BOONE, HUNTER, SOLDIER, AND PIONEER***


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[Illustration: DANIEL BOONE.]


THE LIFE AND TIMES OF COL. DANIEL BOONE, HUNTER, SOLDIER, AND PIONEER.

With
Sketches of Simon Kenton, Lewis Wetzel, and Other
Leaders in the Settlement of the West.


                          "_Of all men
   Who passes for in life and death most lucky,
   Of the great names which in our faces stare,
   Is Daniel Boone, backwoodsman of Kentucky._

   _Crime came not near him--she is not the child
   Of solitude. Health shrank not from him, for
   Her home is in the rarely-trodden wild._"


by

EDWARD S. ELLIS,

Author of "The Life of Colonel David Crockett," "Ned in the
Block-House," "Ned in the Woods," etc.







[Illustration]

Philadelphia:
Porter & Coates.

Copyright, 1884,
By
Porter & Coates.




INTRODUCTION.


Daniel Boone was the ideal of the American pioneer--brave, cool,
self-reliant, a dead shot with his rifle, a consummate master of
woodcraft, with sturdy frame, hopeful at all times, and never
discouraged by disasters which caused many a weaker spirit to faint by
the way. All that the pen of romance depicts in the life of one whose
lot is cast in the Western forests, marked the career of Boone. In the
lonely solitudes he encountered the wild animal and the fiercer wild
man; and he stood on the bastions at Boonesborough through the flaming
sun or the solemn hours of night, exchanging shots with the treacherous
Shawanoe, when every bullet fired was meant to extinguish a human
life; he was captured by Indians three times, his companions were shot
down at his side, his daughter was carried away by savages and quickly
rescued by himself and a few intrepid comrades, his oldest boy was
shot dead before he set foot in Kentucky, and another was killed while
bravely fighting at Blue Licks; the border town named after him was
assaulted and besieged by overwhelming bodies of British and Indians,
his brother was slain and he himself underwent all manner of hardship
and suffering.

Yet through it all, he preserved his honest simplicity, his unswerving
integrity, his prudence and self-possession, and his unfaltering faith
in himself, in the future of his country, and in God.

He lived through this crucial period to see all his dreams realized,
and Kentucky one of the brightest stars in the grand constellation of
the Union.

Such a life cannot be studied too closely by American youth; and in the
following pages, we have endeavored to give an accurate description of
its opening, its eventful progress and its peaceful close, when, in the
fullness of time and in a ripe old age, he was finally laid to rest,
honored and revered by the great nation whose possessions stretch from
ocean to ocean, and whose "land is the fairest that ever sun shone on!"




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER I.
                                                                    PAGE
  Birth of Daniel Boone--Fondness for Hunting--An Alarming
    Absence--A Pedagogue of the Olden Time--Sudden Termination
    of Young Boone's School Education--Removal to North
    Carolina--Boone's Marriage--His Children                           1


  CHAPTER II.

  Social Disturbances in North Carolina--Eve of the American
    Revolution--Boone's Excursions to the West--Inscription on
    a Tree--Employed by Henderson and Company--The "Regulators"
    of North Carolina--Dispersed by Governor Tryon--John
    Finley--Resolution to go West                                     11


  CHAPTER III.

  The Party of Exploration--Daniel Boone the Leader--More than
    a Month on the Journey--On the Border of Kentucky--An
    Enchanting View--A Site for the Camp--Unsurpassed Hunting--An
    Impressive Solitude--No Signs of Indians                          19


  CHAPTER IV.

  Boone and Stuart start out on a Hunt--Captured by Indians
    and Disarmed--Stuart's Despair and Boone's Hope--A Week's
    Captivity--The Eventful Night                                     28


  CHAPTER V.

  The Escape--The Hunters find the Camp Deserted--Change of
    Quarters--Boone and Kenton--Welcome Visitors--News from
    Home--In Union there is Strength--Death of Stuart--Squire
    Boone returns to North Carolina for Ammunition--Alone in
    the Wilderness--Danger on Every Hand--Rejoined by his
    Brother--Hunting along the Cumberland River--Homeward
    Bound--Arrival in North Carolina--Anarchy and Distress--Boone
    remains there Two Years--Attention directed towards
    Kentucky--George Washington--Boone prepares to move Westward      34


  CHAPTER VI.

  Leaving North Carolina--Joined by a Large Company at
    Powell's Valley--Glowing Anticipations--Attacked by
    Indians in Cumberland Gap--Daniel Boone's Eldest
    Son Killed--Discouragement--Return to Clinch River
    Settlement--The Check Providential--Boone acts as a Guide
    to a Party of Surveyors--Commissioned Captain by Governor
    Dunmore, and takes command of Three Garrisons--Battle of
    Point Pleasant--Attends the making of a Treaty with Indians
    at Wataga--Employed by Colonel Richard Henderson--Kentucky
    claimed by the Cherokees--James Harrod--The First Settlement
    in Kentucky--Boone leads a Company into Kentucky--Attacked
    by Indians--Erection of the Fort at Boonesborough--Colonel
    Richard Henderson takes Possession of Kentucky--The Republic
    of Transylvania--His Scheme receives its Death-blow--Perils
    of the Frontier--A Permanent Settlement made on Kentucky Soil     46


  CHAPTER VII.

  Boone Rejoins his Family at the Clinch River Settlement--Leads
    a Company of Immigrants into Kentucky--Insecurity of
    Settlers--Dawn of the American Revolution--British Agents
    Incite the Indians to Revolt against the Settlements              61


  CHAPTER VIII.

  Comparative Quiet on the Frontier--Capture of Boone's Daughter
    and the Misses Callaway by Indians--Pursued by Boone and
    Seven Companions--Their Rescue and Return to their Homes          69


  CHAPTER IX.

  General Uprising of the Indians--The Border Rangers--Attack
    upon Boonesborough--Repulse of the Assailants--Second Attack
    by a Larger Force and its Failure--Arrival of Forty-five
    Men--Investment of Logan's Fort--Timely Arrival of Colonel
    Bowman with Reinforcements--Attack upon Harrodsburg               79


  CHAPTER X.

  A Diner-out--The "Hannibal of the West"--Election of General
    Clark and Gabriel Jones as Delegates to the Virginia
    Legislature--Their Journey to the Capital--General Clark
    obtains the Loan of a Large Supply of Ammunition--Erection of
    the County of Kentucky--General Clark attacked and pursued by
    Indians on his Voyage down the Ohio--Conceals the Ammunition
    and delivers it safely at the Border Stations--General
    Clark marches upon Kaskaskia and captures the obnoxious
    Governor Rocheblave--Governor Hamilton of Detroit organizes
    an Expedition against the Settlements--General Clark
    captures Fort St. Vincent and takes Governor Hamilton a
    Prisoner--Captures a Valuable Convoy from Canada and Forty
    Prisoners--Secures the Erection of Important Fortifications
    by Virginia                                                       85


  CHAPTER XI.

  Boone leads a Party to the Blue Licks to make Salt--Capture
    of Boone and Surrender of the Entire Party--Conducted to
    Detroit--His Captors Refuse to Exchange him--He is Adopted
    by the Shawanoes--He discovers a Formidable Expedition is
    to move against Boonesborough--The Attack Postponed--Boone
    leads a Party against an Indian Town on the Scioto--Encounter
    with a War Party--Returns to Boonesborough--The State
    Invested by Captain Duquesne and a Large Force--Boone and the
    Garrison determine to Defend it to the Last--Better Terms
    Offered--Treachery Suspected--The Attack--The Siege Raised        96


  CHAPTER XII.

  The Peculiar Position of Boonesborough--Boone rejoins his
    Family in North Carolina--Returns to Boonesborough--Robbed
    of a Large Amount of Money--Increased Emigration to the
    West--Colonel Rogers and his Party almost Annihilated--
    Captain Denham's Strange Adventure                               112


  CHAPTER XIII.

  Colonel Bowman's Expedition--Its Disastrous Failure--Death
    of Boone's Son--Escape of Boone--Colonel Byrd's Invasion--
    Capture of Ruddell's and Martin's Station--Daring Escape
    of Captain Hinkston                                              120


  CHAPTER XIV.

  Colonel Clark's Invasion of the Indian Country--Boone is
    Promoted to the Rank of Colonel--His Brother Killed at
    Blue Licks and Boone narrowly Escapes Capture--Attack
    upon the Shelbyville Garrison--News of the Surrender of
    Cornwallis--Attack upon Estill's Station--Simon Girty the
    Renegade--He Appears before Bryant's Station, but Withdraws      130


  CHAPTER XV.

  Arrival of Boone With Re-enforcements--Pursuit of the
    Indian Force--Boone's Counsel Disregarded--A Frightful
    Disaster--Reynold's Noble and Heroic Act--His Escape             136


  CHAPTER XVI.

  General Clark's Expedition--A Dark Page in American History--
    Colonel Crawford's Disastrous Failure and his own Terrible
    Fate--Simon Girty                                                144


  CHAPTER XVII.

  Adventures of the Spies White and M'Clelland--Daring Defence of
    her Home by Mrs. Merrill--Exploits of Kernan the Ranger          155


  CHAPTER XVIII.

  The Three Counties of Kentucky united into One District--
    Colonel Boone as a Farmer--He outwits a Party of Indians
    who seek to capture him--Emigration to Kentucky--Outrages
    by Indians--Failure of General Clark's Expedition                172


  CHAPTER XIX.

  General Harmar's Expedition against the Indians--Colonel
    Hardin Ambushed--Bravery of the Regulars--Out-generaled by
    the Indians--Harmar and Hardin Court-martialed--General St.
    Clair's Expedition and its Defeat                                180


  CHAPTER XX.

  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                                             186


  CHAPTER XXI.

  Last Days of Colonel Boone--Reinterment of the Remains of
    Himself and Wife at Frankfort--Conclusion                        201


  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                                       207


  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                 222


  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--Old Age and Death                                       251




LIFE AND TIMES

OF

COLONEL DANIEL BOONE.




CHAPTER I.

  Birth of Daniel Boone--Fondness for Hunting--An Alarming Absence--A
    Pedagogue of the Olden Time--Sudden Termination of Young Boone's
    School Education--Removal to North Carolina--Boone's Marriage--His
    Children.


Daniel Boone was born in Exeter township, Bucks county, Pennsylvania,
on the 11th of February, 1735, so that he was just three years the
junior of Washington.

Daniel had six brothers and four sisters, he being the fourth child of
Squire Boone, whose father landed at Philadelphia from England, October
10, 1717, bringing with him two daughters and nine sons. The township
of Exeter, as it is now known in Pennsylvania, was named by the elder
Boone after the city in England near which he was born.

There is good authority for believing that the Boone family, when
living in the mother country, were attached to the Established Church;
but, when they had resided some time amid the peaceful surroundings
and gentle influences of the friends and followers of George Fox, they
inclined to their religious belief, though it will hardly be claimed
that Daniel Boone continued orthodox throughout his adventurous life.

In those days, the educational advantages given youth were very meagre,
and frequently none at all. The old-time pedagogue was a man stern and
repelling to children, knowing little of the true means of imparting
knowledge. About the only branch he handled with any skill was that
which came from the nearest tree; and, had he possessed the ability to
teach, he lacked, in the generality of cases, the education necessary.

A century and a half ago, Exeter township abounded with game, and the
town itself was a pioneer settlement of the most primitive order,
consisting of log-houses almost entirely surrounded by forests, in
whose depths roamed bears, panthers, deer, and the smaller game so
attractive to sportsmen.

It was these which were to educate young Boone more than were the crude
means and the tippling teacher in whose charge he was placed. Nothing
delighted the lad more than to wander for hours through the woods, gun
in hand, stealing among the cool shadows, behind the mossy rocks and
along the purling streams, with the soft tread of the Indian, while the
keen eyes of the young hunter searched tree-top and bush for the first
signs of game, and his ear was ever strained to catch the cautious
footstep of the wild beast as it crept faintly over the leaves.

Thus in the grand school of Nature was the great pioneer trained. While
yet a small boy, he became noted for his unerring aim with the rifle,
and the skill with which he read the "signs" among the trees, that were
as closed volumes to others.

The privilege of wandering with gun and dog was all the happiness
he asked, and as an inevitable consequence of this mode of life, he
grew sturdy, strong, active, and capable of immense exertion without
fatigue. It is in just such nurseries as this that the great explorers
and pioneers of the world are educated.

One morning, Daniel shouldered his rifle, and whistling to his dog, the
two plunged into the woods for one of their usual hunts. The sun was
just rising in a clear sky, the air was crisp and invigorating, and
the prospect was all that the heart of the young hunter could wish.
Those of his relatives who saw him depart thought nothing of it, for
the sight was a very common one with him and his brothers, and young as
they were, they learned among the rudiments of their training the great
fundamental truth to trust in God and themselves.

As the shades of night closed over settlement and forest, the boy
Daniel was expected home, though the family had no special misgiving
when the hours passed without bringing him, it being supposed that he
had penetrated so far into the wilds that he preferred to encamp for
the night rather than take the long tramp home.

But, when the second day had passed, and he failed to appear, the
parents were in great distress, for it seemed certain that some fatal
accident must have overtaken their child. The mature and experienced
hunter is always in peril from wild beasts or the wilder human beings
who prowl and skulk through the wilderness, and many a man who has
braved the dangers of a score of years, has fallen a victim to the
treacherous biped or quadruped, who has sought his life with greater
cunning than he has done his own work.

It was impossible therefore for them to feel anything but the most
painful anxiety for their boy, and, unable to remain idle longer, they
called upon their neighbors, and a search-party was organized.

The trail made by the lad was too faint to be followed successfully,
and the parties scattered and hunted for traces as best they could.

Hours passed by, every man doing his utmost to discover the fate of the
boy, who they hoped was still living somewhere in the depths of the
wilderness, though it would seem scarcely possible that, if alive, he
was not in a suffering or helpless condition.

But the shouts and reports of their guns remained unanswered, and they
pushed forward, hoping against hope. The bonds of sympathy are nowhere
stronger than in such frontier settlements, where a common feeling
of brotherhood exists, and the men who were searching for the lost
Daniel, were hardly less anxious concerning him than were the parents
themselves.

Suddenly someone descried a faint, thin column of smoke rising from a
nondescript sort of structure, and hurrying toward it, they saw one
of the most primitive of cabins, made of limbs and brush and sods of
grass piled together. Stealing around to the rude entrance, they peeped
in, and saw Daniel himself, looking like an old hunter who had settled
down for the season. On the earth-floor of his structure were strewn
the skins of the game he had shot, while he was cooking the choicest
pieces before the smoking fire. He was only three miles from home, but
it might as well have been a hundred, for all the additional comfort it
afforded his friends and parents.

The lad looked up with an expression of surprise, wondering what all
the excitement was about; and when he found they were hunting for him,
it was hard to understand the necessity for doing any such thing.

It was not the first time he had been alone in the woods, and he
thought he was as well able to take care of himself as were any of the
older pioneers who came to look for him. However, as he was a dutiful
son, and had no wish to cause his parents any unnecessary alarm, he
gathered up his game and peltries, and went back home with the hunters.

Nothing can be more pleasant to the American boy than just such a life
as that followed by Daniel Boone--wandering for hours through the
wilderness, on the look-out for game, building the cheery camp-fire
deep in some glen or gorge, quaffing the clear icy water from some
stream, or lying flat on the back and looking up through the tree-tops
at the patches of blue sky, across which the snowy ships of vapor are
continually sailing.

But any parent who would allow a child to follow the bewitching
pleasures of such a life, would commit a sinful neglect of duty, and
would take the surest means of bringing regret, sorrow, and trouble to
the boy himself, when he should come to manhood.

The parents of young Boone, though they were poor, and had the charge
of a large family, did their utmost to give their children the
rudiments of a common school education, with the poor advantages that
were at their command.

It is said that about the first thing Daniel's teacher did, after
summoning his boys and girls together in the morning, was to send them
out again for a recess--one of the most popular proceedings a teacher
can take, though it cannot be considered a very great help in their
studies.

While the pupils were enjoying themselves to their fullest bent, the
master took a stroll into the woods, from which he was always sure
to return much more crabbed than when he went, and with his breath
smelling very strongly of something stronger than water.

At times he became so mellowed, that he was indulgence itself, and at
other times he beat the boys unmercifully. The patrons of the school
seemed to think their duty ended with the sending of their children
to the school-house, without inquiring what took place after they got
there.

One day Daniel asked the teacher for permission to go out-doors, and
receiving it, he passed into the clear air just at the moment that a
brown squirrel was running along the branch of a fallen tree.

Instantly the athletic lad darted in pursuit, and, when the nimble
little animal whisked out of sight among a dense clump of vine and
bushes, the boy shoved his hand in, in the hope of catching it. Instead
of doing so, he touched something cold and smooth, and bringing it
forth, found it was a whiskey bottle with a goodly quantity of the
fiery fluid within.

