where he might cultivate his farm, and hunt to the greatest advantage.
His wife remained at home, while he went to explore the unsettled
regions of North Carolina. When he had selected a locality near the
head waters of the Yadkin, Rebecca, with the same resolute spirit of
enterprise which afterwards led her to the wilds of Kentucky, bade
farewell to her friends, and followed her adventurous husband. In a few
months her home had assumed a pleasant aspect; a neat cabin stood on
a pleasant eminence near the river, surrounded by an enclosed field;
the farm was well stocked and with the abundance of game in the woods,
the settlers had no lack of means for comfort and enjoyment. The rude
dwelling frequently offered the traveller shelter; and by a cheerful
fire and table loaded with the finest game, with the enhancing blessing
of a hospitable welcome, was many a tale of adventure narrated, while
as yet the surrounding forest was untouched by an axe. For some years
the young couple lived in this sylvan retirement, till the fields of
other emigrants opened wide clearings, and dwellings rose so thickly in
the neighborhood as to form villages; when Boone made up his mind to
remove to some wilder spot.
The country west of the Cumberland Mountains was almost unknown in
1760. Some few hardy adventurers had struck into the pathless forests
which extended along the frontier settlements, but the Alleghanies
had proved an insurmountable barrier to the families of settlers. The
stories told by adventurers, meanwhile, who had ventured into the
skirts of the wilderness, kindled the imagination of enterprising
hunters. In 1767, Finley went still further, and penetrated through a
portion of Tennessee. “There is nothing,” says the biographer of Boone,
“grand or imposing in scenery, nothing striking or picturesque in the
ascent and precipitous declivity of mountains covered with woods;
nothing romantic or delightful in deep and sheltered valleys through
which wind clear streams--that was not found in this region. Mountains
stretch along in continuous ridges, and now and then shoot up into
elevated peaks. On the summit of some spread plateaus, which afford the
most romantic prospects, and offer every advantage for cultivation,
with the purest and most bracing atmosphere. No words can picture the
secluded beauty of some of the vales bordering the small streams, which
fling their spray, transparent as air, over moss-covered and time-worn
rocks, walled in by precipitous mountains, down which pour numerous
waterfalls.”
The rich soil and inviting aspect of this country gave large ideas
of its advantages; and as the wanderer penetrated into Kentucky,
the luxuriant beauty of its plains, its rich cane-brakes and
flower-covered forests promised everything desirable in a new home.
The forest abounded with deer, elk, and buffaloes, and more savage wild
beasts had their lair in its depths and in the thick tangles of the
green cane; while pheasants, partridges, wild turkeys, &c., were as
plenty as domestic fowls upon a farm. The report of Finley determined
Boone to go westward, and others having been induced to join him in an
exploring expedition, six assembled at his house on the first of May,
1769--all the neighbors being gathered to witness their departure.
Mrs. Boone parted with her husband, who left his house laden with his
rifle, hunter’s bag of ammunition, and light knapsack--the only luggage
taken by the adventurers. Their expedition across the Alleghanies into
the boundless forests of the Ohio valley, where the buffalo roamed
like herds of cattle, has been elsewhere described. The land appeared
the very paradise of hunters, and Boone could not imagine how any
one who could fix his home in such a region, would stay among the
barren pine-hills of North Carolina. The exploring party divided, to
take different routes, and Boone and Stewart were taken prisoners by
wandering Indians.
They managed, however, to escape, and Boone joined his elder brother,
while Stewart and another of their number were killed. The brothers
were soon in want of ammunition, and the elder Boone returned to North
Carolina, while Daniel, regardless of danger, remained alone in the
rough cabin he had built, from the first of May to the 27th of July,
1770, at which time his brother came back with cheering news from
his family. Having finished their survey, both returned to report to
their neighbors what they had seen, and form a company of such persons
as were willing to join the families of the Boones in their pioneer
settlement. Their descriptions of the luxuriance of the country--its
cane-brakes, clover plains, limestone springs, maple orchards, streams
and forests filled with game and wild-fowl, were matched by fearful
accounts from others of the depredations and cruelties of Indians,
dangers of wild beasts, and diseases peculiar to a wild country; so
that it was two years before preparations were completed for the
expedition. The party commenced the march the 26th September, 1773,
and were joined by forty persons in “Powell’s valley,” a settlement
some distance westward; numbering about eighty in all. They crossed
the wild and rugged range of mountains by the course the brothers had
traced on their return, but they were not destined to proceed much
further. As they descended the west side of Walden’s ridge, along a
narrow defile, they were suddenly startled by the yells of Indians, and
a fierce affray ensued, in which six men were killed, and some of the
stock scattered and lost. In the general distress, the company decided
unanimously on giving up the attempt to form a settlement in Kentucky,
and returning to Clinch River, forty miles in the rear, where a number
of families had already located themselves. It may be supposed that
Mrs. Boone, whose eldest son had been slain in the encounter, had lost
all spirit for the enterprise, and her husband was obliged to submit
to the decision of the rest. Their new home, accordingly, was for some
time on the banks of Clinch River. In June, 1774, Boone was required by
Governor Dunmore of Virginia, to conduct a party of surveyors to the
falls of Ohio. In 1775, he superintended the erection of a fort on the
Kentucky River, afterwards called Boonesborough. The fort consisted
of one block-house and several cabins, surrounded by palisades. This
work was accomplished amidst troubles from the Indians, and when it was
finished Boone returned for his family. They took up their abode at the
earliest military station--except the house built by Harrod in 1774 in
Kentucky--Mrs. Boone and her daughters being the first white women who
had ever stood on the banks of Kentucky river.
