THE FORT AT BOONESBOROUGH
After the battle of Point Pleasant, which was the most severe
engagement with Indians in the history of Virginia, the tribes sent
messengers to make peace with the governor. In this treaty the Shawnees
gave up all claim to the country beyond the ridge.
As the time for the settlement of this great region was completely
ripe, Colonel Henderson rode to Boone’s place on the Clinch River.
“The Chickasaws we can’t reach,” said he. “But we can the Cherokees.
I want you to visit the chief of that nation and purchase, for my
company, all their rights in the new country.”
Promptly Boone started off on this mission. Penetrating to the
Cherokee country he opened negotiations with the chiefs and head men
of that tribe. Success met him on every hand; the result was that
Colonel Henderson later met the Indians in solemn council at Fort
Wataga; the price was paid and the deed was signed; and thereafter
Kentucky was, of right, free of all Indian claims.
“And now,” said Boone to the colonel, “the next thing to do is to take
possession. And I calculate that the least delay in that, the better
for us.”
To this advice Colonel Henderson gave willing ear.
“As all affairs with the Indian nations are settled,” said he, “I
think what you say is the right thing to do. But to tempt emigrants we
must have a way for them to get into the new country without so much
hardship. Enlist a company of men and cut a way through the wilderness
to the place where you think a colony can be planted.”
This was a tremendous task, but Daniel Boone was the man to undertake
it. The hardy spirits of the border had confidence in his ability, and
when he went among them for volunteers upon this new enterprise, they
responded readily enough. Oliver Barclay was to go with the party in
the interest of his uncle, and Eph and Sandy, full of the desire for
the wilderness, were among the first to offer themselves.
Mounted upon Hawk, for the good horse had escaped the Indians upon the
night of his master’s capture and wandered back to the Curleys’ cabin,
Oliver rode along with Boone over the same trail they had traveled upon
the previous attempt to get beyond the mountains.
“This time,” said Oliver, “we’ll reach the new country. For I suppose
the Indians are fairly well satisfied by the terms they made.”
Boone shook his head; there was a tightening about his mouth, and his
eyes held a look of unbelief.
“The Injuns are queer varmints,” spoke he. “And they don’t regard their
word very highly. Now Cornstalk, Logan and their kind mean what they
say; but the rank and file never give it a second thought if a good
chance comes to them to use their hatchets and scalping knives.”
“Then,” said Eph Taylor, “there may be trouble even now.”
“In this country and for years to come you can surely expect trouble,”
said Boone. “White and red will never live at peace for very long at a
time. There will always be something to stir up a war.”
The band gathered by Boone were good riders, accustomed all their lives
to living in the open; sturdy axemen, men full of the vim and that
perseverance which was so marked in their leader.
The path by which they traveled was well indicated; those who came
after would have no difficulty in following it. The month of March was
drawing toward its close when one day they halted at a small stream
to drink; they had dismounted and for the moment their attention was
relaxed. Suddenly, without a moment’s warning, a volley rang out from a
dense thicket, two of the party fell to the earth--dead--and two others
were wounded.
This attack was much like that on the previous expedition; never for a
moment did the whites suspect that the redskins were near. But there
the similarity ended. This time the pioneers had no women and children
to think of; also they were, in the main, well-trained, crafty Indian
fighters, and not a band of careless boys engaged in driving cattle.
The reports of the Indian rifles had hardly died away when each of the
adventurers had gained a cover, tree, stump or rock; short and sharp
spoke their unerring pieces and the ensuing yells told of braves who
had paid for the attack with their lives.
Seeing that the white men were in no wise daunted by the onslaught and
were determined to make a grim resistance, the Indians, who had little
stomach for this sort of battle, withdrew.
“They are gone,” spoke young Barclay, as he mounted a hillock and saw
the band skirting the forest, almost a mile away.
“For the time,” answered Boone. “They don’t care for a stand-up fight;
but they’ll always be ready for the rifle-shot from ambush. Always
expect them, lads; that’s the only way to get through in safety.”
Warily the pioneers proceeded along the track which afterward became
known as “Boone’s Way”; but in spite of all this caution the guile of
the red man over-matched them; three days after the first ambush, they
fell into another; two more of the party fell dead, and three were
wounded.
But grimly they fought the savages back; resolutely they pressed
forward on their way toward the river.
“Stand by me, lads,” said Boone, “and all the Injuns in the region
won’t drive us back.”
Early in April they reached the Kentucky River; on the south side of
this was a fairly clear space, near a salt lick much used by the forest
creatures. With an eye to all that was needed for a place of defense,
Boone selected this place and at once the work of erecting a fort began.
Scattered through the forest were a number of riflemen whose business
it was to warn the workers of the approach of an enemy; the axemen made
the hills and woods ring with their strokes; the trees came crashing
down to be lopped of their limbs, cut into lengths and fitted into
place. Log upon log the famous fort of Boonesborough, so famous in the
annals of Kentucky and the West, arose in sturdy strength.
“We’ll make her bullet-proof and high enough to keep the redskins
outside,” said Boone, as he labored with his men in their work of
construction.
The fort was two hundred and sixty feet in length and one hundred and
fifty in breadth and was made up of a series of cabins, each of heavy
logs and connected by a high fence of logs, pointed at the top as a
sort of stockade. There was a cabin at each corner of the fort; all the
cabin doors and windows opened inside the stockade. The only egress
was by way of a heavy gate opening toward the river and another which
opened upon the opposite side.
During the months of April and May and partly into June of the year
1774, the adventurers hewed and wrought upon their defense; in this
time one man was killed by the hostiles; after that, however, there
was no sight or sound of the enemy. In the middle of June all was
finished.
Colonel Henderson and some members of the company which had purchased
the rights of the Cherokees arrived shortly after this; and with them
came twoscore settlers, a train of packhorses and many things which
made life easier for the pioneers.
It was Colonel Henderson who gave the stronghold the name of
Boonesborough, in honor of the brave woodsman who had dared so much
for the founding of the new commonwealth; and much elated over the
recognition given his service, Boone started back toward the Clinch
River with a few companions.
“We have plenty of men,” said he, “but it will never be a recognized
settlement without families. So I’m going to set an example to others
by bringing out mine.”
It was in October that Daniel Boone turned his back finally upon the
eastern settlements; and with some other hardy adventurers and their
families, he set out once more through the Cumberland Gap and into the
wilderness which they were to make bloom as a garden.