_Captivity and Flight._
Heroism of Thomas Higgins and of Mrs. Pursley.--Affairs at
Boonesborough.--Continued Alarms.--Need of Salt.--Its Manufacture.--Indian
Schemes.--Capture of Boone and twenty-seven men.--Dilemma of the British
at Detroit.--Blackfish adopts Colonel Boone.--Adoption Ceremony.--Indian
Designs.--Escape of Boone.--Attacks the Savages.--The Fort Threatened.
The following well authenticated account of the adventures of a ranger
is so graphically described in Brown's _History of Illinois_, that we
give it in the words of the writer:
"Thomas Higgins, a native Kentuckian, was, in the summer of 1814,
stationed in a block-house eight miles south of Greenville, in what is
now Bond County, Illinois. On the evening of the 30th of August, 1814, a
small party of Indians having been seen prowling about the station,
Lieutenant Journay, with all his men, twelve only in number, sallied
forth the next morning, just before daybreak, in pursuit of them. They
had not proceeded far on the border of the prairie, before they were in
an ambuscade of seventy or eighty savages. At the first fire, the
lieutenant and three of his men were killed. Six fled to the fort under
cover of the smoke, for the morning was sultry, and the air being damp,
the smoke from the guns hung like a cloud over the scene. But Higgins
remained behind to have 'one more pull at the enemy,' and to avenge the
death of his companions.
"He sprang behind a small elm scarcely sufficient to protect his body,
when, the smoke partly rising, discovered to him a number of Indians,
upon whom he fired, and shot down the foremost one. Concealed still by
the smoke, Higgins reloaded, mounted his horse, and turned to fly, when
a voice, apparently from the grass, hailed him with: Tom, you won't
leave me, will you?
"He turned immediately around, and seeing a fellow soldier by the name
of Burgess lying on the ground, wounded and gasping for breath, replied,
'No, I will not leave you; come along.' 'I can't come,' said Burgess,
'my leg is all smashed to pieces.'
"Higgins dismounted, and taking up his friend, whose ankle had been
broken, was about to lift him on his horse, when the animal, taking
fright, darted off in an instant and left them both behind. 'This is too
bad,' said Higgins, 'but don't fear. You hop off on your three legs and
I will stay behind between you and the Indians and keep them off. Get
into the tallest grass and creep as near the ground as possible.'
Burgess did so and escaped.
"The smoke which had hitherto concealed Higgins now cleared away, and he
resolved, if possible, to retreat. To follow the track of Burgess was
most expedient. It would, however, endanger his friend. He determined,
therefore, to venture boldly forward and, if discovered, to secure his
own safety by the rapidity of his flight. On leaving a small thicket in
which he had sought refuge, he discovered a tall, portly savage near by,
and two others in the direction between him and the fort.
"He started, therefore, for a little rivulet near, but found one of his
limbs failing him, it having been struck by a ball in the first
encounter, of which, till now, he was scarcely conscious. The largest
Indian pressed close upon him, and Higgins turned round two or three
times in order to fire. The Indian halted and danced about to prevent
his taking aim. He saw that it was unsafe to fire at random, and
perceiving two others approaching, knew that he must be overpowered
unless he could dispose of the forward Indian first. He resolved,
therefore, to halt and receive his fire.
"The Indian raised his rifle, and Higgins, watching his eye, turned
suddenly as his finger pressed the trigger, and received the ball in his
thigh. He fell, but rose immediately and ran. The foremost Indian, now
certain of his prey, loaded again, and with the other two pressed on.
They overtook him. He fell again, and as he rose the whole three fired,
and he received all their balls. He now fell and rose a third time, and
the Indians, throwing away their guns, advanced upon him with spears and
knives. As he presented his gun at one or another, each fell back. At
last the largest Indian, supposing his gun to be empty, from his fire
having been thus reserved, advanced boldly to the charge. Higgins fired
and the savage fell.
"He had now four bullets in his body, an empty gun in his hand, two
Indians unharmed as yet before him, and a whole tribe but a few yards
distant. Any other man would have despaired. Not so with him. He had
slain the most dangerous of the three, and having but little to fear
from the others, began to load his rifle. They raised a savage whoop and
rushed to the encounter. A bloody conflict now ensued. The Indians
stabbed him in several places. Their spears, however, were but thin
poles, hastily prepared, and which bent whenever they struck a rib or a
muscle. The wounds they made were not therefore deep, though numerous.
