A sketch of the character and adventures of several other
pioneers--Harrod, Kenton, Logan, Ray, McAffee, and others.
Colonel Boone having seen the formidable invasion of Boonesborough
successfully repelled, and with such a loss as would not be likely to
tempt the Indians to repeat such assaults--and having thus disengaged
his mind from public duties, resigned it to the influence of domestic
sympathies. The affectionate husband and father, concealing the
tenderest heart under a sun-burnt and care-worn visage, was soon seen
crossing the Alleghanies in pursuit of his wife and children. The bright
star of his morning promise had been long under eclipse; for this
journey was one of continued difficulties, vexations, and dangers--so
like many of his sufferings already recounted, that we pass them by,
fearing the effect of incidents of so much monotony upon the reader's
patience. The frame and spirit of the western adventurer were of iron.
He surmounted all, and was once more in the bosom of his family on the
Yadkin, who, in the language of the Bible, hailed him as one _who had
been dead and was alive again; who had been lost and was found_.
Many incidents of moment and interest in the early annals of Kentucky
occurred during this reunion of Boone with his family. As his name is
forever identified with these annals, we hope it will not be deemed
altogether an episode if we introduce here a brief chronicle of those
incidents--though not directly associated with the subject of our
memoir. In presenting those incidents, we shall be naturally led to
speak of some of the other patriarchs of Kentucky--all Boones in their
way--all strangely endowed with that peculiar character which fitted
them for the time, place, and achievements. We thus discover the
foresight of Providence in the arrangement of means to ends. This is no
where seen more conspicuously than in the characters of the founders of
states and institutions.
During the absence of Colonel Boone, there was a general disposition in
Kentucky to retaliate upon the Shawnese some of the injuries and losses
which they had so often inflicted upon the infant settlement. Colonel
Bowman, with a force of a hundred and sixty men, was selected to command
the expedition; and it was destined against Old Chillicothe--the den
where the red northern savages had so long concentrated their
expeditions against the settlements south of the Ohio.
The force marched in the month of July, 1779, and reached its
destination undiscovered by the Indians. A contest commenced with the
Indians at early dawn, which lasted until ten in the morning. But,
although Colonel Bowman's force sustained itself with great gallantry,
the numbers and concealment of the enemy precluded the chance of a
victory. He retreated, with an inconsiderable loss, a distance of thirty
miles. The Indians, collecting all their forces, pursued and overtook
him. Another engagement of two hours ensued, more to the disadvantage
of the Kentuckians than the former. Colonel Harrod proposed to mount a
number of horse, and make a charge upon the Indians, who continued the
fight with great fury. This apparently desperate measure was followed by
the happiest results. The Indian front was broken, and their force
thrown into irreparable confusion. Colonel Bowman, having sustained a
loss of nine killed and one wounded, afterwards continued an unmolested
retreat.
In June of the next year, 1780, six hundred Indians and Canadians,
commanded by Colonel Bird, a British officer, attacked Riddle's and
Martin's stations, at the forks of the Licking, with six pieces of
cannon. They conducted this expedition with so much secrecy, that the
first intimation of it which the unsuspecting inhabitants had, was being
fired upon. Unprepared to resist so formidable a force, provided
moreover with cannon, against which their palisade walls would not
stand, they were obliged to surrender at discretion. The savages
immediately prostrated one man and two women with the tomahawk. All the
other prisoners, many of whom were sick, were loaded with baggage and
forced to accompany their return march to the Indian towns. Whoever,
whether male or female, infant or aged, became unable, from sickness or
exhaustion, to proceed, was immediately dispatched with the tomahawk.
The inhabitants, exasperated by the recital of cruelties to the children
and women, too horrible to be named, put themselves under the standard
of the intrepid and successful General Clarke, who commanded a regiment
of United States' troops at the falls of Ohio. He was joined by a number
of volunteers from the country, and they marched against Pickaway, one
of the principal towns of the Shawnese, on the Great Miami. He conducted
this expedition with his accustomed good fortune. He burnt their town to
ashes. Beside the dead, which, according to their custom, the Indians
carried off, seventeen bodies were left behind. The loss of General
Clarke was seventeen killed.
