Benham and the legs of Watson each did duty for both. Benham could
easily load his gun and kill the game, while Watson could readily kick
it within reach of his companion, who could dress and cook it. Thus they
subsisted until the game in their vicinity grew scarce; then the man
with the sound legs would walk around a drove of wild turkeys until he
got them within range of Benham's gun, who was such a splendid marksman
that he never failed to kill two or three of the number.
Their greatest difficulty was in securing water; but as in all things,
"where there is a will there is a way," so even this difficulty was
obviated. Benham would place his hat rim between the teeth of Watson,
who would wade into the river up to his chin, duck his head, and thus
fill the hat with water which he securely delivered to the man without
legs, who could use it as needed. Benham was thus enabled to cook, dress
his own and his comrade's wounds, and feed the latter also.
For several weeks they lived thus, until they grew stronger and traveled
to the Licking River. After a great deal of difficulty in making
themselves known to some passing boats, they were rescued, and taken to
the Falls of the Ohio, where both recovered. Benham afterwards
participated in several expeditions, and, after peace, returned to the
scenes of his sufferings, bought land there, and passed his remaining
days peacefully where he had so nearly met death.
THE BATTLE OF THE BOARDS
From time immemorial women have been accused of possessing an unusual
amount of curiosity, but an incident of the early days, in what is now
Mercer County, will prove that some men also belong to the curious
class.
In 1783, the same year that saw the treaty of peace between Great
Britain and the thirteen colonies go into effect, Kentucky, still a part
of Virginia, was a dense forest, infested by roving bands of Indians who
plundered and murdered the pioneers; hence caution was still the
watchword of the white inhabitants. During this year, three men in the
early dawn left Harrod's Station to hunt for some horses that had
strayed off while grazing. For some time, over many miles, through dense
cane and tangled pea vine, they pursued the trail, until, as a refuge
from the darkness and a cold, drenching rain, the pioneers took shelter
in an old, deserted log cabin, in the midst of a canebrake.
Having seen signs of Indians during the day and knowing that the red men
also knew of the cabin, they decided to endure the cold, rather than
light a fire. Finally they concluded a still further precaution would be
to take refuge in the "loft" of the cabin for fear the savage foes might
also take shelter therein and dispute the right of possession.
They at once climbed up into the loft, the floor of which was
clapboards, lying loose upon some round poles. Here, with their trusty
rifles, they lay quietly for a short time, when to their terror six
armed savages entered the cabin. Placing their guns and tomahawks in a
corner, they built a fire and began a scene of hilarity characteristic
of their tribe.
[Illustration: "The Indians built a fire."]
One of the men was anxious to know the number of the Indians. So, though
he was lying on his back, and was the middle man, he determined to turn
over and peep at the crowd below. The other two white men determined he
should keep still; so they held him, but as he quietly struggled, a pole
broke and with a terrible crash, clapboards, men, and guns fell upon the
frightened savages, who with yells of terror fled into the forest and
never returned. Though almost as much terrified as the Indians, the
white men quietly enjoyed the fire till morning, when they returned to
the station with their trophies of what they laughingly called "The
Battle of the Boards."
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE AND HIS REWARD
If we search the annals of both ancient and modern times we can find no
record that shows greater fidelity from slave to master than was
exhibited by a negro to one of Kentucky's most noted pioneers.
In 1782, March 19, people living in the vicinity of Boonesborough
discovered some empty rafts floating down the river. They at once knew
that Indians had used them to cross the stream so as to attack the
unprotected settlements. News was sent to the various stations warning
the settlers. Colonel Logan dispatched fifteen men to Estill's Station,
where they were joined by twenty-five from that fort. Under the command
of Captain James Estill, they started to pursue and punish the invaders.
Early in the morning of the 20th, Miss Jennie Gass, with a slave, Monk,
as protector, went just outside the fort at Estill's Station to milk the
cows. Her mother, seeing the savages approaching, called loudly for her
to run, but the warning came too late. Ere her daughter could reach the
gate, her mother saw her tomahawked and scalped.
