The Brilliant Victory of Mad Anthony Wayne brings Peace to the
Frontier--Boone Loses his Farm--He Removes to Missouri--Made
Commandant of the Femme Osage District--Audubon's Account of a
Night with Colonel Boone--Hunting in his Old Age--He Loses the Land
granted him by the Spanish Government--Petitions Congress for a
Confirmation of his Original Claims--The Petition Disregarded.
While the stirring events recorded in the preceding chapter were taking
place, Daniel Boone, like every one else, was advancing in years, and
the prime of his life was passed before a lasting peace was gained by
the American settlers on the frontier.
Disaster followed disaster, until Congress at last did the thing which
it ought to have done long before. "Mad Anthony" Wayne, the hero of
Stony Point and a dozen Revolutionary battlefields, was appointed to
assume the military management of affairs in the West.
This appointment was made in April, 1792, when he became Major-General
and Commander-in-Chief, and he led an expedition against the defiant
combination of tribes, encountering them in August, 1794, when he
utterly defeated and overthrew them. He compelled the treaty of
Greenville, which ended all danger from any combination of the
aborigines--nothing of the kind developing itself, until the great
Tecumseh roused his race against the Americans in the war of 1812.
Boone now applied himself with great industry to the cultivation of
his farm near Boonesborough. He soon made it one of the finest and
most valuable pieces of land in the country; but, like many a man in
his position, he fell a victim to the rapacious speculator, who took
advantage of the intricacies and elasticity of the law.
Boone felt such a dislike of legal forms, and in fact of everything
that pertained to them, that he failed to secure the title of his land
locations. Before he suspected his danger, he found himself deprived
of all his possessions, the right to which he never dreamed would be
questioned.
The great pioneer had reached that period in life when it would be
supposed that he was too feeble to begin over again, but, although
the misfortune was a great blow to him, he did not lose courage. He
removed to Point Pleasant, on the Kanawha River, in Virginia, where he
stayed several years, tilling the ground with his usual industry, and
indulging also in his favorite pastime of hunting.
One day, when he returned from hunting, he received a call from a
number of friends who had been on a tour across the Missouri. They gave
such fervid accounts of the richness of the soil and the abundance of
game, that the heart of the old pioneer was fired again as it was forty
years before. He determined to emigrate to Missouri with the purpose
of spending the remainder of his days there. Accordingly, with his
household goods and family, he turned his back forever upon the land of
his early sufferings and triumphs. This removal was probably made in
1797, though the precise date is unknown.
At the time named, Spain owned the country, then called Upper
Louisiana, and the fame of the renowned pioneer had extended to that
comparatively remote region. The Lieutenant-Governor, residing at St.
Louis, promised him ample portions of land, and Boone took up his
residence in the Femme-Osage settlement, some 50 miles west of St.
Louis. Don Charles D. Delassus, the Lieutenant-Governor, presented
Boone with a commission, in 1800, as Commandant of the Femme-Osage
District--an office which included both civil and military duties.
Boone accepted the office, and discharged the duties connected with
it with great credit, up to the time when the territory was purchased
by the United States in 1804. Boone lived with his son, Daniel M.,
until the date named, when he changed his residence to that of his son
Nathan, with whom he tarried six years, when he became a member of the
family of his son-in-law, Flanders Callaway.
It was at this period that the great naturalist Audubon spent a night
with Boone, the account of which is so interesting, that we venture to
give it the reader:
"Daniel Boone, or as he was usually called in the Western country,
Colonel Boone, happened to spend a night with me under the same roof,
more than twenty years ago. We had returned from a shooting excursion,
in the course of which his extraordinary skill in the management of the
rifle had been fully displayed. On retiring to the room appropriated
to that remarkable individual and myself, I felt anxious to know
more of his exploits and adventures than I did, and accordingly took
the liberty of proposing numerous questions to him. The stature and
general appearance of this Wanderer of the Western forests approached
the gigantic. His chest was broad and prominent; his muscular powers
displayed themselves in every limb; his countenance gave indication of
his great courage, enterprise, and perseverance; and when he spoke, the
very motion of his lips brought the impression that whatever he uttered
could not be otherwise than strictly true. I undressed, whilst he
merely took off his hunting-shirt, and arranged a few folds of blankets
on the floor, choosing rather to lie there, as he observed, than on the
softest bed. When we had both disposed of ourselves, each after his
own fashion, he related to me the following account of his powers of
memory, which I lay before you, kind reader, in his own words, hoping
that the simplicity of the style may prove interesting to you:
"'I was once,' said he, 'on a hunting expedition on the banks of the
Green River, when the lower parts of this State (Kentucky) were still
in the hands of nature, and none but the sons of the soil were looked
upon as its lawful proprietors. We Virginians had for some time been
waging a war of intrusion upon them, and I, amongst the rest, rambled
through the woods in pursuit of their race, as I now would follow the
tracks of any ravenous animal. The Indians outwitted me one dark night,
and I was unexpectedly as suddenly made a prisoner by them. The trick
had been managed with great skill, for no sooner had I extinguished
the fire of my camp, and laid me down to rest in full security, as
I thought, than I felt myself seized by an indistinguishable number
of hands, and was immediately pinioned, as if about to be led to the
scaffold for execution. To have attempted to be refractory would have
proved useless and dangerous to my life; and I suffered myself to be
removed from my camp to theirs, a few miles distant, without uttering
even a word of complaint. You are aware, I dare say, that to act in
this manner was the best policy, as you understand that by so doing I
proved to the Indians at once that I was born and bred as fearless of
death as any of themselves.
"'When we reached the camp, great rejoicings were exhibited. Two squaws
and a few pappooses appeared particularly delighted at the sight of me,
and I was assured by very unequivocal gestures and words, that, on the
morrow, the mortal enemy of the Redskins would cease to live. I never
opened my lips, but was busy contriving some scheme which might enable
me to give the rascals the slip before dawn. The women immediately fell
a searching my hunting-shirt for whatever they might think valuable,
and, fortunately for me, soon found my flask filled with _Monongahela_
(that is, reader, strong whisky). A terrific grin was exhibited on
their murderous countenances, while my heart throbbed with joy at the
anticipation of their intoxication. The crew immediately began to beat
their bellies and sing, as they passed the bottle from mouth to mouth.
How often did I wish the flask ten times its size, and filled with aqua
fortis! I observed that the squaws drank more freely than the warriors,
and again my spirits were about to be depressed, when the report of
a gun was heard in the distance. The singing and drinking were both
brought to a stand, and I saw, with inexpressible joy, the men walk off
to some distance and talk to the squaws. I knew they were consulting
about me, and I foresaw that in a few moments the warriors would go to
discover the cause of the gun having been fired so near their camp. I
expected the squaws would be left to guard me. Well, sir, it was just
so. They returned; the men took up their guns and walked away. The
squaws sat down again, and in less than five minutes had my bottle up
to their dirty mouths, gurgling down their throats the remains of the
whisky.
"'With what pleasure did I see them becoming more and more drunk, until
the liquor took such hold of them that it was quite impossible for
these women to be of any service. They tumbled down, rolled about, and
began to snore; when I, having no other chance of freeing myself from
the cords that fastened me, rolled over and over towards the fire, and,
after a short time, burned them asunder. I rose on my feet, stretched
my stiffened sinews, snatched up my rifle, and, for once in my life,
spared that of Indians. I now recollect how desirous I once or twice
felt to lay open the skulls of the wretches with my tomahawk; but, when
I again thought upon killing beings unprepared and unable to defend
themselves, it looked like murder without need, and I gave up the idea.
"'But, sir, I felt determined to mark the spot, and, walking to a
thrifty ash sapling, I cut out of it three large chips, and ran off. I
soon reached the river, soon crossed it, and threw myself deep into the
canebrakes, imitating the tracks of an Indian with my feet, so that no
chance might be left for those from whom I had escaped to overtake me.
"'It is now nearly twenty years since this happened, and more than five
since I left the whites' settlements, which I might probably never have
visited again had I not been called on as a witness in a lawsuit that
was pending in Kentucky, and which I really believe would never have
been settled, had I not come forward and established the beginning of a
certain boundary line. This is the story, sir:
"'Mr. ---- moved from old Virginia into Kentucky, and having a large
tract granted him in the new State, laid claim to a certain parcel of
land adjoining Green River, and, as chance would have it, took for
one of his corners the very ash-tree on which I had made my mark, and
finished his survey of some thousands of acres, beginning, as it is
expressed in the deed, 'at an ash marked by three distinct notches of
the tomahawk of a white man.'
"'The tree had grown much, and the bark had covered the marks; but,
somehow or other, Mr. ---- heard from some one all that I have already
said to you, and thinking that I might remember the spot alluded to in
the deed, but which was no longer discoverable, wrote for me to come
and try at least to find the place of the tree. His letter mentioned
that all of my expenses should be paid, and, not caring much about once
more going back to Kentucky, I started and met Mr. ----. After some
conversation, the affair with the Indians came to my recollection. I
considered for a while, and began to think that after all, I could find
the very spot, as well as the tree, if it was yet standing.
"'Mr. ---- and I mounted our horses, and off we went to the Green River
bottoms. After some difficulties--for you must be aware, sir, that
great changes have taken place in those woods--I found at last the spot
where I had crossed the river, and, waiting for the moon to rise, made
for the course in which I thought the ash-tree grew. On approaching
the place, I felt as if the Indians were there still, and as if I
were still a prisoner among them. Mr. ---- and I camped near what I
conceived the spot, and waited until the return of day.
"'At the rising of the sun, I was on foot, and after a good deal of
musing, thought that an ash-tree then in sight must be the very one
on which I had made my mark. I felt as if there could be no doubt of
it, and mentioned my thought to Mr. ----. 'Well, Colonel Boone,' said
he, 'if you think so, I hope it may prove true, but we must have some
witnesses; do you stay hereabout, and I will go and bring some of the
settlers whom I know.' I agreed. Mr. ---- trotted off, and I, to pass
the time, rambled about to see whether a deer was still living in the
land. But ah! sir, what a wonderful difference thirty years make in a
country! Why, at the time I was caught by the Indians, you would not
have walked out in any direction for more than a mile without shooting
a buck or a bear. There were then thousands of buffaloes on the hills
of Kentucky; the land looked as if it never would become poor; and to
hunt in those days was a pleasure indeed. But when I was left to myself
on the banks of Green River, I dare say for the last time in my life, a
few _signs_ only of deer were to be seen, and, as to a deer itself, I
saw none.
"'Mr. ---- returned, accompanied by three gentlemen. They looked upon
me as if I had been Washington himself, and walked to the ash-tree,
which I now called my own, as if in quest of a long-lost treasure. I
took an axe from one of them, and cut a few chips off the bark. Still
no signs were to be seen. So I cut again until I thought it was time to
be cautious, and I scraped and worked away with my butcher-knife until
I _did_ come to where my tomahawk had left an impression in the wood.
We now went regularly to work, and scraped at the tree with care until
three hacks, as plain as any three notches ever were, could be seen.
Mr. ---- and the other gentlemen were astonished, and I must allow
I was as much surprised as pleased myself. I made affidavit of this
remarkable occurrence in presence of these gentlemen. Mr. ---- gained
the cause. I left Green River forever, and came to where we now are;
and, sir, I wish you a good night.'"
* * * * *
Spain seemed glad to do honor to the great pioneer, Daniel Boone, who
was so well known at that time, that no less a poet than Lord Byron
rendered tribute to his daring and achievements. Spain gave him a tract
of land, numbering 8,500 acres, which was meant as a recognition of his
services to the government. The law as it then existed, required, in
order to make his title good, that the grant should be confirmed by the
representative of the crown at New Orleans, and another condition was
that the grantee should reside upon it himself.
As it would have been inconvenient on the part of Boone to comply with
the latter provision, the commandant at St Louis, who was his warm
friend, assured him that his title could be perfected without acceding
to the requirement.
Boone's dear experience in Kentucky should have been remembered,
but he left everything to his friends, and when Louisiana came into
the possession of the United States, it was found that Boone had
not the shadow of a legal title to the lands presented him, and the
commissioners had no choice, according to their instructions, but to
reject his claim entirely.
This was a serious blow, but the only one who could be censured was
Boone himself. However, there was no fear of his coming to want, for he
not only had a large number of immediate relatives, all of whom were
strongly attached to him, but the States of Kentucky and Missouri would
never permit any such disgrace.
Boone liked Missouri, for the people were kind and hospitable and game
was plenty. He could never lose his fondness for the woods, and as the
beaver were numerous and their furs valuable, he made considerable
money by gathering and selling the peltries.
At the end of several years he had amassed enough funds to carry out an
intention which does him great credit. When he removed from Kentucky
he was obliged to leave several debts behind him, the memory of which
disturbed him not a little. He now made a journey to the State, where
he paid every creditor in full, and returned to Missouri with just half
a dollar in his pocket.
"Now I am ready to die," said he; "I have paid all my debts, and when I
am gone, no one shall be able to say I was a dishonest man."
It would scarcely be expected that in his old age, and in the new
country to which he had emigrated, he would be subjected to danger from
the Indians, and yet he was placed in peril more than once.
His principal companion on his hunting excursions was a black boy
about half grown. While thus engaged they were attacked by a small
party of Osage Indians, who, however, were not long in learning that
the old fire still burned brightly, for they were speedily scattered
without having inflicted any injury upon either of the hunters.
On another occasion, while Boone was hunting entirely alone, he
discovered that a large encampment of Indians was in the neighborhood,
and he had reason to believe that a number of the warriors were hunting
for him.
Boone, it will be remembered, was quite an old man, and it must have
recalled the scenes of nearly forty years before, when he alternately
hunted and hid in the Kentucky wilderness, before the foot of any other
white man had penetrated the solitudes.
For nearly three weeks the pioneer lived that life over again, hiding
in the deepest recesses of the forest, carefully concealing his trail
and cooking his food only at the dead of night, so that the smoke
should not be seen by the Indians, who finally took their departure,
without being able to catch a glimpse of the old hunter.
His love for the woods knew no abatement with advancing years, and
he spent hours, days, and even weeks, in wandering in the grand old
forests, breathing the pure fresh air, shooting the timid deer,
maneuvering against the Indians, who tracked him many a mile, and
returning to his home wearied, but with the same genial good nature,
which was one of his distinguishing traits in his early days.
In the year 1812, Colonel Boone petitioned Congress for a confirmation
of his original claims, and knowing that such petitions cannot have too
great weight, he sent a memorial to the General Assembly of Kentucky,
asking their assistance in obtaining the desired confirmation from
Congress.
That legislature by a unanimous vote, passed the following preamble and
resolutions:
"The Legislature of Kentucky, taking into view the many eminent
services rendered by Colonel Boone, in exploring and settling the
Western country, from which great advantages have resulted, not only to
this State, but to his country in general; and that, from circumstances
over which he had no control, he is now reduced to poverty, not having,
so far as appears, an acre of land out of the vast territory he has
been a great instrument in peopling; believing, also, that it is as
unjust as impolitic, that useful enterprise and eminent services should
go unrewarded by a government where merit confers the only distinction;
and having sufficient reason to believe that a grant of ten thousand
acres of land which he claims in Upper Louisiana, would have been
confirmed by the Spanish government, had not said territory passed, by
cession, into the hands of the general government; wherefore,
"_Resolved_, By the General Assembly of the Commonwealth of Kentucky,
that our senators in Congress be requested to make use of their
exertions to procure a grant of land in said Territory to said Boone,
either the ten thousand acres to which he appears to have an equitable
claim, from the grounds set forth to this Legislature, by way of
confirmation, or to such quantity in such place as shall be deemed most
advisable, by way of donation."
While his memorial was pending in Congress, the wife of Boone died at
the age of seventy-six years. His memorial was strongly supported by
the most distinguished members from the West, but no action could be
secured upon it until the 24th of December, 1813, when the committee
on public lands made a report, in which the justice of Boone's claims
was admitted, and Congress was recommended to give him one thousand
arpents, or 850 acres of land.
The act for the confirmation of the title passed on the 10th of
February, 1814. As every emigrant to Louisiana was entitled by law
to precisely that number of acres, it is difficult to justify the
treatment which Boone received at the hands of the law-makers of the
country.
The pioneer was never given any other recognition of his services;
and as he was growing old, his relatives, all of whom were tenderly
attached to him, saw that no want of his was not fulfilled so far as
it was possible for human kindness to fulfill it. He devoted himself
mainly to hunting, and, when at home, carved powder-horns and made
trinkets for his descendants, some of whom were to the fourth and fifth
generation.
These last he frequently gathered around his knees and told of his many
thrilling adventures with the Indians, long years before they were
born, while he entertained the older friends on the long, dismal wintry
evenings, with his narrative of his experiences on the Dark and Bloody
Ground, in the days that tried men's souls.