We here present brief outlines of some of the other more prominent
western pioneers, the kindred spirits, the Boones of Kentucky. High
spirited intelligent, intrepid as they were, they can never supplant the
reckless hero of Kentucky and Missouri in our thoughts. It is true,
these men deserve to have their memories perpetuated in monumental
brass, and the more enduring page of history. But there is a sad
interest attached to the memory of Daniel Boone, which can never belong,
in an equal degree, to theirs. They foresaw what this beautiful country
would become in the hands of its new possessors. Extending their
thoughts beyond the ken of a hunter's calculations, they anticipated the
consequences of buts and bounds, officers of registry and record, and
courts of justice. In due time, they secured a fair and adequate
reversion in the soil which they had planted and so nobly defended.
Hence, their posterity, with the inheritance of their name and renown,
enter into the heritage of their possessions, and find an honorable and
an abundant residence in the country which their fathers settled.
Boone, on the contrary, was too simple-minded, too little given to
prospective calculations, and his heart in too much what was passing
under his eye, to make this thrifty forecast. In age, in penury,
landless, and without a home, he is seen leaving Kentucky, then an
opulent and flourishing country, for a new wilderness and new scenes of
adventure.
Among the names of the conspicuous backwoodsmen who settled the west, we
cannot fail to recognize that of James Harrod. He was from the banks of
the Monongahela, and among the earliest immigrants to the "Bloody
Ground." He descended the Great Kenhawa, and returned to Pennsylvania in
1774. He made himself conspicuous with a party of his friends at the
famous contest with the Indians at the "Point," Next year he returned to
Kentucky with a party of immigrants, fixing himself at one of the
earliest settlements in the country, which, in honor of him, was called
Harrodsburgh.
Nature had moulded him of a form and temperament to look the formidable
red man in the face. He was six feet, muscular, broad chested, of a firm
and animated countenance, keen and piercing eyes, and sparing of speech.
He gained himself an imperishable name in the annals of Kentucky, under
the extreme disadvantage of not knowing how to read or write! Obliging
and benevolent to his neighbors, he was brave and active in their
defence. A successful, because a persevering and intelligent hunter, he
was liberal to profuseness in the distribution of the spoils. Vigilant
and unerring with his rifle, it was at one time directed against the
abundant game for the sake of his friends rather than himself; and at
others, against the enemies of his country. Guided by the inexplicable
instinct of forest skill, he could conduct the wanderer in the woods
from point to point through the wilderness, as the needle guides the
mariner upon the ocean. So endowed, others equally illiterate, and less
gifted, naturally, and from instinct, arranged themselves under his
banner, and fearlessly followed such a leader.
If it was reported, that a family, recently arrived in the country, and
not yet acquainted with the backwood's modes of supply, was in want of
food, Harrod was seen at the cabin door, offering the body of a deer or
buffalo, which he had just killed. The commencing farmer, who had lost
his oxen, or plough horse, in the range, and unused to the vocation of
hunting them, or fearful of the Indian rifle, felt no hesitancy, from
his known character, in applying to Harrod. He would disappear in the
woods, and in the exercise of his own wonderful tact, the lost beast was
soon seen driving to the door.
But the precincts of a station, or the field of a farm, were too
uncongenial a range for such a spirit as his. To breathe the fresh
forest air--to range deserts where man was not to be seen--to pursue the
wild deer and buffalo--to trap the bear and the wolf, or beside the
still pond, or the unexplored stream, to catch otters and beavers--to
bring down the wild turkey from the summit of the highest trees; such
were the congenial pursuits in which he delighted.
But, in a higher sphere, and in the service of his country, he united
the instinctive tact and dexterity of a huntsman with the bravery of a
soldier. No labor was too severe for his hardihood; no enterprise too
daring and forlorn for his adventure; no course too intricate and
complicated for his judgment, so far as native talent could guide it. As
a Colonel of the militia, he conducted expeditions against the Indians
with uncommon success. After the country had become populous, and he a
husband and a father, in the midst of an affectionate family, possessed
of every comfort--such was the effect of temperament, operating upon
habit, that he became often silent and thoughtful in the midst of the
social circle, and was seen in that frame to wander away into remote
forests, and to bury himself amidst the unpeopled knobs, where, in a few
weeks, he would reacquire his cheerfulness. In one of these excursions
he disappeared, and was seen no more, leaving no trace to determine
whether he died a natural death, was slain by wild beasts, or the
tomahawk of the savage.