Monk was captured and asked about the force of the fort. Like the
half-witted boy who was questioned by the Tories, Monk exaggerated the
situation, saying there were forty men in the fort then molding bullets
in anticipation of an attack. The truth is that aside from the women and
children, there were only four men, who were too disabled to march. The
savages accordingly thought it best to retreat.
No sooner had they withdrawn from the vicinity of the fort than two boys
were dispatched to find Captain Estill's band and tell them of the
tragedy. In a few hours the messengers found the men, and so uneasy were
some of the party for their families that five returned to help protect
the fort, while the other thirty-five began to search for the trail of
the Indians. A part of the horses became so jaded that ten more dropped
from the ranks, while the remaining twenty-five pushed forward with a
grim determination to find the savages.
About an hour before sunset they discovered some Indians preparing a
meal from a buffalo. When Captain Estill fired his gun, the Indians
fled, and had it not been that their leader was wounded, the retreat
would have been permanent and the battle of Little Mountain would never
have been fought. With almost superhuman strength the chieftain dragged
himself to a place of safety and with a defiance that meant death he
commanded his warriors who were too loyal to retreat without their
wounded leader. There, in a space not more than two hundred yards in
diameter, was fought one of the world's fiercest battles.
On the one hand there were twenty-five Wyandot warriors who defied
death. On the other side there were twenty-five pioneers, aroused to
vengeance by the cruelties the red men had visited upon them. Well did
they obey the command of Estill, "Every man to his man, and every man to
his tree." At one time in the fiercest of the fight, the rallying tones
of confidence rang out above the crack of the rifles as Monk, who was
still held prisoner by the savages, shouted, "Don't give way, Massa Jim,
you can whip the redskins."
For nearly two hours the combat lasted, neither side advancing nor
retreating. But when Captain Estill sent Lieutenant William Miller with
six men to gain the rear of the enemy, that seven ingloriously fled and
then the savages began to gain on the whites. Finally Captain Estill and
a brawny Indian clutched in mortal combat. For a time their strength
seemed equal, but Estill's broken arm giving way, the savage instantly
plunged a knife into his breast and a moment later, pierced by a bullet
from Joseph Proctor's unerring gun, fell dead across his victim's body.
There the battle ended, the pioneers taking their wounded comrades and
leaving the dead upon the field. Proctor carried one, a Mr. Irvine, a
great distance of forty miles upon his back, while the faithful Monk
carried another. A few days later a party of whites visited the scene
and buried their dead. The Indians had carefully removed their slain but
left the whites unmolested. Wallace Estill, Monk's young master, gave
him his freedom and cared for him the remainder of his life. He lived to
a ripe old age and was the father of thirty children.
The little city of Mount Sterling is near the battleground where such
heroism was displayed by both savage and civilian.
THE DOUBLE SHOT
Daniel Boone, the famous hunter, fighter, and pioneer, regarded himself
as a special agent intended by providence to convert forests into fields
and to carry civilization to the wilderness. When we remember his many
exciting adventures and marvelous successes, we are inclined almost to
believe that he was a child of destiny.
[Illustration: "He took aim at the foremost."]
One of the most singular experiences in his warfare on the savages
occurred about 1780, when about two miles south of Owingsville. Boone
was making one of his solitary journeys from Boonesborough to the Upper
Blue Licks. As he came near a deserted station about twelve miles east
of the present site of Mount Sterling, he perceived fresh signs of
Indians; so he continued his journey cautiously until he came to a clear
spring near the bank of Slate Creek. Here, as he was quenching his
thirst, a ball whistled by and broke the bark from the beech that shaded
the spring. Boone lost no time in reaching the creek, swimming to the
opposite bank, and concealing himself in a convenient canebrake. He then
cautiously parted the cane until he had gone about one hundred yards,
when he observed two Indians coming warily towards the creek. He had
slain so many savages that he was not satisfied with the thought of
killing one of his adversaries, but determined that one shot should kill
both. He therefore took aim at the foremost and as the other came in
range he fired; and as one fell dead, the other, dropping his gun, fled
with frantic yells of pain, for the ball had passed through the body of
one and struck the other's shoulder.
Boone then very calmly crossed the creek, selected one of the guns left
by the savages, threw the other in the creek, where it was found
afterwards, and proceeded on his way to the Blue Licks.
