Last Days of Colonel Boone--Reinterment of the Remains of Himself and
Wife at Frankfort--Conclusion.
The hunting days of Colonel Boone at last came to an end. He had passed
his three score and ten, and the iron limbs and hardy frame were
compelled to bend before the infirmities of age, to which Hercules
himself must succumb in the end.
So long as he was able, he kept up his hunting expeditions in the
wood, but on one occasion, he was taken violently ill, and made his
preparations for death, his only companion being the negro boy, who had
been with him many times before.
He was brought to recognize at last the danger of going beyond the
immediate reach of his friends, and for ten years he did not do so.
He was held in great affection and respect by his numerous friends and
relatives, and he was a more than welcome visitor at the hearthstone of
each. The harsh treatment received at the hands of the government could
not embitter such a sweet nature as his, and he showed no resentment
over the fact that the land upon which he had toiled in the vigor of
his early manhood, and whose labors had made it exceptionally valuable,
passed to the hands of a stranger without cost or claim.
As the stream of life neared the great ocean beyond, it assumed a
serene and majestic flow, which comes only from the assurance that no
storms are awaiting the bark which has been tossed so long on the waves
of suffering, danger and disaster.
In the summer of 1820, the well known American artist, Chester Harding,
visited Boone and painted an excellent portrait of him. The old pioneer
was so feeble that he had to be supported by a friend while sitting for
the likeness.
Boone at this time made his home with his son-in-law, Flanders
Callaway, and he was continually visited by distinguished citizens and
foreigners, who, having heard of the exploits of the explorer of the
wilderness, hastened to look upon him ere the opportunity should pass
forever.
Some years before his death he had his coffin made, and kept it in the
house. His temperate habits, the active out-door life of his earlier
days, and his regard for the laws of health, naturally resulted in a
ripe old age, marked by the gradual decay of the vital powers, and
unaccompanied by any pain, as should be the case with all mankind.
It was not until the month of September, 1820, that the premonition of
his coming end unmistakably showed itself. He was attacked by a species
of fever, which did not prove severe, for he soon recovered, and
afterward visited his son Major Nathan Boone. He was attacked again,
was confined to his bed three days, and peacefully passed away on the
26th of September, in the eighty-sixth year of his age.
The legislature of Missouri was in session at the time, and as soon as
the news reached it, adjourned, after passing a resolution that its
members should wear the usual badge of mourning for twenty days.
He was laid by the side of his wife, who died a number of years before,
an immense concourse attending the funeral. There the remains of the
two lay for a quarter of a century, when an interesting ceremony took
place.
The consent of the family having been obtained, the coffins were
disinterred and removed to Frankfort, Kentucky, and there placed in the
new cemetery.
The ceremonies were touching and impressive. Nearly three quarters of
a century had passed since the daring hunter and pioneer, in the flush
of early manhood, had threaded his way through the trackless forests
from the Old Pine State, and, crossing mountain and stream, braving all
manner of dangers, had penetrated the solitudes of Kentucky and laid
the foundation of one of the grandest States of the Union.
There were a few old men who had known Boone, and they were present
from different parts of the State, with hundreds of friends,
descendants and relatives. The hearse was hung with lilies and
evergreens, and the ceremony was one which can never be forgotten by
those who took part in or witnessed it.
A stirring and powerful address was delivered by Senator J. J.
Crittenden, in which eloquent tribute was done the daring hunter, the
intrepid scout, and matchless pioneer.
In closing the biography of Colonel Daniel Boone, we feel that the
reader of these pages, shares with us in our admiration of the stern
integrity, the unquestioned bravery, the clear self-possession, and the
honest simplicity of the most illustrious type of the American pioneer,
who, long before his death, had fixed his place high and enduring in
the history of our country.
Toward the close of the latter part of the century, Colonel Boone
dictated his autobiography to a friend, and nothing can be more
appropriate as an illustration of his character than these few closing
words, with which we lay down our pen:
"My footsteps have often been marked with blood; two darling sons and
a brother have I lost by savage hands, which have also taken from me
forty valuable horses and cattle. Many dark and sleepless nights have
I been a companion for owls, separated from the cheerful society of
men, scorched by the summer's sun, and pinched by the winter's cold--an
instrument ordained to settle the wilderness.
"What thanks, what ardent and ceaseless thanks are due to that
all-superintending Providence which has turned a cruel war into peace,
brought order out of confusion, made the fierce savages placid, and
turned away their hostile weapons from our country.
"May the same almighty goodness banish the accursed monster, war, from
all lands, with her hated associates, rapine and insatiable ambition!
"Let peace, descending from her native heaven, bid her olives spring
amid the joyful nations; and plenty, in league with commerce, scatter
blessings from her copious hand!"
GENERAL SIMON KENTON.
CHAPTER I.
Birth of Kenton--Desperate Affray with a Rival--Flees to the Kentucky
Wilderness--He and Two Companions attacked by Indians--One
is Killed and the Survivors Escape--Rescued, after great
Suffering--Kenton spends the Summer alone in the Woods--Serves as
a Scout in the Dunmore War--Kenton and Two Friends settle at Upper
Blue Lick--Joined by Hendricks, who meets with a Terrible Fate.
The fame of Simon Kenton, hunter and pioneer, is scarcely second to
that of Daniel Boone; he was fully as courageous and equally skilled
in woodcraft, while personally more winning in manner. Had the
opportunities of Boone been his, he would have achieved a fame scarcely
less; but such as he was, no history of the West would be complete
without mention of Boone's intimate friend, Simon Kenton.
Of the early years of Kenton little is known, and it is not likely that
they were marked by anything worthy of mention. He was born in Fauquier
County, Virginia, May 15th, 1755. His parents were very poor, and Simon
led a life of drudging toil on a farm, until he was sixteen, at which
age he was unable to read or write his name.
The young man, however, was strong, robust, very athletic, good
looking, and with a pleasing, musical voice. He was just the kind of
youth to become popular among the rough spirits of the border, and it
was at that time that an incident occurred which marked an era in his
life.
Young as Kenton was, he was a rival of another in the esteem of an
attractive young lady of the neighborhood; and, as the lady herself
seemed unwilling to decide as to who was her preference, Kenton and his
rival agreed to decide it by a bout at fisticuffs.
The conflict took place, but, through the treachery of his rival,
Kenton was terribly beaten. He had no choice but to submit to the
outrage in silence, but, like Dr. Winship, the modern Samson, he
determined to get strong, and then punish the one who had treated him
so foully.
Within the year or two succeeding, Kenton reached the stature of six
feet, and, confident of his own strength and skill, he called upon his
former rival and asked him to try conclusions again with him. The other
was also a powerful man and gladly accepted the challenge, for he hated
Kenton intensely, and resolved to give him such a terrific punishment
that he would never be able to annoy him again.
At first, the rival got the best of Kenton and injured him severely;
but the future scout was full of grit, and he managed to secure the
upper hand, when he administered such a chastisement that when he
released his man he seemed to be gasping in death.
Kenton looked at him for a moment, and was so certain he could not live
a half hour longer, that he was seized with a panic and fled. He did
not dare even to return home for a change of clothing, but faced toward
the West and ran as though his pursuers were in sight.
Feeling no doubt that his rival was dead, he was sure his avengers
would be at his heels, and he scarcely rested during the day. When,
however, he reached the neighborhood of the Warm Springs, the
settlements were so sparse that he drew a sigh of relief, and felt that
he was in no immediate peril from the officers of the law.
Still Kenton did not dare pause for any length of time, and he was
walking forward when he came upon a Jerseyman named Johnson, who was
journeying in the same direction.
It is at such times that the heart craves companionship, and the two
men affiliated at once. Johnson was driving a pack-horse before him,
and seemed pretty well tired out; but he was full of pluck, and it took
but a few minutes for the two adventurers fully to understand each
other.
As a proof of the fear which Kenton felt that his pursuers might
overtake him, it may be stated at this point that he changed his name
to Simon Butler, with a view of rendering it more difficult to identify
him.
The new friends penetrated the wilderness of the Alleghanies, relying
under heaven upon their own prowess and bravery. Both were skillful
marksmen, and they had no difficulty in securing all the game they
needed, while they kept unceasing watchfulness against the prowling
Indians, who, at that day, were liable to spring upon them at any time.
They pushed steadily forward until they reached a small settlement at
the forks of the Monongahela; there they separated, and, so far as
known, never saw each other again.
At the settlement was a small company under the leadership of John
Mahon and Jacob Greathouse, who had just made ready to explore the
country below them. Embarking in a large canoe, they floated down the
river until they reached the Province's settlement. Here Kenton formed
the acquaintance of two young men, named Yager and Strader, the former
of whom had once been a captive among the Indians.
He fired the heart of Kenton by his glowing accounts of the region of
Kentucky, which he declared was a hunter's paradise.
"There is no richer soil in the world," said Yager; "vegetation is so
luxuriant that it will strike you with wonder, and the herds of buffalo
and elk which roam through those woods are so immense that you wouldn't
believe me if I were to tell you the numbers."
Kenton was sure there was some foundation for the positive assertions
of Yager, and he listened eagerly to what he had to add;
"The region has no white men in it; any one who chooses to hunt there
can do so. I have gone with the Indians many a time on their hunting
excursions, and I could lead you through the same. If you will go with
us, I will do so."
Kenton accepted the proposition with great enthusiasm, declaring that
he would start at once.
Yager and Strader were equally hopeful, and in a short time the three
were drifting down the Ohio in a single canoe.
Yager had lived among the Indians in his childhood, and while he
entertained a vivid recollection of the incidents, he could not be
positive concerning the distances between certain points. He was unable
to say how far down the river they would have to go to find the place
where the Indians crossed from Ohio into Kentucky to hunt, but he was
sure he would recognize the spot the instant he saw it, for it was very
different from any other point on the stream, and was indelibly fixed
in his memory.
They were so anxious to reach the promised land, as it seemed to be to
them, that the men rowed strongly and continuously, keeping at the oars
far into the night.
There can be no question as to Yager's honesty, but he was led astray
by his own impressions; the crossing he was seeking was a great deal
further away than he believed.
Kenton and Strader began to think they were a long time in arriving at
a point so near at hand. When they expressed their dissatisfaction,
Yager still insisted, and the lusty arms were plied again with renewed
vigor.
But, though the keen eyes scrutinized the shore on either hand with
a watchfulness which could not be mistaken, they failed to discover
anything resembling the crossing, which Yager had described so often
and so vividly that the others saw it distinctly in their mind's eye.
Kenton and Strader were not angered, but they rallied their companion
on his error, and suggested that he was describing and they were
searching for a place which never had an existence, unless it was in
the imagination of the former Indian captive.
Finally, Yager admitted that he didn't understand how it was, unless
they had passed the crossing in the night.
"There _is_ such a place," he asserted with great positiveness, "for
I saw it more than once, when I was a child with the Indians, and I
remember it so well, that I would recognize it on the instant. It must
be that we went by it in the night."
After awhile, they agreed to return and explore the country more
thoroughly. They did so, visiting the land in the neighborhood of Salt
Lick, Little and Big Sandy, and Guyandotte. They finally wearied of
hunting for that which it seemed impossible to find, and, locating on
the Great Kanawha, devoted themselves to hunting and trapping. They
found the occupation so congenial, that they pursued it for two years,
exchanging their furs and peltries with the traders at Fort Pitt, for
such necessaries as hunters require.
The period passed by these three men on the Kanawha will be recognized
by the reader as a momentous one; for not only were the fires of the
Revolution kindling, but the embers of war along the border were
fanning into a blaze that was to sweep over thousands of square miles
of settlement and wilderness, and to bring appalling disaster to the
West.
Nothing gives a more vivid idea of the insecurity of the pioneers of
Kentucky and Ohio, than the bloodhound-like persistency with which
the red men hunted down all invaders of their soil. Boone and his
party, which might have been considered strong enough to take care of
themselves against any ordinary war party, were attacked before they
caught more than a glimpse of the fair land; while the settler, who
builded his cabin close to the frowning block-house, was shot down on
his own threshold.
Kenton and his two companions had spent months enjoying their free,
open life in the woods, when the red men came down upon them like the
whirlwind.
It was in the month of March, 1773, while they were stretched out in
their rude tent, chatting and smoking, that the dark woods around
them suddenly flamed with fire, and a volley was poured in upon them,
followed by the fierce shouts of the warriors, who seemed to swarm up
from the very earth.
Poor Strader was riddled with bullets, and scarcely stirred, so instant
was his death. By wonderful good fortune, neither of the others was
injured, and, leaping to their feet, they bounded into the woods
like frightened deer, the bullets whistling all about them and their
ferocious enemies at their heels.
The gathering darkness and their own fleetness enabled them speedily to
place themselves beyond reach of the savages; but their plight was a
pitiable one.
So desperate was their haste, that neither had time to catch up
blanket, gun or a scrap of provisions; an instant's pause would have
been fatal. And now they found themselves in the gloomy woods, with the
chilling wind cutting them to the bone, and without the means even of
starting a fire.
The brave fellows, however, did not despair. They felt that while there
was life there was hope, and they determined to make for the Ohio
without delay. Had they possessed their guns, it would have been an
easy matter to secure such game as they needed, and to kindle a fire,
but with undaunted hearts and with their knowledge of woodcraft which
enabled them to determine the direction to the Ohio, they started for
the river.
During the first two days, they allayed the pangs of gnawing hunger by
chewing succulent roots, while the bark on the trees was a sufficient
guide to keep them going in the right direction. The miserable
nourishment, however, soon told, and the third day found them much
weaker, though with their courage undiminished.
They grew feeble very fast, and both were seized with a violent nausea,
caused by the unwelcome substances they had taken into their stomachs
to satisfy the pangs of hunger. Their condition became so much worse
on the fourth day, that, strong men as they were, they felt it was
useless to strive longer. They threw themselves on the ground with
the intention of waiting for death, but when they assumed the prone
position, they seemed to rally both in body and spirits, and, after
awhile, they would rise and press forward again.
On the fifth day, death appeared near to them, and they were scarcely
able to crawl. They staggered and crept along for about a mile, and,
just as the sun was setting, found themselves on the bank of the Ohio,
which was a Beautiful River indeed to them.
Almost at the same moment, they came upon a party of traders, and saw
they were saved, for the men gave them the provisions they needed, and
were anxious to do all in their power for the emaciated and distressed
hunters.
But the story told by the latter filled them with such alarm for their
own safety, that they prepared to leave such a perilous section without
delay. Hastily gathering their effects together, they made all haste
to the Little Kanawha, where they encountered another exploring party
under the leadership of Dr. Briscoe, who furnished Kenton with a new
rifle and ammunition. Yager had had enough of the wilderness, and he
stayed with his new-found friends. But Kenton, with his gun and powder,
felt like a giant refreshed, and, bidding the others good-bye, plunged
alone into the woods.
He spent the following summer in hunting, just as Daniel Boone did
under somewhat similar circumstances, and, toward the close of the
season, made his way back to the little Kanawha. Here he found an
exploring party under the direction of Dr. Wood and Hancock Lee, who
were descending the Ohio with the purpose of joining Captain Bullitt,
whom they expected to find at the mouth of the Scioto, with a company
of pioneers so large that nothing was to be feared from the Indians.
Kenton willingly accepted the invitation to join them, and the descent
of the stream was resumed. They moved at a leisurely pace, often
stopping on the way to examine the country. They were not disturbed
by the Indians until they reached the Three Islands. There, to their
dismay, they discovered such a formidable body of warriors, that they
were compelled to abandon their canoes precipitately, and they hurried
across the country in a diagonal direction for Green Brier county,
Virginia.
The journey was a most uncomfortable one, for they were in constant
danger from the red men, and were afraid to pause long enough to secure
and prepare the necessary food.
To add to their troubles, the leader of the party, Dr. Wood, while
tramping along was bitten by a venomous snake, known as the copperhead.
The physician applied all the remedies at his command, but, for several
days, he lay at the point of death and unable to move. Despite the
great danger of pausing on the way, the party were compelled to go into
camp for a couple of weeks on account of their leader's condition. At
the end of that time, however, he had so far recovered that the journey
was resumed, and they reached the settlements without further mishap.
Kenton was so sorely troubled by the recollection of the affray with
his rival several years before, whom he supposed to be dead, that he
was afraid to remain in Virginia. Accordingly, he built a canoe on the
banks of the Monongahela, paddled to the mouth of the Great Kanawha,
and resumed his hunting, which he prosecuted with great success until
the spring of 1774.
Then it was that a brief but virulent war broke out between the Indians
and Colonies, caused, as will be remembered, by the murder of the
family of the celebrated Mingo chief, Logan. The part played by Kenton
in this campaign was the important one of scout, in the execution of
which duties he tramped over the country around Fort Pitt and a great
deal of the present State of Ohio.
There still lingered in the mind of the daring Kenton a strong faith
in the statements made to him by Yager that there were sections of the
surrounding country with a wonderfully rich soil, abundant vegetation,
and immense numbers of game. He determined to make search for it, and
met with little difficulty in persuading two friends to join in the
hunt.
A strong canoe was constructed and stocked with provisions, and the
trio paddled down the river to the mouth of Big Bone Creek, on which
the famous Big Bone Lick stands. There they landed, and spent several
days in exploring the surrounding country; but they were disappointed;
nothing answering the representations of Yager was discovered.
Entering their canoe once more, they ascended the river to the
entrance of Cabin Creek, a short distance above Maysville. With faith
undiminished, they resolved upon a more thorough exploration. In the
prosecution of this purpose they came upon May's Lick, where they saw
that the surrounding soil possessed unusual richness. Striking the
well-known great buffalo track, they followed it for a few hours, when
they reached the Lower Blue Lick.
The flats upon each side of the river were swarming with thousands
of buffalo that were attracted thither by the salt, while a number
of magnificent elk were seen upon the crests of the ridges which
surrounded the brackish springs.
"This is the place!" exclaimed the delighted Kenton; "this is the
promised land that Yager saw! We need go no further!"
His companions agreed with him, and the delighted pioneers engaged
in hunting at once. They could not fail to bring down a great many
buffaloes and elk, when the splendid game had scarcely seen enough of
their great enemy, man, to learn to fear him.
When they became surfeited with the sport, the three crossed the
Licking, and, after a long tramp, came upon another buffalo trace,
which led them to the Upper Blue Lick, where they saw the same
bewildering abundance of game.
Fully satisfied now that they had discovered the richest and most
promising section of all the West, they returned to their canoes, and
went up the river as far as Green Bottom, where they had left their
peltries, some ammunition, and a few agricultural implements, with the
view of cultivating the inviting soil.
They lost no time in hurrying back and beginning the clearing of the
land. An acre was denuded of trees in the middle of a large canebrake,
planted with Indian corn, and a cabin erected. This was on the spot
where Washington now stands.
The pioneers were in high spirits; for after a long search they had
found the land they sighed for, and the future looked promising and
bright. They settled down to hard work, and were confident that the
fertility of the soil would yield them large returns.
While strolling about the woods one day, with no particular object
in view, they were surprised to meet two men, named Hendricks and
Fitzpatrick, who were in a sad plight. In descending the Ohio, their
canoe had been upset by a sudden squall, and they were forced to swim
ashore, without being able to save anything from the wreck. They had
been wandering though the woods for several days, and would have
perished soon had they not come upon the little party of pioneers.
Kenton had been in a similar predicament, and could not fail to
sympathize with them. He urged them to join the diminutive settlement
he had started at Washington, and trust to Providence to bring them
out right in the end. Hendricks agreed to stay, but Fitzpatrick had had
enough of the wilderness, and was so homesick that he only asked to get
out of the unfriendly country and back to the Monongahela. Kenton and
his companions went with him as far as Maysville, gave him a gun and
some ammunition, assisted him across the river, and bade him good-by.
Pity it was that Hendricks did not accompany him, as the sequel will
prove.
While Kenton and his two brother pioneers were doing this neighborly
kindness for the one, Hendricks was at the cabin which had been erected
a few days before. He had been left there without a gun, but with
plenty of provisions, and no one dreamed of his being in danger.
The three men, having seen Fitzpatrick off, hastened back to the
clearing, pleased at the thought of the companion they had gained, and
regretting that the other man had not consented to join them.
When they reached the rough cabin they were somewhat alarmed to see
nothing of Hendricks, and the quick eyes of the hunters observed that
something unusual had taken place. A number of bullet-holes were
noticed in the timbers, which were chipped in other places by the
leaden missiles, while some of the articles of Hendricks were scattered
around in a way which could leave no doubt he had been visited by
Indians.
The fact that he had no weapon with which to defend himself, caused his
friends to fear the worst, and with rapidly beating hearts they began
an investigation, not knowing how close the peril was to them.
They had not hunted far, when they discovered a thin column of smoke
rising from a ravine near at hand. Certain that a large war party of
savages was near them, the three men were seized with a panic and fled
in the greatest terror.
It was a curious thing for Kenton to do, for he was certainly one of
the bravest of men. It would have been expected that he would insist on
an investigation before such a precipitate flight, and it was always a
source of deep regret to him in after-life that he did not do so.
Having reached a safe point, the trio hid themselves in the cane until
the evening of the next day, when they once more ventured back to the
clearing, and then approached the ravine from which they had seen the
smoke of a camp-fire ascending.
Smoke was still visible, and when they ventured closer they were
horrified to find only the charred bones of their late companion! He
had been burned at the stake, and in all probability was alive when the
others first saw the vapor on the previous day.
Had they not been so terrified by the belief that a large war party was
at hand, they might have saved him. As we have said, it was the source
of the deepest regret to Kenton that he did not reconnoitre the spot,
when such a possibility of rescue existed.
CHAPTER II.
Kenton and his Friends Visit Boonesborough--Desperate Encounter with
Indians--Proceeds with Two Companions to Reconnoitre an Indian
Town on the Little Miami--Captured while Making Off with a Number
of Horses--Brutal Treatment--Bound to the Stake and Runs the
Gauntlet--Friendship of Simon Girty, the Renegade--Finally Saved
by an Indian Trader--Removed to Detroit, and Escapes--Commands a
Company in General Clark's Expedition--Receives Good News--Visits
Virginia--Death of his Father--Reduced to Poverty--Removes to
Urbana, Ohio--Elected Brigadier-General--His Conversion--His Last
Days.
Simon Kenton and his two friends stayed at Washington until the
following September, undisturbed by Indians, though they were never
entirely free from apprehension of a visit from them.
In the month named they visited the Lick, where they encountered a
white man, who told them most important news. The interior of Kentucky
had been settled in several places, and there was a thriving pioneer
station at Boonesborough.
Kenton and his friends were glad to learn this, for they had seen
enough of the perils of the woods to long for the society of some
of their own race. They immediately left their dangerous home,
and, visiting the smaller settlements, made a prolonged stay at
Boonesborough, where they were most gladly welcomed. During the two
sieges of the place which we have described, Kenton was one of the
garrison, and served with great efficiency as a spy and scout until the
summer of 1778, when Boone came back from captivity and formed the plan
for the attack upon the Indians at Paint Creek.
This expedition, which has already been referred to elsewhere, proved
to be a most eventful one to Kenton, who acted as spy. After crossing
the Ohio, he kept a considerable distance in advance, on the alert for
the first evidence of Indians.
He was suddenly startled by hearing a loud laugh from an adjoining
thicket, which he was on the point of entering. Like a flash the scout
sprang behind a tree and with cocked rifle awaited the explanation.
He had but a few minutes to wait, when two Indians emerged from the
thicket, mounted on a pony. Both were laughing and chatting in high
spirits, and with no thought of anything like danger. They had been on
some marauding expedition against the whites, and had met with such
success that they seemed as elated as a couple of children.
Kenton held his place until they approached within easy distance, when
he took careful aim and fired. The well-aimed shot killed the first and
badly wounded the second, while the frightened pony whirled about and
dashed into the thicket. Kenton instantly ran up to the slain Indian
to scalp him, in accordance with the barbarous practice of the border,
when a rustling on his right caused him to look up. To his amazement,
there were two Indians not twenty yards distant, both of whom were in
the act of taking aim at him.
The scout sprang aside at the instant both fired, and though the
bullets whizzed close to his eyes he was uninjured. There could be no
doubt that the neighborhood was a most undesirable one just then, for
other warriors were near by, and Kenton lost no time in taking to the
shelter of the woods.
Fleet as he was, he had no more than reached shelter, when a dozen
Indians appeared on the margin of the canebrake and the situation of
the scout became most serious; but, at this critical moment, Boone
appeared with his party, who opened a brisk fire upon the Indians. The
attack was so spirited that they broke and scattered, and Kenton was
relieved from his perilous position.
Boone, as we have stated elsewhere, immediately returned to
Boonesborough, but the intrepid Kenton determined to learn more of the
Indians, and if possible to repay them for the attack they had made
upon him.
Accompanied by a friend named Montgomery, they approached the Indian
town not far off, and stationed themselves near a cornfield, expecting
the red men would enter it for the purpose of roasting the ears. With
that characteristic patience of the border scouts, they stayed beside
the cornfield the entire day waiting and watching for a shot at some of
the warriors. But during the time not a single one appeared, though the
whites could hear the voices of the children playing near at hand.
The scouts were greatly disappointed, for they had been confident of
seeing some warrior, but night came without such an opportunity having
presented itself, and they were forced to ask themselves the question
whether they would go back empty handed, so to speak, or whether
they would incur some additional risk for the sake of accomplishing
something by way of retaliation.
As the best they could do, they stealthily entered the Indian town late
at night, picked out four good horses, made all haste to the Ohio,
which they crossed in safety, and on the succeeding day reached Logan's
fort without disturbance.
This was an extraordinary achievement, for the Indians and settlers
were in such open hostility that it may be said the former were
constantly on the alert to prevent just such surprises.
Colonel Bowman, at the fort, requested Kenton, Montgomery and a Mr.
Clark to undertake a more difficult and dangerous task for him: that
was a secret expedition to one of the Indian towns on the Little Miami,
against which the Colonel meditated an expedition, and about which, of
course, he was desirous of gaining all the information possible.
The duty was a congenial one to the three men, who reached the village
without discovery, made a careful reconnoissance by night, and were
then ready to return home.
Well would it have been for them had they done so, but the subsequent
conduct of Kenton shows that his repeated escapes and continued
immunity at the hands of the savages, had rendered him reckless, and
caused him to estimate too highly perhaps his own prowess and skill as
compared with theirs.
At this time, unfortunately, they discovered an enclosure where the
Indians kept their horses. Like all borderers they dearly loved that
kind of property, and could not resist the temptation. More than that,
instead of selecting the best, they took the whole lot and started for
the Ohio.
Such a wholesale proceeding created a good deal of confusion despite
the care of the three scouts, and the Indians speedily discovered what
was going on.
They poured out of their wigwams and lodges, in great excitement, all
eager to prevent the loss of their property, while the whites showed an
equal eagerness to get away with it. Instead of abandoning the animals
and attempting to save themselves, they foolishly continued their
effort to escape with them all.
One rode in front leading the animals, and the other two remained at
the rear and lashed them into a gallop, through the woods, while the
excited Indians came whooping and shrieking after them.
It was a wild, break-neck proceeding, but the scouts kept it up until
they reached the edge of an impenetrable swamp, where, for the first
time since starting, they came to a stand-still and listened for their
pursuers.
Not a sound was heard, to indicate they were anywhere in the
neighborhood, and the whites congratulated themselves on what looked
like a remarkable achievement. But they were certain to be pursued,
and skirting the swamp, they continued their flight in the direction of
the Ohio, which was a long way distant.
The horses were pressed to the utmost, the riders frequently changing
animals, through the night, the next day, and most of the following
night. The next morning they stood on the northern bank of the Ohio.
The wind was blowing strongly, and the river was so boisterous that
the crossing was sure to be difficult. At the same time they knew
that their pursuers would not delay, and must be close behind them. A
hurried consultation was held, and it was agreed that Kenton should
swim the animals over while Montgomery and Clark constructed a raft to
transport the baggage.
Accordingly Kenton led the animals into the river, while he swam at
their side, but the stream had become so rough that he was forced away
from them, and all he could do was to save himself from drowning. The
horses being left to themselves turned about and swam back to the shore
they had left a short time before.
This exasperating performance was repeated until Kenton became so
exhausted that he was forced to lie down on the shore until he could
recover his strength and wind.
A council of war, as it might be called, was then held and the question
considered was whether they should abandon the animals and attend
to their own safety, or risk their lives by waiting where they were
until the Ohio should become calmer, in the hope of getting them to
the other side. Nothing can show the great admiration of the men of
the border for the noblest of all animals, than their immediate and
unanimous agreement that they would never desert their horses.
The scouts committed the inexplainable blunder of staying where they
were, knowing, as they must have known, that the infuriated warriors
were rapidly coming up on their trail, and could be at no great
distance behind them.
The wind continued churning the water all through the day, and did
not abate until the next morning. Then, when they tried to force the
steeds into the water, they refused and some of them broke away. The
infatuated scouts lost more valuable time in the vain attempt to
recapture them and, as was inevitable, the Indians soon made their
appearance.
They were in such numbers, and so well armed, that it was useless
to fight them, and Clark had sense enough to take to his heels. He
succeeded in effecting his own escape. Montgomery was shot down and
scalped, while Kenton was seized from behind, when on the very point of
assailing a warrior in front, and pinioned. Others speedily gathered,
beat and shook the scout, and pulled his hair, until he was tortured
almost to death.
"Steal hoss of Indian, eh!" they exclaimed again and again as they beat
him over the head with their ramrods.
When they had pounded him until they were tired, Kenton was thrown
on his back, and his arms stretched out at full length. Pieces of
saplings were then fastened to his arms and legs in such a manner that
the poor fellow was literally unable to stir hand or foot.
While thus engaged they continued to beat and curse him in broken
English. When he was strapped in his immovable position he was left
until morning. No pen can picture the utter horror and misery of such
a night, with arm and legs outstretched and with body incapable of any
motion excepting a slight turn of the head.
It was a literal crucifixion, without the erection of the cross.
Knowing the Indians so well, he did not entertain a particle of doubt
that he would be put to death with the most fearful torture that can be
imagined.
The fury of the Indians against Kenton seemed to increase rather than
diminish. It would have been a very easy matter to tomahawk or slay him
with knife or rifle, when he was so helpless, but that would have ended
the matter and deprived them of the enjoyment they counted upon at such
times.
In the morning they gave a Mazeppa performance, by tying Kenton fast
to an unbroken colt and turning him loose. The horse, however, seemed
to have more pity than his cruel masters, for after galloping a short
distance about the others, he came back and rejoined them, continuing
with the others until nightfall, when Kenton was taken off and fastened
by buffalo thongs to the stakes of saplings as before.
For three days the terrible march continued, when the Indian town
of Chillicothe was reached. The arrival of the prisoner created
great excitement, and the chief Blackfish beat Kenton over the naked
shoulders with hickory sticks until the blood flowed, and the poor
fellow was almost delirious with agony.
All the cries he heard during this fearful punishment were those of
fury. These soon changed to a demand that he should be tied to the
stake, and it was done. His clothing was torn from his body, his hands
fastened above his head, and the Indians danced about him beating and
whooping and jeering at the prisoner, who expected every minute that
the fire would be kindled at his feet.
Ordinarily this would have been done, but the desire to continue the
torture was so great that the savages deferred the last awful tragedy,
until they should extract more sport from the victim.
He was kept in this trying position until late at night, when he was
released. It seemed as if it were intended that Simon Kenton should go
through every form of Indian torture, for, on the morrow, he was led
out and forced to run the gauntlet.
The preparations for this were so complete, and the Indians so numerous
with their clubs and all sorts of weapons, that it can scarcely be
doubted that Kenton would have been beaten to death, had he undertaken
to speed the entire distance between the two long rows of Indians.
Instead of doing so, he darted aside and after doubling upon his
pursuers, plunged into the council house, receiving only a few blows
from the warriors standing near. Within this lodge was held the council
to determine what course should be taken with their prisoner. There
was no thought or releasing him, but some might prefer to delay the
enjoyment of his death by torture no longer, while others were inclined
to think it was too pleasant for them to allow the amusement to
terminate so soon.
A comparison of views and a ballot showed that the majority were in
favor of deferring his taking off a short while longer. His execution,
therefore, was suspended for the time, and it was agreed to take him to
an Indian town on Mad River, known as Waughcotomoco.
"What is to be done with me after we get there?" asked Kenton of the
renegade who interpreted the sentence to him.
"Burn you at the stake," was the reply, accompanied by a brutal oath,
as the white savage strode away.
Kenton was given back his clothing, and was not bound while on the
road, as it was deemed impossible for him to escape from among his
numerous, vigilant captors.
But, as there could be no doubt that his death by torture was fully
determined, the prisoner was resolved on one desperate effort to
escape, for in no sense could a failure result in making his condition
worse than before.
He deferred the attempt until they were so close to Waughcotomoco, that
the party exchanged signal whoops with the warriors of the town who
began flocking thither to see the prisoner.
Feeling that it was then or never, Kenton uttered a shout and broke
away like a frightened deer, the Indians following him, some on foot,
and some on horseback. His great fleetness might have enabled him to
escape, but while he was running from those behind, he came directly
upon a party who were riding from the village to meet the others, and
before he was hardly aware of his danger he was recaptured.
After suffering great indignities, they reached Waughcotomoco, where
Kenton was forced to run the gauntlet again and was badly hurt. He was
then taken to the council-house, where he sat in despair, while the
warriors consulted as to the precise means of his death.
While they were thus engaged, Simon Girty and three companions came in
with a white woman and seven children as prisoners. Kenton was taken
away to make room for these, and as their fate now became a matter of
debate, the session was protracted until a late hour. The verdict,
however, was inevitable, and on the morrow, Simon Girty, the notorious
renegade, gave himself the extreme pleasure of communicating the news
to the hapless prisoner.
During this interview Girty was astounded to discover in the prisoner
his former comrade, who had served with him as a spy in Dunmore's
expedition. That was before Girty had foresworn his race, and the two
men became warmly attached to each other.
Girty was greatly agitated, and instantly set to work to secure the
release of the prisoner. The difficulty of this task can scarcely be
imagined, for such a request was unprecedented; but Girty persevered,
making the most ardent appeals and begging and insisting, until it was
put to a vote, when it was agreed that the prayer, coming from one who
had served them so faithfully as had the renegade for three years,
could not be denied, and it was granted.
Kenton now remained a prisoner among the Indians for three weeks,
during which Girty treated him with unvarying kindness. Indeed his
conduct in this extraordinary matter is the single bright spot in the
career of one of the most terrible wretches that ever lived.
At the end of the time mentioned, however, another council was held,
and despite the strenuous efforts of Girty, Kenton was condemned to
death at the stake. There now seemed no possible hope, and, telling his
friend he had done all he could for him, Girty shook his hand and bade
him good-by.
But Kenton's remarkable good fortune did not desert him. The great
chief Logan gave him his friendship and did what he could to save him,
when Kenton was brought to his village, which was a short distance
away. His interference, however, seemed to be unavailing, and he was
started for Sandusky under a strong escort, that being the place fixed
upon for his final death by torture.
There, however, when Kenton had abandoned all hope, an Indian agent
by the name of Drewyer interested himself in his behalf, and by an
ingenious statagem secured his removal to Detroit.
He thus became a prisoner-of-war, as Detroit was in the possession of
the British, and his situation was immeasurably improved. He was sure
to be treated in a civilized manner, and in process of time would be
set free.
The situation, however, was anything but agreeable to Kenton, who was
continually seeking for some way of escape. None presented itself for a
long time, and he remained working for the garrison on half-pay until
the summer of 1779.
It was at this time that the longed-for opportunity presented itself,
through the kindness of the wife of an Indian trader. Kenton knew
well enough that it would never do to plunge into the wilderness
without rifles and ammunition, and she agreed to furnish him and two
Kentuckians with the indispensable articles.
It was no small task for a lady to secure three guns and ammunition
without the assistance of any one, but she succeeded in doing so. In
the early summer of that year, the Indians around Detroit engaged in
one of their periodical carousals. It was at night, and before giving
themselves over to their brutish indulgence they stacked their guns
near the house of the lady.
Without difficulty she secured three of the best, and hid them in her
garden. Previous to this she had gathered some extra clothing and the
required ammunition, which were hidden in a hollow tree outside the
town. She managed to communicate with Kenton, who, at the appointed
time, appeared at the garden with his friends, got the guns, and
thanking his preserver most fervently and receiving her best wishes in
return, bade her good-by and hastened away with his companions.
There was no difficulty in stealing out of town, which was full of
drunken Indians, but it never would have done to wait; both they
and the guns would be missed in the morning, and search would be
immediately made.
The hollow tree was easily found, and hastily equipping themselves with
what was stored there, they plunged into the wilderness and started on
their long and dangerous journey for Louisville, Kentucky.
Leaving the commonly-traveled route, they first headed for the prairies
of the Wabash, and pushed on like veteran pioneers who knew they were
continually in danger of pursuit. They lost no time on the road, nor
did they cease to use continual vigilance.
They were over a month making their way through the solitudes, but
finally reached Louisville, without accident, in the month of July,
1779.
Kenton had become so accustomed to his rough, adventurous life,
that he chafed under the quiet and restraint of the town. Slinging
his rifle over his shoulder, therefore, he struck into the woods
alone and tramped to Vincennes to see his old friend, Major Clark.
He was warmly greeted, but he found everything so dull and hum-drum
that he re-entered the wilderness, and after a long journey reached
Harrodsburg, where he was received with as much delight as though he
were Daniel Boone himself.
In the famous expedition of General Clark against the Indians,
described elsewhere, Simon Kenton commanded a company of volunteers
from Harrod's Station, and was one of the bravest officers of that
formidable campaign against the red men, whose outrages were becoming
so serious that the blow was determined upon as a means of forcing them
to stay within their own lines.
It will be remembered that the command of General Clark numbered over a
thousand men, and it will be understood that it was the most effective
demonstration that, up to that time, had ever been undertaken on the
frontier. Chillicothe, Pickaway, and numerous smaller towns were burnt
and all the crops destroyed.
It can well be believed that when they reached Pickaway and the Indians
made a stand, the arm of Simon Kenton was nerved with tenfold power,
for it was there, two years before, that he had been compelled to run
the gauntlet and was beaten almost to death. It was with the memory
of the terrible sufferings of that time that he led his company into
action, and he fought, as did they, like Richard Coeur de Lion.
The warriors made a brave resistance, but were unable to withstand the
furious attack, and soon were scattered like chaff, leaving their dead
and wounded on the field. This campaign brought peace and quietness to
the frontier during the following two years. Kenton engaged in hunting,
or in assisting surveying parties, until 1782, when he received the
most startling news of his life.
For eleven years he had been a wanderer in the woods, oftentimes in
indescribable peril, suffering almost death over and over again, and
never free from the remorse caused by that encounter with his rival so
long before in Virginia, whom he believed he left dying upon the ground
and from whose presence he fled like Cain from the vengeance of men.
But at the time mentioned Kenton received proof that the man was not
killed in that desperate affray, but had recovered, and was then alive
and well, as was also the aged father of Kenton.
It can scarcely be conceived how great a burden these tidings lifted
from the heart of Simon Kenton, who was no longer afraid to reveal his
identity and make inquiries about his friends. It was like entering
upon a new and joyous life.
Kenton commanded another company in General Clark's campaign in the
autumn of 1782, and, as before, acted as the guide of the army, his
knowledge of the country and his consummate woodcraft rendering his
services indispensable in that direction.
While this campaign was only one of the numerous similar ones which
have marked the settlement of the West, and which, sad to say, were too
often accompanied by overwhelming disaster, it was rendered memorable
to Kenton by a singular and impressive engagement into which he entered.
It was when the army was on its return, when opposite the mouth of the
Licking, Nov. 4th, 1782, that Captain McCracken, who was dying from
a wound received in battle, suggested that all the pioneers of the
expedition who might be living fifty years from that day, should meet
on the spot to celebrate the semi-centennial of the campaign.
It was at the suggestion of the dying soldier that Colonel Floyd drew
up the resolution, and the meeting a half century later was agreed upon.
The purpose accomplished, the volunteers were disbanded, and Kenton
went back to Harrod's Station, where he was always most gladly welcomed.
He had acquired considerable land, which was rapidly increasing in
value. With a few families he began a settlement, which prospered
greatly. The soil was very fertile, they were industrious, and they
were blessed with abundant crops.
The circumstances being favorable, Kenton made a journey to Virginia
to visit his father and friends. Thirteen years had passed since he
had fled, believing himself a murderer, and now, among the first to
take his hand, after he entered the familiar place, was his former
rival in love. He and his wife greeted the handsome pioneer with great
cordiality, and all resentment was buried in the happiness of the
meeting.
Kenton was thankful indeed to find his aged father in good health,
though his mother had been dead a number of years. Accompanied by his
parent and the rest of the family, he started for Kentucky, intending
that his father should spend the rest of his days with him. Such was
the case, indeed, but the days proved fewer than the affectionate son
supposed they would be.
The parent was very feeble, and when Red Stone Fort was reached,
he quietly died. He was buried on the banks of the Monongahela, and
Kenton, with the remainder of the family, arrived at the settlement in
the winter of 1784.
Kentucky was rapidly filling up with emigrants at this time, though,
as is well known, the Indians were very troublesome. Kenton saw that
the land was certain to become valuable, and he determined to occupy
the fertile section around his old camp near Maysville, which he had
occasion to remember so well.
He made the venture in the summer of 1784, with a company of pioneers;
but the Indians were so dangerous that they were forced to retire for
the time. A few months later Kenton went back with a few friends, built
a block-house, and soon after was joined by several families.
Settlers continued to flock thither, and the country prospered, despite
the hostility of the red men. Kenton, by his foresight, had secured
the right and title to a large quantity of valuable land. One thousand
acres of this he gave to Arthur Fox and William Wood, and on it they
laid out the town of Washington.
Despite the severe blow administered by General Clark, the savages
committed so many depredations that a retaliatory campaign was
determined upon. Seven hundred volunteers gathered under Colonel Logan
and invaded the Indian country, inflicting much damage, and returning
with only a trifling loss.
The guide of this expedition was Simon Kenton, who also commanded a
company; but it was scarcely home again when the Indians renewed their
depredations with such persistency that Kenton appealed to his old
friends to rally once more, and to "carry the war into Africa."
It was promptly done, he assuming the part of captain and of guide as
before. Chillicothe was burned, and the expedition returned without
losing a man.
By this time Kenton was acknowledged as the leader in the frontier
settlement. He possessed a great deal of valuable land, was a master of
woodcraft, and in all the troubles with the Indians was looked to for
protection and assistance.
During the half-dozen years following, his services in the latter
respect were beyond estimate. He demonstrated his skill in the ways of
the woods by ambushing a party of dusky marauders who had come down
to devastate the border, and by inflicting such severe loss that the
others fled in terror and never attempted to molest the settlement
again.
But this period will be recognized by the reader as the eventful one of
General Anthony Wayne's expedition against the combined Indian tribes
of the West. Disaster had followed disaster, until the United States
Government saw the necessity of ending the troubles by a campaign which
should be resistless, and crushing in its effects.
Simon Kenton, at the time of Wayne's expedition, was a major, and with
his battalion he joined the forces at Greenville. It may be said that
his reputation at that time was national, and he was recognized as one
of the most skillful and intrepid pioneers of the West. His bravery,
activity and knowledge of "wood lore," inspired confidence everywhere,
and linked his name inseparably with the settlement of the West.
His foresight in taking up the valuable lands was now shown by the
results. They appreciated so rapidly in value with the settlement
and development of the country, that he became one of the wealthiest
settlers in Kentucky.
But singularly (and yet perhaps it was not singular either), the same
misfortune overtook him that befell Daniel Boone and so many others of
the pioneers.
The rapacious speculators, by their superior cunning, got all his land
away from him, until he was not worth a farthing. Worse than that they
brought him in debt, and his body was taken upon the covenants in deeds
to lands, which he had in point of fact given away. He was imprisoned
for a full year on the very spot where he built his cabin in 1775,
and planted the first corn planted north of the Kentucky River by a
white man, and where for many a time he had braved hunger, death, and
undergone suffering in its most frightful forms.
He was literally reduced to beggary by the cruel rapacity of the land
sharks, and in 1802 he removed to Ohio and settled in Urbana. Kenton's
remarkable sweetness of character, despite the fact that he was one
of the most terrible of Indian fighters, was such that he scarcely
ever uttered a word of complaint. No man had endured more than he for
Kentucky and Ohio, and no one had ever been treated more shabbily; yet
he loved the "Dark and Bloody Ground" none the less.
His services and his ability were appreciated to that extent in Ohio
that he was elected a brigadier-general of militia, three years after
his removal to the State. Five years later, that is, in 1810, he was
converted and joined the Methodist Episcopal Church.
Reverend J. B. Finley, the well known missionary of the West, relates
that his father and Kenton met at a camp meeting on the Mad River. They
were old friends and the interview was a most pleasant one. The meeting
was accompanied by a great awakening, during which Kenton took the
elder Finley aside and told him how deeply his heart had been touched,
how much he was impressed with his own sinfulness, and how desirous he
was of obtaining divine pardon.
He bound the minister to keep the whole matter a secret, and the two
knelt down in prayer in the woods. Kenton was speedily converted, and
springing to his feet, ran shouting back to camp meeting, with the
minister panting after him.
The old Indian fighter outran his pastor, and when Mr. Finley reached
his congregation, the other had gathered a great crowd about him, and,
with a glowing face, was telling the news of his conversion.
"I thought this was to be a secret," called out Mr. Finley, "and here,
General, you are proclaiming it to every one."
"It's too glorious to keep," was the reply of Kenton.
He continued a devout and humble Christian for the rest of his life.
His voice was remarkably sweet and musical, and he was fond of singing.
He took part in many religious exercises and meetings, and entered into
the service of his divine Master with the same ardor he had shown in
that of his country, during his early and mature manhood.
In 1813, Kenton joined the Kentucky troops under Governor Shelby, with
whose family he was a great favorite. He was then nearly threescore
years of age, but he was rugged, strong, and as patriotic as ever. He
took part in the battle of the Thames, fighting with the same bravery
that was natural to him from boyhood.
It was the last engagement in which he bore a hand, and respecting it
the following incident is worthy of note:
In the month of May, 1881, Ayres Lefargee, who died at Poplar Plain,
Kentucky, was buried at Decatur, Illinois. He was a soldier of the
war of 1812, in the fourth regiment of Kentucky troops under Governor
Shelby, and was present at the battle of the Thames in which the great
Shawanoe chieftain Tecumseh was killed. After the battle he went with
Captain Matthews and Simon Kenton to the spot where the chief fell.
"Turn the body over," said Kenton, and, upon Lefargee doing so, they
found seven bullet-holes in it. Lefargee always claimed that Tecumseh
was killed by a soldier named Dave Gealding.
This question has never been satisfactorily settled, though the claim
of Colonel Richard M. Johnson seems as good as that of any one. His
horse had fallen, and while he was endeavoring to extricate himself, a
distinguished looking Indian who, it was claimed by many that knew him,
was Tecumseh, made a rush for Colonel Johnson.
"I didn't stop to ask him his name," said Colonel Johnson, when
questioned about it afterwards, "for there was no time for
explanations, but I fired, when, had I waited five seconds longer, he
would have brained me with his upraised tomahawk."
The war of 1812 finished, Kenton returned to the obscurity of his
humble cabin, where he lived until 1820, when he removed to the
headwaters of Mad River, Logan county, Ohio, near the very spot where,
many years before, he had been tied to the stake by the Indians, when
they condemned him to death.
It seemed impossible for the old pioneer to escape the annoyance of the
land-sharpers. He was still the owner of many large mountain tracts of
Kentucky, but he was "land poor," in its fullest sense, and these were
forfeited for taxes.
Kenton became so worn out, and so distressed by poverty, that in
1824, when nearly seventy years old, he rode to Frankfort, while the
Legislature was in session, to petition that body to release these
comparatively worthless lands from the claims upon them for unpaid
taxes.
The old hunter was clothed in dilapidated garments, and his rickety
horse looked so woe-begone that the wonder was how he could carry such
a large man as he was. But when it became known that Simon Kenton was
in town, it caused an excitement like that which the arrival of the
menagerie and circus excites.
There was no one in the capital of Kentucky who had not heard of the
wonderful exploits of Kenton, and the tall handsome figure of the
hunter, with his mild prepossessing features, would have attracted
attention anywhere. It was hard to believe that this old gentleman with
his gentle blue eyes, his soft musical voice, and his humble Christian
bearing, was the hurricane-like fighter, who had torn the reeking scalp
from the head of the fierce savage, who had run the gauntlet more than
once, who had trailed the red Indian through the gloomy depths of the
forest and who had lived in the wilderness in storm and sunshine, week
after week and month after month, when he never closed his eyes with
certainty he would not be awakened for an instant by the crash of the
tomahawk as it clove his skull in twain.
But this was Simon Kenton, and the crowds began to gather. General
Thomas Fletcher recognized him and donned him in a good respectable
suit of clothing. Then he was taken to the Capitol and placed in the
Speaker's chair, where the multitude, in which were the legislators
and the most prominent citizens, filed through the building, and were
introduced to the great adventurer, who smilingly shook their hands,
exchanged a few pleasant words, and blushed like a school boy.
It was the proudest day of Simon Kenton's life, and he had every reason
to look back to it with delight, for it resulted in substantial benefit
to him.
His presence called up so vividly the great services he had rendered
the State, and the burning injustice he had suffered, that the
legislators at once released all his lands from the tax claims, and
shortly after, through the exertions of Judge Burnet and General Vance,
of Congress, a pension of two hundred and forty dollars a year was
obtained for the old hero, who was thus secured against want for the
remainder of his life.
Kenton now lived a quiet life, serene and hopeful, and quietly
contemplating the end which he knew was close at hand. He was held
in the greatest respect and the strongest affection by his numerous
friends, while Kentucky itself felt a pride in the brave hunter, scout
and pioneer.
It will be remembered by the reader, that on the 4th of November, 1782,
Simon Kenton became a party to an agreement of singular and romantic
interest.
During the expedition of General Clark against the Indian towns, Kenton
as usual acted as guide to the army, which numbered fifteen hundred
men. On the return of the force, the pioneers which composed it came to
a halt, opposite the Licking, and held a conference. Captain McCracken,
of the Kentucky Light Horse, had received a slight wound in the arm
while fighting, and which caused him little concern at the time. But a
virulent mortification had set in, and it became evident to all that
he had but a short time to live. At his suggestion, Colonel Floyd
brought forward the resolution by which the pioneers who might survive
agreed to meet on that same spot, a half century later, to talk over
old times.
The meeting was held in the unbroken wilderness, abounding with its
game and with the fierce red man; and the pioneers were in the flush
and vigor of young manhood, with many years of hard, perilous service
before them. They all felt that such as should be spared to see the
closing of the half century before them, would witness changes and
developments in their beloved country, such as awed the imagination
when it attempted to grasp it.
On that lonely spot, where McCracken closed his eyes and was laid
mournfully away in his last long rest by his brave brother pioneers,
was the heart of the magnificently growing West. His grave was in sight
of the beautiful Queen city, and the howling wilderness now blossomed
as the rose.
As the semi-centennial approached, it was looked forward to with a
strong interest by the survivors, who were found to be quite numerous.
The lives which these hardy pioneers led were conducive to longevity,
provided always the wild Indians afforded the opportunity and failed to
cut them off in their prime.
"And tall and strong and swift of foot are they,
Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions,
Because their thoughts had never been the prey
Of care or gain; the green woods were their portions;
No sinking spirits told them they grew gray,
No fashions made them apes of her distortions.
Simple they were, not savage; and their rifles,
Though very true, were not yet used for trifles.
"Motion was in their days, rest in their slumbers,
And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil.
Nor yet too many nor too few their numbers;
Corruption could not make their hearts her soil;
The lust which stings, the splendor which encumbers,
With the free foresters divide no spoil;
Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes
Of this unsighing people of the woods."
As the semi-centennial approached, Simon Kenton, who had passed
his fourscore, was deeply solicitous lest he should not be able to
be present. He was desirous that every survivor should be at the
gathering, and published an address in which he said:
"_Fellow Citizens_:--Being one of the first, after Colonel Daniel
Boone, who aided in the conquest of Kentucky and the West, I am
called upon to address you. My heart melts on such an occasion; I
look forward to the contemplated meeting with melancholy pleasure;
it has caused tears to flow in copious showers. I wish to see once
more before I die, my few surviving friends. My solemn promise, made
fifty years ago, binds me to meet them. I ask not for myself; but
you may find in our assembly some who have never received any pay or
pension, who have sustained the cause of their country equal to any
other service, and who in the decline of their life are poor. Then,
you prosperous sons of the West, forget not those old and gray-headed
veterans on this occasion; let them return to their families with
some little manifestations of your kindness to cheer their hearts.
"I may add my prayer: may kind Heaven grant us a clear sky, fair
and pleasant weather, a safe journey, and a happy meeting and a
smile upon us and our families, and bless us and our nation on the
approaching occasion.
"SIMON KENTON.
"URBANA, OHIO, 1832."
The year 1832 will be recognized as the terrible cholera season, when
the pestilence smote the land and the whole country was in mourning.
Men shrank appalled as the multitudes sank on their right and left, and
business for the time was paralyzed by the awful scourge which swept
from one end of the land to the other.
Cincinnati was shrouded in deepest gloom by the ravages of the fearful
disease, yet when the anniversary came round a large number of the old
pioneers met, and the Corporation voted them a dinner.
General Simon Kenton, in spite of his anxiety to be present, was unable
to appear, owing to his feebleness and indisposition of body. His
absence was greatly mourned, for he would have been the prince of all
that noble band, could his venerable form have appeared among them.
With Kenton the sunset of life was as quiet and serene as the close
of a summer day. In the month of April, 1836, he quietly died in his
home, surrounded by his affectionate family, friends and neighbors,
and supported by the sublime faith of the meek, devout Christian, who
joyfully approaches the dark river and launches out for the other
shore.
LEWIS WETZEL.
Birth of Lewis Wetzel--His Father Killed by Indians, and Himself and
Brother carried off Prisoners--Their Remarkable Escape--Murder
of an Indian--Serves in Crawford's Expedition--Pursued by Four
Indians, and Kills Three--Escape from the Custody of General
Harmar--Wetzel's Hunts for Indians--Assists a Relative to Recover
his Betrothed from Savages.
When one reads of the early days of the great West and of the
tornado-like encounters in which the borderers engaged, he finds that
there are few more prominent figures than that of Lewis Wetzel, who was
born on the Big Wheeling, Virginia, about the year 1764. He had four
brothers, Martin, Jacob, John and George, and two sisters, Susan and
Christina. Martin was the only brother who exceeded Lewis in age.
The home of the Wetzels exposed them to perils from the Indians, for it
will be recognized by the reader as a spot peculiarly open to assaults
from the red men.
This was proven by the terrible fate that overtook the family. One day
the Indians suddenly appeared and made a fierce attack upon the house.
Several of the smaller children were absent, and during the excitement
the mother succeeded in getting away; but the old man was killed and
scalped, and Lewis, then thirteen years old, and his brother Jacob, two
years younger, were taken away prisoners.
In the fight, Lewis received a slight wound from a bullet, but it did
not incapacitate him from traveling, and on the second night after the
capture the Indians encamped on the Big Lick, twenty miles distant from
the river, in what is now Ohio, and upon the waters of McMahon's Creek.
The prisoners were so young that the captors were justified in
considering them of little account, and they did not take the trouble
to bind them when they stopped for the night. Lewis, however, was old
enough to watch for a chance to get away, and when sure all the Indians
were asleep, he touched his brother and whispered to him to make ready
to follow him.
They made their way out of the camp without difficulty, but had not
proceeded far when they stopped.
"I don't like the idea of going home barefooted," said Lewis, "you stay
here while I go back and get a pair of moccasins for you and a pair for
me."
The daring lad succeeded in obtaining the necessary articles and soon
rejoined his brother; but as they were about to start on again he
expressed his dissatisfaction that they had no weapons.
"We can't get along without a gun; wait here a little longer and I'll
bring one back."
And young Lewis did as he said he would. Now that each had a pair of
moccasins, and the elder carried a good rifle, they were prepared for
travel, and they plunged into the woods at once.
Lewis Wetzel displayed a knowledge of woodcraft on this occasion which
was wonderful in one so young. He discovered the trail and followed it
back without difficulty, and knowing he would be pursued, he kept such
unremitting watch that he detected the approach of the Indians, and he
and his brother hid in the bushes until they passed.
When they were out of sight, the brothers came back to the trail and
followed after the Indians. It did not take the latter very long to
find they had gone beyond the lads, and they turned about to find them.
But, as before, Lewis was on the watch, and he and his brother eluded
them. Shortly after they discovered that two of the warriors were
mounted and in hot chase after them; but Lewis gave them the slip in
the same skilful manner, and reaching Wheeling the next day, they
constructed a raft and crossed the river.
When they came to the ruins of their home and found that their father
had been killed and scalped, they were so infuriated that they took a
vow to kill every Indian that was in their power to kill, so long as
they should live.
Such is the account as generally given, though a different version is
entitled to equal credence. This says that the elder Wetzel was shot,
in 1787, while paddling a canoe near Captina, on his return from
Middle Island Creek, and that young Lewis received his first wound
while standing in the door of his own home. Be that as it may, there
can be no doubt that he and his brother took the barbarous oath as
stated, and it is equally a matter of history that they carried it out
in spirit and letter.
Martin Wetzel acted the part of a wild beast and committed acts for
which no law human or divine can find justification. No red Indian
ever showed greater perfidy than did he. During Colonel Brodhead's
expedition in 1780, Martin Wetzel was a volunteer. An Indian messenger,
under promise of protection, came into camp and held an interview with
Brodhead. While they were talking in the most friendly manner, Martin
Wetzel stole up behind the unsuspecting red man, and quickly drawing a
tomahawk, which he had hidden in his hunting-shirt, struck the Indian
in the back of the head a blow which stretched him lifeless on the
ground.
Colonel Brodhead was exasperated at the atrocious act, yet he dared not
punish Wetzel, for three-fourths of the army would have rallied in his
defence.
In the life of Daniel Boone we gave an account of the campaign of
Colonel Crawford in 1782. Lewis Wetzel served as a volunteer, being
no more than eighteen years of age. The campaign was one of the most
frightful disasters that ever occurred in the West, Colonel Crawford
being captured and burned to death at the stake.
Among the disorganized soldiers who managed to escape the terrible
vengeance of the red men, was one named Mills, who reached a spring
some nine miles from Wheeling, where he was forced to leave his horse
and go the rest of the way on foot. From Wheeling he proceeded to Van
Meter's fort, where he fell in with Lewis Wetzel, whom he persuaded to
go back with him in quest of his horse.
Wetzel cautioned him against the danger, but Mills was determined, and
the two made their way back to the spring, where they saw the horse
standing tied to a sapling. The scout knew what this meant, but the
sight of his animal drew Mills forward, and running up to the tree, he
began untying him. Before he could finish, there was a discharge of
rifles from the wood, and Mills fell fatally wounded.
Knowing that the warriors were all around him, the fleet-footed Wetzel
bounded off like a deer, with four of the swiftest runners speeding
after him. The chase was a terrific one, and after a half mile, one of
the Indians came so close that the fugitive, believing he was on the
point of throwing his tomahawk, suddenly whirled about and shot him
dead, resuming his flight with the same desperate exertion as before.
The art of reloading his gun while on a dead run had been practised by
Wetzel, until he could do the difficult feat with ease. Never was there
more urgent need of that peculiar skill than on the present occasion,
for at the end of another half mile, a second Indian was so close that
Wetzel turned to fire.