"At last one of them threw his tomahawk. It struck him upon the cheek,
severed his ear, laid bare his skull to the back of his head, and
stretched him upon the prairie. The Indians again rushed on, but
Higgins, recovering his self-possession, kept them off with his feet
and hands. Grasping at length one of their spears, the Indian, in
attempting to pull it from him, raised Higgins up, who, taking his
rifle, dashed out the brains of the nearest savage. In doing this,
however, it broke, the barrel only remaining in his hand. The other
Indian, who had heretofore fought with caution, came now manfully into
the battle. His character as a warrior was in jeopardy. To have fled
from a man thus wounded and disarmed, or to have suffered his victim to
escape, would have tarnished his fame for ever. Uttering, therefore, a
terrific yell, he rushed on and attempted to stab the exhausted ranger.
But the latter warded off his blow with one hand and brandished his
rifle barrel with the other. The Indian was as yet unharmed, and, under
existing circumstances, by far the most powerful man. Higgins' courage,
however, was unexhausted and inexhaustible.
"The savage at last began to retreat from the glare of his untamed eye
to the spot where he had dropped his rifle. Higgins knew that if he
recovered that, his own case was desperate. Throwing, therefore, his
rifle barrel aside, and drawing his hunting knife he rushed upon his
foe. A desperate strife ensued--deep gashes were inflicted on both
sides. Higgins, fatigued and exhausted by the loss of blood, was no
longer a match for the savage. The latter succeeded in throwing his
adversary from him, and went immediately in pursuit of his rifle.
Higgins at the same time rose and sought for the gun of the other
Indian. Both, therefore, bleeding and out of breath, were in search of
arms to renew the combat.
"The smoke had now passed away, and a large number of Indians were in
view. Nothing, it would seem, could now save the gallant ranger. There
was, however, an eye to pity and an arm to save, and that arm was a
woman's. The little garrison had witnessed the whole combat. It
consisted of but six men and one woman; that woman, however, was a
host--a Mrs. Pursley. When she saw Higgins contending single-handed with
a whole tribe of savages, she urged the rangers to attempt his rescue.
The rangers objected, as the Indians were ten to one. Mrs. Pursley,
therefore, snatched a rifle from her husband's hand, and declaring that
'so fine a fellow as Tom Higgins should not be lost for want of help,'
mounted a horse and sallied forth to his rescue.
"The men, unwilling to be outdone by a woman, followed at full gallop,
reached the spot where Higgins had fainted and fell, before the Indians
came up, and while the savage with whom he had been engaged was looking
for his rifle, his friends lifted the wounded ranger up and throwing him
across a horse before one of the party, reached the fort in safety.
"Higgins was insensible for several days, and his life was preserved by
continued care. His friends extracted two of the balls from his thigh.
Two, however, yet remained, one of which gave him a good deal of pain.
Hearing afterwards that a physician had settled within a day's ride of
him, he determined to go and see him. The physician asked him fifty
dollars for the operation. This Higgins flatly refused, saying that it
was more than half a year's pension. On reaching home he found that the
exercise of riding had made the ball discernable; he requested his wife,
therefore, to hand him his razor. With her assistance he laid open his
thigh until the edge of the razor touched the bullet, then, inserting
his two thumbs into the gash, 'he flirted it out,' as he used to say,
'without it costing him a cent.'
"The other ball yet remained. It gave him, however, but little pain, and
he carried it with him to the grave. Higgins died in Fayette County,
Illinois, a few years ago. He was the most perfect specimen of a
frontier man in his day, and was once assistant door-keeper of the House
of Representatives in Illinois. The facts above stated are familiar to
many to whom Higgins was personally known, and there is no doubt of
their correctness."[E]
[Footnote E: Brown's Illinois.]
This narrative gives one a very vivid idea of the nature of the conflict
in which Boone, through so many years of his life, was engaged. The
little fort, whose feeble garrison he commanded, was liable at any time
to be assailed by overwhelming numbers.