A MAN OF STRATEGY AND SAGACITY
His father having died when he was only fourteen, Benjamin Logan found
himself, according to the laws of Virginia, at the head of a family, and
in possession of his father's estate. With his mother's consent he sold
the land and divided the proceeds among his brothers and sisters. Since
he wished to see his mother comfortably settled, he united funds with
that of a brother and bought a small home, which was secured to her
during her life.
Bidding his mother farewell, he soon made for himself a home on the
Holston River. Here he remained a few years and after having served with
both Colonel Bouquet and Colonel Dunmore in the expeditions against the
Indians, resolved to try the western wilds of Kentucky. With two or
three slaves, he came, traversed a great part of the wilderness with
Boone and Henderson, and pitched his camp and built his fort in Lincoln
County near the present city of Stanford. Bringing out his family the
next year, he deemed it prudent to place them in the more securely
fortified Harrodstown. But early in 1777 feeling more assurance of
safety, he removed all his household to his new home.
Early in the morning of May 20, while some of the men were guarding the
women as they were outside milking, Indians fired on them from a near-by
canebrake. All fled toward the fort, but one of the white men fell dead,
another was mortally wounded, and a third, Burr Harrison, was severely
crippled. There were now only twelve fighting men to defend the fort,
while the enemy numbered one hundred. Harrison ran staggering towards
the fort, when he fell and lay all day within range of the rifles of the
Indians, and in sight of his agonized wife; her pleas for help and cries
of distress, as from her own place of safety she saw her husband wounded
and helpless, touched the sympathy and tried the heroism of all.
[Illustration: "Amid a shower of arrows they entered the gate."]
All hesitated until twilight came, and it grew so dark the Indians could
not distinguish objects moving around the stockade. As there were a
great many large hogs in the vicinity, Logan covered himself with a
small feather bed, made from the feathers of the numerous wild pigeons,
turkeys, and geese, and leaving the gate crept hither and thither, on
all fours, grunting and acting as if in search of something to eat.
Finally he reached Harrison, apparently by accident. He suddenly seized
him in his arms, sprang to his feet, and darted toward the fort before
the surprised Indians sufficiently recovered to take sure aim. Amid a
shower of bullets and arrows he and Harrison entered the gate in safety.
Enraged at the deception practiced upon them, the Indians vigorously
assaulted the fort, while the inmates as vigorously defended it. Under
Logan's lead they resolved to fight to the last, but the powder and ball
began to run low. What should be done? These men, made of "sterner
stuff," faced another danger. If the siege was continued, they must
perish or procure ammunition.
Again the heroism of Logan shone forth. Assuring his wife and friends of
a safe and speedy return, he, with two trusty companions, under the
cover of the night, left the fort. They crept through the Indian lines,
avoided the regular route through Cumberland Gap, rapidly traversed
mountains and valleys, crossed rivers, pushed through brush and cane,
reached the Holston, procured "powder and ball," and on the tenth night
Logan reentered the fort, having traveled more than three hundred miles.
His companions soon arrived with the ammunition, reenforcements were
brought, and the Indians retired.
THE KIND-HEARTED INDIAN
[Illustration: "Mr. Rowan turned the butt of his gun."]
About 1784, a party of pioneers left the Falls of the Ohio with the
intention of descending the river. Reaching Yellow Banks, the boat
stopped for a while. One of the party, a Mr. Rowan, taking a loaded gun,
but no ammunition, wandered some distance from the shore and upon his
return was astonished to find the boat gone. The crew had cause to
believe a party of Indians was near, so hastened away without waiting
for their comrade. The nearest settlement was at Vincennes, one hundred
miles distant. So thither Mr. Rowan bent his steps until after three
weary days of exposure and exhaustion he abandoned all hope and lay
down to die. It was not long, however, before, hearing the report of a
gun, he again took courage, rose, and made his way in the direction of
the sound. When he came in sight, an Indian raised his gun to fire, but,
seeing Mr. Rowan turn the butt of his gun, knew he meant to be friendly;
so with a politeness that would have done honor to a civilian the savage
promptly turned the butt of his also.
