under way, and the failure in that case seemed to discourage the
Indians. The attack slackened perceptibly and soon they withdrew,
carrying away their dead and wounded. When the defenders checked
up their casualties it was found that only two men had been killed
outright. A number had received more or less severe injuries, and among
these was Hardy. His clothing had been pierced in four places. His
hurts were slight. They consisted of a flesh wound in the thigh and
an abrased cheek, and though the former incapacitated him during the
remainder of the siege, it soon healed.
This attack, in which they lost heavily, thoroughly disheartened the
Indians. The siege was maintained for nine days longer with almost
constant fighting, but no such assault as that of the first night was
again attempted. Occasionally small parties endeavored to set fires
against the walls under cover of darkness, but they always found that a
vigilant watch was maintained and no redskin could approach within a
hundred yards of the fort except at the peril of his life.
During the day, the besiegers kept up a constant fire against the
stockade, but did little damage. They wasted an enormous amount of
ammunition, for after their departure the garrison gathered up over two
thousand pounds of musket-balls in the vicinity, not to mention the
number that were embedded in the walls of the stockade. The settlers,
on the other hand, husbanded their resources and fired only when there
was a good chance of doing execution. Men stood to the port-holes
constantly, and an Indian could not show himself in the clearing during
daylight but he immediately became the target of some sharpshooter.
A negro had escaped from the fort during the parley that preceded
the attack which has been described, carrying with him a rifle and
ammunition. This man took up his station in a tree, at a distance which
he considered safe to himself but which rendered his fire practically
harmless. He spent several days in shooting at the occupants of the
stockade, but little attention was paid to him until one of his nearly
spent bullets hit a woman on the hip, causing a painful contusion. Then
some of the men tried to dislodge him. They had expended half a dozen
or more charges without effect when Boone sauntered up to them.
“I’m afraid you’re using up a lot of good powder and shot needlessly,
Aiken,” Boone said to one just about to aim.
“We’re trying to get the range, Captain,” replied the man.
“Well, let me see if I can get it for you.”
The head of the negro was presently seen as he peered out from between
two forking branches of the tree. Boone’s eye ran over the ground in
a calculation of the distance. Then he rested his rifle on a post and
took a long, steady aim. There was a whip-like crack, and the body of
the negro came hurtling to the ground. Afterwards it was found with
a ball in the skull, the shot having been made at one hundred and
seventy-five yards. The Indians who buried, or carried away, their own
dead, would not touch the body of the negro.
The siege had continued for five or six days when Boone, from his
lookout in the upper story of a blockhouse, noticed one morning that
the water below the fort was muddy whilst that above ran clear as
usual. The bank was high and nothing could be seen to account for the
strange condition. Boone watched for several hours, during which time
the phenomenon continued, and came to the conclusion that the Indians,
directed by their white allies, were endeavoring to enter the fort by
mining.
Having calculated with sufficient precision the direction of the tunnel
under construction by the besiegers, Boone began counter-operations.
He set men to work digging an underground passage from within the
stockade. The earth that was excavated, he ordered to be thrown over
the palisade as an intimation to the attackers of what he was about.
This had the desired effect. The Indians realized that they were
baulked, and on the following day abandoned their project.
On the twentieth day of August the discomfited chiefs, Blackfish and
De Quindre, withdrew their forces and took the route to the Indian
country. They left with a very wholesome opinion of the prowess of the
backwoodsmen, and of the people of Boonesborough in particular. In
fact, that place was never again directly attacked by the Indians, who
seemed to accept the idea that it was impregnable.
The settlers were now justified in the belief that they would be left
in peace for some months at least. Small bodies of marauding redskins
might molest isolated individuals and families, but after such a
crushing defeat as they had experienced the chiefs would not be willing
to plant the war-post again for some time. Gladly the backwoodsmen, who
detested confinement, went out to their clearings. There they found
things in a sorry state. The Indians had burned the cabins, killed the
cattle, and destroyed the growing crops. But these incidents the hardy
frontiersmen accepted as part of the necessary conditions of their
adventurous lives, and they set cheerfully about repairing the damage.