It was the close of summer, and at this time the spot selected for
their residence appeared in its best aspect. The early autumn was mild
and beautiful, and arrangements were made for the cultivation of the
land as soon as spring should open. Winter came, and passed with little
discomfort. Their cabins were thoroughly daubed with clay; they had
abundance of fuel, and were at no loss for game and provisions. Those
who went out to fell trees, however, were constrained to be on their
guard against attacks from Indians, who might aim at them from some
covert in the woods, and the men never left home without carrying
their rifles and knives. The women occasionally ventured a short
distance without the palisades in the day-time, but never out of sight
of the fort.
The months thus passed without monotony or want of excitement; spring
opened, the trees to be felled were girdled, the brush cut down and
burned, preparations made for ploughing the field, and a garden spot
marked off, which, when the virgin earth had been thrown up, was given
in charge to Mrs. Boone and her daughters. They had brought out a stock
of seeds from the old settlements, and went out every bright day to
plant them. The little party of women was reinforced, among others, by
the daughters of Col. Calloway, a friend of Boone, who had brought his
family to the station. Their fondness for possessing themselves of the
spoils of the forest, led to a romantic instance of the peril of the
times.
A little daughter of Boone, with Calloway’s two, was captured by
Indians the 7th of July. Flint says they were gathering flowers in the
woods when the savages rushed upon them; and that they were not missed
till some time after they had been carried off. I copy the account
given of the pursuit of Boone, and the recovery of the captives, by
Col. Floyd, an actor in the scene--in preference to other narratives.
He says the girls were taken out of a canoe in the river, within sight
of Boonesborough. “The affair happened late in the afternoon, and the
spoilers left the canoe on the opposite side of the river from us,
which prevented our getting over for some time to pursue them. Next
morning by daylight we were on the track, but found they had totally
prevented our following them by walking some distance apart, through
the thickest cane they could find. We observed their course, and on
which side we had left their sign, and travelled upwards of thirty
miles. We then imagined that they would be less cautious in travelling,
made a turn in order to cross their trace, and had not gone but a few
miles before we found their tracks in a buffalo path; pursued and
overtook them on going about ten miles, just as they were kindling a
fire to cook. Our study had been more to get the prisoners without
giving the Indians time to murder them after they discovered us,
than to kill the savages. We discovered each other nearly at the same
time. Four of us fired, and all rushed on them, which prevented their
carrying anything away, except one shot gun without ammunition. Mr.
Boone and myself had a pretty fair shot just as they began to move off.
I am well convinced I shot one through, and the one he shot dropped
his gun; mine had none. The place was very thick with cane, and being
so much elated on recovering the three little broken-hearted girls,
prevented our making any further search. We sent them off without their
moccasins, and not one of them so much as a knife or a tomahawk.”[6]
With the commencement of the war of the Revolution, the ravages of
Indian warfare along the whole line of border settlements became more
extensive and violent; British influence and resources securing the
savages as their allies along the frontier, from the north-eastern
part of Vermont and New York to the Mississippi. The story of Boone’s
life is interwoven with the scenes of plunder, captivity, burning
and massacre, which swept and in many instances desolated the infant
colonies of the north and west. Yet new emigrants came, many of them
of respectable standing, and some noted in the history of the time.
Mrs. McGary, Mrs. Hogan, and Mrs. Denton, had taken up their residence
in the fort at Boonesborough. At the same time hordes of savages
crossed the Ohio with the design of extirpating these germs of social
establishments in the Indian’s favorite hunting-ground, and in numerous
detachments spread in every direction through the forest.