Among the names of many of the first settlers of Harrodsburgh, are those
that are found most prominent in the early annals of Kentucky. In the
first list of these we find the names of McGary, Harland, McBride, and
Chaplain. Among the young settlers, none were more conspicuous for
active, daring, and meritorious service, than James Ray. Prompt at his
post at the first moment of alarm, brave in the field, fearless and
persevering in the pursuit of the enemy, scarcely a battle, skirmish, or
expedition took place in which he had not a distinguished part. Equally
expert as a woodsman, and skilful and successful as a hunter, he was
often employed as a spy. It is recorded of him that he left his
garrison, when short of provisions, by night marched to a forest at the
distance of six miles, killed a buffalo, and, loaded with the choice
parts of the flesh, returned to regale the hungry inhabitants in the
morning. He achieved this enterprise, too, when it was well known that
the vicinity was thronged with Indians, lurking for an opportunity to
kill. These are the positions which try the daring and skill, the
usefulness and value of men, furnishing a criterion which cannot be
counterfeited between reality and resemblance.
We may perhaps in this place most properly introduce another of the
famous partisans in savage warfare, Simon Kenton, alias Butler, who,
from humble beginnings, made himself conspicuous by distinguished
services and achievements in the first settlements of this country, and
ought to be recorded as one of the patriarchs of Kentucky. He was born
in Virginia, in 1753. He grew to maturity without being able to read or
write; but from his early exploits he seems to have been endowed with
feelings which the educated and those born in the upper walks of life,
appear to suppose a monopoly reserved for themselves. It is recorded of
him, that at the age of nineteen, he had a violent contest with another
competitor for the favor of the lady of his love. She refused to make an
election between them, and the subject of this notice indignantly exiled
himself from his native place. After various peregrinations on the long
rivers of the west, he fixed himself in Kentucky, and soon became a
distinguished partisan against the savages. In 1774, he joined himself
to Lord Dunmore, and was appointed one of his spies. He made various
excursions, and performed important services in this employ. He finally
selected a place for improvement on the site where Washington now is.
Returning one day from hunting, he found one of his companions slain by
the Indians, and his body thrown into the fire. He left Washington in
consequence, and joined himself to Colonel Clarke in his fortunate and
gallant expedition against Vincennes and Kaskaskia. He was sent by that
commander with despatches for Kentucky. He passed through the streets of
Vincennes, then in possession of the British and Indians, without
discovery. Arriving at White river, he and his party made a raft on
which to cross with their guns and baggage, driving their horses into
the river and compelling them to swim it. A party of Indians was
concealed on the opposite bank, who took possession of the horses as
they mounted the bank from crossing the river. Butler and his party
seeing this, continued to float down the river on their raft without
coming to land. They concealed themselves in the bushes until night,
when they crossed the river, pursued their journey, and delivered their
despatches.
After this, Butler made a journey of discovery to the northern regions
of the Ohio country, and was made prisoner by the Indians. They painted
him black, as is their custom when a victim is destined for their
torture, and informed him that he was to be burned at Chillicothe.
Meanwhile, for their own amusement, and as a prelude of his torture,
they manacled him hand and foot, and placed him on an unbridled and
unbroken horse, and turned the animal loose, driving it off at its
utmost speed, with shouts, delighted at witnessing its mode of managing
with its living burden. The horse unable to shake off this new and
strange encumbrance, made for the thickest covert of the woods and
brambles, with the speed of the winds. It is easy to conjecture the
position and suffering of the victim. The terrified animal exhausted
itself in fruitless efforts to shake off its burden, and worn down and
subdued, brought Butler back amidst the yells of the exulting savages to
the camp.
Arrived within a mile of Chillicothe, they halted, took Butler from his
horse and tied him to a stake, where he remained twenty-four hours in
one position. He was taken from the stake to "run the gauntlet." The
Indian mode of managing this kind of torture was as follows: The
inhabitants of the tribe, old and young, were placed in parallel lines,
armed with clubs and switches. The victim was to make his way to the
council house through these files, every member of which struggled to
beat him as he passed as severely as possible. If he reached the council
house alive, he was to be spared. In the lines were nearly six hundred
Indians, and Butler had to make his way almost a mile in the endurance
of this infernal sport. He was started by a blow; but soon broke through
the files, and had almost reached the council house, when a stout
warrior knocked him down with a club. He was severely beaten in this
position, and taken back again into custody.