Shortly after the siege the trial by court-martial, from which Boone
emerged so triumphantly, took place. At its conclusion he set out alone
upon the long journey to the Yadkin, with a view to bringing his family
back to Kentucky. We may imagine the joy of the wife and children upon
being reunited to the beloved one whom they had mourned as dead.
XIV.
KENTON’S STORY
Simon Kenton’s boyhood--His fight for a sweetheart--His defeat
and his victory--Flight into the wilderness--Three adventures in
Kentucky--Attack by the Indians and the death of Strader--A terrible
journey and a timely rescue--Kenton is captured by the Indians--He is
tortured and made to run the gauntlet--He is sentenced to be burned
at the stake--Girty saves his old comrade’s life--Kenton is sent to
Logan’s village and befriended by the great chief--Again he is doomed
to death by torture--And finds a new friend in a British agent--He
goes to Detroit a prisoner of war--Escapes with the aid of a trader’s
wife--And at last finds himself safe in Kentucky.
During Boone’s captivity Hardy had attached himself to Kenton, and when
the former went upon his journey to North Carolina these two became
inseparable companions. Neither had any work to do at Boonesborough.
Hardy was too young to take up land and Kenton lacked the desire to
do so. His occupation was scouting. When Indians were in the country
he went out and watched their movements, warning the settlements
of impending attack. When an expedition into the Indian territory
was contemplated, he went in advance and ascertained the state of
the intervening country and the condition of the town against which
the movement was directed. He preceded armed bodies on the march
and guarded them against surprise and ambush. He conducted settlers
from one point to another and performed many other services of a
similar nature. Kenton was one of a number of scouts whose names are
perpetuated in the stories of border adventure. The vocation demanded
qualities of the highest order. In order to follow it with success,
a man needed to be fearless, vigorous, a good shot, a master of
woodcraft; to be familiar with the country over which his operations
extended, and to have a thorough knowledge of the Indian character
and customs. The scouts were regularly attached to the military
establishment, received pay from the authorities, and were amenable to
their orders. The militia officers frequently took counsel with them
and sometimes entrusted to them important details in the arrangement
of an expedition. The calling of scout was a highly responsible and
honorable one.
After the Indians retired from Boonesborough Kenton trailed them back
to their own country, and returned to report that they had dispersed to
their several villages and would probably not be heard from again until
after the winter. When Boone went away Kenton and Hardy started upon
a long hunt and scout in the country lying south of the Ohio. Now and
again they crossed the river and made short excursions into the region
inhabited by the redskins. November was drawing to a close when they
reappeared at Boonesborough.
The two friends took up their abode in Boone’s cabin for the winter. In
the long nights, when the wind whistled around the walls and the wolves
howled in the neighboring forest, they sat for hours before the great
log fire and exchanged experiences. The scout was glad to learn what
Hardy could tell of life in England, and in turn told the story of his
adventures. It was a wonderful tale, considering that Kenton was but
twenty-three years of age in this year 1778. It was related piecemeal
and at many sittings, so that we must be content with a brief _résumé_
of it.
Simon Kenton was a born backwoodsman. He first saw the light of day in
a little cabin on the borders of Virginia. His boyhood was that common
to frontier children--a little schooling, a good deal of hard work,
and a fair admixture of adventure. When only sixteen years old he was
attracted by the charms of a young girl in the settlement. This aroused
the resentment of a youth several years older than Kenton, who imagined
that he had engaged the affections of the backwoods maiden, although
she would not admit as much. As Kenton declined to abandon his suit,
the rivals determined to settle the matter by one of the fist fights
that were not uncommon incidents of border life.
The encounter took place in the presence of the assembled settlers, as
was usual. Kenton made a plucky stand, but in the end was beaten by the
man, who had immeasurably the advantage of him in physical development.