"That's what the teacher comes out here for," thought Daniel, as his
eyes sparkled, "and that's why he is so cross when he comes back."

He restored the bottle to its place, and returned to the school-room,
saying nothing to any one until after dismissal, when he told his
discovery to some of the larger boys, who, like all school-children,
were ever ripe for mischief.

When such a group fall into a discussion, it may be set down as among
the certainties that something serious to some one is sure to be the
result.

The next morning the boys put a good charge of tartar emetic in the
whiskey bottle, and shaking it up, restored it to its former place of
concealment. Then, full of eager expectation, they hurried into school,
where they were more studious than ever--a suspicious sign which ought
to have attracted the notice of the teacher, though it seems not to
have done so.

The Irish instructor took his walk as usual, and when he came back and
resumed labor, it may be imagined that the boys were on the tip-toe of
expectation.

They had not long to wait. The teacher grew pale, and gave signs of
some revolution going on internally. But he did not yield to the
feeling. As might have been expected, however, it increased his
fretfulness, and whether he suspected the truth or not, he punished
the boys most cruelly, as though seeking to work off his illness by
exercising himself with the rod upon the backs of the lads, whose only
consolation was in observing that the medicine taken unconsciously by
the irate teacher was accomplishing its mission.

Matters became worse and worse, and the whippings of the teacher
were so indiscriminate and brutal, that a rebellion was excited. The
crisis was reached when he assailed Daniel, who struggled desperately,
encouraged by the uproar and shouts of the others, until he finally got
the upper hand of the master, and gave him an unquestionable trouncing.

After such a proceeding it was not to be expected that any sort of
discipline could be maintained, and the rest of the pupils rushed
out-doors and scattered to their homes.

The news of the outbreak quickly spread through the neighborhood,
and Daniel was taken to task by his father for his insubordination,
though the parent now saw that the teacher possessed not the first
qualification for his position. And the instructor himself must have
felt somewhat the same way, for he made no objections when he was
notified of his dismissal, and the school education of Daniel Boone
ended.

It was a misfortune to him, as it is to any one, to be deprived of the
privilege of storing his mind with the knowledge that is to be acquired
from books, and yet, in another sense, it was an advantage to the
sturdy boy, who gained the better opportunity for training himself for
the great work which lay before him.

In the woods of Exeter he hunted more than ever, educating the eye,
ear, and all the senses to that wonderful quickness which seems
incredible when simply told of a person. He became a dead shot with
his rifle, and laid the foundations of rugged health, strength and
endurance, which were to prove so invaluable to him in after years,
when he should cross the Ohio, and venture into the perilous depths of
the Dark and Bloody Ground.

Boone grew into a natural athlete, with all his faculties educated to
the highest point of excellence. He assisted his father as best he
could, but he was a Nimrod by nature, instinct and education, and while
yet a boy, he became known for miles around the settlement as a most
skilled, daring, and successful hunter.

When he had reached young manhood, his father removed to North
Carolina, settling near Holman's Ford, on the Yadkin river, some eight
miles from Wilkesboro'. Here, as usual, the boy assisted his parents,
who were gifted with a large family, as was generally the case with the
pioneers, so that there was rarely anything like affluence attained by
those who helped to build up our country.

While the Boones lived on the banks of the Yadkin, Daniel formed the
acquaintance of Rebecca Bryan, whom he married, according to the best
authority attainable, in the year 1755, when he was about twenty years
of age.

There is a legend which has been told many a time to the effect that
Boone, while hunting, mistook the bright eyes of a young lady for those
of a deer, and that he came within a hair's-breadth of sending a ball
between them with his unerring rifle, before he discovered his mistake.
But the legend, like that of Jessie Brown at Lucknow and many others in
which we delight, has no foundation in fact, and so far as known there
was no special romance connected with the marriage of Boone to the
excellent lady who became his partner for life.

The children born of this marriage were James, Israel, Jesse, Daniel,
Nathan, Susan, Jemima, Lavinia, and Rebecca.




CHAPTER II.

  Social Disturbances in North Carolina--Eve of the American
    Revolution--Boone's Excursions to the West--Inscription on a
    Tree--Employed by Henderson and Company--The "Regulators" of North
    Carolina--Dispersed by Governor Tryon--John Finley--Resolution to
    go West.


The early part of Daniel Boone's married life was uneventful, and the
years glided by without bringing any incident, event or experience to
him worthy the pen of the historian. He toiled faithfully to support
his growing family, and spent a goodly portion of his time in the
woods, with his rifle and dog, sometimes camping on the bank of the
lonely Yadkin, or floating down its smooth waters in the stillness of
the delightful afternoon, or through the solemn quiet of the night,
when nothing but the stars were to be seen twinkling overhead.

But Daniel Boone was living in stirring times, and there were signs
in the political heavens of tremendous changes approaching. There was
war between England and France; there was strife along the frontier,
where the Indian fought fiercely against the advancing army of
civilization, and the spirit of resistance to the tyranny of the mother
country was growing rapidly among the sturdy colonists. North Carolina
began, through her representatives in legislature, those measures of
opposition to the authority of Great Britain, which forecast the active
part the Old Pine Tree State was to take in the revolutionary struggle
for liberty and independence.

During the few years that followed there was constant quarreling
between the royal governor and the legislators, and it assumed such
proportions that the State was kept in continual ferment. This unrest
and disturbance were anything but pleasing to Boone, who saw the
country settling rapidly around him, and who began to look toward
the West with the longing which comes over the bird when it gazes
yearningly out from the bars of its cage at the green fields, cool
woods, and enchanting landscapes in which its companions are singing
and reveling with delight.

Boone took long hunting excursions toward the West, though nothing
is known with exact certainty as to the date when he began them.
The Cherokee war which had caused much trouble along the Carolina
frontier was ended, and he and others must have turned their thoughts
many a time to the boundless forests which stretched for hundreds and
thousands of miles towards the setting sun, in which roamed countless
multitudes of wild animals and still wilder beings, who were ready to
dispute every foot of advance made by the white settlers.

Such a vast field could not but possess an irresistible attraction to a
consummate hunter like Boone, and the glimpses which the North Carolina
woods gave of the possibilities awaiting him, and the growth of empire
in the West, were sure to produce the result that came when he had been
married some fifteen or more years and was in the prime of life.

Previous to this date, the well known abundance of game in Tennessee
led many hunters to make incursions into the territory. They sometimes
formed large companies, uniting for the prospect of gain and greater
protection against the ever-present danger from Indians.

It is mentioned by good authority, that among the parties thus
venturing over the Carolina border into the wilderness, was one at the
head of which was "Daniel Boone from the Yadkin, in North Carolina, who
traveled with them as low as the place where Abingdon now stands, and
there left them."

Some years ago the following description could be deciphered upon an
old beech-tree standing between Jonesboro and Blountsville:

              D. BOON
    CILLED     A. BAR      ON
    IN          THE      TREE
    YEAR       1760.

This inscription is generally considered as proof that Boone made
hunting excursions to that region at that early date, though the
evidence can hardly be accepted as positive on the point.

It was scarcely a year after the date named, however, that Boone,
who was still living on the Yadkin, entered the same section of the
country, having been sent thither by Henderson & Company for the
purposes of exploration. He was accompanied by Samuel Callaway, a
relative, and the ancestor of many of the Callaways of Tennessee,
Kentucky, and Missouri. The latter was at the side of Boone when,
approaching a spur of the Cumberland mountains, upon whose <DW72>s
they saw multitudes of bisons grazing, the great pioneer paused, and
surveying the scene for a moment, exclaimed, with kindling eyes:

"I am richer than He who owned the cattle on a thousand hills, for I
own the wild beasts of a thousand valleys."

The sight was indeed one which might have stirred the heart of a hunter
who could grasp the possibilities of the future of those favored
regions.

Daniel Boone may be considered as having undergone a preliminary
training from his earliest boyhood for the work which has identified
his name indissolubly with the history of Kentucky. He was what may be
called a born pioneer, but there were causes at work in North Carolina
which led to his departure for the Kentucky wilderness, of which the
general reader is apt to lose sight in studying his character.

The approach of the American Revolution in the former State, as in
many others, was marked by social disturbances frequently amounting
to anarchy. There were many Scotch traders, who had accumulated
considerable wealth without having gone through the labor and perils
which the natives underwent in providing for their families.

These foreigners adopted an expensive and showy style of living,
altogether out of keeping with the severe simplicity that marked that
of the colonists.

Nothing was more natural than that this assumption of superiority in
the way of social position should roil and excite resentment among
those less favored by fortune.

They were not alone in this offensive course: the officers and agents
of the Royal Government were equally ostentatious in display and manner
of living, and the exasperating snobbishness spread to the magistrates,
lawyers, clerks of court, and tax gatherers, who demanded exorbitant
fees for their services. The clergymen of the Established Church became
oppressive in their exactions, and, as we have stated, society itself
was threatened with revolution before the rattle of musketry at Bunker
Hill "was heard around the world."

Petitions were sent to the Legislature for relief by the suffering
citizens, who were in much the same distressing situation in which
Ireland has been many a time since. These prayers were treated with
indifference or open contempt, for there are none more reckless and
blind than those who are traveling close to the edge of the political
volcano rumbling at their feet.

There is a limit beyond which it is always dangerous to tempt the
endurance of a people, who now began meeting together, and formed
themselves into associations for correcting the evils around them.
It was these people who received the name of "Regulators," and who
helped to increase the disturbances in that particular section of the
country. They deliberately decided "to pay only such taxes as were
agreeable to law, and applied to the purpose therein named, and to pay
no officer more than his legal fees."

The history of the State records many acts of violence which were
inevitable from this condition of affairs. The final collision between
the "Regulators" and a strong force of the royal governor Tryon at
Alamanance, in which the rebels were badly defeated, occurred in May,
1771, but the disturbances continued with more or less violence until
the breaking out of the Revolution, when the mills of God ground so
"exceeding fine," that the grievances were removed forever.

It was in such a community as this that Daniel Boone lived, and he
and his family were sufferers. What more natural than that he should
cast his eyes longingly toward the West, where, though there might be
wild beasts and wild men, he and his loved ones could be free from the
exasperating annoyances which were all around them?

The perils from Indians were much less alarming to them than were those
of the tax-gatherer. Indeed, in all probability, it lent an additional
attractiveness to the vast expanse of virgin wilderness, with its
splashing streams, its rich soil, its abundance of game and all that
is so enchanting to the real sportsman, who finds an additional charm
in the knowledge that the pleasure upon which he proposes to enter is
spiced with personal danger.

One day a visitor dropped in upon Boone. He was John Finley, who led a
party of hunters to the region adjoining the Louisa River in Kentucky
in the winter of 1767, where they spent the season in hunting and
trapping. The hunter called upon Boone to tell him about that land in
which he knew his friend was so much interested.

We can imagine the young man, with his rifle suspended on the
deer-prongs over the fire, with his wife busy about her household
duties and his children at play, sitting in his cabin and listening to
the glowing narrative of one who knew whereof he was speaking.

Finley told him of the innumerable game, the deer and bison, the
myriads of wild turkeys, and everything so highly prized by the
sportsman; he pictured the vast stretches of forest in which the hunter
could wander for hours and days without striking a clearing; of the
numerous streams, some large, some small, and all lovely to the eye,
and it needed no very far-seeing vision to forecast the magnificent
future which lay before this highly favored region.

It must have been a winsome picture drawn by Finley--aided as it was by
the repelling coloring of the scene of his actual surroundings--made
so hateful by the oppressive agents of the foreign government which
claimed the colonies as her own.

When Finley was through, and he had answered all of his friend's
questions, and told him of his many hunting adventures in Kentucky,
Boone announced that he would go with him when he should make his next
visit. He had already been drawn strongly toward the region, and he
wished to see with his own eyes the favored land, before removing his
family thither.

The acquisition of such a person was so desirable, that he was sure
to be appreciated by those who knew him best, and whether appointed
to that position or not, his own matchless resources and natural
powers were certain to fix upon him as the leader of the adventurous
characters who had decided to explore the dangerous wilderness of
Kentucky.




CHAPTER III.

  The Party of Exploration--Daniel Boone the Leader--More than a Month
    on the Journey--On the Border of Kentucky--An Enchanting View--A
    Site for the Camp--Unsurpassed Hunting--An Impressive Solitude--No
    Signs of Indians.


Daniel Boone now entered upon that epoch in his life, which has
interwoven his name with the history of Kentucky, and indeed with
the settlement of the West, for though he was not venturing into the
wilderness with the intention of remaining there, yet his purpose
of "spying out the land" was simply the first step in his career of
pioneer of the Dark and Bloody Ground.

The party of exploration, or rather of hunting, numbered a half dozen:
John Finley, James Moncey, John Stuart, William Cool, Joseph Holden,
and Daniel Boone, who was chosen the leader. It was a strong company,
for all the men were experienced hunters, unerring rifle-shots, and
well aware of the dangers they were to encounter.

On the first of May, 1769, the party set out for Kentucky in high
spirits, and eagerly anticipating the enjoyment that was to be theirs,
before they should return from the all-important expedition.

They had selected the most enchanting season of the year, and it is
easy to imagine with what glowing anticipation they ventured upon the
journey, which was to be more eventful, indeed, than any member of it
imagined.

It was a long distance from North Carolina, across the intervening
stretch of stream, forest and mountain, to Kentucky, with all the
temptations to the hunter to turn aside, temptations which it is safe
to conclude overcame them many a time, for, when a full month had
passed, not one of the party had stepped within the confines of the
Dark and Bloody Ground.

But, though they were moving slowly, they were steadily nearing the
promised land, and on the 7th of June the men, bronzed and toughened
by the exposure to which they had been subjected, but still sturdy and
resolute, began climbing the precipitous <DW72> of a mountain on the
border of Kentucky.

The six who had left North Carolina more than a month before were
there, attired in their rough hunting costume, and with their ambition
and purpose as strong as ever. Each wore the hunting-shirt of the
forest ranger made of dressed deerskins. The leggins were of the same
material, and the feet were protected by strong, comfortably fitting
moccasins. There were fringes down the seams of the leggins, just as
seems to be the favorite custom with many of the red-men in donning
their picturesque costumes.

Although these dresses might be attractive to the eye, yet such a
purpose was the last that entered the minds of the wearers, who
constructed them for use only. Their under garments were of cotton, so
coarse that it would have been like sackcloth to many a man of modern
days; they carried, as a matter of course, the powder-horn, rifle,
hatchet, bullet-pouch, and the other indispensables of a hunter.

It was near the close of the day, and though the party were pretty well
exhausted, yet they pushed on, feeling in many respects like those who,
for the first time in their lives, are to gaze upon the land which is
more enchanting to them than all the world beside.

Ere the sun sank behind the immense expanse of wilderness, and just
when its splendors were illuminating the skies with the glories of the
fading day, the hunting party reached the summit of the mountain, and
gazed off over Kentucky.

The panorama spread out before them was a most entrancing one, their
vision extending over hundreds of square miles, with the rich vales
watered by the beautiful streams, the forest alternating with broad
natural clearings, with vast stretches of level country upon which the
myriads of moving specks were recognized by the experienced eye as
bisons, and over which they knew the deer dashed and other wild animals
roamed with scarcely a fear of their natural enemy, man. There was many
a league in whose solemn depths a human foot had never yet penetrated,
and whose echoes had never been awakened by the shot of the rifle.
There they lay as silent as at "creation's morn," and the denizens of
the woods waxed strong and wandered at will, without fear of the deadly
bullet whistling from behind the tree or mossy rock.

True, among these cool woods and within many of the dark recesses
the red Indian ventured, and now and then the sharp whiz of his arrow
was heard, and the barbed weapon flashed among the green leaves as it
pierced the heart of the unsuspecting natives of the wood.

But where there were such multitudes of wild beasts these deaths
were scarcely noticeable, and the white hunters knew that it was a
sportsman's paradise that lay spread at their feet.

The picture of these six pioneers who paused on the crest of the
mountain as the sun was setting, and looked off over the Kentucky
wilderness, is that which has been selected by the artist, who has
immortalized the scene on canvas, and all will agree that he could not
have chosen a more inviting subject.

The surface upon which they looked down was rolling, level far beyond,
but quite hilly nearer the base of the mountain, while it all possessed
the indescribable charm of variety, and it could not have been more
enchanting to the wearied spectators.

Finley had been there before, and, though they may have thought that
some of the stories he told were overdrawn, they could well afford to
believe them now, when they came to gaze upon the attractive country.

Aye, they stood on the very borders of the land, and they determined
that they would venture within it on the morrow. Although they had
left home at the most delightful season of the year, yet the spring
proved to be a severe one, and their journey had been delayed by stormy
weather, so that the glowing panorama at their feet was robed in more
roseate colors from its very contrast to that through which they had
passed so recently.

Assuming positions of rest, the group feasted their eyes to the full,
and we can well imagine the expressions of delight which escaped them,
as they constantly caught sight of new and novel scenes and pointed
them out to each other.