It seems incredible that they sometimes adopted their prisoners, and
treated them with the utmost lenity and even kindness. At other times,
ingenuity was exhausted to invent tortures, and every renewed endurance
of the victim seemed to stimulate their vengeance to new discoveries of
cruelty. Butler was one of these ill-fated subjects. No way satisfied
with what they had done, they marched him from village to village to
give all a spectacle of his sufferings. He run the gauntlet thirteen
times. He made various attempts to escape; and in one instance would
have effected it, had he not been arrested by some savages who were
accidentally returning to the village from which he was escaping. It was
finally determined to burn him at the Lower Sandusky, but an apparent
accident changed his destiny.
In passing to the stake, the procession went by the cabin of Girty, of
whom we have already spoken. This renegado white man lived among these
Indians, and had just returned from an unsuccessful expedition against
the whites on the frontiers of Pennsylvania. The wretch burned with
disappointment and revenge, and hearing that there was a white man going
to the torture, determined to wreak his vengeance on him. He found the
unfortunate Butler, threw him to the ground, and began to beat him.
Butler, who instantly recognized in Girty the quondam companion and
playmate of youth, at once made himself known to him. This sacramental
tie of friendship, on recognition, caused the savage heart of Girty to
relent. He raised him up, and promised to save him. He procured the
assemblage of a council, and persuaded the savages to relinquish Butler
to him. He took the unfortunate man home, fed, and clothed him, and
Butler began to recruit from his wounds and torture. But the relenting
of the savages was only transient and momentary. After five days they
repented of their relaxation in his favor, reclaimed him, and marched
him to Lower Sandusky to be burned there, according to their original
purpose. By a fortunate coincidence, he there met the Indian agent from
Detroit, who, from motives of humanity, exerted his influence with the
savages for his release, and took him with him to Detroit. Here he was
paroled by the Governor. He escaped; and being endowed, like Daniel
Boone, to be at home in the woods, by a march of thirty days through the
wilderness, he reached Kentucky.
In 1784, Simon Kenton reoccupied the settlement, near Washington, which
he had commenced in 1775. Associated with a number of people, he erected
a block-house, and made a station here. This became an important point
of covering and defence for the interior country. Immigrants felt more
confidence in landing at Limestone. To render this confidence more
complete, Kenton and his associates built a block-house at Limestone.
Two men, of the name of Tanner, had made a small settlement the year
preceding at Blue Lick, and were now making salt there. The route from
Limestone to Lexington became one of the most general travel for
immigrants, and many stations sprang up upon it. Travellers to the
country had hitherto been compelled to sleep under the open canopy,
exposed to the rains and dews of the night. But cabins were now so
common, that they might generally repose under a roof that sheltered
them from the weather, and find a bright fire, plenty of wood, and with
the rustic fare, a most cheerful and cordial welcome. The people of
these new regions were hospitable from native inclination. They were
hospitable from circumstances. None but those who dwell in a wilderness,
where the savages roam and the wolves howl, can understand all the
pleasant associations connected with the sight of a stranger of the same
race. The entertainer felt himself stronger from the presence of his
guest. His offered food and fare were the spoils of the chase. He heard
news from the old settlements and the great World; and he saw in the
accession of every stranger a new guaranty of the security, wealth, and
improvement of the infant country where he had chosen his resting place.
Among other worthy associates of Boone, we may mention the family of
McAffee. Two brothers, James and Robert, emigrated from the county of
Botetourt, Virginia, and settled on Salt river, six miles from
Harrodsburgh. Having revisited their parent country, on their return
they brought with them William and George McAffee. In 1777, the Indians
destroyed the whole of their valuable stock of cattle, while they were
absent from Kentucky. In 1779 they returned, and settled McAffee's
station, which was subsequently compelled to take its full share in the
sufferings and dangers of Indian hostilities.
Benjamin Logan immigrated to the country in 1775, as a private citizen.
But he was a man of too much character to remain unnoted. As his
character developed, he was successively appointed a magistrate, elected
a member of the legislature and rose, as a military character, to the
rank of general. His parents were natives of Ireland, who emigrated,
while young, to Pennsylvania, where they married, and soon afterwards
removed to Augusta county, Virginia.