Daniel Boone, during his occupancy of the fort at Boonesborough,
manifested the most constant vigilance to guard against surprise. He was
however struggling against a foe whose cunning and strategems were such,
as not to allow him an hour of quiet. One morning two men laboring in
the field were shot at by the Indians. Not being hit, they ran for the
fort. They were pursued by the savages, and one was tomahawked and
scalped within a few hundred feet of the gate. Boone hearing the alarm,
inconsiderately rushed out with ten men upon the miscreants. They fled
before him hotly pursued. In the eagerness of the chase, Boone had not
counted the number of his foes. Some of them rushing from their ambush
cut off his retreat. At one discharge, six of his men fell wounded.
Boone's leg was shattered by a ball.
As he fell to the ground, the tomahawk of a savage was over his head.
Simon Kenton, who was one of Boone's party, with sure aim pierced the
heart of the savage with a rifle bullet and he fell dead. Reinforcements
rushed from the fort, and fortunately succeeded in rescuing the
adventurous party, the wounded and all. It is said of Boone, that
though a silent man and not given to compliments, he manifested very
deep gratitude to his friend Kenton for saving his life. The very
peculiar character of Boone is vividly presented in the following
sketch, from the graphic pen of Mr. Peck:
"As dangers thickened and appearances grew more alarming, as scouts came
in with rumors of Indians seen here and there, and as the hardy and bold
woodsmen sat around their camp-fires with the loaded rifle at hand,
rehearsing for the twentieth time the tales of noble daring, or the
hair-breadth escapes, Boone would sit silent, apparently not heeding the
conversation, employed in repairing the rents in his hunting shirt and
leggins, moulding bullets or cleaning his rifle. Yet the eyes of the
garrison were upon him. Concerning 'Indian signs' he was an oracle.
"Sometimes with one or two trusty companions, but more frequently alone,
as night closed in, he would steal noiselessly away into the woods, to
reconnoiter the surrounding wilderness. And in the day time, stealthily
would he creep along with his trusty rifle resting on his arm, ready for
the least sign of danger, his keen, piercing eyes glancing into every
thicket and canebrake, or watch intently for 'signs' of the wiley enemy.
Accustomed to range the country as a hunter and a scout, he would
frequently meet the approaching travelers on the road and pilot them
into the settlement, while his rifle supplied them with provisions. He
was ever more ready to aid the community, or to engage in public
services, than to attend to his private interests."
The want of salt had become one of the greatest privations of the
garrison. It was an article essential to comfort and health, and yet, in
the warfare then existing, was almost impossible of attainment. Upon the
Sicking river, nearly a hundred miles north from Boonesborough, there
were valuable springs richly impregnated with salt. Animals from all
quarters frequented these springs, licking the saturated clay around
them. Hence the name of Salt Licks. Evaporating the water by boiling in
large kettles, salt of a good quality was easily obtained. The
necessities of the garrison became so great, that Colonel Boone took a
well-armed party of thirty men, and threading their way through the
wilderness, at length reached the springs unassailed. It was one of the
boldest of adventures. It was certain that the watchful Indians would
learn that a party had left the cover of the fort, and would fall upon
them with great ferocity.
Colonel Boone, who desired to obtain salt for all the garrisons, deemed
it consequently necessary to work night and day with the greatest
possible diligence. They could never venture to move a step beyond the
grasp of their rifles. For nearly four weeks the salt-makers pursued
their work unassailed. The news of so strong and well armed a party
having left the fort, reached the ears of the Indians. They had a very
great dread of Boone, and knew very well he would not be found sleeping
or unprotected, at the springs. They shrewdly inferred that the
departure of so many men must greatly weaken the garrison, and that they
could never hope for a more favorable opportunity to attack
Boonesborough.
This formidable fortress was the great object of their dread. They
thought that if they could lay it in ashes, making it the funeral pyre
of all its inmates, the weaker forts would be immediately abandoned by
their garrisons in despair, or could easily be captured. An expedition
was formed, consisting of more than a hundred Indian warriors, and
accompanied it is said by two Frenchmen. Boone had sent three men back
to the garrison, loaded with salt, and to convey tidings of the good
condition of the party at the springs.
On the morning of the seventh of February, Boone, who was unequalled in
his skill as a hunter, and also in the sagacity by which he could avoid
the Indians, was out in search of game as food for the party. Emboldened
by the absence of all signs of the vicinity of the Indians, he had
wandered some distance from the springs, where he encountered this band
of warriors, attended by the two Frenchmen, on the march for the assault
on Boonesborough. Though exceedingly fleet of foot, his attempt to
escape was in vain. The young Indian runners overtook and captured him.
