-cats.
A love of hunting became his ruling passion, and he would wander, for
whole days alone, through the woods, seeming to take great delight in
these rambles, even if he found no game. One morning, when he was about
fourteen years old, he was observed, as usual, to throw the band that
suspended his shot bag, over the shoulder, and go forth, accompanied by
his dog. Night came, but, to the astonishment and alarm of his parents,
the boy came not. Another day and another night passed, and still he did
not return. The nearest neighbors, sympathizing with the distressed
parents, who considered him lost, at length turned out, to aid in
finding him.
After a long and weary search, a smoke was seen arising from a temporary
hovel of sods and branches, at a distance of a league from any
plantation, in which the astonished father found his child; he was,
apparently, most comfortably occupied in making an experiment in
housekeeping. Numerous skins of wild animals were stretched upon his
cabin, as trophies of his hunting prowess. Ample fragments of their
flesh were around--either thrown aside or prepared for cookery.
A few years after this, Boone removed, with his father, to North
Carolina, where they founded a settlement upon the banks of the Yadkin.
The country was new, and almost totally uninhabited; the game was
abundant, and afforded ample scope for young Boone's talents as a
hunter. One night, he went out with a friend, upon what is called a
_fire hunt_, the object of which was to shoot deer. In this sport, an
iron pan, filled with blazing knots of pitch pine, is carried by one of
the sportsmen. This casts a ruddy glare deep into the forest; and the
deer, as if bound by a spell of enchantment, stands still, and gazes at
the unwonted apparition. The lustrous eye of the animal is easily seen
by the hunter, and thus becomes a mark for the rifle.
On the present occasion, the two hunters had reached the corner of a
farmer's field early in the evening, when Boone's companion, who held
the fire pan, gave the signal that he _shined_ the eyes of a deer. Boone
approached with his ready rifle, and, perceiving the glistening eyes,
was about to fire, when the deer suddenly retreated. He pursued, and,
after a rapid chase through the woods, came suddenly out at the
farmer's house. What was the young hunter's astonishment then to
discover that the object upon which he had levelled his rifle a few
minutes before, was a beautiful girl of sixteen, and the daughter of the
farmer! Boone could do no less than enter the house. The scene that
followed is thus described by the biographer:
"The ruddy, flaxen-haired girl stood full in view of her terrible
pursuer, leaning upon his rifle, and surveying her with the most eager
admiration. 'Rebecca, this is young Boone, son of our neighbor,' was the
laconic introduction, offered by the father. Both were young, beautiful,
and at the period when the affections exercise their most energetic
influence. The circumstances of the introduction were favorable to the
result, and the young hunter felt that the eyes of the deer had _shined_
his bosom as fatally as his rifle-shot had ever done the innocent deer
of the thickets.
"She, too, when she saw the high, open, bold forehead--the clear, keen,
yet gentle and affectionate eye--the firm front, and the visible impress
of decision and fearlessness of the hunter; when she interpreted a look,
which said, as distinctly as looks could say it, 'how terrible it would
have been to have fired!' she can hardly be supposed to have regarded
him with indifference. Nor can it be wondered at that she saw in him her
_beau ideal_ of excellence and beauty.
"The inhabitants of cities, who live in splendid mansions, and read
novels stored with unreal pictures of life and the heart, are apt to
imagine that love, with all its golden illusions, is reserved
exclusively for them. It is a most egregious mistake. A model of ideal
beauty and perfection is woven in almost every youthful heart, of the
finest and most brilliant threads that compose the web of existence. It
may not be said that this forest maiden was deeply and foolishly smitten
at first sight. All reasonable time and space were granted to the claims
of maidenly modesty. As for Boone, he was incurably wounded by her,
whose eyes he had _shined_, and as he was remarkable for the backwoods'
attribute of never being beaten out of his track, he ceased not to woo,
until he gained the heart of Rebecca Bryan. In a word, he courted her
successfully, and they were married."
Boone removed with his wife to the head waters of the Yadkin, where he
remained for several years, engaged in the quiet pursuits of a
husbandman. But in process of time, the country was settled around him,
and the restraints of orderly society became established. These were
disagreeable to his love of unbounded liberty, and he began to think of
seeking a new home in the yet unoccupied wilderness. Having heard an
account of Kentucky from a man by the name of Finley, who had made an
expedition thither, he determined to explore the country. Accordingly,
in 1769, he set out with four associates, and soon, bidding adieu to the
habitations of man, plunged into the boundless forest.
They ascended and crossed the Alleganies, and at last stood on the
western summit of the Cumberland Ridge. What a scene opened before
them!--the illimitable forest, as yet unbroken by civilized man, and
occupied only by savage beasts and more savage men. Yet it bore the
marks of the highest fertility. Trees of every form, and touched with
every shade of verdure, rose to an unwonted height on every side. In the
distance, broad rivers flashed beneath the sun. How little did these
hunters imagine that this noble country, within the compass of fifty
years, was to be dotted with villages, and crowned with cities!
The party proceeded in their march. They met with an abundance of every
species of game. The buffalo occupied the plains by thousands; and on
one occasion, the whole party came near being crushed by a herd of these
animals, that came rushing like a torrent across a prairie.