Benjamin, their oldest son, was born there; and at the age of fourteen,
lost his father. Charged, at this early age, with the care of a widowed
mother, and children still younger than himself, neither the
circumstances of his family, of the country, or his peculiar condition,
allowed him the chances of education. Almost as unlettered as James
Harrod, he was a memorable example of a self-formed man. Great natural
acuteness, and strong intellectual powers, were, however, adorned by a
disposition of uncommon benevolence. Under the eye of an excellent
father, he commenced with the rudiments of common instruction, the
soundest lessons of Christian piety and morality, which were continued
by the guidance and example of an admirable mother, with whom he resided
until he was turned of twenty-one.
His father had deceased intestate, and, in virtue of the laws then in
force, the whole extensive inheritance of his father's lands descended
to him, to the exclusion of his brothers and sisters. His example ought
to be recorded for the benefit of those grasping children in these days,
who, dead to all natural affection, and every sentiment but avarice,
seize all that the law will grant, whether equity will sanction it or
not. Disregarding this claim of primogeniture, he insisted that the
whole inheritance should be parceled into equal shares, of which he
accepted only his own. But the generous impulses of his noble nature,
were not limited to the domestic circle. His heart was warm with the
more enlarged sentiments of patriotism. At the age of twenty-one, he
accompanied Colonel Beauquette, as a serjeant, in a hostile expedition
against the Indians of the north. Having provided for the comfortable
settlement of his mother and family on James River, Virginia, he moved
to the Holston, where he settled and married.
Having been in the expedition of Lord Dunmore against the Indians, and
having thus acquired a taste for forest marches and incident, he
determined, in 1775, to try his fortunes in Kentucky, which country had
then just become a theme of discussion. He set forth from his mother's
family with three slaves, leaving the rest to her. In Powell's valley he
met with Boone, Henderson, and other kindred spirits, and pursued his
journey towards Kentucky in company with them. He parted from them,
before they reached Boonesborough, and selected a spot for himself,
afterwards called Logan's fort, or station.
In the winter of 1776, he removed his family from Holston, and in March,
arrived with it in Kentucky. It was the same year in which the daughter
of Col. Boone, and those of Col. Calloway were made captives. The
whole-country being in a state of alarm, he endeavored to assemble some
of the settlers that were dispersed in the country called the Crab
Orchard, to join him at his cabins, and there form a station of
sufficient strength to defend itself against Indian assault. But finding
them timid and unresolved, he was himself obliged to desert his
incipient settlement, and move for safety to Harrodsburgh. Yet, such was
his determination not to abandon his selected spot, that he raised a
crop of corn there, defenceless and surrounded on all sides by Indian
incursion.
In the winter of 1777, and previous to the attack of Harrodsburgh, he
found six families ready to share with him the dangers of the selected
spot; and he removed his family with them to his cabins, where the
settlement immediately united in the important duty of palisading a
station.
Before these arrangements were fully completed as the females of the
establishment, on the twentieth of May, 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 cane-brake.
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 part exulting in their safety, and the others mourning 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 by the Indians. All this his wife and family could discern from
within. It is not difficult to imagine their agonizing condition, and
piercing lamentations for the fate of one so dear to them. Logan
discovered, on this occasion, the same keen sensibility to tenderness,
and insensibility to danger, that characterized his friend Boone in
similar predicaments. He endeavored to rally a few of the small number
of the male inmates of the place to join him, and rush out, and assist
in attempting to 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 they had reached the gate, the wounded
man raised himself partly erect, and made a movement, as if disposed to
try 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. He made some efforts to crawl onwards by the aid of Logan;
but weakened by the loss of blood, and the agony of his wounds, he
fainted, and Logan taking him up in his arms, bore him towards the
fort. A shower of bullets was discharged upon them, many of which struck
the palisades close to his 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 of both powder and ball;
and there was no chance of supply nearer than Holston. All intercourse
between station and station was cut off. Without ammunition the station
could not be defended against the Indians. The question was, how to
obviate this pressing emergency, and obtain a supply? Captain Logan
selected two trusty companions, left the fort by night, evaded the
besieging Indians, reached the woods, and with his companions made his
way in safety to Holston, procured the necessary supply of ammunition,
packed it under their care on horseback, giving them directions how to
proceed. He then left them, and traversing the forests by a shorter
route on foot, he reached the fort in safety, in ten days from his
departure. The Indians still kept up the siege with unabated
perseverance. The hopes of the diminished garrison had given way to
despair. The return of Logan inspired them with renewed confidence.