He accepted his defeat cheerfully but a year later, when he had grown
into a muscular giant of six feet, he challenged his former antagonist
to try conclusions once more. The other was a powerful man and readily
accepted the cartel.
These backwoods fights were often terrible affairs. Everything short
of the use of weapons was permissible, and the participants were
frequently seriously injured. In this instance, the former victor was
fired by intense hatred for Kenton, who was determined on this occasion
to win. The conflict which ensued was terrifically fierce. At first the
younger man got the worst of it and was severely hurt, but his courage
continued unabated. He renewed the struggle, and in the end so beat his
antagonist that he lay unconscious.
Kenton looked down at the prostrate form in horror, fully believing it
to be that of a dead man. Then he turned and fled with all the speed
possible, stopping only to snatch up his rifle and ammunition from the
stump upon which they lay. So convinced was he that the sheriff with a
posse would shortly be in pursuit of him that he continued his flight
with little cessation for two days.
On the third day Kenton, still apprehensive and downcast, was
traversing the forest in an unsettled part of the country when his eye
was suddenly gladdened by the sight of a man upon the trail ahead of
him. The stranger proved to be a wanderer named Johnson, as homeless
and as careless of his destination as was Kenton. Each man was glad
of the prospect of company and after a brief comparison of notes they
agreed to become partners, as they say in the West.
These two travelled in company for some weeks and until they reached
a settlement on the Monongahela, where Kenton decided to stop. This
decision was prompted by learning that two young men at the place,
named Strader and Yager, contemplated a journey into Kentucky and were
willing that he should join them. The three set out shortly afterwards
and for a year or more they lived in the wilderness, hunting and
trapping, and selling their peltries to traders at Fort Pitt.
They had not been troubled by Indians, and had come to consider
themselves safe from their attacks. Of this belief, however, they were
rudely disabused one evening in March, 1773. As they sat in their
“open-face” cabin, utterly unmindful of danger, a volley was suddenly
fired at them from the surrounding thicket. Strader, who was the most
exposed, instantly fell dead, riddled with bullets. The other two
leaped to their feet and dashed into the neighboring cover without even
taking time to pick up their rifles.
The dusk and heavy undergrowth aided their escape and they were soon
beyond the reach of their pursuers. But, though the immediate prospect
of death had been averted, these men found themselves in the most
perilous situation. The onslaught had happened at a time when their
belts and weapons were laid aside. They had now nothing with which
to defend themselves against the possible attacks of Indians or wild
beasts. They lacked provisions and blankets, and had not even a
tinder-box with which to make a fire.
They did not, however, abandon themselves to despair, but struck out in
the direction of the Ohio, hoping to reach a settlement before their
strength should give out. For days they subsisted upon roots and the
bark of trees, and at night huddled together in the brush with shaking
limbs, for the weather was unusually cold. Gradually weakness stole
upon them and on the third day both were seized with violent cramps
and nausea, probably in consequence of having swallowed some poisonous
substance. Before the close of the fourth day they fell exhausted to
the ground and for the first time despaired of going farther, but with
the dawn of the morrow their strength and spirits were sufficiently
revived to enable them to make another effort. With slow and trembling
steps they painfully pursued the way and in a few hours’ time came upon
a party of traders.
This experience decided Yager to return to civilization, but Kenton,
as soon as he had recovered his strength and had secured a rifle and
ammunition, bade the party farewell and plunged again into the recesses
of the wilderness. The next year he spent, for the most part alone,
hunting and exploring the country. In the spring, Dunmore’s War broke
out and Kenton performed valuable services as a scout, this being
his first employment in that capacity. It was during this campaign
that he became acquainted with Simon Girty, the notorious renegade,
and rendered him a signal service. Girty professed the greatest
friendship for Kenton and his after conduct proved the sincerity of his
declaration.
