Comparative Quiet on the Frontier--Capture of Boone's Daughter
and the Misses Callaway by Indians--Pursued by Boone and Seven
Companions--Their Rescue and Return to their Homes.
It was the summer of 1776, and the colonies were aflame with war. Those
were the days which tried men's souls, and the skies were dark with
discouragement and coming disaster. There were many hearts that could
only see overwhelming failure in the momentous struggle in which the
country was engaged.
For a time, comparative quiet reigned in the neighborhood of
Boonesborough. The settlers improved the time to the utmost. While
some hunted and fished, others cleared the land, and a promising crop
of corn had been put in the rich soil. Only one of the colony had been
shot by Indians during the preceding winter, the band which did it
having withdrawn before any retaliatory measures could be taken.
On the afternoon of the seventh of July, Miss Betsey Callaway, her
sister Frances, and a daughter of Daniel Boone entered a canoe under
the bank of the river, as children would naturally do to amuse
themselves. Betsey was a young lady, but the other two were about
thirteen years of age,--all bright, joyous girls, who had no thought
of danger, as they paddled about the rock where the frail boat had been
moored.
They were laughing and paddling, when suddenly a rustling among the
overhanging bushes arrested their attention, and, turning their gaze,
they saw with consternation the painted face of an Indian warrior.
The girls were almost paralyzed with terror. The savage warned them
by signs to make no outcry, through penalty of being brained with the
tomahawk griped in his hand. They could only huddle together in terror
and await his pleasure, whatever it might be.
The sinewy Indian then stepped cautiously into the canoe, and took up
the paddle, which he handled with the skill peculiar to his people.
With scarcely the slightest plash, he silently forced it out from the
undergrowth and started for the other shore.
The terrified girls looked appealingly in the direction of the
stockades, but they dare make no outcry. The stalwart savage dipped the
paddle first on one side and then on the other, and the canoe rapidly
neared the shore, beneath whose overhanging bushes it glided the next
moment like an arrow.
Turning toward the girls, the Indian signified that they were to
leave the boat, and the poor girls could do nothing less. Several
other warriors who were in waiting, joined them, and the journey was
instantly begun toward the interior.
No more unfavorable time for the captives could have been selected. It
was late in the afternoon, and before anything like pursuit could be
organized it would be night, and the trail invisible. The Indians would
use all the woodcraft at their command, and doubtless the morning would
see them many miles removed from the settlement.
The captors took the very precautions of which we have spoken,
directing their steps toward the thickest cane, where they separated
and made their way through it with the utmost caution, with a view of
rendering their footprints so faint that pursuit would be out of the
question.
Having assured themselves, so far as they could, that their trail was
hidden from the scrutiny of the settlers, the Indians with the three
girls made another turn, and striking a buffalo path, pushed forward
without delay.
The girls had been reared in a society where outdoor life and exercise
were a part of their creed, and they stood the unwonted task forced
upon them with much greater fortitude than would have been supposed.
They walked nimbly along, taking great consolation in each other's
company, though they were almost heartbroken at the thought that every
mile through the gloomy forest was taking them so much further away
from their loved ones, and lessened in the same degree their chances of
rescue by their friends at Boonesborough.
It being midsummer, they did not suffer from cold, and but for their
terror of their ultimate fate, they would have cared nothing for the
jaunt. Still, as children will feel under such circumstances, they had
strong hopes that their parents and friends would soon be in close
pursuit of the Indians.
And such indeed was the case. For it was not long before the girls were
missed at Boonesborough, and search made for them. Some one had seen
them in the canoe, and when it was discovered that the boat was left on
the opposite side of the river, and when the keen eyes of the pioneers
were able to detect the imprint of moccasins along the shore where the
craft had been moored on their side, there could be no doubt of what it
meant.
The girls had been captured and carried away by Indians.
It can be well understood that great excitement spread among the
families of Boonesborough, all of whom were drawn together by the
closest ties of friendship, and who shared in each other's joys and
woes. The whole male force were ready to start at a moment's notice to
the rescue.
But that was not the way in which to secure them, for it would have
been equally effective for a hunting party to go in search of the timid
antelope with drums and banners. What was needed was a small company of
hunters, brave, swift of foot, clear-headed and skilled in the ways of
the woods.
They should be men who could trail the red Indian where the imprints of
his moccasined feet were invisible to ordinary eyes, and who, when the
critical emergency should come, were sure to do just the right thing at
the right time.
There were plenty such in Boonesborough, and there could be no
difficulty in finding them. At the head, of course, stood Daniel Boone
himself, and he selected seven others who could be relied on in any
emergency; but, by the time the pursuit could be begun, the shades of
night were settling over wood and river, and it was out of the question
to attempt anything like an intelligent search for the girls.
In such a case there is no basis for reasoning, for though it may seem
certain to the veteran hunter that his enemy has taken a certain course
in order to reach his distant lodge, yet the morning is likely to show
that he has gone on a different route altogether.
The American Indian, who is educated from his infancy in cunning and
treachery, is likely to do that which is least expected and provided
against; and Boone, therefore, did not make the mistake of acting
upon any theory of his own which was likely to cause him to lose many
precious hours of pursuit.
But it was the season when the days were longest, and at the earliest
streakings of the morning light, the eight pioneers were on the other
side of the river, looking for the trail of the Indians.
The delicate imprints were discovered almost instantly by the keen-eyed
hunters, who started on the scent like bloodhounds, eager to spring at
the throats of the savages.
But the pursuit was scarcely begun, when they were confronted by the
very difficulty which they anticipated.
The Indians, as we have shown, had separated and made their way through
the thickest cane with such extreme care, that they succeeded in hiding
their trail from the lynx eyes of even Boone himself.
In such an emergency, the pursuers could only fall back on their own
resources of calculation and observation.
They noticed that the tracks all pointed in one general direction, and
there was, therefore, a basis for deciding the side of the cane where
they emerged. Acting upon this theory, they made a circuitous journey
of fully thirty miles, and sure enough, struck the trail just as they
hoped rather than expected.
Boone showed his woodcraft now by forming a reasonable theory and
acting promptly upon it, for, though he may have been right, still
he would have lost all the advantage by a failure to follow it up
instantly.
Recalling the unusual precautions taken by the Indians to throw their
pursuers off their trail, Boone was convinced that the savages would
believe that these precautions had accomplished their purpose, and they
would therefore relax their vigilance. Their course, as a consequence,
would be followed more easily.
Accordingly, Boone and his comrades changed the route they were
following, with the idea of crossing the path of the Indians. They had
not gone far when they discovered it in a buffalo path, where it was
quite evident that, from the careless manner in which the red-men were
traveling, they had no suspicion of their pursuers being anywhere in
the vicinity.
This was favorable to Boone and his companions, but they understood the
delicacy and danger of the situation, which was of that character that
they might well tremble for its success, even with the great advantage
gained.
None knew better than they the sanguinary character of the American
Indian. The very moment the captors should see that it was impossible
to retain the prisoners, they would sink their tomahawks in their
brains, even though the act increased their own personal peril tenfold.
It was all-important that the pursuit should be vigorously pressed, and
at the same time it was equally important that the savages should be
kept in ignorance of the men who were trailing them so closely.
As silently, therefore, as shadows, the pioneers, with their guns at
a trail, threaded their way through the forest and dense canebrakes.
Their keen and trained vision told them they were gaining rapidly upon
the Indians, who were proceeding at that leisurely gait which was proof
that they held no suspicion of danger.
The settlers had already traveled a long distance, and even their iron
limbs must have felt the effects of journeying full forty miles through
the wilderness,--but they pushed on with renewed vigor, and, as the day
advanced, observed signs which showed unmistakably that they were close
upon the captors.
The pursuers slackened their gait and advanced with the extremest
caution, for only by doing so could they hope to succeed in the rescue
of the young girls.
Suddenly the figures of the warriors were discerned through the trees a
short distance ahead. They had stopped, and were in the act of kindling
a fire, evidently meaning to encamp for the night. The Indians were
startled at the same moment by sight of the whites hurrying toward
them, and not one of the dusky red-skins could misunderstand what it
meant. Had it been possible for such a misunderstanding, they were
undeceived the next instant.
The pursuers showed their earnestness by not waiting a moment for the
warriors to rally, but four bringing their rifles to their shoulders,
took a quick aim and fired into the party. The smoke of the powder had
scarcely time to curl upward from the muzzles of the guns, when the
whole eight charged straight into camp on a dead run, and with the fury
of tigers.
When the Indians saw those figures coming, they had no time to slay
the amazed captives, but, snatching up only one of their guns, they
scattered pell-mell for the wood. As they went at headlong haste, Boone
and one of his men fired, while still on a dead run. Each fugitive was
"hit hard," but he managed to get away in the gathering darkness, and
it may safely be concluded that none of the survivors looked upon that
particular expedition against the settlers at Boonesborough in any
other light than a failure.
The joy of the three girls over the rescue must be left to the
imagination of the reader. They were terrified almost out of their
senses when captured, but they knew they would soon be missed from
home, and their friends would be on the trail, but they were old enough
to understand the vast disadvantages under which they would be placed,
knowing that no pursuit could be instituted until the morrow.
And then, too, they knew the meaning of the extreme precaution taken by
the Indians in separating and walking so carefully through the densest
of the canebrakes. And, as mile after mile was placed behind them,
and the warm summer day drew to a close, many a misgiving must have
saddened their hearts, as they looked through the gathering shadows and
failed to see anything of the loved forms.
But they had come, bursting into camp like thunderbolts,--the Indians
had fled in terror, and the girls were restored to their friends
without a hair of their heads being harmed.
The place where the recapture took place was thick with cane, and some
of the pursuers would have been glad to keep on and inflict further
chastisement upon the Indians,--but that was impracticable, and, as
the girls were out of danger, the party turned about and started back
toward Boonesborough, where they arrived without mishap or further
adventure, and where, as may well be supposed, their return created joy
and thanksgiving throughout the entire settlement.
This incident, one of the most romantic of the innumerable occurrences
of the border, possessed a significance which some of the settlers
failed to see. The presence of the Indians so near Boonesborough
and the daring abduction was not done by what may be called an
irresponsible company of warriors. On the contrary, they were one of
the many scouting parties sent out to make observations of all the
settlements along the border, with a view of organizing a combined
movement against them.
The agents of England, who had been so industriously at work for months
with the Indians of the West, used means which at last accomplished
their purpose, and, while hostilities were being pushed with such vigor
in the East against the struggling colonies, it threatened to assume a
more desperate and sanguinary character in the West.
The red men had been aroused to action, and their manner of warfare was
as fierce and merciless as that prosecuted by the East India Sepoys,
nearly a century later, against Great Britain. It was not long before
the danger was plainly seen, and so profound was the fear excited by
the surety of the coming war, attended, as it was certain to be, by the
most atrocious massacres, that hundreds of speculators made all haste
to leave the imperiled country and return to their former homes in the
East.