Uniting the best attributes of a woodsman and a soldier to uncommon
local acquaintance with the country, his instinctive sagacity prescribed
to him, on this journey, the necessity of deserting the beaten path,
where, he was aware, he should be intercepted by the savages. Avoiding,
from the same calculation, the passage of the Cumberland Gap, he
explored a track in which man, or at least the white man, had never
trodden before. We may add, it has never been trodden since. Through
cane-brakes and tangled thickets, over cliffs and precipices, and
pathless mountains, he made his solitary way. Following his directions
implicitly, his companions, who carried the ammunition, also reached the
fort, and it was saved.
His rencounters with the Indians, and his hairbreadth escapes make no
inconsiderable figure in the subsequent annals of Kentucky. The year
after the siege of his fort, on a hunting excursion, he discovered an
Indian camp, at Big Flat Spring, two miles from his station. Returning
immediately he raised a party, with which he attacked the camp, from
which the Indians fled with precipitation, without much loss on their
part, and none on his. A short time after he was attacked at the same
place, by another party of Indians. His arm was broken by their fire,
and he was otherwise slightly wounded in the breast. They even seized
the mane of his horse, and he escaped them from their extreme eagerness
to take him alive.
No sooner were his wounds healed, than we find him in the fore front of
the expedition against the Indians. In 1779, he served as a captain in
Bowman's campaign. He signalized his bravery in the unfortunate battle
that ensued, and was with difficulty compelled to retire, when retreat
became necessary. The next year a party travelling from Harrodsburgh
towards Logan's fort, were fired upon by the Indians, and two of them
mortally wounded One, however, survived to reach the fort, and give an
account of the fate of his wounded companion. Logan immediately raised a
small party of young men, and repaired to the aid of the wounded man,
who had crawled out of sight of the Indians behind a clump of bushes. He
was still alive. Logan took him on his shoulders, occasionally relieved
in sustaining the burden by his younger associates, and in this way
conveyed him to the fort. On their return from Harrodsburgh, Logan's
party were fired upon, and one of the party wounded. The assailants were
repelled with loss; and it was Logan's fortune again to be the bearer of
the wounded man upon his shoulders for a long distance, exposed, the
while, to the fire of the Indians.
His reputation for bravery and hospitality, and the influence of a long
train of connections, caused him to be the instrument of bringing out
many immigrants to Kentucky. They were of a character to prove an
acquisition to the country. Like his friends, Daniel Boone, and James
Harrod, his house was open to all the recent immigrants. In the early
stages of the settlement of the country, his station, like Boone's and
Harrod's, was one of the main pillars of the colony. Feeling the
importance of this station, as a point of support to the infant
settlements, he took effectual measures to keep up an intercourse with
the other stations, particularly those of Boone and Harrod. Dangerous as
this intercourse was, Logan generally travelled alone, often by night,
and universally with such swiftness of foot, that few could be found
able to keep speed with him.
In the year 1780, he received his commission as Colonel, and was soon
after a member of the Virginia legislature at Richmond. In the year
1781, the Indians attacked Montgomery's station, consisting of six
families, connected by blood with Colonel Logan. The father and brother
of Mrs. Logan were killed, and her sister-in-law, with four children,
taken prisoners. This disaster occurred about ten miles from Logan's
fort. His first object was to rescue the prisoners, and his next to
chastise the barbarity of the Indians. He immediately collected a party
of his friends, and repaired to the scene of action. He was here joined
by the bereaved relatives of Montgomery's family. He commanded a rapid
pursuit of the enemy, who were soon overtaken, and briskly attacked.
They faced upon their assailants, but were beaten after a severe
conflict. William Montgomery killed three Indians, and wounded a fourth.
Two women and three children were rescued. The savages murdered the
other child to prevent its being re-taken. The other prisoners would
have experienced the same fate, had they not fled for their lives into
the thickets.
It would be very easy to extend this brief sketch of some of the more
conspicuous pioneers of Kentucky. Their heroic and disinterested
services, their lavish prodigality of their blood and property, gave
them that popularity which is universally felt to be a high and
priceless acquisition. Loved, and trusted, and honored as fathers of
their country; while they lived, they had the persuasion of such
generous minds as theirs, that their names would descend with blessings
to their grateful posterity.