But the increase of danger did not drive back the pioneers, or prevent
still further reinforcements. Those who first ventured into Kentucky
and Tennessee, had come in small parties, but on their return to
the old settlements they gathered companies of their friends and
connections, old and young, with their wives and children, flocks
and herds, resolved on emigration, and pledged by mutual necessity
to stand by each other in life and death. There was among them none
of the jealousy and want of unity which prevail, more or less, among
their descendants; yet were not these primitive hunters assimilated to
savages in their habits, but possessing keen and strong intellects as
well as powerful frames, and every qualification for social life. The
first care on reaching their destination was to select a spot for the
new dwelling, usually chosen on a gently elevated ground of exuberant
fertility, where trees were sparse, and there was no underbrush to
prevent the hunter’s riding at full speed. The growth of cane, wild
clover, and _pawpaw_ marked the best soil. Cabins being put up for
immediate use, the little settlement was converted into a station.
For this purpose it was necessary to enclose a spring or well, near
a salt lick or sugar orchard if practicable; then a wide space must
be cleared, so that the enemy could not approach close under the
shelter of the woods. The station was to overlook, moreover, as much
of the country as possible. It included from half an acre to an acre
of ground, and the trench was usually dug four or five feet deep and
planted with large and close pickets, forming a compact wall ten or
twelve feet above the surface of the earth. The pickets were of hard
timber and about a foot in diameter, and the soil around them was
rammed into great solidity. At the angles were small projecting squares
called _flunkers_, with oblique port-holes, from which the fire of
sentinels within could rake the external front of the station; and in
front and rear two folding gates swung on enormous wooden hinges. The
gates were barred every night, and sentinels posted alternately, one
being stationed on the roof in time of peculiar danger. These fortified
places in the wilderness had their clean turfed area for dancing,
wrestling, or other athletic exercises; the inmates of the fort passed
their evenings sociably together, cheerful fires blazing within the
enclosure, and suppers of venison and wild turkeys, wild fruits and
maple beer were enjoyed with double relish amid the distant howling
of wolves, or the Indian warwhoop, heard like the roar of the dying
storm. Such was Bryants station in 1782, the nucleus of the earliest
settlements in the rich and lovely country of which Lexington is the
centre--and such were others built at that period.
The captivity of Boone, his escape and return to Boonesborough, and the
Indian siege of that station in 1778--the last it sustained--belong to
the biography of the renowned woodsman, not to this memoir. When during
a long interval no information concerning Boone could be obtained,
he was supposed by the people at the garrison and his family to have
fallen a victim to savage vengeance. Mrs. Boone, believing herself
widowed, at length resolved, with her children, to leave the western
forests, and return to the banks of the Yadkin. Kentucky, she said,
had indeed been to her a “dark and bloody ground.” The family returned
to their friends in North Carolina, nearly five years having elapsed
since they had started with the first party of emigrants for Kentucky.
The friends from whom she then parted had heard afterwards of their
disastrous encounter with the Indians, their return to Clinch River,
and subsequent residence at Boonesborough; but knew nothing of their
further trials. When about the close of the summer of 1778, these
pilgrims returning from the western wilds were seen approaching on
pack-horses, the sight caused no little surprise and wonder among the
dwellers on the banks of the Yadkin. The mother wore deep mourning,
and her dejected countenance showed the grief that had worn her strong
spirit; the same melancholy was evident in the faces of her eldest
surviving son, and the daughter who had been captured; the other
children being too young to feel trial or change. The travellers were
clad in skins, and the primitive habiliments of the wilderness, and as
the cavalcade stopped at Mr. Bryan’s house, the neighbors collected to
learn what had happened, and listen with deep interest to Mrs. Boone’s
relation of her adventures and sorrows.
After having driven the enemy from Boonesborough, Col. Boone set out to
cross the Alleghanies in pursuit of his wife and children; surmounting
with iron strength of endurance the difficulties of the way. It may
be imagined how joyfully his return was hailed by those who had so
long believed him dead. They returned in the following summer to
Boonesborough, which enjoyed tranquillity as the country became more
thickly settled. Many incidents of interest after this re-union, in
which Boone was prominent, are recorded in the history of Kentucky, but
do not pertain to this sketch. One connected with another pioneer, may
be mentioned as illustrative.
Benjamin Logan, who had brought his family from the Holston to
Logan’s Fort, in March, 1776, was obliged afterwards to remove them
for safety to Harrodsburgh. Before the attack on Harrodsburgh in
the winter of 1777, he returned with six families to the cabins he
had built, and commenced palisading the station. “On the 20th of
May, while the females of the establishment were milking their cows,
sustained by a guard of their husbands and fathers, the whole party
was suddenly assailed by a large body of Indians, concealed in a
canebrake. One man was killed and two wounded, one mortally, the
other severely. The remainder reached the interior of the palisades
in safety. The number in all was thirty, half of whom were women and
children. A circumstance was now discovered exceedingly trying to
such a benevolent spirit as that of Logan. While the Indians were
still firing, and the inmates exulting in their safety while others
mourned over their dead and wounded, it was perceived that one of the
wounded, by the name of Harrison, was still alive, and exposed every
moment to be scalped. All this his wife and family could discover
from within. It is not difficult to imagine their agonized condition
and piercing lamentations. Logan displayed on this occasion the same
tender compassion and insensibility to danger, that characterised his
friend Boone in similar circumstances. He endeavored to rally a few
of the male inmates of the place to join him, rush out, and bring the
wounded man within the palisades. But so obvious was the danger, so
forlorn appeared the enterprise, that no one could be found disposed
to volunteer his aid, except a single individual by the name of John
Martin. When he had reached the gate, the wounded man raised himself
partly erect and made a movement as if trying to reach the fort
himself. On this Martin desisted from the enterprise and left Logan to
attempt it alone. He rushed forward to the wounded man, who made some
effort to crawl onward by his aid; but weakened by the loss of blood,
and the anguish of his wounds, he fainted, and Logan taking him in his
arms, bore him towards the fort. A shower of bullets was discharged at
them, many of which struck the palisades close to Logan’s head, as he
brought the wounded man safe within the gate, and deposited him in the
care of his family.
“The station, at this juncture, was destitute both of powder and
ball, and there was no chance of supplies nearer than Holston; all
intercourse between station and station was cut off. Without ammunition
the fort could not be defended against the Indians, and the question
was how to obtain a supply in this pressing emergency. Capt. Logan,
selecting two trusty companions, left the fort by night, evading
the besieging Indians, reached the woods, made his way in safety to
Holston, procured the necessary supplies of ammunition, and packed it
under their care on horseback, giving them directions how to proceed.
He then left them, and traversing the forest by a shorter route on
foot, reached the fort in safety ten days after his departure. The
Indians still kept up the siege with unabated perseverance, and the
hopes of the diminished garrison had given way to despondency. The
return of Logan inspired them however with renewed confidence.”
We select another narrative in detail, to convey an idea of Indian
hostility on the one hand, and the manner in which it was met on the
other. “A family lived on Cooper’s run, in Bourbon county, consisting
of a mother, two sons of mature age, a widowed daughter with an infant
in her arms, two grown daughters, and a daughter ten years old. The
house was a double cabin. The two grown daughters and the smaller
girl were in one division, and the rest of the family in the other.
At night a knocking was heard at the door of the latter division,
asking in good English and the customary Western phrase: ‘Who keeps
house?’ As the sons went to open the door, the mother forbade them,
affirming that the persons claiming admission were Indians. The young
men sprang to their guns; and the Indians finding themselves refused
admittance at the door, made an effort at the opposite one. That door
they soon beat open with a rail, and endeavored to take the three
girls prisoners. The little girl sprang away, and might have escaped
in the darkness and the woods, but the foolish child under a natural
impulse ran to the other door and cried for help. The brothers within
it may be supposed would wish to go forth and protect the feeble and
terrified wailer. The mother taking a broader view of duty, forbade
them. The savages soon hushed the cries of the distressed child by the
merciless tomahawk. While some of the Indians were engaged in murdering
this child, another was binding one of the grown girls whom he had
captured, the other young woman defending herself with a knife which
she had been using at a loom at the moment of attack. The intrepidity
she displayed was unavailing. She killed one Indian and was herself
dispatched by another. The savages meanwhile having obtained possession
of one half the house, fired it. The persons shut up in the other
half had now no other alternative than to be consumed in the flames
rapidly spreading towards them, or to go forth and expose themselves
to the murderous tomahawks that had already laid three of the family
in their blood. The Indians stationed themselves in the dark angles of
the fence, where, by the bright glare of the flames, they could see
everything, and yet remain themselves unseen. Here they could make a
sure mark of all that should escape from within. One of the sons took
charge of his aged and infirm mother, and the other of his widowed
sister and her infant. The brothers emerged from the burning ruins,
separated and endeavored to spring over the fence. The mother was shot
dead as her son was piously helping her over, the other brother being
killed as he was gallantly defending his sister. The widowed sister,
her infant and one of the brothers escaped the massacre and alarmed the
settlement. Thirty men, commanded by Col. Edwards, arrived next day to
witness the appalling spectacle presented around the smoking ruins of
this cabin. Considerable snow had fallen, and the Indians were obliged
to leave a trail which easily indicated their path. In the evening
of that day, they came upon the expiring body of the young woman,
apparently murdered but a few moments before their arrival; the Indians
having been premonished of their pursuit by the barking of a dog that
followed them. The white men overtook and killed two of the savages
that had strayed behind, apparently as voluntary victims to secure the
retreat of the rest.”