Learning the destitute condition of Rowan, the Indian hospitably took
him to his wigwam, cared for him until his strength was restored, and
then conducted him to Vincennes. Anxious to reward such unusual
kindness, Rowan tried to prevail on the savage to accept a gift of $300;
of this the Indian nobly refused every penny, but in order to please his
recent guest finally accepted a new blanket, saying, "When I wrap myself
in it, I will think of you."
SAVED BY THE HUG OF A BEAR
Though the records of pioneer life teem with startling encounters with
wild animals, there really occurred a very unusual incident, when the
life of a young man, named Downing, was saved by the hug of a bear.
In those early days, the people of that part of the country that is now
Kentucky had to content themselves with very rough cabins and forts for
their families, and with no outbuildings or inclosures whatever for
their stock.
Instead of well-kept stables and excellent pastures, the stockade
protected the cows, sheep, and horses at night, and the near-by forest
was their home and grazing ground during the day. Although as close
watch as possible was kept over these animals, they sometimes strayed so
far away that it was necessary to bring them back or the Indians would
take them for their own.
In the year 1786, in what is now Bath County, a horse had strayed off,
and a young man named Yates requested another occupant of the fort, a
mere lad named Downing, to go with him in search of the animal.
They traversed the woods in every direction all day, but in vain. About
sundown, when nearly seven miles from the fort, in a wild valley,
Downing became very anxious concerning sounds that seemed to follow his
footsteps regardless of the direction he took. He repeatedly said that
he heard sticks breaking and that he believed Indians were following
them.
Yates, who was older, more experienced, and more inured to the perils of
frontier life, laughed heartily at the fears of his companion, often
inquired at what price he rated his scalp, and jokingly offered to
insure it at a sixpence.
Oblivious to all danger, enjoying the discomfort of his companion, and
wishing to display his daring, Yates began a rollicking tune as he
boldly passed along; but young Downing, feeling "the better part of
valor is discretion," and being sure from the ominous sounds that they
were being followed, decided to discover if possible the hidden foe. He
gradually slackened his pace, until his companion was about twenty or
thirty yards in advance; then just after descending a small hill,
Downing quickly stepped from the path and secreted himself behind some
bushes. He was horrified a few moments later to see two Indians
cautiously put aside the canebrake and peer in the direction taken by
his companion.
Downing, fearful lest the savages knew his own hiding place, decided to
fire upon them at once; but his hand was so unsteady from the
excitement, that his gun went off before he took aim. Terror-stricken he
fled in the direction taken by his friend, whom he soon met, returning
to learn the cause of the firing. There was no need to inquire, for in
full view the two savages were rapidly pursuing them.
True Kentucky chivalry was soon evident, for though he could easily have
saved himself, Yates would not outrun his young companion, but kept by
his side.
It so happened that a path diverged from the one taken by the whites,
but rejoined it at a distant point. Knowing the country well, the
Indians took this divergent path, expecting to intercept the pioneers at
the point of reunion. Passing this point in safety, the white men soon
came to a deep gully. Mr. Yates easily cleared it, but his companion,
being very much exhausted, fell against the farther bank and rolled at
full length to the bottom. He gave himself up for lost. Over went the
two Indians like deer, so intent upon catching the foremost man they
apparently did not notice Downing.
[Illustration: "The bear growled and hugged him close."]
For a while fear kept him still, but finally thinking the Indians were
far away, the young man walked to the shallow part of the ditch. Just as
he reached a place so shallow that he was no longer concealed, to his
astonishment and dismay he beheld one of the savages returning,
apparently in search of him.
Having neglected to reload his gun, and seeing the Indian advancing upon
him, he threw it away and again trusted to flight. The white man ran and
the Indian ran. It was a race for life, but as they ascended the long
ridge, so steadily did the Indian gain upon him that when Downing ran
along one side of a big fallen poplar, the Indian passed along the
other, evidently expecting to seize him at the upturned root. However,
just there lay a huge mother bear and her cubs. So rapidly was the
Indian running that by the time he had discovered Mrs. Bruin, she had
discovered him; and though his salutation was an exclamation of horror
and a plunge of his great knife, the bear only growled and hugged him
close.
