IN THE WILDERNESS
That Boone had in mind an adventure beyond the Laurel Ridge was soon
noised abroad.
“Going on a big hunt,” said one of the settlers to another. “Taking
John Finley, who some years ago led a party to the Louisa River[3]
region, and some others.”
“Means to stay for some time, too, I hear,” said the other.
The first speaker nodded.
“Dan’l’s boys are big enough to look after things now,” said he. “And
I guess they have money enough to last a while. And besides the fun of
the hunt, Boone’ll bring back rich furs, for they say the country he’s
going into just swarms with game.”
But that Boone had any thought other than hunting was not known to
the settlements; that Colonel Henderson contemplated having the
backwoodsman inspect the wilderness as a preliminary to planting
colonies therein was kept a close secret.
It was one fine day in May in the year 1769 that the little party
assembled for the start. Besides Boone and Finley, there were James
Moncey, John Stuart, William Cool and Joseph Holden, hardy woodsmen,
dead shots and men who could be depended upon in any emergency.
Besides the sinewy, deep-winded horses which they rode, they had
a number of pack animals laden with blankets, ammunition and camp
equipment and provisions.
“We need not take much food,” said Boone, and Finley had agreed with
him. “A little meal and salt and such like, that’s all. For the
country into which we’re going, boys, is a paradise for riflemen. The
streams have never been fished except by the wandering Injuns; the
herds of deer and buffalo are endless; the small game, both furred and
feathered, are not to be counted.”
Each of the adventurers had slung across his back the very long,
flint-lock rifle made famous by their breed and generation; they also
carried keen, heavy knives and hatchets; only a few pistols were to be
seen among them. They wore deerskin hunting shirts and tanned leggins
of the same material; their powder-horns and bullet-pouches swung from
their shoulders.
Boone and the others had said good-bye to their families and now sat
their horses in the trail along the Yadkin, having a last word with
Colonel Henderson, who had ridden from Hillsboro to see them off. Noll
Barclay had borne him company, and Eph Taylor, eager and curious, had
journeyed from the forest-encircled farm to hear the latest word.
“I suppose,” Oliver said to his uncle, “that you have reasons, but I
can’t see why Eph and I could not ride with Mr. Boone on this adventure
as well as not.”
“You are too young,” spoke the colonel, after the fashion of a man who
had heard the suggestion in many forms before.
Boone looked at the straight, slight form of the lad, and then at the
lanky Eph. He nodded his agreement with the other.
“Too young,” said he. “There are times, lads, when years count, and
this is one of them. It’s not only your being short of endurance but of
judgment that makes it impossible to take you along this time. You look
at this thing as a bit of fun, and that is just what it is not. In a
year or two, though,” he added, “you’ll both have picked up years and
experience.”
“But in a year or two,” objected Noll, “there may be no trips into the
wilderness.”
Both Boone and Colonel Henderson laughed.
“The wilderness will be there for many years to come,” spoke the
colonel.
“And this, I think, is not the last trip into it by many,” said Daniel
Boone.
Young Barclay had talked over the adventure of the wilderness with both
Eph and Sandy, and while none of them hoped to be taken along on the
expedition, they, like every lad for miles around, longed to have fate
play an unexpected prank in their behalf.
“I don’t expect anything to happen,” Oliver had said, fervently. “But
you can never tell.”
However, it did not happen, and the two boys watched the hardy band
ride along the trail for the river, leading their pack animals, and
plunge into the budding green sea of the forest.
Now began the long hardship of the journey across the mountains. For
some days the going was not so difficult, because ways had been hewn
in the forests by settlers tilling the land round about; but in a
little while they penetrated beyond the settled district and were
voyaging in the trackless wilderness where the foot of the white man
had seldom fallen. They now followed the winding paths made by buffalo
and other large animals as being attended with less labor than pushing
their way through the dense undergrowth and interlacing vines. Through
deep ravines, down roaring mountain streams, descending into wonderful
valleys, fording deep rivers, they held their way across the mountain
ridge which streaked so blue across the sky-line; and at length they
found themselves on the verge of that far country of which they had
been in search.
Here and there in the journey they had come across the tracks of
redskins; once across the tree tops they had seen tall, pale columns of
smoke lifting, which told of a camp of some size. And having no desire
to become better acquainted with the wandering tribesmen, they had
always changed their course and brought into play all those wiles known
to the students of woodcraft to throw off their trail any one who might
stumble upon it.
“It’s always best to be careful,” said Boone, during one of these
sudden shifts in their course. “As far as I know there’s no big party
in this region, because it belongs to no one tribe and is visited only
by the hunters. But never take a chance that can be avoided--that’s the
safe course to follow.”
However, as Daniel Boone had said to Colonel Henderson, the beautiful
land of Kentucky was used, from time to time, as something more than a
hunting-ground. Bands of Chickasaws, Shawnees and Cherokees frequently
met in the heart of the wild, and when they did, savage fighting
followed. So desperate were these conflicts that the region became
known by an Indian name signifying “dark and bloody ground.”
Before the band of white men, as they stood upon an eminence of the
ridge on the day they first sighted Kentucky, was a vast rolling
country, roamed by herds of horned beasts, splendid streams and valleys
which promised a rich yield to the hand which drove the plow through it.
But after a space given to wonder and admiration, Boone noted that the
sun was slipping little by little behind the green rim of the forest.
“I think, boys,” suggested he, “we’d better look for a likely place to
camp for the night. To-morrow we’ll plunge into the new country and
have a close-at-hand look at everything.”
In the mountain-side was a small gorge across which a cottonwood had
fallen and hidden by a dense growth of thicket. Limbs were cut by
hatchet and knife and placed against the fallen tree in such a manner
as to form a sort of roof. Bark was pulled from those trees which gave
it readily, and fitted over the limbs; soft balsam boughs were placed
in the bottom of the gorge for beds; and here the adventurers made a
home in the wilds which they kept until the winter came with its snow
and rigors.
A turkey was roasted above the coals, impaled upon a ramrod; flap-jacks
were baked upon heated stones, and full of the spirit of the thing and
gifted with wonderful appetites the adventurers fell to and made a
hearty meal.
Then, afterward, they stretched out upon the soft boughs and watched
the moon drift across the sky while they talked of what was to come.
All was peace; save for the cry of some night bird, or the stirring of
the breeze among the trees, there was no sound.
Then, without a word of warning, there was a sudden crash from the
black looming forest, and the ring of a rifle-shot went echoing and
reëchoing from level to level until it died away in the stillness.