Upon his return from a reconnoissance in the Indian country, Kenton,
when about to cross the Ohio into Kentucky, was captured by a band
that had suffered recent defeat by the whites and was consequently in
a ferocious mood. Their temper was not improved by the severe injuries
that the scout inflicted on some of their number before he could be
subdued. Few men on the frontier could command the cool common-sense
that unfailingly characterized Boone in a critical situation. He would
fight against the heaviest odds whilst any hope of success existed,
but once convinced of the futility of resistance, he avoided creating
unnecessary rancor by continuing it. Kenton on this occasion fought
like a catamount and so aroused the resentment of his assailants that
when they had disarmed him they continued to lay on their clubs and
tomahawks until he lapsed into unconsciousness.
When the scout came to his senses, he found himself “spread-eagled,”
face downwards upon the earth. His arms and legs had been extended and
pegged down so that the body lay in the form of a Maltese cross. The
position did not permit of any movement save that of slightly raising
the head. As time wore on the body became filled with excruciating
pains and Kenton passed the night in intense suffering. He did not
doubt that he was reserved for worse tortures. Otherwise the Indians
would have vented their anger by killing him.
In the morning the party took up the march after strapping Kenton along
the bare back of an unbroken horse. All day his limbs were racked by
the fresh pains of this cruel mode of progression, and at night he
was crucified as before. This march, with its unceasingly attendant
agonies, continued for three days and nights. On the fourth the
Indians arrived at the village of Chillicothe. By this time Kenton
would have welcomed death, but he was to endure much more.
After his captors had refreshed themselves with food and rest, the
entire population of the place assembled in the great square and Kenton
was led forth to afford amusement for them. After he had been subjected
to the jibes and floutings of the children and squaws, he was bound to
a post and flogged upon the bare back with switches until the blood
flowed copiously. Meanwhile the redskins danced around him, howling
with demoniac delight. But they tired of this pastime when it was found
impossible to extract a cry of pain from the victim.
Kenton was now led to the stake, stripped of his clothing and bound
with hands extended above his head. Faggots were heaped about his feet
and all the preparations completed for burning him. At this juncture
the Indians seemed to waver in their purpose. The chief men withdrew,
leaving the scout to the spiteful persecution of the villagers, who
found a fiendish pleasure in pulling his hair, pricking him with
knives, and beating him with sticks and clubs. This continued until
nightfall, when Kenton was released from his bonds and removed under a
strong guard to one of the wigwams.
The next morning he realized why he had been spared from the flames on
the previous day. The chiefs had declared that it would be a pity to
dispose finally of so strong a man until he had been subjected to all
the torture he was capable of enduring. He was now condemned to “run
the gantlet,” and when he emerged from the cabin in which he had passed
the night he saw the painted warriors assembled and ready to perform
their part in the affair.
Across the square two lines of braves were drawn up, facing inwards,
with a space of about six feet between them. Each was furnished with a
club, tomahawk, or leathern thong. Kenton was required to traverse this
lane of inhuman wretches whilst they rained blows upon him in passing.
This cruel pastime of the Indians was not designed to kill the victim,
but many a man sank dead before going through the ordeal and none
completed it without receiving the most severe injuries.
Kenton was a swift runner but as he looked down that double row of
waiting warriors, more than one hundred yards in length, he determined
not to attempt its entire passage. When he started at the utmost
speed he could command, it was with eyes alert for a gap in the line
through which he might make his escape. The opportunity offered when
he had covered about half the distance. Dashing through the opening,
he dodged the Indians who attempted to intercept him and took refuge
in the council-house. Of course he was soon once more in the clutches
of his tormentors but they did not force him to run the gantlet again.
Instead, a council was held to determine his fate. After considerable
discussion it was decided that he should be taken to a town named
Waughcotomoco and there burned.