The Indians seem to have had great respect for Boone. Even with them he
had acquired the reputation of being a just and humane man, while his
extraordinary abilities, both as a hunter and a warrior, had won their
admiration. Boone was not heading a war party to assail them. He had not
robbed them of any of their horses. They were therefore not exasperated
against him personally. It is also not improbable that the Frenchmen who
were with them had influenced them not to treat their prisoner with
barbarity.
Boone, whose spirits seemed never to be perturbed, yielded so gracefully
to his captors as to awaken in their bosoms some emotions of kindness.
They promised that if the party at the springs would yield without
resistance--which resistance, though unavailing, they knew would cost
them the lives of many of their warriors--the lives of the captives
should be safe, and they should not be exposed to any inhuman treatment.
Boone was much perplexed. Had he been with his men, he would have
fought to the last extremity, and his presence not improbably might have
inspirited them, even to a successful defence. But deprived of their
leader, taken entirely by surprise, and outnumbered three or four to
one, their massacre was certain. And it was also certain that the
Indians, exasperated by the loss which they would have encountered,
would put every prisoner to death, through all the horrors of fiendlike
torture.
Under these circumstances, Colonel Boone very wisely decided upon
surrender. It would have been very impolitic and cruel to do otherwise.
He having thus given his word, the Indians placed implicit confidence in
it. They were also perfectly faithful to their own promises. Boone was
allowed to approach his men, and represent the necessity of a surrender,
which was immediately effected. The Indians were so elated by this great
victory, and were so well satisfied with the result of the campaign,
that instead of continuing their march for the attack of Boonesborough,
they returned with their illustrious captive and his twenty-seven
companions to their head-quarters on the Little Miami River.
The modest, unaffected account which Boone himself gives of these
transactions, is worthy of record here:
"On the seventh of February, as I was hunting to procure meat for the
company, I met a party of one hundred and two Indians, and two
Frenchmen, on their march against Boonesborough; that place being
particularly the object of the enemy. They pursued and took me, and
brought me the eighth day to the Licks, where twenty-seven of my party
were, three of them having previously returned home with the salt. I,
knowing it was impossible for them to escape, capitulated with the
enemy, and at a distance, in their view, gave notice to my men of their
situation with orders not to resist, but surrender themselves captives.
"The generous usage the Indians had promised before in my capitulation,
was afterwards fully complied with, and we proceeded with them as
prisoners to Old Chilicothe, the principal Indian town on Little Miami,
where we arrived, after an uncomfortable journey in very severe weather,
on the eighteenth of February, and received as good treatment as
prisoners could expect from savages. On the tenth of March following, I
and ten of my men were conducted by forty Indians to Detroit, where we
arrived the thirtieth day, and were treated by Governor Hamilton, the
British commander at that post, with great humanity.
"During our travels, the Indians entertained me well, and their
affection for me was so great, that they utterly refused to leave me
there with the others, although the Governor offered them one hundred
pounds sterling for me, on purpose to give me a parole to go home.
Several English gentlemen there, being sensible of my adverse fortune,
and touched with human sympathy, generously offered a friendly supply
for my wants, which I refused with many thanks for their kindness,
adding that I never expected it would be in my power to recompense such
unmerited generosity."
The British officers in Detroit could not venture to interfere in behalf
of Colonel Boone, in any way which would displease their savage allies,
for they relied much upon them in their warfare against the colonies.
There was much in the character of our hero to win the affection of the
savages. His silent, unboastful courage they admired. He was more than
their equal in his skill in traversing the pathless forest. His prowess
as a hunter they fully appreciated. It was their hope that he would
consent to be incorporated in their tribe, and they would gladly have
accepted him as one of their chiefs. The savages had almost universally
sufficient intelligence to appreciate the vast superiority of the white
man.