They spent the summer in the woods, and in December divided themselves
into two parties, for the purpose of extending their means of
observation. Boone and Stewart formed one division of the party. As they
proceeded toward the Kentucky river, they were never out of sight of
buffaloes, deer and wild turkeys. While they were one day leisurely
descending a hill, the Indian yell suddenly broke upon their ears; a
moment after, they were surrounded by savages, who sprung up from the
cane-brakes around, and made them captives. Their hands were bound, and
they were compelled to march, a long distance, to the Indian camp. On
the second night, they escaped, and returned to the place where they
expected to meet their former companions. These, it appears, had
returned to Kentucky. That very day, however, Boone's brother arrived
with a single companion, having made his way through the trackless
forest, from his residence on the Yadkin.
The four adventurers now devoted themselves to hunting; but, one day,
while they were out, Boone and Stewart, being separated from their
companions, were attacked by Indians, and the latter was shot dead by an
arrow. Boone, with some difficulty, escaped to the camp. A short time
after this, the companion of the elder Boone wandered into the woods,
and was lost. The two brothers sought for him with anxious care, and at
last found traces of blood and fragments of his clothes in the vicinity
of a place where they had heard the howling of wolves. There was little
doubt that he had fallen a sacrifice to these terrible animals. Boone
and his brother were now the only white men west of the mountains, yet
their spirits were not damped by their condition or by the sad fate
which had befallen their companions. They hunted by day; cooked their
game, sat by their bright fires and sung the airs of their country at
night. They also devoted much of their time to the preparation of a
cabin for the approaching winter.
This came at length and passed away; but they were now in want of many
things, especially ammunition, which was beginning to fail them. After
long consultation, it was agreed that the elder Boone should return to
North Carolina, and bring back ammunition, horses, and supplies.
The character of Daniel Boone, in consenting to be left alone in the
wilderness, surrounded by perils from the Indians and wild beasts, of
which he had so recently and terribly been made aware, appears in its
true light. We have heard of a Robinson Crusoe, made so by the
necessities of shipwreck; but all history can scarcely furnish another
instance of a man, voluntarily consenting to be left alone among savages
and wild beasts, seven hundred miles from the nearest white inhabitants.
The separation at last came. The elder brother disappeared in the
forest, and Daniel Boone was left in the cabin, entirely alone. Their
only dog followed the departing brother, and our hunter had nothing but
his unconquerable spirit to sustain him during the long and lonely days
and nights, visited by the remembrance of his distant wife and children.
To prevent the recurrence of dark and lonely thoughts, soon after his
brother's departure, Boone set out on a tour of observation, and made an
excursion to the Ohio river. He returned at last to his camp, which he
found undisturbed. From this point he continued to make trips into the
woods, in which he met with a variety of adventures. It was in May that
his brother left him, and late in July he returned, with two horses and
an abundant supply of needful articles. He brought also the welcome
intelligence of the welfare of his brother's family and their kind
remembrance of him.
The two brothers now set about selecting a situation for a settlement,
where they intended to bring their families. One day, as they were
passing through the woods, they saw a herd of buffaloes in great uproar.
They were running, plunging, and bellowing, as if roused to fury. The
hunters approached the throng, and perceived that a panther had leaped
upon the back of one of these huge animals, and was gnawing away the
flesh. The buffalo, maddened by the agony, dashed among the herd, and
these were soon thrown into wild confusion. Boone picked his flint, took
a deliberate aim, and fired; the panther fell from his seat, and the
herd passed on.
We cannot pursue the history of our hero, in all its adventurous
details. We have told enough to display the leading traits of his
character, and we must now hasten on, only noting the principal events.
He returned with his brother to North Carolina, and in September, 1773,
commenced his removal to Kentucky, with his own family and five others,
for the purpose of settling there. They were joined by forty men, who
placed themselves under Boone's guidance. On their route they were
attacked by the Indians; six of the men were killed, and the cattle were
dispersed. The emigrants, therefore, returned as far as Clinch river,
where they made a temporary settlement.
In 1775, Boone assisted in building a fort at a place which was called
Boonesburgh, and when completed, he removed his family thither. Two
years after, he here sustained two formidable sieges from the Indians,
whom he repulsed. In the following year he was taken while hunting, by
the savages, and carried to Detroit. He escaped, and at last returned to
his family. Again the fort was invested by the Indians and Canadian
Frenchmen, four hundred and fifty strong. Boone, with fifty men, held
out, and finally the assailants withdrew. This was the last attack upon
Boonesburgh.
In 1792, Kentucky was admitted into the Union as a state, and soon
after, Boone, being involved in one of the innumerable law-suits which
were about this time inflicted upon Kentucky, was deprived of his whole
estate by an adverse decision. The indignation of the old hunter, at
first, knew no bounds; but his tranquillity soon returned. He was,
however, thoroughly disgusted with civilized society, and determined
again, though gray with years, to find a home in the unbroken forest.
In 1798, having obtained a grant of two thousand acres of land from the
Spanish authorities in upper Louisiana, now Missouri, he removed thither
with his family, and settled at Charette. Here he devoted himself to his
familiar pursuits of hunting and trapping, and in September, 1822, he
died, being in his eighty-fifth year.
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