There lay the region in which they would probably make their future
home, whither they would bring their families, and where they would
encounter the toil, privation and danger, which invariably attend the
pioneers of every country.

Under such circumstances, the time, place and surroundings were
invested with a peculiar interest, which could not have been theirs at
any other period or under any different conditions.

The sun went down behind the wilderness, and night gradually overspread
the scene. The hunters had not caught sight of a single human being
beside themselves, and now that darkness had come, they made their
preparations to encamp for the night.

They were veterans at this business, as they showed by avoiding such a
conspicuous position as they then occupied. The flash of a camp-fire
on the mountain-top would have been seen for many miles over the
wilderness, and though they had discovered nothing of the red-men, yet
it was reasonable to suppose that many of them would look out from the
dark recesses at the unwonted spectacle and would suspect the true
cause.

And so, from a prudent habit they had formed, they moved down to a
neighboring ravine, where they camped for the night.

The spot was favorable in every respect, the gorge being so deep, and
surrounded by such a dense thicket, that the glimmer of the camp-fire
was not likely to be seen by any one, unless he ventured close enough
to hear the murmur of the voices of the hunters as they gathered
together for their evening meal.

Near them lay a tree that had been uprooted by some recent storm, and
which offered the advantages the hunters could not fail to appreciate
at sight. The huge trunk was used for the rear wall of the camp, as
it may be termed, while logs and brush were gathered and piled on two
sides, leaving the front open, where the fire was kindled against
another log. Thus they were secured against any chill during the cold
night, while no wild animal was likely to venture across the magic ring
of fire, in case he was attracted to the spot.

It was decided not only to make this their resting-place for the night,
but their headquarters during their visit to Kentucky.

Accordingly, their camp was strengthened, as may be said, a roof being
made more substantial than ornamental, but sufficient to keep out the
rain, and the front was narrowed in, so that no matter how sudden or
violent the changes of weather, they were well protected against them.

Their greatest safeguard, however, lay in their own hardy constitutions
and rugged health, which they had acquired from their active out-door
life long before venturing into this wild region.

This visit to Kentucky was extended all through the summer and autumn
until the dead of winter, during which time they made the camp in the
gorge their headquarters.

They had many a glorious hunt, as may well be supposed, and it would be
unsafe to estimate the numbers of bisons, deer, wild turkeys, bear and
other species of game that fell victims to the unerring marksmen. It
is unnecessary to say that they lived like princes, and grew stronger,
sturdier, and more hopeful. Although separated from their families to
which they were tenderly attached, there was an indescribable charm
about this wild out-door life that rendered the social annoyances to
which they were subjected at home all the more distasteful.

They felt that if a band of worthy colonists could be gathered, and a
venture made into Kentucky, the future was sure to be all they could
wish.

Beyond question, this preliminary visit to Kentucky settled the future
not only of Boone himself, but of others who were associated with him.

It seems an extraordinary statement to make, and yet it is a fact that,
during that entire summer and autumn and a goodly portion of the winter
which they spent there, they never once saw an Indian--the very enemy
which it was to be supposed they would alone dread, and who would be
the most certain to molest them.

When it is remembered that the Indians had made so much trouble on the
Carolina frontiers, this is all the more remarkable, until we recollect
that Kentucky at that day, and for years after, was regarded by the
red-men as a sort of neutral hunting ground, no particular tribe laying
claim to it. But it was territory into which each possessed an equal
right to venture and wage deadly hand-to-hand encounters--while all
united with an undying enmity to drive back any white man who presumed
to step foot upon the Dark and Bloody Ground. It must have been, too,
that the Indians scattered through the region were not expecting any
visitors.

Kentucky at that time belonged to the colony of Virginia. The
Shawanoes, Cherokees, and Chickasaws frequently ventured into the
region to hunt, but the Iroquois had ceded all their claim to the
grounds to Great Britain at Fort Stanwix, in 1768, so that it will be
understood that Boone and his companions were not venturing into Indian
territory at all, though it is not to be supposed that any estray
red-men whom they might encounter in their hunts would be likely to
regard the exact status of the matter.

The hunters preferred not to encounter them at all, but were cautious
in their movements, and "put their trust in God and kept their powder
dry."

Accordingly, as we have stated, they prosecuted their hunting through
the sultry summer months, alternating with storm and sunshine, and
enjoying themselves to the fullest bent of which such spirits are
capable.

Autumn came, cool and invigorating, and winter with its biting winds
and piercing cold followed, making the primitive cabin in the mountain
gorge a most inviting spot in which to spend their leisure hours. They
smoked their pipes after the evening meal, and held friendly converse
as the hours wore on, when they stretched out and slept through the
solemn stillness, broken now and then by the mournful cry of some wild
animal, until morning again dawned.

Many of the excursions which they made had led them far into the
interior, and, as may be supposed, they kept their eyes and ears open.

They had not only failed to meet an Indian, but failed to catch sight
of a wigwam, or the smoke of a camp-fire other than their own; so
that, as we have repeated, they were justified, if any one could have
been, in believing that the last peril to which they were likely to be
exposed, was that from red-men.

And yet it was precisely that danger which was impending over them, and
which descended when it was least expected.




CHAPTER IV.

  Boone and Stuart start out on a Hunt--Captured by Indians
    and Disarmed--Stuart's Despair and Boone's Hope--A Week's
    Captivity--The Eventful Night.


On the morning of December 22, 1769, Daniel Boone and his friend John
Stuart left camp, and started out on a hunt.

It was the shortest day in the year, so it is to be supposed that they
were desirous of improving it to the utmost, although they had become
so accustomed to such excursions, that there was no special expectation
excited by their venturing forth together for a hunt through the woods.

Experienced as they were in woodcraft, they saw nothing to cause the
slightest misgivings. Their keen eyes, as they roamed around the
horizon, detected no faint wreath of smoke stealing upward through
the tree-tops, telling where the camp of the treacherous Shawanoe was
kindled; the listening ear detected no skillfully disguised bird-call
trembling on the crisp air to warn them of the wily red-man skulking
through the cane, and waiting until they should come within reach of
their bow or rifle.

After leaving camp, the friends followed one of the numerous "buffalo
paths" through the cane, and in a few minutes were out of sight of
their comrades left behind. The air was keen and invigorating, and
they traveled carelessly along, admiring the splendid growth of the
timber and cane, showing what an unsurpassed soil awaited the pioneers
who should settle in these valleys, and turn up the sod for the seed of
the harvest.

Where the game was so plentiful, there was no likelihood of the hunters
suffering from lack of food. The buffaloes were so numerous that they
were able to approach the droves close enough to reach them with the
toss of a stone.

Stuart and Boone enjoyed themselves, as they had done on many a day
before, until the declining sun warned them that it was time to turn
their faces toward camp, if they expected to spend the night with their
friends in the rude but comfortable cabin.

They did so, and the sun had not yet gone down behind the line of
western forest, when they reached a small hill near the Kentucky River,
and began leisurely moving to the top.

It was at this juncture, that a party of Indians suddenly sprang up
from the canebrake and rushed upon them with such fierceness that
escape was out of the question. It was not often that Daniel Boone was
caught at disadvantage, but in this instance he was totally outwitted,
and it looked for the moment as if he and his companion had walked
directly into a trap set for them.

The pioneers were too prudent to attempt anything in the nature of
resistance when the result could but be their almost instant death,
for the Indians outnumbered them five to one, were fleet as deer, and
understood all the turnings and windings of the forest. Accordingly,
Boone and Stuart quietly surrendered, hoping for the best, but
expecting the worst.

As might be supposed, the Indians disarmed the hunters, and made them
prisoners at once. Stuart was terribly alarmed, for he could not see
the slightest ground for hope, but Boone, who possessed a most equable
temperament, told him to keep up heart.

"As they haven't killed us," said the pioneer, "it shows they intend to
spare us for a time, at least."

"Only to torture us to death hereafter," thought his terrified
companion.

"I don't doubt that such are their intentions, but between now and the
time, we may find our chance. Be obedient and watchful--doing nothing
to provoke them, but be ready when the right minute comes."

This was good advice, and Stuart was sensible enough to follow it in
spirit and letter.

It might have been expected that if a couple of hunters intended to
strike a blow for liberty, they would do so pretty soon after their
capture--that is, as soon as the darkness of night was in their
favor--but it was only characteristic of Boone that a full week passed
before he made the first attempt to escape.

During those seven days they could not fail to catch glimpses, as it
were, of freedom, and to be tempted to make a desperate dash, for many
a time it is the very boldness of such efforts that succeeds.

But Boone never lost his prudence of mind, which enabled him to abide
his time. Stuart, too, acted as he suggested, and they very effectually
concealed their eagerness to escape.

However, it was not to be expected that the Indians would be careless
enough to allow them to get away, and they maintained a most vigilant
watch upon them at all hours of the day and night. When tramping
through the wilderness or in camp, when hunting, or sitting around the
smoking logs, the suspicious red-men were near them. When the hour
came to sleep, the prisoners were placed so as to be surrounded, while
a strong and vigilant guard was appointed to watch over them until
daylight.

Boone and Stuart affected quite successfully an indifference to their
situation, and, inasmuch as they had not sought to take advantage of
what might have been intended as traps in the way of opportunities to
get away, it was only natural for the captors to conclude that the
white men were willing to spend an indefinite time with them.

What the ultimate intentions of these Indians were, can only be
conjectured, for they were a long distance from their lodges, but those
who ventured upon hunting excursions within the Dark and Bloody Ground
were of the fiercest nature, and as merciless as Bengal tigers, as they
proved in many a desperate encounter with the settlers; and it is no
more than reasonable to suppose that they meant in the end to burn them
at the stake, while they danced about the scene with fiendish glee,
just as they did a few years later with Colonel Crawford and other
prisoners who fell into their hands.

At last the week ended, and at the close of the seventh day, the
Indians encamped in a thick canebrake. They had been hunting since
morning, and no opportunity presented that satisfied Boone, but he
thought the time was close at hand when their fate was to be decided.

The long-continued indifference as shown by him and his companion had
produced its natural effect upon the Indians, who showed less vigilance
than at first.

But they knew better than to invite anything like that which was really
contemplated, and, when the night was advanced, the majority of the
warriors stretched out upon the ground in their blankets, with their
feet toward the fire.

It had been a severe day with all of them, and the watchful Boone
noticed that the guard appointed over him and his companion were drowsy
and inattentive, while maintaining a semblance of performing their duty.

"It must be done to-night," was the conclusion of the pioneer, who was
sure the signs were not likely to be more propitious.

He lay down and pretended slumber, but did not sleep a wink: his
thoughts were fixed too intently upon the all-important step he had
resolved must be taken then or never, and he lay thus, stretched out
at full length before the hostile camp-fire, patiently awaiting the
critical moment.




CHAPTER V.

  The Escape--The Hunters find the Camp Deserted--Change of
    Quarters--Boone and Kenton--Welcome Visitors--News from Home--In
    Union there is Strength--Death of Stuart--Squire Boone returns to
    North Carolina for Ammunition--Alone in the Wilderness--Danger on
    Every Hand--Rejoined by his Brother--Hunting along the Cumberland
    River--Homeward Bound--Arrival in North Carolina--Anarchy and
    Distress--Boone remains there Two Years--Attention directed towards
    Kentucky--George Washington--Boone prepared to move Westward.


It was near midnight when, having satisfied himself that every warrior,
including the guard, was sound asleep, Boone cautiously raised his head
and looked towards Stuart.

But he was as sound asleep as the Indians themselves, and it was a
difficult and dangerous matter to awaken him, for the Indian sleeps as
lightly as the watching lioness. The slightest incautious movement or
muttering on the part of the man would be sure to rouse their captors.

But Boone managed to tell his companion the situation, and the two with
infinite care and caution succeeded in gradually extricating themselves
from the ring of drowsy warriors.

"Make not the slightest noise," whispered Boone, placing his mouth
close to the ear of Stuart, who scarcely needed the caution.

The camp-fire had sunk low, and the dim light thrown out by the
smouldering logs cast grotesque shadows of the two crouching figures as
they moved off with the noiselessness of phantoms. Having gained such
immense advantage at the very beginning, neither was the one to throw
it away, and Stuart followed the instructions of his companion to the
letter.

The forms of the Indians in their picturesque positions remained
motionless, and it need hardly be said that at the end of a few
minutes, which seemed ten times longer than they were, the two pioneers
were outside the camp, and stood together beneath the dense shadows of
the trees.

It was a clear, starlit night, and the hunters used the twinkling orbs
and the barks of the trees to guide them in determining the direction
of their camp, towards which they pushed to the utmost, for having been
gone so long, they were naturally anxious to learn how their friends
had fared while they were away.

Boone and Stuart scarcely halted during the darkness, and when the sun
rose, were in a portion of the country which they easily recognized as
at no great distance from the gorge in which they had erected their
cabin more than six months before.

They pressed on with renewed energy, and a few hours later reached the
camp, which to their astonishment they found deserted. The supposition
was that the hunters had grown tired or homesick and had gone home,
though there is no certainty as to whether they were not all slain by
the Indians, who seem to have roused themselves to the danger from the
encroachments of the whites upon their hunting-grounds.

It was a great disappointment to Boone and Stuart to find themselves
alone, but they determined to stay where they were some time longer,
even though their supply of ammunition was running low, and both were
anxious to hear from home.

The certainty that the Indians were in the section about them, as the
friends had learned from dear experience, rendered it necessary to
exercise the utmost caution, for, if they should fall into their hands
again, they could not hope for such a fortunate deliverance.

Instead of using the headquarters established so long before, they
moved about, selecting the most secret places so as to avoid discovery,
while they were constantly on the alert through the day.

But both were masters of woodcraft, and Boone probably had no superior
in the lore of the woods. It is said of him that, some years later, he
and the great Simon Kenton reached a river from opposite directions at
the same moment, and simultaneously discovered, when about to cross,
that a stranger was on the other side.

Neither could know of a certainty whether he confronted a friend or
enemy, though the supposition was that he was hostile, in which event
the slightest advantage gained by one was certain to be fatal to the
other.

Immediately the two hunters began maneuvering, like a couple of
sparrers, to discover an unguarded point which would betray the truth.
It was early morning when this extraordinary duel opened, and it was
kept steadily up the entire day. Just at nightfall the two intimate
friends succeeded in identifying each other.

A man with such Esquimau-like patience, and such marvelous ingenuity
and skill, was sure to take the best care of himself, and during the
few days of hunting which followed, he and Stuart kept clear of all
"entangling alliances," and did not exchange a hostile shot with the
red-men.

In the month of January, they were hunting in the woods, when they
caught sight of two hunters in the distance among the trees. Boone
called out:

"Hallo, strangers! who are you?"

"White men and friends," was the astonishing answer.

The parties now hastened towards each other, and what was the amazement
and happiness of the pioneers to find that one of the men was Squire
Boone, the younger brother of Daniel, accompanied by a neighbor from
his home on the far-off Yadkin.

They had set out to learn the fate of the hunting party that left North
Carolina early in the spring, and that had now been so long absent that
their friends feared the worst, and had sent the two to learn what had
become of them, just as in these later days we send an expedition to
discover the North Pole, and then wait a little while and send another
to discover the expedition.

No one could have been more welcome to the two pioneers, for they
brought not only a plentiful supply of ammunition, but, what was best
of all, full tidings of the dear ones at home.

Squire Boone and his companion had found the last encampment of their
friends the night before, so they were expecting to meet them, though
not entirely relieved of their anxiety until they saw each other.

It can be imagined with what delight the four men gathered around
their carefully guarded camp-fire that evening, and talked of home
and friends, and listened to and told the news and gossip of the
neighborhood, where all their most loving associations clustered. It
must have been a late hour when they lay down to sleep, and Daniel
Boone and Stuart that night could not fail to dream of their friends on
the banks of the distant Yadkin.

The strength of the party was doubled, for there were now four skillful
hunters, and they had plenty of ammunition, so it was decided to stay
where they were some months longer.

It seems strange that they should not have acted upon the principle
that in union there is strength, for instead of hunting together, they
divided in couples. This may have offered better prospects in the
way of securing game, but it exposed them to greater danger, and a
frightful tragedy soon resulted.

Boone and Stuart were hunting in company, when they were suddenly
fired into by a party of Indians, and Stuart dropped dead. Boone was
not struck, and he dashed like a deer into the forest. Casting one
terrified glance over his shoulder, he saw poor Stuart scalped as soon
as he fell to the earth, pierced through the heart by the fatal bullet.

This left but three of them, and that fearfully small number was
soon reduced to two. The hunter who came from North Carolina with
Squire Boone was lost in the woods, and did not return to camp. The
brothers made a long and careful search, signaling and using every
means possible to find him, but there was no response, and despairing
and sorrowful they were obliged to give over the hunt. He was never
seen again. Years afterward the discovery of a skeleton in the woods
was believed to indicate his fate. It is more than probable that the
stealthy shot of some treacherous Indian, hidden in the canebrake, had
closed the career of the man as that of Stuart was ended.