The Indians spent ten days at Detroit, and surrendered, for a ransom,
all their captives to the English, excepting Colonel Boone. Him they
took back on a long and fatiguing journey to Old Chilicothe on the
Little Miami. The country they traversed, now so full of wealth,
activity, and all the resources of individual and social happiness, was
then a vast wilderness, silent and lonely. Still in its solitude it was
very beautiful, embellished with fertile plains, magnificent groves, and
crystal streams. At Chilicothe, Colonel Boone was formally adopted,
according to an Indian custom, into the family of Blackfish, one of the
distinguished chiefs of the Shawanese tribe.
"At Chilicothe," writes Boone, "I spent my time as comfortably as I
could expect. I was adopted according to their custom, into a family
where I became a son, and had a great share in the affection of my new
parents, brothers, sisters and friends. I was exceedingly familiar and
friendly with them, always appearing as cheerful and satisfied as
possible, and they put great confidence in me. I often went hunting with
them, and frequently gained their applause for my activity, at our
shooting matches. I was careful not to excel them when shooting, for no
people are more envious than they in their sport. I could observe in
their countenances and gestures, the greatest expressions of joy when
they exceeded me, and when the reverse happened, of envy. The Shawanese
king took great notice of me, and treated me with profound respect and
entire friendship, often trusting me to hunt at my liberty. I frequently
returned with the spoils of the woods, and as often presented some of
what I had taken to him, expressive of my duty to my sovereign. My food
and lodging were in common with them. Not so good, indeed, as I could
desire, but necessity makes everything acceptable."
The spirit manifested by Boone under these circumstances, when he was
apparently a hopeless prisoner in the hands of the Indians, was not
influenced by artifice alone. He had real sympathy for the savages,
being fully conscious of the wrongs which were often inflicted upon
them, and which goaded their untamed natures to fearful barbarities. He
had always treated them not only kindly, but with fraternal respect. The
generous treatment he had received in return won his regards. His
peculiarly placid nature was not easily disturbed by any reverses. Let
what would happen, he never allowed himself to complain or to worry.
Thus making the best of circumstances, he always looked upon the
brightest side of things, and was reasonably happy, even in this direful
captivity. Still he could not forget his home, and was continually on
the alert to avail himself of whatever opportunity might be presented to
escape and return to his friends.
The ceremony of adoption was pretty severe and painful. All the hair of
the head was plucked out by a tedious operation, leaving simply a tuft
three or four inches in diameter on the crown. This was called the
scalp-lock. The hair was here allowed to grow long, and was dressed with
ribbons and feathers. It was to an individual warrior what the banner is
to an army. The victor tore it from the skull as his trophy. Having thus
denuded the head and dressed the scalp-lock, the candidate was taken to
the river and very thoroughly scrubbed, that all the white blood might
be washed out of him. His face was painted in the most approved style of
Indian taste, when he was led to the council lodge and addressed by the
chief in a long and formal speech, in which he expatiates upon the honor
conferred upon the adopted son, and upon the corresponding duties
expected of him.
Colonel Boone having passed through this transformation, with his Indian
dress and his painted cheeks, his tufted scalp-lock and his whole person
embrowned by constant exposure to the open air, could scarcely be
distinguished from any of his Indian associates. His wary captors
however, notwithstanding all the kindness with which they treated him,
seemed to be conscious that it must be his desire to return to his
friends. They therefore habitually, but without a remark suggestive of
any suspicions, adopted precautions to prevent his escape. So skilful a
hunter as Boone could, with his rifle and a supply of ammunition,
traverse the solitary expanse around for almost any length of time,
living in abundance. But deprived of his rifle or of ammunition, he
would soon almost inevitably perish of starvation. The Indians were
therefore very careful not to allow him to accumulate any ammunition,
which was so essential to sustain him in a journey through the
wilderness.
Though Boone was often allowed to go out alone to hunt, they always
counted his balls and the charges of powder. Thus they could judge
whether he had concealed any ammunition to aid him, should he attempt to
escape. He however, with equal sagacity, cut the balls in halves, and
used very small charges of powder. Thus he secretly laid aside quite a
little store of ammunition. As ever undismayed by misfortune, he
serenely gave the energies of his mind to the careful survey of the
country around.
"During the time that I hunted for them," he writes, "I found the land
for a great extent about this river to exceed the soil of Kentucky if
possible, and remarkably well watered."
Upon one of the branches of the Scioto river, which stream runs about
sixty miles east of the Little Miami, there were some salt springs.