So happy was Downing over this timely meeting of his two enemies, that
he joyfully fled to the fort, where he found his companion resting from
his exciting race. Those in the fort soon received a vivid account of
how Downing's life, providentially, had been saved by the hug of a bear.
A KENTUCKIAN DEFEATED THE BRITISH
There was born in Virginia, on November 19, 1752, a light-haired,
blue-eyed baby boy who was destined to become the founder of our
commonwealth, the father of Kentucky, and the captor of England's
important outposts.
Leaving his home one spring morning in 1775, and stopping at the bend of
the road to wave farewell to his mother, sister, and brother, George
Rogers Clark, a young soldier-surveyor of twenty-two who had seen active
service in Dunmore's war, started out for the wilds of Kentucky.
More than six feet in height, dignified, affable, manly, brave,
determined, yet gentle, he at once commanded not only the attention, but
respect, friendship, and leadership of all. Whether or not he came with
an official commission, his military bearing, his superior intelligence,
and his indomitable spirit caused him by common consent to be placed at
the head of the irregular militia of this section.
George Rogers Clark returned to Virginia in the autumn, but in the
memorable year of '76 came again to Kentucky to make it his permanent
home.
He opposed the plans of the Transylvania Company, urged the settlers to
try to effect a more certain connection with Virginia, and went over
mountains, through mud, and amid difficulties and dangers, as a
representative to the Virginia legislature, which had adjourned before
he reached the capital.
Not to be deterred, he visited Governor Patrick Henry, who was at home
sick, and impressed upon him the necessity of protecting the settlements
in Kentucky. He then went before the executive council of the state and
asked for 500 pounds of gunpowder to be used in defense of the stations.
The council agreed to lend this to the colonists as friends, but said
they could not give it to them as fellow citizens. At this Clark refused
to accept the gunpowder and intimated intentions of appealing for
assistance elsewhere, saying that, "A country that is not worth
defending is not worth having." This reply caused the recall of Clark to
the presence of the council, and the gunpowder was conveyed to
Pittsburgh and delivered to Clark for the colonists.
At the next session of the legislature, through the splendid services of
this same useful citizen, the territory which later became our
commonwealth was erected into Kentucky County, of Virginia.
From this time on Clark was, by common consent, the moving master spirit
in all the daring plans of his adopted state. With a seeing eye and an
unsurpassed judgment he concluded that the Indian invasions were
inspired by the British and that to stop this terrible warfare the
colonists should strike at the fountain head. Accordingly he laid and
perfected his plans for attacking the posts of Kaskaskia, Cahokia, and
Saint Vincents (now Vincennes). Virginia voted to defray the expenses
and gave Clark two sets of instructions, one public, ordering him to
proceed to the defense of Kentucky, the other private, ordering an
attack on Kaskaskia.
Descending the Ohio on flatboats or pirogues, he landed, May, 1778,
three companies of troops and several families on Corn Island, near the
Falls of the Ohio. He drilled his raw recruits, reenforced with
volunteers from the country, and a few weeks later, amid a total eclipse
of the sun, set out with his frail fleet of four companies of one
hundred and thirty-five fighting men.
[Illustration: "On the night of July 4, they captured Kaskaskia."]
Landing on Owen's Island near the mouth of the Tennessee River, and
striking across the country from Fort Massacre, or Massac, he began that
wonderful march which won him undying fame.
Meeting a party of hunters recently from Kaskaskia, Clark secured from
them important intelligence and an offer to guide his forces where by a
sudden surprise they believed the place could be easily captured. On the
night of July 4, he took the town of two hundred and fifty inhabitants
without the loss of one drop of blood.
Most of the people were of French descent and had been taught by the
British that the Kentuckians waged savage warfare. They were therefore
terror-stricken until General Clark assured them that their own king,
whose rule over them had been exchanged for that of the British by the
treaty of Paris, 1763, had joined hands with America to stop the cruel
war of the British and Indians. The French colonists were then
overjoyed, said their French king had come to life, and offered to
accompany the division that was to march to Cahokia.
On July 6, that post was also surprised and taken; the inhabitants were
dreadfully alarmed at the sight of the "big knife," but were soon
reassured by their relatives and friends from Kaskaskia.