Whilst preparations were in progress for the death of Kenton, Simon
Girty, the renegade white man, came into Waughcotomoco with a settler’s
wife and her children, whom he had captured. Curious to see the
prisoner under sentence to be burned at the stake, he went to the
wigwam where Kenton was confined. Great was the surprise of Girty to
find his old companion and benefactor. Since they had last seen each
other, Girty had forsworn his race, and his name had become execrated
along the border as that of an unnatural creature devoid of pity and
destitute of principle.
Girty’s conduct on this occasion proved that he was not utterly
abandoned, but it is the sole redeeming feature of his life as we
know it. With the utmost difficulty, he induced the chiefs to defer
their purpose, and for three weeks Kenton was left unmolested. At the
end of that time he was sent to the village of the great chief Logan,
who despite the wrongs he had suffered at the hands of the whites,
befriended the scout and treated him as kindly as possible.
Even Logan’s influence did not, however, seem sufficient to save Kenton
from the doom with which the Indians appeared to be determined to visit
him. After a short while he was sent under escort to Sandusky, which
place had been selected as the scene of his death by torture. Here,
when the sturdy scout had abandoned hope, a British agent named Drewyer
contrived his removal to Detroit.
At Detroit Kenton was held as a prisoner of war and well treated. He
was required to work, but received half wages, the other half being
applied to the cost of his keep. Some months were passed under these
conditions, when Kenton and another Kentuckian contrived to escape with
the aid of the wife of a trader. This woman secured and secreted on
the outskirts of the town two rifles and a supply of ammunition. At a
favorable opportunity the prisoners stole out of the fort, possessed
themselves of the weapons and, after a month of travel through the
wilderness, found themselves at last among friends in Kentucky.
XV.
THE YOUNG SCOUT
The whites suffer great reverses at the hands of the Indians--Kenton
and Hardy go on a scout to old Chillicothe--The surprise and the
flight--Kenton’s wonderful leap and escape--Hardy falls into the
hands of the savages--The midnight visitor to the camp--Hardy fears
a snake and finds a friend--The escape to the river--“I reckon we’ve
shaken your last night’s friends”--The journey through the Indian
country--Hardy has some new experiences and is initiated to the calling
of the scout--The companions encounter dangers and feel hunger--Kenton
continues the education that Boone began--At last they come in sight of
Chillicothe.
During the year 1779 the settlements of Kentucky were free from attack
by large bodies of Indians but several fierce fights took place between
the whites and their implacable foes. One of these occurred early in
the spring and resulted in a fearful loss to the Kentuckians.
Colonel Rogers, who had been down to New Orleans for supplies, returned
by boat up the Mississippi and Ohio with a company of about eighty
men. When they had reached the point where Cincinnati now stands their
scouts reported a large party of Indians to be issuing in canoes from
the mouth of the Little Miami, with the evident intention of invading
Kentucky. Rogers determined to attack the Indians and with that view
landed and marched his men towards the place where he judged that the
canoes would make the shore.
Perhaps the discovery made by the scouts diverted them from a proper
reconnoissance of the country along the Kentucky side of the river. At
any rate, a large body of Indians that had already crossed remained
undiscovered. When the men under Colonel Rogers had taken up their
position on the bank, these suddenly assaulted them in the rear. At the
same time the warriors in the canoes pushed forward to the attack.
The whites were completely caught in a trap and overwhelmingly
outnumbered. The situation was palpably a hopeless one. It was a case
in which every man sought his own safety without regard to the others.
A few--less than one-fourth of the entire number--contrived to escape
along the river bank before retreat was completely cut off. These
regained the boats and made off down stream with all possible speed.
The remainder fought desperately but were ultimately overcome by sheer
weight of numbers.
Upwards of sixty men were lost in this encounter, which was the
greatest disaster that ever befell the Kentucky settlers, with the
exception of the battle of the Blue Licks, which will be described in
due course.
The Kentuckians, stirred by a thirst for revenge, determined upon a
formidable expedition into the Indian country. Whilst this movement was
in course of preparation Kenton was instructed to make a scout through
Kentucky and across the Ohio as far as the town of Chillicothe, which
was the contemplated point of attack.