Early in June a party of the Indians set out for these "Licks" to make
salt. They took Boone with them. The Indians were quite averse to
anything like hard work. Boone not only understood the process of
manufacture perfectly, but was always quietly and energetically devoted
to whatever he undertook. The Indians, inspired by the double motive of
the desire to obtain as much salt as possible, and to hold securely the
prisoner, whom they so highly valued, kept him so busy at the kettles as
to give him no opportunity to escape.
After an absence of about a fortnight, they returned with a good supply
of salt to the Little Miami. Here Boone was quite alarmed to find that
during his absence the chiefs had been marshaling a band of four hundred
and fifty of their bravest warriors to attack Boonesborough. In that
fort were his wife and his children. Its capture would probably insure
their slaughter. He was aware that the fort was not sufficiently guarded
by its present inmates, and that, unapprehensive of impending danger,
they were liable to be taken entirely by surprise. Boone was
sufficiently acquainted with the Shawanese dialect to understand every
word they said, while he very sagaciously had assumed, from the moment
of his captivity, that he was entirely ignorant of their language.
Boone's anxiety was very great. He was compelled to assume a smiling
face as he attended their war dances. Apparently unmoved, he listened
to the details of their plans for the surprise of the fort. Indeed, to
disarm suspicion and to convince them that he had truly become one of
their number, he co-operated in giving efficiency to their hostile
designs against all he held most dear in the world.
It had now become a matter of infinite moment that he should immediately
escape and carry to his friends in the fort the tidings of their peril.
But the slightest unwary movement would have led the suspicious Indians
so to redouble their vigilance as to render escape utterly impossible.
So skilfully did he conceal the emotions which agitated him, and so
successfully did he feign entire contentment with his lot, that his
captors, all absorbed in the enterprise in which they were engaged,
remitted their ordinary vigilance.
On the morning of the sixteenth of June, Boone rose very early to take
his usual hunt. With his secreted ammunition, and the amount allowed him
by the Indians for the day, he hoped to be able to save himself from
starvation, during his flight of five days through the pathless
wilderness. There was a distance of one hundred and sixty miles between
Old Chilicothe and Boonesborough. The moment his flight should be
suspected, four hundred and fifty Indian warriors, breathing vengeance,
and in perfect preparation for the pursuit, would be on his track. His
capture would almost certainly result in his death by the most cruel
tortures; for the infuriated Indians would wreak upon him all their
vengeance.
It is however not probable that this silent, pensive man allowed these
thoughts seriously to disturb his equanimity. An instinctive trust in
God seemed to inspire him. He was forty-three years of age. In the
knowledge of wood-craft, and in powers of endurance, no Indian surpassed
him. Though he would be pursued by sagacious and veteran warriors and by
young Indian braves, a pack of four hundred and fifty savages following
with keener scent than that of the bloodhound, one poor victim, yet
undismayed, he entered upon the appalling enterprise. The history of the
world perhaps presents but few feats so difficult, and yet so
successfully performed. And yet the only record which this modest man
makes, in his autobiography, of this wonderful adventure is as follows:
"On the sixteenth, before sunrise, I departed in the most secret manner,
and arrived at Boonesborough on the twentieth, after a journey of one
hundred and sixty miles, during which I had but one meal."
It was necessary, as soon as Boone got out of sight of the village, to
fly with the utmost speed, to put as great a distance as possible
between himself and his pursuers, before they should suspect his attempt
at escape. He subsequently learned that as soon as the Indians
apprehended that he had actually fled, there was the most intense
commotion in their camp, and immediately a large number of their
fleetest runners and keenest hunters were put upon his trail. He dared
not fire a gun. Had he killed any game he could not have ventured to
kindle a fire to cook it. He had secretly provided himself with a few
cuts of dried venison with which he could appease his hunger as he
pressed forward by day and by night, scarcely allowing himself one
moment for rest or sleep. His route lay through forests and swamps, and
across many streams swollen by recent rains.
At length he reached the Ohio river. Its current was swift and turbid,
rolling in a majestic flood half a mile in width, filling the bed of the
stream with almost fathomless waters from shore to shore. Experienced as
Colonel Boone was in wood-craft, he was not a skilful swimmer. The
thought of how he should cross the Ohio had caused him much anxiety.