The subsequent action of Boone was as characteristic as it was
remarkable. It is hard to imagine a person, placed in the situation of
the two, who would not have made all haste to return to his home; and
this would be expected, especially, of the elder brother, who had been
absent fully six months longer than the other.

And yet he did exactly the opposite. He had fallen in love with the
enchantments of the great Kentucky wilderness, with its streams, rivers
and rich soil, and its boundless game, and he concluded to stay where
he was, while Squire made the long journey back to North Carolina for
more ammunition.

Daniel reasoned that when Squire rejoined his family and acquainted
them with his own safety, and assured the wife and children that all
was going well with him, the great load of anxiety would be lifted from
their minds, and they would be content to allow the two to make a still
more extended acquaintance with the peerless land beyond the Cumberland
mountains.

Accordingly Squire set out for his home, and it should be borne in mind
that his journey was attended by as much danger as was the residence of
the elder brother in Kentucky, for he was in peril from Indians all the
way.

Daniel Boone was now left entirely alone in the vast forests, with
game, wild beasts and ferocious Indians, while his only friend and
relative was daily increasing the distance between them, as he
journeyed toward the East.

Imagination must be left to picture the life of this comparatively
young man during the three months of his brother's absence. Boone was
attached to his family, and yet he chose deliberately to stay where he
was, rather than accompany his brother on his visit to his home.

But he had little time to spend in gloomy retrospection or
apprehensions, for there were plenty of Indians in the woods, and they
were continually looking for him.

He changed his camp frequently, and more than once when he lay hidden
in the thick cane and crawled stealthily back to where he had spent
the previous night, the print of moccasins in the earth told him how
hot the hunt had been for him.

Indian trails were all about him, and many a time the warriors
attempted to track him through the forest and canebrakes, but the
lithe, active pioneer was as thorough a master of woodcraft as they,
and he kept out of their way with as much skill as Tecumseh himself
ever showed in eluding those who thirsted for his life.

He read the signs with the same unerring accuracy he showed in bringing
down the wild turkey, or in barking the squirrel on the topmost limb.
Often he lay in the canebrake, and heard the signals of the Indians as
they pushed their search for the white man who, as may be said, dared
to defy them on their own ground.

Boone could tell from these carefully guarded calls how dangerous the
hunt was becoming, and when he thought the warriors were getting too
close to his hiding-place, he carefully stole out and located somewhere
else until perhaps the peril passed.

There must have been times when, stretched beneath the trees and
looking up at the twinkling stars, with the murmur of the distant river
or the soughing of the night-wind through the branches, his thoughts
wandered over the hundreds of miles of intervening wilderness to the
humble home on the bank of the Yadkin, where the loved wife and little
ones looked longingly toward the western sun and wondered when the
husband and father would come back to them.

And yet Boone has said, while admitting these gloomy moments, when
he was weighed down by the deepest depression, that some of the most
enjoyable hours of his life were those spent in solitude, without a
human being, excepting a deadly enemy, within hail.

The perils which followed every step under the arches of the trees, but
rendered them the more attractive, and the pioneer determined to remove
his family, and to make their home in the sylvan land of enchantment
just so soon as he could complete the necessary arrangements for doing
so.

On the 27th of July, 1770, Squire Boone returned and rejoined his
brother, who was glad beyond description to receive him, and to hear so
directly from his beloved home. During the absence of the younger, the
other had explored pretty much all of the central portion of Kentucky,
and the result was that he formed a greater attachment than ever for
the new territory.

When Squire came back, Daniel said that he deemed it imprudent to stay
where they were any longer. The Indians were so numerous and vigilant
that it seemed impossible to keep out of their way; accordingly they
proceeded to the Cumberland River, where they spent the time in hunting
and exploration until the early spring of 1771.

They gave names to numerous streams, and, having enjoyed a most
extraordinary hunting jaunt, were now ready to go back to North
Carolina and rejoin their families.

But they set out for their homes with not the slightest purpose of
staying there. They had seen too much of the pleasures of the wood,
for either to be willing to give them up. In North Carolina there
was the most exasperating trouble. The tax-gatherer was omnipresent
and unbearably oppressive; the social lines between the different
classes was drawn as if with a two-edged sword; there were murmurs
and mutterings of anger in every quarter; Governor Tryon, instead of
pacifying, was only fanning the flames; ominous signs were in the
skies, and anarchy, red war and appalling disaster seemed to loom up in
the near future.

What wonder, therefore, that Daniel Boone turned his eyes with a
longing such as comes over the weary traveler who, after climbing a
precipitous mountain, looks beyond and sees the smiling verdure of the
promised land.

He had determined to emigrate long before, and he now made what might
be called the first move in that direction. He and his brother pushed
steadily forward without any incident worth noting, and reached their
homes in North Carolina, where, as may well be supposed, they were
welcomed like those who had risen from the dead. They had been gone
many months, and in the case of Daniel, two years had passed since he
clasped his loved wife and children in his arms.

The neighbors, too, had feared the worst, despite the return of Squire
Boone with the good news of the pioneer, and they were entertained as
were those at court when Columbus, coming back from his first voyage
across the unknown seas, related his marvelous stories of the new world
beyond.

Daniel Boone found his family well, and, as his mind was fixed upon his
future course, he began his preparations for removal to Kentucky.

This was a most important matter, for there was a great deal to do
before the removal could be effected. It was necessary to dispose of
the little place upon which they had lived so long and bestowed so much
labor, and his wife could not be expected to feel enthusiastic over the
prospect of burying herself in the wilderness, beyond all thought of
returning to her native State.

Then again Boone was not the one to entertain such a rash scheme as
that of removing to Kentucky, without taking with him a strong company,
able to hold its own against the Indians, who were certain to dispute
their progress.

It is easy to understand the work which lay before Boone, and it may be
well believed that months passed without any start being made, though
the great pioneer never faltered or wavered in his purpose.

Matters were not improving about him. The trouble, distress, and
difficulties between the authorities and the people were continually
aggravated, and the Revolution was close at hand.

At the end of two years, however, Boone was prepared to make the
momentous move, and it was done. The farm on the Yadkin was sold, and
he had gathered together a goodly company for the purpose of forming
the first real settlement in Kentucky.

During the few years immediately preceding, the territory was visited
by other hunters, while Boone himself was alone in the solitude. A
company numbering forty, and led by Colonel James Knox, gathered for
a grand buffalo hunt in the valleys of the Clinch, New River, and
Holston. A number of them skirted along the borders of Tennessee and
Kentucky.

While they were thus engaged, others penetrated the valleys from
Virginia and Pennsylvania, and among them was a young man named George
Washington.

As is well known, his attention had been directed some time before
to the lands along the Ohio, and he owned a number of large claims.
He clearly foresaw the teeming future of the vast West, and he was
especially desirous of informing himself concerning the lands lying in
the neighborhood of the mouth of the Kanawha.

At that particular date, the Virginians were converging toward the
country south of the river, and there were many difficulties with
the Indians, who then as now are ready to resist entrance upon
their hunting-grounds, even though the immigrants are backed by the
stipulations of a recently signed treaty.




CHAPTER VI.

  Leaving North Carolina--Joined by a Large Company at Powell's
    Valley--Glowing Anticipations--Attacked by Indians in Cumberland
    Gap--Daniel Boone's Eldest Son Killed--Discouragement--Return
    to Clinch River Settlement--The Check Providential--Boone acts
    as a Guide to a Party of Surveyors--Commissioned Captain by
    Governor Dunmore, and takes command of Three Garrisons--Battle of
    Point Pleasant--Attends the making of a Treaty with the Indians
    at Wataga--Employed by Colonel Richard Henderson--Kentucky
    claimed by the Cherokees--James Harrod--The First Settlement
    in Kentucky--Boone leads a Company into Kentucky--Attacked
    by Indians--Erection of the Fort at Boonesborough--Colonel
    Richard Henderson takes Possession of Kentucky--The Republic of
    Transylvania--His Scheme receives its Death-blow--Perils of the
    Frontier--A Permanent Settlement made on Kentucky Soil.


On the 25th of September, 1774, Daniel Boone and his family started to
make their settlement in Kentucky.

He had as his company his brother Squire, who had spent several months
with him in the wilderness, and they took with them quite a number of
cattle and swine with which to stock their farms when they should reach
their destination, while their luggage was carried on pack-horses.

At Powell's Valley, not very far distant, they were joined by another
party, numbering five families and forty able-bodied men, all armed and
provided with plenty of ammunition. This made the force a formidable
one, and they pushed on in high spirits.

When night came they improvised tents with poles and their blankets,
and the abundance of game around them removed all danger of suffering
from the lack of food, for it was but sport to bring down enough of it
to keep the entire company well supplied.

The experience of the Boones, when they passed through this region
previously, taught them to be on their guard constantly, for the most
likely time for the Indians to come is when they are least expected,
and the leaders saw to it that no precaution was neglected.

And yet it is easy to see that such a large company, moving slowly, and
encumbered by women and children and so much luggage and live-stock,
was peculiarly exposed to danger from the dreaded Indians.

On the 10th of October they approached Cumberland Gap. The cattle had
fallen to the rear, where they were plodding leisurely along, with
several miles separating them from their friends in front, when the
latter suddenly heard the reports of guns coming to them through the
woods. They instantly paused and, looking in each other's pale faces,
listened.

There could be no mistaking their meaning, for the reports were from
the direction of the cattle in the rear, and the shouts and whoops came
from the brazen throats of Indians, who had attacked the weak guard of
the live-stock.

Boone and his friends, leaving a sufficient guard for the women and
children, hurried back to the assistance of the young men, who were in
such imminent peril.

There was sore need of their help indeed, for the attack, like the
generality of those made by Indians, was sudden, unexpected, and of
deadly fierceness. When the panting hunters reached the spot, they
found the cattle had been stampeded and scattered irrecoverably in the
woods, while of the seven men who had the kine in charge, only one
escaped alive, and he was badly wounded.

Among the six who lay stretched in death, was the oldest son of Daniel
Boone, slain, as may be said, just as he was about entering upon the
promised land.

The disaster was an appalling one, and it spread gloom and sorrow among
the emigrants, who might well ask themselves whether, if they were
forced to run the gauntlet in that fearful fashion, they would be able
to hold their own if spared to reach Kentucky?

A council was called, and the question was discussed most seriously.
Daniel Boone, who had suffered such an affliction in the loss of his
child, strenuously favored pushing on, as did his brother and a number
of the other emigrants, but the majority were disheartened by the
disaster, and insisted on going back to their homes, where, though the
annoyances might be many, no such calamity was to be dreaded.

The sentiment for return was so strong that the Boones were compelled
to yield, and turning about, they made their way slowly and sadly
to Clinch River settlement, in the southwestern part of Virginia,
a distance of perhaps forty miles from where they were attacked by
Indians.

It would be difficult to look upon this occurrence in any other light
than a most serious check and misfortune, as certainly was the case, so
far as the loss of the half dozen men was concerned, but the turning
back of the rest of the party was unquestionably a providential thing.

It was a short time previous to this, that the historical Logan episode
took place. The family of that noted chief and orator were massacred,
and the fierce Dunmore War was the consequence. This was impending at
the very time Boone and the others were journeying toward Kentucky, and
breaking out shortly afterwards, extended to the very section in which
the emigrants expected to settle, and where in all probability they
would have suffered much more severely had they not turned back for the
time.

Nothing could change the purpose of Boone to enter into Kentucky, and
to make his home there. Although obliged from the sentiment of his
friends to withdraw for a time, he looked upon the check as only a
temporary one, and was confident that before long he would be firmly
fixed in what he called the "land of promise."

Boone was not to be an idle spectator of the famous Dunmore War going
on around him. In the month of June, 1774, he and Michael Stoner were
requested by Governor Dunmore of Virginia to go to the falls of
the Ohio, for the purpose of guiding into the settlement a party of
surveyors, sent out some months before.

Boone and his friend promptly complied, and conducted the surveyors
through the difficult and dangerous section without accident,
completing a tour of eight hundred miles in a couple of months.

Shortly afterward Boone rejoined his family on Clinch river, and was
there when Governor Dunmore sent him a commission as captain, and
ordered him to take command of three contiguous garrisons on the
frontier, during the prosecution of the war against the Indians.

Boone, who had proven his coolness and intrepidity many a time, was
equally prompt in discharging the responsible duty with which the
governor honored him. It is believed that the pioneer was present at
the famous battle of Point Pleasant, which perhaps was the most furious
contest ever waged with the Indians on Virginia soil.

The Shawanoes, Delawares, Mingoes, Wyandots and Cayugas, to the number
of 1500, and under the leadership of such famous chiefs as Logan,
Cornstock, Elenipsico, Red-Eagle and others, made a fight against
General Lewis and his brave Virginians, not only with bravery, but with
a skill which came within a hair's-breadth of annihilating the entire
force of whites as utterly as was that of General Custer more than a
century later.

Finally, however, the sanguinary fight terminated in favor of the
Virginians, by a skillful maneuvre at the proper moment, and the
savages were completely routed. Not long afterward a treaty of peace
was made in which the Indians surrendered all claim to Kentucky. As the
Six Nations had done the same six years before, it may be said that all
the aboriginal title to Kentucky was extinguished when Boone settled
there.

Dunmore's War having terminated with the utter overthrow of the
combined tribes, the militia that had been called into service were
discharged, and Boone returned to his family on Clinch River.

He had already become known as a hunter and explorer possessing great
daring and shrewdness, and those were the days when such men were
needed in wresting the Western wilderness from the grasp of the wild
Indian, who was sure to fight the advancing hosts of civilization with
the treacherous fierceness which the barbarian always displays in
defending its young.

Boone, therefore, had been home but a short time, when he received a
request from a company of North Carolinians, who proposed purchasing
a large tract of land lying to the south of Kentucky River from the
Cherokee Indians, to attend their treaty to be held at Wataga in
March, 1775, with a view of negotiating with them, and determining the
boundaries of the purchase.

This association was known as Colonel Richard Henderson's Company, and
it was one of the most extraordinary that was engaged at any time in
opening up our Western territory.

When the Boones returned from their first visit to Kentucky, it is
scarcely necessary to say that they gave glowing descriptions of its
wonderful attractiveness for the hunter and settler. These accounts
spread over North Carolina and created great excitement, one of the
direct results being the formation of Colonel Henderson's Company. The
originator was a man of education, wealth and energy, and he displayed
such ability and daring in its management, that he frightened off most
of his rivals, or led them to enlist under his banner.

At that time the entire country lying within the natural lines formed
by the Ohio, Kentucky and Cumberland rivers was claimed by the Cherokee
Indians, who lived within the boundaries of North Carolina. Previously,
however, Virginia had given an impetus to the exploration and adventure
in Kentucky, by presenting to her officers and soldiers Western lands
by way of bounties for their services in the British army, in the old
war between France and England. It was required that these lands should
be surveyed by the claimants, who were also given a large discretion in
locating their claims.

The first of these was made upon the Kanawha in the year 1772, and the
second was on the south side of the Ohio the following year.

The business having begun it was pressed vigorously forward. Extensive
tracts were surveyed on the north fork of the Licking and numerous salt
licks, and other especially desirable spots were taken up.

The year 1774 was notable for arrivals in Kentucky of those who were
entitled to lands, besides scores of others who went to indulge in
speculation, and to secure the most valuable sections before they could
be taken by others.

Among those daring explorers and hunters was James Harrod, at the head
of a party of Kentuckians from the shores of the Monongahela. They
followed the Kentucky River into the interior, and left it at a place
afterwards known as "Harrod's Landing." Moving further westward they
located themselves in a beautiful and attractive section, where they
erected the first log-cabin ever built in Kentucky.

This was near the present town of Harrodsburg, in the spring of 1774,
and this place, therefore, may claim to be the oldest settlement in
Kentucky. Harrodsburg is now the capital of Mercer county, and is
thirty miles south of Frankfort, with a population of about 2,500. It
is an attractive summer retreat, and enjoys a fine reputation for its
mineral waters.

As we have stated, the most remarkable of the many associations formed
for the settlement of Kentucky was that organized by Colonel Richard
Henderson of North Carolina.

It was intended to obtain by purchase from the Cherokee Indians their
right to the same, and then to take possession of the immense area.
As soon as the organization of the company was effected, Daniel Boone
was fixed upon to conduct the negotiations with the Cherokees. As
might have been anticipated, he met with perfect success, and Colonel
Henderson went to Wataga, a small place on the Holston River, where,
in solemn council, on the 17th of March, 1775, he delivered to them a
consideration in merchandise, for which he received in return a deed to
Kentucky, signed by all the leading chiefs.

This was a most important step indeed, but another of no less
importance remained to be taken, and that was to assume possession of
the territory claimed by Colonel Henderson.

This gentleman was too energetic and clear-sighted to delay such a
necessary measure, and his wisdom was further shown by fixing upon
Captain Daniel Boone for the carrying out of his intentions.

A small company of brave and trustworthy men were at once selected, who
were sent to Kentucky under the direction of Boone, with instructions
to open a road from the Holston to the Kentucky River, and to erect a
station at the mouth of Otter Creek, on the latter stream.

This was serious business, and none appreciated it more than Boone
and his companions, who knew that the treaty signed with the chiefs
would not afford them the slightest protection against the treacherous
Indians. They proceeded with the greatest care and caution, keeping
their most vigilant sentinels on the lookout at night, while every man,
it may be said, was on guard through the day.

They pushed steadily forward, until they reached a point about fifteen
miles from where Boonesborough stands, using all the dispatch possible,
and escaping molestation up to that time. But at the place named,
they were suddenly fired upon by Indians, who, springing up from
their ambush, attacked them with great ferocity. Two of the whites
were killed and two wounded, but they repulsed their assailants a few
minutes later.

Boone and his friends lost no time in pressing ahead; but three
days later, they were fired upon by Indians again, and two of their
number were killed and three wounded. Well might Kentucky be named
the Dark and Bloody Ground, for its soil has been crimsoned with the
life-current of its earliest pioneers, from the very hour they first
placed foot within its borders.

The settlers, however, had no thought of turning back, but fought their
way, as may be said, to the Kentucky River, which they reached on the
1st of April, 1775, and began the erection of the fort of Boonesborough
at a salt lick, about two hundred feet from the south bank of the river.

A few days later, the Indians shot one of the men, but the others
paused in their work only long enough to give their late comrade a
respectful burial, and to shed a few tears of sympathy over his loss,
when they resumed cutting and hewing the logs and placing them in
position.

They continued steadily at work, and the fort was finished by the
middle of June following, when, having satisfactorily discharged his
duty, Boone returned to his family at the Clinch River settlement.

Kentucky was formally taken possession of on the 20th of April, 1775,
which, it may be stated, was on the very day that Colonel Richard
Henderson reached the age of forty years, there being about two months
difference between his age and that of Daniel Boone.

Henderson was a native Virginian, who had been a judge in the Superior
Court of the Colonial Government of North Carolina; but the halls of
justice were shut up by the anarchy occasioned by the Regulators, and
he engaged a number of the most influential of North Carolinians in
the Utopian scheme of founding the Republic of Transylvania. It was
with this grandiloquent project in their mind, that Kentucky was taken
possession of on the date named, and everything considered necessary
was done for laying the foundation stones of the model republic in the
heart of American territory.

The death-blow of the grand scheme was received before it was fairly
born. Governor Martin of North Carolina issued a proclamation,
declaring the purchase of the lands by Colonel Henderson and his
association from the Cherokees illegal; but, as a matter of equity, the
State subsequently granted 200,000 acres to the company.

Virginia did the same thing, granting them an equal number of acres
bounded by the Ohio and Green Rivers. Tennessee claimed this tract,
but gave in compensation therefor the same number of acres in Powell's
Valley. Thus ended the attempt to found the Transylvania Republic, but
the original projectors of the movement acquired individual fortunes,
and Colonel Henderson himself, when he died, ten years later, was the
possessor of immense wealth, and was loved and respected throughout the
entire territory.

The old fort at Boonesborough, being the first real foothold gained by
the pioneers, was sure to become most prominently identified with the
Indian troubles that were inevitable. It was to be a haven of safety to
many a settler and his family, when the whoop of the vengeful Shawanoe
or Miami rang through the forest arches, and the sharp crack of the
warrior's rifle sent the whizzing bullet to the heart of the white man
who had ventured and trusted his all in the wilderness.

It was to be the lighthouse on the coast of danger, warning of the
peril that lay around and beyond, but offering protection to those who
fled to its rude shelter, as the cities of the olden times received and
spread their arms over the panting fugitive escaping from his pursuers.

The old fort was a most notable figure in the history of the West, a
hundred years ago. There have been gathered in the structure of logs
and slabs, the bravest men who ever trailed the red Indian through the
wilderness. There those mighty giants of the border, Boone, Kenton,
Wells, M'Clelland, the Wetzel and McAfee Brothers, M'Arthur, and scores
of others converged from their long journeyings in the service of the
Government; and, closing about the fire, as they smoked their pipes,
they told of the hand-to-hand encounter in the silent depths of the
woods, of the maneuvering on the banks of the lonely mountain stream,
of the panther-like creeping through the canebrake on the trail of the
Indian, of the camps at night, when the Shawanoes were so plentiful
that they did not dare close their eyes through fear that their
breathing would betray them, of the smoking cabin with the mutilated
forms of husband, wife, and babe showing that the aboriginal tigers
had been there, of the death-shots, the races for life, and the days
of perils which followed the daring scout up to the very stockades of
Boonesborough.

Sometimes one of the rangers of the wilderness would fail to come into
the fort when expected. There would be mutual inquiries on the part of
those who had been accustomed to meet him. Perhaps some one would say
he was scouting for the Government, but nothing would be known with
certainty, and a suspicion would begin to shape itself that he had
"lain down," never to rise again.

Perhaps some ranger in threading his way through the long leagues of
trackless forests would stop to camp from the snow which was whirling
and eddying about him, while the wintry wind moaned and soughed through
the swaying branches overhead; and mayhap, as he cautiously struck
flint and steel in the hidden gorge, he saw dimly outlined in the
gathering gloom the form of a man, shrunk to that of a skeleton, in
which the spark of life had been extinguished long before.

The bullet-hole in the chest, or the cleft made in the skull by the
fiercely-driven tomahawk, showed why it was the scout had been missing
so long, and why his cheery voice and ringing laugh would never be
heard again.

Boonesborough, as we have stated, stood about 200 feet from the
Kentucky River, one of its angles resting on its banks near the water,
and extending from it in the form of a parallelogram. The length of the
fort, allowing twenty feet for each cabin and opening, was 260 with
a breadth of 150 feet. The houses were built of rough logs, and were
bulletproof. They were square in form, one of the cabins projecting
from each corner, the remaining spaces along the sides being filled
with cabins, constructed more with an eye to strength than beauty.

On the side facing the river was a large strong gate moving on wooden
hinges, and a similar one was placed on the opposite side.

The cabins along the four sides were connected by pickets, which
consisted of slabs, sharpened at one end and driven deep into the
ground. Such forts would be of little account in these days, but they
were effective against the Indians who followed such desultory warfare,
and who were thus compelled, as may be said, to transfer the advantage
which they naturally sought to their enemies.

A frontier fort like Boonesborough did not afford that absolute
protection which would allow the garrison to lie down and slumber in
peace, certain that all danger was removed. The Indian was wily and
catlike by nature; he knew the advantage of mining, and took naturally
to the most insidious methods of warfare; but the whites, if vigilant,
were sure to detect such demonstrations, and they possessed the power
to countermine, and defeat any and every movement of the savages.
Besides this, and above all, the garrison possessed a shelter from
which to aim their deadly rifles, and they might well scorn the attempt
of any force of warriors that could be gathered together.

The fort with its cabins was completed in the early summer of 1774,
including also the cabins and buildings intended for the friends and
families who were expected to join them a few months later. Colonel
Henderson and a couple of the proprietors visited the place, and gave
it its name in honor of the great pioneer who had built it.

These leaders took with them some forty new settlers, a large number
of pack-horses, and a goodly supply of such articles as were needed at
a frontier-post like Boonesborough. And now it will be admitted that
Boone and his employers were fully warranted in believing that at last
a permanent settlement had been planted on Kentucky soil.




CHAPTER VII.

  Boone Rejoins his Family at the Clinch River Settlement--Leads a
    Company of Immigrants into Kentucky--Insecurity of Settlers--Dawn
    of the American Revolution--British Agents Incite the Indians to
    Revolt against the Settlements.


Daniel Boone showed his faith in the success of the enterprise, by
announcing his intention of bringing his family into Kentucky to stay
as long as they lived.

Accordingly he proceeded to the Clinch River settlement, where he gave
more glowing accounts than ever of the beauties and attraction of the
new country.

The result was inevitable. The stories of foreign lands never lose any
of their brilliant coloring when they come from the mouth of one who
has passed through the enchanting experiences of which he tells us.

What though he speaks of the deadly peril which lingers around the
footsteps of the explorer, is it not one of the laws of this strange
nature of ours that the attraction is thereby rendered the greater? is
it not a sad fact that the forbidden pleasure is the one that tastes
the sweeter?

Boone set his neighbors to talking, and by the time his family was
ready to move to Kentucky, a number were fully as eager as he to go to
the new country.

The pioneer was chosen to lead them. They turned their backs forever
upon North Carolina in the autumn of 1775, and facing westward, set out
for their destination.

When they reached Powell's valley, several other families were awaiting
them, and, thus re-enforced, the company numbered twenty-six men,
four women, five boys and girls--quite a formidable force, when it is
remembered they were under the leadership of Daniel Boone, to whom the
trail had become so familiar during the preceding years.

This little calvacade wound its way through Cumberland Gap, all in high
spirits, though sensible of the dangers which, it may be said, hovered
about them from the very hour they left Clinch River.

Good fortune attended the venture, and for the first time of which we
have record, the entire journey was made without the loss of any of
their number at the hands of the Indians.

Never forgetting that the utmost vigilance was necessary to insure this
exemption, if such insurance be considered possible, Boone permitted
nothing like negligence, either when on the march or in camp.

But, in recalling those first expeditions to the West, one cannot help
wondering at their success. Had the Indians shown a realizing sense
of the strength in union, which they displayed at the battle of Point
Pleasant, the Thames, and in the defeats of St. Clair, Crawford and
others, they could have crushed out these attempts at settlement,
and postponed the opening up of the country for many years. What more
easy than to have concentrated several hundred of their warriors, and,
waiting until the little companies of settlers had penetrated too far
into their territory to withdraw, led them into ambush and annihilated
every man, woman and child?

But they chose, when not engaged in their rare movements on a large
scale, to fight in a desultory fashion, firing from behind the tree or
from the covert, or watching for the unsuspecting settler to appear at
the door of his cabin.

This manner of fighting made the feeling of uncertainty general, for no
man could know when the peril threatened his wife and little ones, nor
when the spiteful attack would be made by some small band of warriors,
venturing from the main body and relying upon their own celerity of
movement to escape before the settlers could rally in time to strike
back.

This species of warfare, we say, was extremely perilous to the settlers
and pioneers, but it could never become an effective check to the
advancing hosts of civilization, which were beginning to converge from
a dozen different directions upon the fair forests and fertile plains
of Kentucky.

When Boone and his party reached the headwaters of Dick's River, a halt
was made, and a division took place. Several of the families preferred
to settle at Harrodsburg--the cabin of Harrod having been erected there
the year previous. With mutual good wishes, therefore, they separated
from the main company, and pushing resolutely forward, reached their
destination in safety.

As a matter of course, there was but the one haven which loomed up
invitingly before Daniel Boone,--that was the station named after
himself, and which was now at no great distance away. He and the main
body reached it without molestation, and they helped to swell the
numbers that were already making Boonesborough the strongest post in
the West.

It is one of the facts of which the pioneer was proud throughout
his long, eventful life, that his wife and daughter were the first
white women who ever "stood upon the banks of the wild and beautiful
Kentucky."

But, as we have stated, settlers, speculators, surveyors, and
adventurers were converging to the Dark and Bloody Ground, which was
receiving an influx almost daily--the most of the new-comers being of a
character desirable and useful to a new country.

The latter part of 1775 was specially noteworthy for the number of
settlers who entered Kentucky. The majority of these made their
rendezvous at Boonesborough, which soon became what might be called
the headquarters of the pioneers. Many attached themselves to Boone's
colony, others went to Harrodsburg, while some, having completed the
survey of their lands, returned home.

It was during these stirring days that Boone received visits from
Kenton, the McAfees and other men, who became so noted afterward as
scouts and border rangers.

Those were momentous times in the Colonies, for, as the reader will
observe, our forefathers were on the very verge of the American
Revolution. The country was trembling with excitement from one end to
the other. In the spring of the year occurred the battle of Lexington,
when was fired the shot that was "heard around the world," and the
war opened between Great Britain and the Colonies. Men left the plow
in the furrow, the shop and their homes, and hastened to arms, while
Boone and his brother colonists were planting their homes hundreds of
miles beyond the frontiers of the Carolinas. Many believed the treaties
previously made with the Indians would protect them from molestation
at their hands, but in this expectation the pioneers were wofully
disappointed.

It was necessary for the mother country to put forth the most gigantic
efforts to subdue her American colonies, or she would be confronted
with rebellions among her colonial possessions all around the globe.

Despite the treaties with the aborigines, English emissaries were soon
at work, inciting the Indians to revolt against the intruders upon
their soil. There is good reason to believe that more than this was
done, and Great Britain furnished the tribes with guns and ammunition,
with which to give practical expression to their enmity toward the
white settlers in Kentucky and Tennessee.

The American Indian, as a rule, does not require much persuasion to
begin the work of rapine and massacre, as we have found from dealing
with him ourselves. When they have received their supplies from our
Government agents, and have had their usual "palaver" with the peace
agents, they are fully prepared to enter upon the war-path.

The student of Western history will recognize the date named as the
beginning of the most troublous times on the Kentucky frontier. The
settlers had planted themselves on the soil with the purpose of
remaining, and they were prepared to defend their homes against all
comers. But the most resolute bravery and consummate woodcraft cannot
give absolute protection from such a foe as the original American.

The sturdy settler who plunged into the woods, with his glittering axe
in hand, was not secure against the shot from behind the tree which
bordered his path, and the plowman who slowly guided his team to the
opposite end of the clearing, could have no guarantee that one of the
painted warriors had not been crouching there for hours, waiting with
his serpent-like eyes fixed upon him, until he should reach the spot
in order to send a bullet through his heart; the mother, busy with her
household duties, was not sure that the leaden messenger would not
be aimed, with unerring skill, the moment she showed herself at the
door, nor could she be assured that when her little ones ventured from
her sight, they would not be caught up and spirited away, or that the
tomahawk would not be sent crashing into their brain.

The sounds of what seemed the hooting of owls in the dead of night
were the signals which the Indians were exchanging as they crept like
panthers from different directions upon the doomed cabin; the faint
caw of crows, apparently from the tops of the trees, were the signals
of the vengeful warriors, as they approached the house which they had
fixed upon as the one that should be burned and its inmates massacred.

There was the fort known as Harrod's Old Cabin and Boonesborough, while
other rude structures were reared in the clearings with the intention
of being used as a protection against the red-men. These served their
good purpose, and many a time saved the settlers from the peril which
stole upon them like the insidious advance of the pestilence that
smites at noonday,--but they could give no security to the lonely
cabins with the stretches of forest between and the faint trail
connecting them with the fort.

When the Shawanoes and Miamis came, it was like the whirlwind, and many
a time they delivered their frightful blows, withdrew, and were miles
away in the recesses of the woods, where pursuit was impossible, before
the garrison at the station could answer the call for help.

But, as we have said, these frightful atrocities and dangers could not
turn back the tide of emigration that was pouring westward. The trail
which Boone had marked from Holston to Boonesborough was distinct
enough for the passage of pack-horses, and the long files which plodded
over the perilous path always had their heads turned to the westward.

The flat-boats that swung slowly with the current down the Ohio were
pierced with bullets from the shores, and, in some instances, nearly
all the occupants were picked off by the Indian marksmen; but had it
been in the power of these cumbrous craft to turn back, they would not
have done so.

The American pioneer is daunted by no danger, baffled by no difficulty,
and discouraged by no adversity. The time had come for opening up the
western wilds, and nothing but the hand of Providence himself could
stop or delay the work.




CHAPTER VIII.

  Comparative Quiet on the Frontier--Capture of Boone's Daughter
    and the Misses Callaway by Indians--Pursued by Boone and Seven
    Companions--Their Rescue and Return to their Homes.


It was the summer of 1776, and the colonies were aflame with war. Those
were the days which tried men's souls, and the skies were dark with
discouragement and coming disaster. There were many hearts that could
only see overwhelming failure in the momentous struggle in which the
country was engaged.

For a time, comparative quiet reigned in the neighborhood of
Boonesborough. The settlers improved the time to the utmost. While
some hunted and fished, others cleared the land, and a promising crop
of corn had been put in the rich soil. Only one of the colony had been
shot by Indians during the preceding winter, the band which did it
having withdrawn before any retaliatory measures could be taken.

On the afternoon of the seventh of July, Miss Betsey Callaway, her
sister Frances, and a daughter of Daniel Boone entered a canoe under
the bank of the river, as children would naturally do to amuse
themselves. Betsey was a young lady, but the other two were about
thirteen years of age,--all bright, joyous girls, who had no thought
of danger, as they paddled about the rock where the frail boat had been
moored.

They were laughing and paddling, when suddenly a rustling among the
overhanging bushes arrested their attention, and, turning their gaze,
they saw with consternation the painted face of an Indian warrior.

The girls were almost paralyzed with terror. The savage warned them
by signs to make no outcry, through penalty of being brained with the
tomahawk griped in his hand. They could only huddle together in terror
and await his pleasure, whatever it might be.

The sinewy Indian then stepped cautiously into the canoe, and took up
the paddle, which he handled with the skill peculiar to his people.
With scarcely the slightest plash, he silently forced it out from the
undergrowth and started for the other shore.

The terrified girls looked appealingly in the direction of the
stockades, but they dare make no outcry. The stalwart savage dipped the
paddle first on one side and then on the other, and the canoe rapidly
neared the shore, beneath whose overhanging bushes it glided the next
moment like an arrow.

Turning toward the girls, the Indian signified that they were to
leave the boat, and the poor girls could do nothing less. Several
other warriors who were in waiting, joined them, and the journey was
instantly begun toward the interior.

No more unfavorable time for the captives could have been selected. It
was late in the afternoon, and before anything like pursuit could be
organized it would be night, and the trail invisible. The Indians would
use all the woodcraft at their command, and doubtless the morning would
see them many miles removed from the settlement.

The captors took the very precautions of which we have spoken,
directing their steps toward the thickest cane, where they separated
and made their way through it with the utmost caution, with a view of
rendering their footprints so faint that pursuit would be out of the
question.

Having assured themselves, so far as they could, that their trail was
hidden from the scrutiny of the settlers, the Indians with the three
girls made another turn, and striking a buffalo path, pushed forward
without delay.

The girls had been reared in a society where outdoor life and exercise
were a part of their creed, and they stood the unwonted task forced
upon them with much greater fortitude than would have been supposed.
They walked nimbly along, taking great consolation in each other's
company, though they were almost heartbroken at the thought that every
mile through the gloomy forest was taking them so much further away
from their loved ones, and lessened in the same degree their chances of
rescue by their friends at Boonesborough.

It being midsummer, they did not suffer from cold, and but for their
terror of their ultimate fate, they would have cared nothing for the
jaunt. Still, as children will feel under such circumstances, they had
strong hopes that their parents and friends would soon be in close
pursuit of the Indians.

And such indeed was the case. For it was not long before the girls were
missed at Boonesborough, and search made for them. Some one had seen
them in the canoe, and when it was discovered that the boat was left on
the opposite side of the river, and when the keen eyes of the pioneers
were able to detect the imprint of moccasins along the shore where the
craft had been moored on their side, there could be no doubt of what it
meant.

The girls had been captured and carried away by Indians.

It can be well understood that great excitement spread among the
families of Boonesborough, all of whom were drawn together by the
closest ties of friendship, and who shared in each other's joys and
woes. The whole male force were ready to start at a moment's notice to
the rescue.

But that was not the way in which to secure them, for it would have
been equally effective for a hunting party to go in search of the timid
antelope with drums and banners. What was needed was a small company of
hunters, brave, swift of foot, clear-headed and skilled in the ways of
the woods.

They should be men who could trail the red Indian where the imprints of
his moccasined feet were invisible to ordinary eyes, and who, when the
critical emergency should come, were sure to do just the right thing at
the right time.

There were plenty such in Boonesborough, and there could be no
difficulty in finding them. At the head, of course, stood Daniel Boone
himself, and he selected seven others who could be relied on in any
emergency; but, by the time the pursuit could be begun, the shades of
night were settling over wood and river, and it was out of the question
to attempt anything like an intelligent search for the girls.

In such a case there is no basis for reasoning, for though it may seem
certain to the veteran hunter that his enemy has taken a certain course
in order to reach his distant lodge, yet the morning is likely to show
that he has gone on a different route altogether.

The American Indian, who is educated from his infancy in cunning and
treachery, is likely to do that which is least expected and provided
against; and Boone, therefore, did not make the mistake of acting
upon any theory of his own which was likely to cause him to lose many
precious hours of pursuit.

But it was the season when the days were longest, and at the earliest
streakings of the morning light, the eight pioneers were on the other
side of the river, looking for the trail of the Indians.

The delicate imprints were discovered almost instantly by the keen-eyed
hunters, who started on the scent like bloodhounds, eager to spring at
the throats of the savages.

But the pursuit was scarcely begun, when they were confronted by the
very difficulty which they anticipated.

The Indians, as we have shown, had separated and made their way through
the thickest cane with such extreme care, that they succeeded in hiding
their trail from the lynx eyes of even Boone himself.

In such an emergency, the pursuers could only fall back on their own
resources of calculation and observation.

They noticed that the tracks all pointed in one general direction, and
there was, therefore, a basis for deciding the side of the cane where
they emerged. Acting upon this theory, they made a circuitous journey
of fully thirty miles, and sure enough, struck the trail just as they
hoped rather than expected.

Boone showed his woodcraft now by forming a reasonable theory and
acting promptly upon it, for, though he may have been right, still
he would have lost all the advantage by a failure to follow it up
instantly.

Recalling the unusual precautions taken by the Indians to throw their
pursuers off their trail, Boone was convinced that the savages would
believe that these precautions had accomplished their purpose, and they
would therefore relax their vigilance. Their course, as a consequence,
would be followed more easily.

Accordingly, Boone and his comrades changed the route they were
following, with the idea of crossing the path of the Indians. They had
not gone far when they discovered it in a buffalo path, where it was
quite evident that, from the careless manner in which the red-men were
traveling, they had no suspicion of their pursuers being anywhere in
the vicinity.

This was favorable to Boone and his companions, but they understood the
delicacy and danger of the situation, which was of that character that
they might well tremble for its success, even with the great advantage
gained.

None knew better than they the sanguinary character of the American
Indian. The very moment the captors should see that it was impossible
to retain the prisoners, they would sink their tomahawks in their
brains, even though the act increased their own personal peril tenfold.

It was all-important that the pursuit should be vigorously pressed, and
at the same time it was equally important that the savages should be
kept in ignorance of the men who were trailing them so closely.

As silently, therefore, as shadows, the pioneers, with their guns at
a trail, threaded their way through the forest and dense canebrakes.
Their keen and trained vision told them they were gaining rapidly upon
the Indians, who were proceeding at that leisurely gait which was proof
that they held no suspicion of danger.

The settlers had already traveled a long distance, and even their iron
limbs must have felt the effects of journeying full forty miles through
the wilderness,--but they pushed on with renewed vigor, and, as the day
advanced, observed signs which showed unmistakably that they were close
upon the captors.

The pursuers slackened their gait and advanced with the extremest
caution, for only by doing so could they hope to succeed in the rescue
of the young girls.

Suddenly the figures of the warriors were discerned through the trees a
short distance ahead. They had stopped, and were in the act of kindling
a fire, evidently meaning to encamp for the night. The Indians were
startled at the same moment by sight of the whites hurrying toward
them, and not one of the dusky red-skins could misunderstand what it
meant. Had it been possible for such a misunderstanding, they were
undeceived the next instant.

The pursuers showed their earnestness by not waiting a moment for the
warriors to rally, but four bringing their rifles to their shoulders,
took a quick aim and fired into the party. The smoke of the powder had
scarcely time to curl upward from the muzzles of the guns, when the
whole eight charged straight into camp on a dead run, and with the fury
of tigers.

When the Indians saw those figures coming, they had no time to slay
the amazed captives, but, snatching up only one of their guns, they
scattered pell-mell for the wood. As they went at headlong haste, Boone
and one of his men fired, while still on a dead run. Each fugitive was
"hit hard," but he managed to get away in the gathering darkness, and
it may safely be concluded that none of the survivors looked upon that
particular expedition against the settlers at Boonesborough in any
other light than a failure.

The joy of the three girls over the rescue must be left to the
imagination of the reader. They were terrified almost out of their
senses when captured, but they knew they would soon be missed from
home, and their friends would be on the trail, but they were old enough
to understand the vast disadvantages under which they would be placed,
knowing that no pursuit could be instituted until the morrow.

And then, too, they knew the meaning of the extreme precaution taken by
the Indians in separating and walking so carefully through the densest
of the canebrakes. And, as mile after mile was placed behind them,
and the warm summer day drew to a close, many a misgiving must have
saddened their hearts, as they looked through the gathering shadows and
failed to see anything of the loved forms.

But they had come, bursting into camp like thunderbolts,--the Indians
had fled in terror, and the girls were restored to their friends
without a hair of their heads being harmed.

The place where the recapture took place was thick with cane, and some
of the pursuers would have been glad to keep on and inflict further
chastisement upon the Indians,--but that was impracticable, and, as
the girls were out of danger, the party turned about and started back
toward Boonesborough, where they arrived without mishap or further
adventure, and where, as may well be supposed, their return created joy
and thanksgiving throughout the entire settlement.

This incident, one of the most romantic of the innumerable occurrences
of the border, possessed a significance which some of the settlers
failed to see. The presence of the Indians so near Boonesborough
and the daring abduction was not done by what may be called an
irresponsible company of warriors. On the contrary, they were one of
the many scouting parties sent out to make observations of all the
settlements along the border, with a view of organizing a combined
movement against them.

The agents of England, who had been so industriously at work for months
with the Indians of the West, used means which at last accomplished
their purpose, and, while hostilities were being pushed with such vigor
in the East against the struggling colonies, it threatened to assume a
more desperate and sanguinary character in the West.

The red men had been aroused to action, and their manner of warfare was
as fierce and merciless as that prosecuted by the East India Sepoys,
nearly a century later, against Great Britain. It was not long before
the danger was plainly seen, and so profound was the fear excited by
the surety of the coming war, attended, as it was certain to be, by the
most atrocious massacres, that hundreds of speculators made all haste
to leave the imperiled country and return to their former homes in the
East.




CHAPTER IX.

  General Uprising of the Indians--The Border Rangers--Attack upon
    Boonesborough--Repulse of the Assailants--Second Attack by a Larger
    Force and its Failure--Arrival of Forty-five Men--Investment
    of Logan's Fort--Timely Arrival of Colonel Bowman with
    Reinforcements--Attack upon Harrodsburg.


There was a deliberation and completeness in the preparations of the
Indians against the settlements along the western border which, if
possible, lent additional terrors to the danger that was soon to break
upon them.

The scouts who came in to Boonesborough, Harrodsburg, and other points,
from their long journeys through the forest, reported the tribes
everywhere making ready for the warpath. There were gatherings at
their towns, councils, turbulent assemblies, throwing of the tomahawk,
shooting matches, running races, and that general excitement which to
the experienced forest ranger can mean but the one thing.

The months passed, the breaking out of hostilities was delayed, and
immigrants kept dropping in, as may be said, until the month of July,
1777, when nearly fifty men came in one company and settled in the
immediate vicinity of Boonesborough.

This was a most welcome addition indeed, for it was evident to all that
the hour was at hand when every arm would be needed in the defence of
their homes and firesides.

Boone knew what was going on among the surrounding tribes, and he threw
away no chances and neglected no precautions. His vigilant sentinels
were always on duty, day and night, and nothing was more certain than
that the garrison could not be taken by surprise.

Besides this, Kenton, Brady, M'Clelland, the McAfee Brothers, and other
rangers, were constantly moving over the long stretches of forest,
making tours of observation to the Indian villages and gathering
points, so that no excuse existed for the whites being surprised.

In the month of April, 1777, the sentinels at Boonesborough discovered
suspicious signs in the woods immediately surrounding them. The signals
and moving figures showed that a large body of Indians were gathering
in front of the stockades, and there could be no doubt that an attack
was intended upon the station.

The settlers were ready, and when the red men opened fire, they
received such a fierce fusillade in return, that no doubt could exist
as to the injury inflicted. The Indian fights from the bushes and
hidden places, and is at disadvantage when he is forced to attack a foe
who is equally protected.

From behind the trees the warriors aimed their rifles, and the flashes
of flame here, there, and everywhere among the green vegetation, showed
where they stood, with their black eyes sighting along the barrels,
waiting to fire at whatever point showed any probability of exposing a
white enemy to their accurate aim.

But beyond the stockades and in the blockhouses were the Kentucky
riflemen, whose unerring aim, whose steady nerve and cool courage have
never been surpassed, and whose skill in the use of their favorite
weapon has made them renowned throughout the world.

Their guns were thrust out of the loopholes, and the pioneers seized
the first chance offered, no matter how slight.

Perhaps the jet of fire behind some tree or among some dense bushes
disclosed nothing of the warrior who caused it, but an instant
later, maybe, the bronzed face of the Indian was cautiously exposed
for a single instant, as he peered out to see the result of his
carefully-aimed shot.

That second was enough, for the half dozen Kentuckians watched for
just such an opportunity, and like lightning the sharp, whiplike crack
of as many rifles broke the stillness, and the red skin rolled over
backward, his skull riddled by bullets, while the smoke of his own gun
was curling upward from its muzzle, and the death-yell trembled half
uttered on his coppery lips.

The Indians killed one settler and wounded four others, while it
was never known how many of their own number were shot. They fought
bravely, but soon saw they had attempted an impossibility and withdrew.

Boone knew better than to believe this was the end. On the contrary, he
and his comrades were convinced it presaged more serious danger to the
settlement.

In this supposition he was right, for on the great national anniversary
following, the Indians reappeared with fully double their former force,
and began what was intended as a regular siege of Boonesborough.

It is not to be supposed the red-men knew or had any idea of the
associations connected with that particular date, for the Declaration
of Independence was just a year old; but the fourth of July is not
a fortunate day for a foe to assail an American force, and so it
proved in this instance, for the whole attack and its result was but a
repetition of that of three months previous.

The Indians fought with great courage, accepting every chance offered,
and killing one man and wounding four, precisely as they did in April.

The vigilant Kentuckians saw seven of the warriors drop before their
fire, and it is not improbable that others were slain or at least
wounded. The fight was kept up with little intermission for two days
and nights, at the expiration of which time the assailants became
convinced that no hope of success remained to them, and they drew off
as before.

Thus it came to pass that Boonesborough, while in its very infancy,
underwent two fierce attacks from the Indians.

Immediately after the second, came the forty-five men from the East,
and no further disturbance or molestation took place during that
year, which was one of great material advancement on the part of the
settlement. Those who joined it continued to be of the right material,
and they came with the ambition to rear themselves homes in the western
wilderness, where their families could live in comfort and safety.

The first step necessary, and in fact about all the steps necessary,
could be summed up in the single word--_work_.

And they put forth all their energies toward clearing broad spaces
of the surrounding forest, and putting the rich virgin soil under
cultivation. It was of that fertile, vigorous nature that it but needed
the opportunity to bring forth, some a sixty and some a hundred fold.

It was like that of the famous Green Isle of the sea,--"Tickle it with
a straw, and it would laugh a harvest."

Meantime the other stations and settlements were given a taste of
Indian warfare and peril. Logan's Fort was invested by a large force
of Indians in the month of May, 1777, and it was placed in imminent
danger, for it was not so strong as Harrodsburg or Boonesborough, and
the investing red-skins were overwhelming in numbers.

The siege continued for several days and nights, during which it became
plainer and plainer that the warriors were certain to subdue it, in
which case the garrison would be put to death.

But at the very hour when despair was settling over the hearts of the
brave defenders, Colonel Bowman appeared with a re-enforcement, and
the Indians were scattered like chaff in the wind.

Two months previous the fort at Harrodsburg was attacked, but the
savages were bravely resisted, and they retired with a slight loss,
having wounded four of the whites, one of whom afterward died.




CHAPTER X.

  A Diner out--The "Hannibal of the West"--Election of General Clark
    and Gabriel Jones as Delegates to the Virginia Legislature--Their
    Journey to the Capital--General Clark obtains the Loan of a Large
    Supply of Ammunition--Erection of the County of Kentucky--General
    Clark attacked and pursued by Indians on his Voyage down the
    Ohio--Conceals the Ammunition and delivers it safely at the
    Border Stations--General Clark marches upon Kaskaskia and
    captures the obnoxious Governor Rocheblave--Governor Hamilton of
    Detroit organizes an Expedition against the Settlements--General
    Clark captures Fort St. Vincent and takes Governor Hamilton
    a Prisoner--Captures a Valuable Convoy from Canada and Forty
    Prisoners--Secures the Erection of Important Fortifications by
    Virginia.


One day a boy sixteen years old, who lived four miles above
Harrodsburg, went out in the woods to hunt game. The name of the lad
was Ray, and he afterward became the General of that name who is so
closely identified with the settlement of the West.

Like all boys in Kentucky he was a good shot, and he was not out
long before he brought down a small blue-wing duck, which he picked,
dressed, and roasted to a rich, juicy brown, building his fire on the
brow of a hill, a few rods east of his home.

Just as young Ray had gotten the bird in a shape to delight the palate
of an epicure, a fine, soldierly-looking man came out of the woods and
called in a cheery voice:

"How do you do, my young man?"

The boy looked up in surprise and said--

"I am very well, sir, thank you."

"What is your name?"

"Ray, and I live in the house down yonder."

"Ain't you afraid to hunt alone in the woods, when the Indians are
making so much trouble?"

"Well, I try to be careful, but there is danger in these times
everywhere, as it seems to me; but won't you help me eat this duck
which is now ready for the table?"

"I'm obliged to you, for I am quite hungry."

Accordingly he sat down and attacked the duck, which he remarked was
very toothsome, especially when a person was so a-hungered as he, and
complimenting the boy upon his culinary skill, he kept at work until
there wasn't a particle left for young Ray, who was somewhat astonished
and not altogether enthusiastic over the style in which his visitor
disposed of the bird.

"But," said General Ray afterward, "he would have been welcome to all
the game I could have killed, when I afterward became acquainted with
his noble and gallant soul."

When the meal was finished, the visitor thanked the lad for his
hospitality and said:

"My name is Clark, and I have come out to see what you brave fellows
are doing in Kentucky, and to give you a helping hand if necessary."

Young Ray conducted him to Harrodsburg, where he spent some time in
carefully noting the capacity of the station in the way of defence
against the attacks that were pretty certain to be made very soon.

The gentleman was General George Rogers Clark, who at the time was a
Major in the Army, and was engaged in forming his grand scheme for
the conquest of the British posts in the Northwest. He was one of the
most conspicuous figures of the times, and is known in history as the
"Hannibal of the West."

The first visit which he made to the frontier was in 1775, when he
spent several days at Harrodsburg. His military genius was so well
known that the command of the irregular troops in Kentucky was given
him. He remained in the West until autumn, when he went back to
Virginia, but returned to Kentucky the succeeding year, which was the
occasion of his introduction to the embryo General Ray, as we have just
related.

At a public meeting of the settlers at Harrodsburg, held on the 6th of
June, 1775, General George Rogers Clark and Gabriel Jones were chosen
to represent the territory in the Colony of Virginia. The all-important
point at that critical juncture was whether Virginia would consider the
colony under her protection and render her the assistance she needed
against the combinations of the Indians.

It will be borne in mind that Colonel Henderson claimed Kentucky
by virtue of purchase from the Cherokees, and if such claim was
recognized, then no protection could be demanded from Virginia, no more
than from Pennsylvania. In General Clark's judgment the wiser course
was for the people to appoint agents with the power to negotiate with
Virginia, and in the event of the State refusing to acknowledge the
claim of the colony upon her, then General Clark proposed to use the
lands of Kentucky as a fund with which to obtain settlers and establish
an independent State. The sovereign people had determined otherwise,
and with many misgivings as to their recognition, General Clark and his
colleague set out for the capital of Virginia.

The way was long, and there were no public conveyances of which to
take advantage. When they reached Williamsburg, the legislature had
adjourned _sine die_. Thereupon Gabriel Jones made his way to the
settlements on the Holston, while General Clark, with the resolution
to accomplish something for the imperiled settlers on the frontier,
proceeded to the home of Governor Henry, who was lying sick in his room.

The Governor was so impressed by the statements of Clark, that he
gave him a letter to the Executive Council of the State, and, with
this document, the officer hastened to that body, and briefly but
graphically depicting the needs of the colony, asked the Council to
loan him five hundredweight of powder to be used in the defence of the
several stations.

The members of the Council expressed themselves as anxious to do
everything in their power for the endangered colonists, but there
was a threatened legal entanglement, which prevented them from
making the loan in the manner desired. On account of the efforts of
Colonel Henderson and Company, the inhabitants of Kentucky had not
yet been recognized as citizens, and until that important question
was settled, the utmost that could be done was to loan the ammunition
to the Kentuckians as friends, at the same time holding General Clark
personally responsible, in case of the failure of the State to give
citizenship to the colonists.

General Clark lost his patience with this proposition. He had made his
way to Virginia at great personal risk, to obtain the gunpowder, and he
was ready to give his utmost services in defending the colony, but he
could not admit the justice of becoming responsible for the value of
the ammunition so sorely needed by the settlements, and he therefore
declined to receive it upon such terms. Rather than do so, he announced
that he would go back to Kentucky, put in operation his original
scheme, and use all the resources of the territory to erect it into an
independent and sovereign State.

This determination General Clark declared in a letter to the Council,
after taking time to deliberate fully over the proposition. Its
reception produced a result which he hardly dared hope. The Council
called him before it, reconsidered their action, and ordered that the
powder be sent to Pittsburg at once, where it was to be turned over to
General Clark to be used in the defence of the settlements of Kentucky.

This took place in the latter part of August, and in the autumn of
the same year the memorial was laid before the Virginia Legislature.
The delegates could not be admitted to seats, but, before the session
was over, they secured legislative action that marked an epoch in
the history of the colony, which was its erection into the county of
Kentucky, by which it was entitled to a separate county court, two
justices of the peace, a sheriff, constables, coroners, and militia
officers. Thus to General Clark must be given the credit of securing
the first political organization of Kentucky, by which it was entitled
to representation in the Virginia Assembly, and to a separate judicial
and military establishment.

Having accomplished this important purpose, General Clark and Gabriel
Jones made ready to start to Kentucky again. The powder and a large
quantity of lead were still at Pittsburg, awaiting them, and they
proceeded to that point and took charge of the supplies. With seven
boatmen they started on their voyage down the Ohio.

General Clark felt the importance of making all possible haste in the
matter, for the Indians were sure to attempt its capture if they knew
of the prize passing through their country.

By some means or other they learned the truth, and the boat, with its
small crew, was scarcely out of sight of Pittsburg, when the Indians
appeared along the banks and began firing upon it with the hope of
disabling the crew. Then they entered their canoes and began a pursuit
of the boat containing the ammunition.

Without offering resistance, General Clark devoted his energies to
flight, and his men plied their oars with such success that they held
the advance all the way to the mouth of Limestone Creek, where General
Clark resorted to stratagem to save the valuable property in his hands.

His men had rowed with such unremitting energy that they could not hold
out much longer. The boat was therefore turned up Limestone Creek,
speeding along between the banks with such swiftness, that it kept out
of sight of the Indians for a long time.

At the proper point, the craft was run ashore, the men sprang out,
and the powder was concealed in the bushes. Then the boat was turned
adrift, and the little party started overland for Harrodsburg, where
they arrived without mishap. A few days later, the General returned
with a strong force, recovered all the ammunition, delivered it at
Harrodsburg, without the loss of a pound, and shortly after it was
distributed among all the stations, which were thus provided with the
indispensable means of defending themselves against the impending
assaults.

It will be admitted that General George Rogers Clark did a most
important service for Kentucky in thus furnishing her with ammunition,
and in securing her erection into the County of Kentucky: but this did
not end his services, and when it was least expected by his enemies, he
assumed the offensive.

General Clark possessed rare military gifts, as he demonstrated on more
than one important occasion. The Governor of the Canadian settlements
in the Illinois country was using his utmost endeavor to incite
the Indians to devastate the American frontier. This being established
beyond question, the Governor of Virginia placed two hundred and fifty
men under Clark, with permission to march against the settlements.
He descended the Ohio, landed and hid his boats, and then started
overland for his destination, his soldiers carrying the small amount
of provisions they had on their backs. These were soon exhausted, and,
for two days, they ate nothing but roots and a few berries, but all the
time pushed vigorously forward.

As silently as phantoms, and as totally unexpected, it may be said,
they appeared before Kaskaskia in the dead of night. The place was
captured before anything like resistance could be thought of. This
was a noteworthy exploit, for Kaskaskia but a short time before had
resisted a much larger force.

General Clark understood the value of promptness and celerity in
military movements, and without an hour's unnecessary delay he sent out
detachments against three other towns, which in every instance were
captured, the obnoxious Governor Rocheblave himself being one of the
prisoners. He was sent to Virginia, there being found among the papers
on his person instructions from Quebec to do his utmost to rouse the
Indians against the settlers, and even to go to the extent of offering
bounties for the scalps of Americans.

The Illinois settlers transferred their allegiance to Virginia, which
owned the territory by right of charter and conquest, and, in the
autumn of 1778, erected it into the County of Illinois--thus sealing
an act of brilliant generalship on the part of Clark, which has few
parallels in the history of the West.

The danger, instead of being over, only deepened, for Hamilton, the
Governor of Detroit, was a resolute official, and, burning under
the smart inflicted by the audacious American officer, began the
organization of an overwhelming force of British and Indians, with
which to move up the Ohio, to Fort Pitt, capturing all the settlements
on the way, purposing also to lay siege to Fort Kaskaskia itself.

This was alarming tidings to Clark, who saw no probability of being
able to hold the country, though he resolved to make its re-conquest
dear to the invaders. The forces which Governor Hamilton was gathering
far outnumbered his and were equally experienced, and their march up
the country promised to be practically irresistible. Besides this,
the Governor gathered hundreds of Indians, who were thirsting for the
opportunity for massacre and plunder. Thus, never in the history of the
frontier did a more portentous cloud gather in its sky.

In this hour of gloom and almost despair, General Clark learned that
Governor Hamilton, who had reached Fort St. Vincent--now known as
Vincennes--had divided his force, by sending most of the Indians
against the adjoining settlements.

This opportunity was similar to those the great Napoleon was so quick
to perceive, nearly a half century later, and which did so much to
establish his marvelous military genius in the eyes of the world.

It was in the dead of winter, being February, 1779, and yet the runner
had scarcely come into Kaskaskia with the important tidings, when
General Clark, with one hundred and fifty picked men, was threading his
way through the wilderness in the direction of Vincennes. Fortunately
the weather was unusually mild, but when within nine miles of the
enemy, they reached the drowned lands of the Wabash, where they were
compelled to wade to their armpits for a long distance, and to use so
much caution in advancing, that it was five days before the entire body
got safely across.

On the 23rd of February, the American force appeared before the fort,
and General Clark demanded its surrender. This was promptly refused,
and Clark made his preparations to take it. As the garrison had not
expected them, he began a siege, carefully investing it as best he
could, and confident that it could not hold out long.

So it proved. At the end of eighteen hours it was surrendered by
Governor Hamilton, the Americans not losing a man. The governor was
sent a prisoner to Williamsburg, and a large quantity of stores fell
into the hands of General Clark.

This was a brilliant achievement indeed, but it was not all. General
Clark captured a convoy from Canada on its way to the post which had
just surrendered, and secured the mail, $45,000, and forty prisoners.
Shortly after an express arrived from Virginia, thanking him and his
gallant companions for the reduction of the Kaskaskia country; and not
long after, Virginia, through the agency of General Clark, extended her
western establishments and erected a number of fortifications.




CHAPTER XI.

  Boone leads a Party to the Blue Licks to make Salt--Capture
    of Boone and Surrender of the Entire Party--Conducted to
    Detroit--His Captors Refuse to Exchange him--He is Adopted by the
    Shawanoes--He discovers a Formidable Expedition is to move against
    Boonesborough--His Escape and Arrival at Boonesborough--The Attack
    Postponed--Boone leads a Party against an Indian Town on the
    Sciota--Encounter with a War Party--Returns to Boonesborough--The
    State Invested by Captain Duquesne and a Large Force--Boone and
    the Garrison determine to Defend it to the Last--Better Terms
    Offered--Treachery Suspected--The Attack--The Siege Raised.


We have been compelled, in the preceding chapter, to carry forward
for a few years the history of the military and political movements
connected with the earlier history of Kentucky in order to give an
intelligent idea of the work performed by its great pioneer Daniel
Boone.

During the exciting military occurrences to which we have referred,
Boonesborough was stirred by a startling disaster.

The settlement was greatly in need of salt, and, as it was a work
of extreme difficulty and danger to secure its importation from the
Atlantic States, the much simpler method was resorted to of having it
manufactured at the Blue Licks, where there was such an abundance of
brackish water that the work was easily done.

Collecting some thirty men, Boone set out for the Blue Licks which
were at no great distance, and they began immediately the process of
evaporating the water and collecting the saline deposit. Salt is one of
the prime necessities of life, and they were desirous of making enough
of it to last them for a long time to come.

The operation of salt-making is not a complicated one, even in these
modern days, and there was scarcely the work to keep the whole thirty
men busy all the time. As might be supposed, Boone spent many hours in
hunting.

It is probable that the Indians, learning of the weakened condition
of Boonesborough, had determined on attacking it with a force which
promised to insure its capture. For this purpose they gathered two
hundred warriors and started for the settlement, without Boone or any
of his party suspecting the danger that was moving down upon their
friends.

Still further, knowing that the unsuspicious white men were engaged
at the Licks, the large force of Indians turned in that direction and
advanced with the noiselessness of so many shadows.

Daniel Boone, at that juncture, was alone, hunting in the woods, when
he came face to face with the two hundred warriors, who appeared as
suddenly as if cast up by the earth.

Without stopping to parley, Boone whirled about and started on a dead
run, darting in and out among the trees, doing his utmost to dodge the
bullets that he expected would be sent after him, and to place himself
beyond sight of the Indians, who were desirous of securing so renowned
a man as he.

But Boone was not so young as when he had his former desperate
encounters with the red men, and the dozen warriors who instantly sped
after him were among the fleetest of their tribe.

The pioneer made good progress, but as he glanced furtively over his
shoulder every few seconds, he saw that the savages were gaining
rapidly upon him, and his capture was certain. He held out as long as
there was the slightest hope, but soon abruptly halted and surrendered.

There is something singular in the consideration which the Indians
showed Boone on more than one occasion. It will be remembered that
when he and Stuart were captured, they were kept day after day, until
they gained a chance to escape; and, in the present instance, the
captors conducted him back to the main body, where he was still held a
prisoner, no harm being offered him.

This was at a time when the fury of the savages was stirred to the
highest point against the settlers, and when the treacherous bullet,
the crashing tomahawk, the deadly knife and the smoke of the burning
cabin were more typical of the manner of warfare, than were any of the
amenities of civilized, contending forces.

It may have been the Indians recognized the importance of the capture
they had made in the person of the great Daniel Boone, for they treated
him kindly and conducted him back to the Blue Licks, where the rest of
the settlers were encamped.

There, upon the solemn promise of the Indians to spare their lives and
give them good treatment, Boone surrendered the entire command to them.

Boone was court-martialed for this act, and, whether he deserved credit
for it or not, is hard to determine. Such a daring officer as General
Clark never would have surrendered under such circumstances, and thirty
frontiersmen of to-day would give a good account of themselves against
an aboriginal force of ten times their number.

On the other hand, the partisans of the pioneer plead that he saw
that it was unquestionably the best thing to be done, inasmuch as the
majority of the Indians would turn back with their prisoners, and thus
Boonesborough would be saved from an attack, which, in its weakened
condition, it would scarcely be able to resist.

It will be seen that this is not a conclusive argument by any means,
for if the war party had appeared before the stockades with the thirty
prisoners and threatened to put them to the torture, before the eyes of
their families, they could have secured any terms they chose. On the
other hand, the two hundred savages could have exterminated the little
band in the woods as utterly as did Sitting Bull and his warriors the
forces of General Custer nearly a hundred years later. It may be set
down, therefore, that the court-martial which acquitted Boone, voiced
the sober second thought of his friends in this much disputed matter.

There is reason to believe that the Indians felt a genuine admiration
for the pioneer, for they kept in spirit and letter the agreement they
made respecting the treatment of himself and comrades. The capture of
so large a force, including the leader himself, was an achievement on
the part of the Indians calling for great self-congratulation, as they
started with their captives for old Chillicothe, on the Miami.

Old Chillicothe was the principal town of the Shawanoes who had taken
Boone, and as it was in the depth of winter, the march through the
wilderness occupying three days was very severe. On this journey the
Indians treated the whites well, sharing their food with them, and only
showing by their unremitting vigilance that they regarded them in the
light of prisoners.

They were kept at the Shawanoe village several weeks, and then the
pioneer and ten of his men were conducted to Detroit (which at that
time was a British garrison), and, with the exception of Boone, were
presented to the commandant, who showed them much consideration.

The commandant was desirous of securing Boone, and requested the
Indians to bring him in, but they refused. A number of prominent
gentlemen in Detroit, who knew of the pioneer, joined with the officer
in offering a large reward for Boone, with the purpose of exchange, or
of sending him back to his family at Boonesborough.

The Shawanoes were deaf to the proffers, and, to end the annoyance,
started for their villages on the Miami, taking the leader with them.

The truth was, the red-men had formed a feeling of strong friendship
for their famous prisoner, and were determined to adopt him. It was
with such an intention that they left Detroit and made their way
through the woods to their own towns, occupying more than two weeks in
the journey.

Reaching their destination at last, Boone was formally adopted into the
Shawanoe tribe. Respecting this novel ceremony, Peck, the biographer of
Boone, says:

"The forms of the ceremony of adoption were often severe and ludicrous.
The hair of the head is plucked out by a painful and tedious operation,
leaving a tuft some three or four inches in diameter on the crown for
the scalp-lock, which is cut and dressed up with ribbons and feathers.
The candidate is then taken into the river in a state of nudity, and
there thoroughly washed and rubbed, 'to take all his white blood out.'
This ablution is usually performed by females. He is then taken to the
council-house, where the chief makes a speech, in which he expatiates
upon the distinguished honors conferred on him. His head and face are
painted in the most approved and fashionable style, and the ceremony is
concluded with a grand feast and smoking."

Boone had now been changed from a white to a red man; that is, in the
eyes of the red-men themselves, and his native shrewdness and cunning
told him that his true course was so to conduct himself as to give the
Shawanoes the impression that he shared their opinion with them.

Having received the ceremony of adoption, and well aware of the strong
friendship the members of the tribe felt for him, he knew he was in no
personal danger, so long as he chose to remain one of them.

But nothing could be further from his intentions than that of spending
any considerable time with the Shawanoes, but he was well aware that
but one opportunity of escape would be offered him; should he fail, no
second chance would present itself. It will therefore be seen that no
precaution was to be neglected that promised to add to the prospect of
success.

He could not but feel anxious concerning his wife and children, and he
was uneasy over the situation of Boonesborough; so much so, that he
resolved to seize the first opportunity of leaving, and to press his
efforts with such vigor that he could scarcely fail.

He adopted his old custom of pretending to be satisfied with his
condition, and of holding no thought of running away. Although little
else was left for him to do, it was not to be expected that it would
deceive the Indians or lead them to relax their vigilance to any
perceptible extent. They must have known it was the very stratagem he
had adopted successfully a few years before with their people, besides
being the one which would naturally occur to a prisoner.

In the month of June, 1778, a company of Shawanoes went to the Sciota
Licks to make salt, taking Boone with them. He thought the chance
promised to be a good one for getting away, and he was on the alert.

But the Indians were equally so, and they kept him so busy over the
kettles that he dared not make the attempt. Finally, having secured
all they wished of salt, they started homeward again, and reaching old
Chillicothe, Boone's heart was filled with consternation at the sight
of 450 warriors in their paint, fully armed and ready to march upon
Boonesborough.

This was a formidable force indeed, more than double that against which
the garrison had ever been forced to defend themselves, and it seemed
to the pioneer as if the settlement, his family and all his friends
were doomed to destruction.

It was now or never with Boone: if his escape was to prove of any
benefit to others than himself, it would not do to delay it any longer.
The settlers were unaware of their danger and unless duly warned, were
likely to fall victims to Shawanoe cunning and atrocity.

Boone determined to leave within the succeeding twenty-four hours, no
matter how desperate the chance, and once beyond sight of his captors,
he would push forward night and day until he could reach Boonesborough.

But eager as he was to go, no opportunity presented itself that day
or evening. His active brain continued busily at work, and, before he
closed his eyes in snatches of fitful slumber, he had decided on the
course to pursue.

He rose early the next morning, and started out for a short hunt, as he
had frequently done, for such a stratagem promised to give him more
chance of getting a good start of his pursuers, it being naturally
supposed that the hour of a hunter's return is one of the most
uncertain occurrences in this world.

The pioneer was one hundred and sixty miles from Boonesborough, but
he was scarcely out of sight of the Indians, when he headed straight
for the settlement, and ran like a man who realizes it is a case of
life and death. It was a long distance to tramp, where the need was
so urgent, but the fugitive was spurred on by the strongest of all
incentives.

He did not spare himself. He had concealed enough for one meal about
his person before starting, and this was all he ate while making
the long journey occupying five days. He did not dare to stop long
enough to shoot any game, for fear his pursuers would be upon him.
He took many precautions to conceal his trail, but was fearful that
the piercing eyes of the Shawanoes would not be deceived. He was
apprehensive, too, that if he should fire his gun, the report would
bring his vengeful captors upon him.

Climbing some elevation, he looked searchingly back over the route
traveled, for sight of the smoke of the tell-tale camp-fire, or that of
the moving figures close on his trail.

But he saw none, and at the close of the fifth day, tired, hungry, and
worn, he made his appearance in front of the Boonesborough stockade and
was admitted with amazement and delight by his friends, who believed
he had been killed long before. So general, indeed, was this belief
in his death that his wife and family had moved back to their home in
North Carolina some time previous.

Just as he had feared, he found the station in the very condition
to fall a prey to the Indians. Its immunity from attack for months
previous had induced carelessness and indifference, and had the immense
war party of Shawanoes appeared at the same time with the pioneer, the
fort could not have held out an hour before a vigorous attack.

But Boone's presence inspired courage, and the garrison and settlers
set to work instantly. Everything was done to put the station in the
best possible state for defence. There was not an hour to lose, for
it was supposed the savages would be directly upon the heels of the
pioneer, and a constant and vigilant lookout was maintained.

But the hours passed, and no Indians appeared: in fact, the escape of
Boone proved the salvation of the settlement named after him, in a
manner altogether unsuspected.

Shortly after the flight of the pioneer, another of his friends
succeeded in getting away, and he came into the station with the
gratifying news that the march against Boonesborough had been postponed
for three weeks on account of the flight of Boone, whose purpose was
divined at once by the Indians.

This postponement was a most providential thing, not only for
Boonesborough itself, but for all the stations along the frontier, for
it gave them time in which to make every preparation for the attacks
which were foreshadowed by the Indian spies that were encountered in
every direction.

Finally Boone determined to make an offensive movement, with a view
of striking something like fear into the hearts of the Indians who
were meditating these attacks, and exciting a corresponding degree of
confidence among his friends.

On a bright morning early in August, with nineteen picked men, he left
the station and started for one of the Indian towns on the Sciota,
intending to effect its capture before anything like an effective
resistance could be made.

To accomplish such a work in an Indian country, requires the utmost
secrecy and celerity of movement. No time, therefore, was lost on the
road, when once the start was made, and, threading their way rapidly
through the forest, they advanced straight toward the Indian town, and
were within a few miles, when, to their astonishment, they encountered
thirty of its warriors who were hurrying to join the main body that at
that moment was marching against Boonesborough.

The instant the forces caught sight of each other, a regular
bushwhacking fire began, lasting only a few minutes, when the Indians
broke and fled, having one brave killed and two wounded. None of the
whites were hurt, and they captured several horses and such property as
the Indians could not take away with them.

Two of the swiftest runners were instantly sent to the Indian town,
and they came back with news that it was evacuated. The flank movement,
therefore, of the settlers had accomplished nothing.

Only one thing remained to be done: the Indians were moving upon
Boonesborough, but there was a possibility of Boone and his men getting
there ahead of them. They turned about and the race began.

On the sixth day, Boone found himself at the same distance from
Boonesborough as was the main body; by the exercise of great care,
he and his men avoided observation and got ahead of them, reaching
the station on the seventh day, while the formidable enemy made their
appearance before the town on the eighth day.

The war party was a large one, indeed, and looked irresistible. It had
the British banners flying, and was commanded by Captain Duquesne, with
eleven other Canadian Frenchmen and a number of the most prominent
Indian chiefs, while the woods seemed to be literally alive with
warriors. Many a settler, as he looked out upon the scene, felt that
resistance to such a force was useless and the end of Boonesborough was
close at hand.

Captain Duquesne, with great confidence in his ability to capture the
place, sent in a demand to Captain Boone to surrender it at once in the
name of his Britannic Majesty. Boone, in reply, asked to be allowed
two days in which to consider the summons, and Duquesne granted the
request.

Boone at once summoned his friends to council, and found, when
they were gathered, that there were only fifty; but, after a full
interchange of views, they decided to defend the station to the last
man. The investing force numbered at the least calculation fully ten
times as many as they, and a prolonged resistance would be sure to
excite them to the highest degree of fury; but the resolution was
unanimous, and there was no faltering on the part of the intrepid
commander or any of his comrades.

At the expiration of the two days, Boone appeared at one of the
bastions and announced his intention of defending the place, at the
same time thanking the French commander for his courtesy in giving him
the forty-eight hours in which to make his preparations against attack.

Captain Duquesne was surprised and disappointed over this decision,
for he seems to have been confident that the settlers, after soberly
thinking over and discussing the matter, would see not only the
uselessness, but the suicidal folly of a resistance, which would
exasperate the Indians, who would be irrestrainable in their vengeance,
after the fall of the station.

The British commander was so anxious to secure the surrender of
Boonesborough, that he immediately proposed more advantageous terms,
making them so liberal, indeed, that Boone and eight of his companions
accepted the invitation to go outside with a view of holding a
conference.

Boone and his escort went forth in good faith, but they had not been
in the clearing long when it became evident that a trap was set and
treachery intended.

By a sudden concerted movement, the whites escaped from the Shawanoes,
who were seeking to surround them, and dashing into the gates, closed
them and hastened to the bastions, where they stood ready to answer the
British captain at the muzzle of the rifle.

The fight commenced at once, a hot fire being opened from every
direction upon the fort, but the pioneers returned it so sharply, and
with such precision, that the Indians were forced to shelter themselves
behind stumps and trees, from which they could discharge their guns
with less certainty of aim.

Captain Duquesne gained a more appreciative idea of the skill of the
Kentucky marksmen than he had ever held before, for the station was not
only well guarded on every side, but it seemed impossible for a warrior
to show himself for a second without being perforated by some settler,
whose rifle sent out its sharp, whiplike crack, whenever an "opening"
presented itself.

So ceaseless was the vigilance of the whites, and so accurate and
deadly their aim, that Captain Duquesne quickly perceived that despite
the overwhelming numbers at his command, he would have to try some
other method other than the desultory firing, which promised to
accomplish absolutely nothing at all.

He therefore determined to undermine and blow up the garrison.

It was not quite two hundred feet from the fort to the bank of the
river, where the Canadians and Indians at once began digging in the
direction of the stockades.

But the dangerous work of mining is always open to defeat by
countermining, as was proven by the gallant defenders of Fort
Presq'Isle, when they were so sorely pressed, and Boone instantly set
his men at work.

As the dirt was cast up, it was also thrown over the pickets, the
purpose being that Captain Duquesne should be apprised that his scheme
was discovered, and the settlers were engaged in the same proceedings.

Boone learned what the besiegers were doing, by observing that the
water below the fort was muddy, while it was clear above.

Captain Duquesne saw that it was idle to prosecute this method of
attack, when the enemy were countermining, and he gave it over.

But he had with him, as we have shown, the most formidable force that
in all the history of Boonesborough was ever gathered before it, and he
doubted not that it must fall before a regular siege.

Accordingly he invested it, intending to starve the garrison into
submission, if no other method presented itself, for there was nothing
to be feared in the way of re-enforcements coming to the assistance of
the defenders.

The siege lasted nine days. During this time, the settlers had only
two men killed, while some of the besiegers were constantly falling
before their deadly rifles. They could accomplish nothing, and Captain
Duquesne decided to raise the siege.




CHAPTER XII.

  The Peculiar Position of Boonesborough--Boone rejoins his Family in
    North Carolina--Returns to Boonesborough--Robbed of a Large Amount
    of Money--Increased Emigration to the West--Colonel Rogers and his
    Party almost Annihilated--Captain Denham's Strange Adventure.


It must have caused Captain Duquesne great mortification to come to
this conclusion, after setting out with a force ten times as great as
that against which he contended, and with every reason to count upon
success; but his provisions were almost exhausted, and nearly every
time he heard the sharp crack of a rifle from the defences it meant
that he had one less warrior than before. The prospect of his triumph
was diminishing slowly, but none the less steadily, day by day.

Under such circumstances there was but one thing to do, and that was to
raise the siege. This was done at the close of the ninth day after the
attack, having lost, as is stated, thirty-seven men, with a much larger
number wounded.

Boonesborough was never again subjected to a formidable assault by
Indians. It had gone through its crucial period, and there was many a
day and hour when it seemed certain that the advanced station in the
wilderness must succumb to the hordes of Indians who, like so many
fierce bloodhounds, were bounding against the stockades.

A peculiar condition of the settlement of the West now acted as a
shield to Boonesborough. Between the site of the station and the Ohio
River were continually springing up smaller stations, and many of these
were so weak as to invite attack, while Boonesborough had proved her
powers of resistance.

The Indians were too wise to pass beyond the weaker stations with a
view of attacking one further away and much stronger. It therefore
came to pass, as already stated, that the siege of which we have made
mention was the last danger to which Boonesborough was subjected.

Something like peace and quietness came to the station, where every
stockade was pierced with bullets, and the settlers began more
earnestly the work of clearing the land for cultivation.

The opportunity having presented itself for the first time, Boone set
out for North Carolina to join his family. As they were mourning him
for dead, their excitement and delight possibly may be imagined, when
the hardy hunter came smilingly out of the woods, and, catching up his
little ones in his arms, kissed them over and over again and pressed
his happy wife to his heart.

He had a strange story to tell them of his captivity among the
Indians--his escape, his tramp through the forest, the attack upon
Boonesborough and the repulse of the British and Indians, and finally
his long journey over mountain and wood to rejoin them.

Boone stayed in North Carolina all winter with his family, who
doubtless would have been glad to remain there still longer; but the
fires of the Revolution were flaming and bringing great suffering and
privation, and the pioneer showed that Boonesborough could never again
be placed in serious peril.

The following summer, therefore, Boone and his family went back to
the station, where he set the good example of devoting his energies
to the cultivation of the tract of land which belonged to him, and to
assisting other immigrants that were pouring into the country. This
was a work as substantial in its way as roaming the woods in search of
game, as was his favorite custom in his earlier days.

And yet, while thus engaged, he was subjected to a great annoyance if
not humiliation. He was openly accused of cowardice for his surrender
of his party at the Blue Licks the preceding year. Colonel Richard
Callaway and Colonel Benjamin Logan brought charges against him, which,
as hinted in another place, led to his trial by court-martial. His two
friends were induced to do this as an act of justice to Boone, and with
a view of setting at rest the accusations continually made in certain
quarters.

Without giving the particulars of the court-martial, it is sufficient
to mention as its direct result, Captain Boone's promotion to the rank
of major and his increased popularity with all his citizens.

A misfortune, however, overtook the pioneer, which probably caused him
more mental suffering than anything that took place during his long,
eventful life.

A commission having been appointed by legislature to settle Kentucky
land claims, Major Boone attested his faith in the future of the young
State by gathering all his funds, with which he started for Richmond,
with the intention of investing the entire amount in lands.

On the road he was robbed of every dollar. Boone makes no mention of
the distressing circumstance in his autobiography, and none of the
particulars are known; but, as he had a great many sums entrusted to
him by friends, it will be understood that this misfortune amounted in
reality to a public calamity.

However, the robbery did not impair the confidence which was generally
felt in Boone's integrity. Those who knew him best, knew he was the
soul of honor,--one who would undergo privation and suffering at any
time rather than inflict it upon others.

The opinion of the people is best shown in the following letter written
by Colonel Thomas Hart, of Lexington, Kentucky, dated Grayfields,
August 3, 1780:

"I observe what you say respecting our losses by Daniel Boone. (Boone
had been robbed of funds in part belonging to T. and N. Hart). I had
heard of the misfortune soon after it happened, but not of my being
partaker before now. I feel for the poor people who, perhaps, are to
lose their preemptions; but I must say, I feel more for Boone, whose
character I am told suffers by it. Much degenerated must the people
of this age be, when among them are to be found men to censure and
blast the reputation of a person so just and upright, and in whose
breast is a seat of virtue too pure to admit of a thought so base and
dishonorable. I have known Boone in times of old, when poverty and
distress had him fast by the hand; and in these wretched circumstances,
I have ever found him of a noble and generous soul, despising every
thing mean; and therefore I will freely grant him a discharge for
whatever sums of mine he might have been possessed of at the time."

There was general peace, so to speak, along the frontier, and that part
of our country took immense strides in the march of civilization; and
yet the year 1779 is noted for the occurrence of one of the bloodiest
battles that ever was fought in that portion of the West.

In the autumn of the year, Colonel Rogers, who had been to New Orleans
to procure supplies for the posts on the upper Mississippi, made his
way back until he came opposite the present site of Cincinnati.

As he reached that point he discovered the Indians coming out of the
mouth of the Little Miami, in a large number of canoes, and crossing
to the Kentucky side of the Ohio. He determined at once to attempt a
surprise, with a view of cutting them off, as they effected a landing.

The Ohio was quite low at that season, and was very shallow on the
southern shore, a long sand-bar extending along the bank. Colonel
Rogers landed his men, some seventy in number, upon this bar, and
started them for a point a short distance away, where he hoped to
effect the capture of the entire party of Indians.

But Rogers had made a most fearful miscalculation.

They had scarcely started toward the spot, when they were fiercely
attacked by a large force of Indians, numbering fully two hundred. They
first poured in a terrible volley and then springing to their feet,
rushed upon the panic-stricken whites, with their knives and tomahawks.
Before this hurricane-like charge, Colonel Rogers and more than forty
of his men were almost instantly killed. