The exploring party divide into different routes--Boone and Stewart
taken prisoners by the Indians, and their escape--Boone meets with his
elder brother and another white man in the woods--Stewart killed by the
Indians, and the companion of the elder Boone destroyed by wolves--The
elder brother returns to North Carolina, leaving Boone alone in the
wilderness.
In order to extend the means of gaining more exact information with
regard to this beautiful country, the party divided, and took different
directions. Boone and Stewart formed one division, and the remaining
three the other. The two former had as yet seen few thick forests. The
country was much of it of that description, now known by the name of
"Barrens," or open woods, which had the appearance of having been
planted out with trees at wide and regular distances from each other,
like those of an orchard, allowing the most luxuriant growth of cane,
grass, or clover beneath them. They now passed a wide and deep forest,
in which the trees were large and thick. Among them were many of the
laurel tribe, in full verdure in mid winter. Others were thick hung with
persimmons, candied by the frost, nutritive, and as luscious as figs.
Others again were covered with winter grapes. Every thing tended to
inspire them with exalted notions of the natural resources of the
country, and to give birth to those extravagant romances, which
afterwards became prevalent, as descriptions of Kentucky. Such were
Finley's accounts of it--views which went abroad, and created even in
Europe an impression of a kind of new El Dorado, or rather rural
paradise. Other and very different scenes, in no great length of time,
disenchanted the new paradise, and presented it in the sober traits of
truth.
They were never out of sight of buffaloes, deer, and turkeys. At
night-fall they came in view of Kentucky river, and admired in unsated
astonishment, the precipices three hundred feet high, at the foot of
which, as in a channel cut out of the solid limestone, rolled the dark
waters of the beautiful stream. A lofty eminence was before them.
Thinking it would afford them a far view of the meanderings of the
river, they ascended it. This expectation was realized. A large extent
of country stretched beneath them. Having surveyed it, they proposed to
commence their return to rejoin their companions. As they were leisurely
descending the hill, little dreaming of danger, the Indian yell burst
upon their ears. A numerous party of Indians sprang from the cane-brake,
surrounded, vanquished, and bound them, before they had time to have
recourse to their arms. The Indians proceeded to plunder them of their
rifles, and every thing in their possession but the most indispensable
articles of dress. They then led them off to their camp, where they
confined them in such a manner as effectually to prevent their escape.
Not knowing a word of the speech of their captors, who knew as little of
theirs, they were wholly ignorant of what fate awaited them. The Indians
next day marched them off rapidly towards the north, compelling them to
travel at a rate which was excessively annoying to captives in their
predicament-manacled, in momentary apprehension of death, and plunging
deeper into the wilderness in advancing towards the permanent abode of
their savage masters. It was well for them that they were more athletic
than the savages, equally capable of endurance, and alike incapable of
betraying groans, fear, or even marks of regret in their countenance.
They knew enough of savage modes to beware that the least indications of
weariness, and inability to proceed, would have brought the tomahawk and
scalping-knife upon their skulls--weapons with which they were thus
early supplied from Detroit. They therefore pushed resolutely on, with
cheerful countenances, watching the while with intense earnestness, to
catch from the signs and gestures of the Indians, what was their purpose
in regard to their fate. By the second day, they comprehended the words
of most frequent recurrence in the discussion, that took place
respecting them. Part, they perceived, were for putting them to death to
prevent their escape. The other portion advocated their being adopted
into the tribe, and domesticated. To give efficacy to the counsels of
these last, the captives not only concealed every trace of chagrin, but
dissembled cheerfulness, and affected to like their new mode of life;
and seemed as happy, and as much amused, as the Indians themselves.
Fortunately, their previous modes of life, and in fact their actual
aptitudes and propensities wonderfully qualified them, along with their
reckless courage and elasticity of character, to enact this difficult
part with a success, which completely deceived the Indians, and gave the
entire ascendency to the advice of those who proposed to spare, and
adopt them into their tribe. Lulled by this semblance, the captors were
less and less strict in their guard. On the seventh night of their
captivity, the savages, having made a great fire, and fed plentifully,
all fell into a sound sleep, leaving their prisoners, who affected to be
as deeply asleep as themselves, wholly unguarded.
It need hardly be said, that the appearance of content they had worn,
was mere outward show; and that they slept not. Boone slowly and
cautiously raised himself to a sitting posture, and thus remained a few
moments to mark, if his change of position had been observed. One of the
sleepers turned in his sleep. Boone instantly dropped back to his
recumbent posture and semblance of sleep. So he remained fifteen
minutes, when he once more raised himself, and continued sitting for
some time, without noting a movement among the slumberers around him. He
then ventured to communicate his purpose to his companion.
The greatest caution was necessary to prevent disturbing the savages, as
the slightest noise would awake them, and probably bring instant death
upon the captives. Stewart succeeded in placing himself upon his feet
without any noise. The companions were not far apart, but did not dare
to whisper to each other the thought that occurred alike to both--that,
should they escape without rifles and ammunition, they must certainly
die of hunger. The place where their rifles stood had been carefully
noted by them, and by groping their way with the utmost care, they
finally reached them. Fortunately, the equipments, containing the usual
supply of powder and ball, were near the rifles. The feelings with which
Boone and Stewart stole forth from the circle of their captors may be
imagined. They made their way into the woods through the darkness,
keeping close together for some time, before they exchanged words.
It was not far from morning when they began their attempt at escape; but
they had made considerable progress from the Indian encampment before
the dawn. They took their course with the first light, and pursued it
the whole day, reaching their camp without meeting with any accident. As
the sun was declining, forms were seen approaching the camp in the
distance. The uncertain light in which they were first visible, rendered
it impossible for Boone and Stewart to determine whether they were
whites or Indians; but they grasped their rifles, and stood ready for
defence. The forms continued to approach cautiously and slowly, until
they were within speaking distance. Boone then hailed them with the
challenge, "Who comes there?" The delight may be imagined with which
Boone and Stewart heard the reply of "White men and friends!" "Come on
then," said Boone. The next moment he found himself in the arms of his
brother, who, accompanied by a single companion, had left North
Carolina, and made his way all the distance from the Yadkin to the
Cumberland. They had been wandering many days in the woods, in pursuit
of Boone and his party, and had thus providentially fallen upon them.
Notwithstanding the damp which it must cast on the spirits of these new
adventurers to hear of the recent captivity of Boone and Stewart, and
the uncertain fate of the rest of the company, this joyous meeting of
brothers and friends in the wilderness, and this intelligence from home,
filled the parties with a joy too sincere and unalloyed to be repressed
by apprehensions for the future.
The four associates commenced the usual occupation of hunting, but were
soon alarmed by signs of the vicinity of Indians, and clear proofs that
they were prowling near them in the woods. These circumstances strongly
admonished them not to venture singly to any great distance from each
other. In the eagerness of pursuing a wounded buffalo, Boone and
Stewart, however, allowed themselves to be separated from their
companions. Aware of their imprudence, and halting to return, a party of
savages rushed from the cane-brake, and discharged a shower of arrows
upon them, one of which laid Stewart dead on the spot. The first purpose
of Boone was to fire upon them, and sell his life as dearly as possible.
But rashness is not bravery; and seeing the numbers of the foe, the
hopelessness of resistance, and the uselessness of bartering his own
life for the revenge of inflicting a single death--reflecting, moreover,
on the retaliation it would probably bring down on the remainder of his
companions, he retreated, and escaped, amidst a flight of arrows, in
safety to the camp.
One would have supposed that this party would have needed no more
monition to keep them together, and always on their guard. But,
forgetful of the fate of Stewart, the partner of the elder Boone, who
had recently arrived, allowed himself to be beguiled away from the two
Boone's, as they were hunting together. The object of his curiosity was
of little importance. In pursuit of it, he wandered into a swamp, and
was lost. The two brothers sought him, long and painfully, to no
purpose. Discouraged, and perhaps exasperated in view of his careless
imprudence, they finally concluded he had chosen that method of
deserting them, and had set out on his return to North Carolina. Under
such impressions, they relinquished the search, and returned to camp.
They had reason afterwards to repent their harsh estimate of his
intentions. Fragments of his clothes, and traces of blood were found on
the opposite side of the swamp. A numerous pack of wolves had been heard
to howl in that direction the evening on which he had been lost.
Circumstances placed it beyond a doubt, that, while wandering about in
search of his companions, these terrible animals had come upon him and
torn him in pieces. He was never heard of afterwards.
The brothers were thus left alone in this wide wilderness, the only
white men west of the mountains; as they concluded the remainder of the
original party had returned to North Carolina. But they were neither
desponding nor indolent. They held pleasant communion together--hunted
by day, cooked their game, sat by their bright fires, and sung the airs
of their country by night, as though in the midst of the gayest society.
They devoted, beside, much of their time and labor to preparing a
comfortable cabin to shelter them during the approaching winter.
They were in want of many things. Clothing and moccasins they might
supply. With bread, sugar, and salt, though articles of the first
necessity, they could dispense. But ammunition, an article absolutely
indispensable, was failing them. They concluded, too, that horses would
be of essential service to them. They finally came to the resolution
that the elder Boone should return to North Carolina, and come out to
the new country with ammunition, horses, and supplies.
The character of Daniel Boone, in consenting to be left alone in that
wilderness, surrounded by perils from the Indians and wild beasts, of
which he had so recently and terribly been made aware, appears in its
true light. We have heard of a Robinson Crusoe made so by the necessity
of shipwreck; but all history can scarcely parallel another such an
instance of a man voluntarily consenting to be left alone among savages
and wild beasts, seven hundred miles from the nearest white inhabitant.
The separation came. The elder brother disappeared in the forest, and
Daniel Boone was left in the cabin, so recently cheered by the presence
of his brother, entirely alone. Their only dog followed the departing
brother, and Boone had nothing but his unconquerable spirit to sustain
him during the long and lonely days and nights, visited by the
remembrance of his distant wife and children.
To prevent the recurrence of dark and lonely thoughts, he set out, soon
after his brother left him, on a distant excursion to the north-west.
The country grew still more charming under his eye at every step of his
advance. He wandered through the delightful country of the Barrens, and
gained the heights of one of the ridges of Salt river, whence he could
look back on the Alleghany ridges, lifting their blue heads in the
direction of the country of his wife and children. Before him rolled the
majestic Ohio, down its dark forests, and seen by him for the first
time. It may be imagined what thoughts came over his mind, as the lonely
hunter stood on the shore of this mighty stream, straining his thoughts
towards its sources, and the unknown country where it discharged itself
into some other river, or the sea. During this journey he explored the
country on the south shore of the Ohio, between the Cumberland and the
present site of Louisville, experiencing in these lonely explorations a
strange pleasure, which, probably, none but those of his temperament can
adequately imagine.
Returning to his cabin, as a kind of head quarters, he found it
undisturbed by the Indians. Caution suggested to him the expedient of
often changing his position, and not continuing permanently to sleep in
the cabin. Sometimes he slept in the cane-brake sometimes under the
covert of a limestone cliff, often made aware on his return to the cabin
that the Indians had discovered it, and visited it during his absence.
Surrounded with danger and death, though insensible to fear, he
neglected none of those prudent precautions of which men of his
temperament are much more able to avail themselves, than those always
forecasting the fashion of uncertain evils. He was, however, never for
an hour in want of the most ample supply of food. Herds of deer and
buffaloes were seldom out of his sight for a day together. His nights
were often disturbed by the howling of wolves, which abounded as much as
the other forest animals. His table thus abundantly spread in the
wilderness, and every excursion affording new views of the beautiful
solitudes, he used to affirm afterwards that this period was among the
happiest in his life; that during it, care and melancholy, and a painful
sense of loneliness, were alike unknown to him.
We must not, however, suppose that the lonely hunter was capable only of
feeling the stern and sullen pleasures of the savage. On the contrary,
he was a man of the kindliest nature, and of the tenderest affections.
We have read of verses, in solid columns, said to have been made by him.
We would be sorry to believe him the author of these verses, for they
would redound little to his honor as a poet. But, though we believe he
did not attempt to make bad verses, the woodsman was essentially a
poet. He loved nature in all her aspects of beauty and grandeur with the
intensest admiration. He never wearied of admiring the charming natural
landscapes spread before him; and, to his latest days, his spirit in old
age seemed to revive in the season of spring, and when he visited the
fires of the sugar camps, blazing in the open maple groves.
[Illustration]