Upon reaching its banks he fortunately--may we not say
providentially--found an old canoe which had drifted among the bushes
upon the shore. There was a large hole at one end, and it was nearly
filled with water. He succeeded in bailing out the water and plugging
up the hole, and crossed the river in safety. Then for the first time he
so far indulged in a feeling of security as to venture to shoot a
turkey, and kindling a fire he feasted abundantly upon the rich repast.
It was the only meal in which he indulged during his flight of five
days.
On his arrival at Boonesborough, he was welcomed as one risen from the
grave. Much to his disappointment he found that his wife with his
children, despairing of ever seeing him again, had left the fort and
returned to the house of her father, in North Carolina. She supposed
that the Indians had killed him. "Oppressed," writes Boone, "with the
distresses of the country and bereaved of me, her only happiness, she
had undertaken her long and perilous journey through the wilderness." It
is gratifying to record that she reached her friends in safety.
Boone found the fort as he had apprehended, in a bad state of defence.
His presence, his military skill, and the intelligence he brought,
immediately inspired every man to the intensest exertion. The gates were
strengthened, new bastions were formed, and provisions were laid in, to
stand a siege. Everything was done which could be done to repel an
assault from they knew not how many savages, aided by British leaders,
for the band from old Chilicothe, was to be joined by warriors from
several other tribes. In ten days, Boonesborough was ready for the
onset. These arduous labors being completed, Boone heroically resolved
to strike consternation into the Indians, by showing them that he was
prepared for aggressive as well as defensive warfare, and that they must
leave behind them warriors for the protection of their own villages.
Selecting a small party of but nineteen men, about the first of August
he emerged from Boonesborough, marched boldly to the Ohio, crossed the
river, entered the valley of the Scioto, and was within four miles of an
Indian town, Paint Creek, which he intended to destroy, when he chanced
to encounter a band of thirty savages painted, thoroughly armed and on
the war path, to join the band advancing from Old Chilicothe. The
Indians were attacked with such vehemence by Boone, that they fled in
consternation, leaving behind them three horses and all their baggage.
The savages also lost one killed and two wounded, while they inflicted
no loss whatever upon the white men.
Boone sent forward some swift runners as spies, and they speedily
returned with the report that the Indians in a panic had entirely
abandoned Paint Creek. Aware that the warriors would rush to join the
four hundred and fifty from Old Chilicothe, and that they might cut off
his retreat, or reach Boonesborough before his return, he immediately
commenced a rapid movement back to the fort. Every man would be needed
there for an obstinate defence. This foray had extended one hundred and
fifty miles from the fort. It greatly alarmed the Indians. It emboldened
the hearts of the garrison, and gave them intelligence of the approach
of their foes. After an absence of but seven days, Boone with his heroic
little band quite triumphantly re-entered the fort.
The approach of the foe is described in the following terms by Boone:
"On the eighth of August, the Indian army arrived, being four hundred
and forty-four in number, commanded by Captain Duquesne, eleven other
Frenchmen and some of their own chiefs, and marched up in view of our
fort, with British and French colors flying. And having sent a summons
to me in His Britannic Majesty's name to surrender the fort, I requested
two days' consideration which was granted. It was now a critical period
with us. We were a small number in the garrison; a powerful army before
our walls, whose appearance proclaimed inevitable death; fearfully
painted and marking their footsteps with desolation. Death was
preferable to captivity; and if taken by storm, we must inevitably be
devoted to destruction.
"In this situation we concluded to maintain our garrison if possible. We
immediately proceeded to collect what we could of our horses and other
cattle, and bring them through the posterns into the fort; and in the
evening of the ninth, I returned the answer 'that we were determined to
defend our fort while a man was living.'
"'Now,' said I to their commander who stood attentively hearing my
sentiments, 'we laugh at your formidable preparations, but thank you for
giving us notice, and time for our defence. Your efforts will not
prevail, for our gates shall forever deny you admittance.'
"Whether this answer affected their courage or not, I cannot tell, but
contrary to our expectations, they formed a scheme to deceive us,
declaring it was their orders from Governor Hamilton to take us
captives, and not to destroy us; but if nine of us would come out and
treat with them, they would immediately withdraw their forces from our
walls, and return home peaceably. This sounded grateful in our ears, and
we agreed to the proposal."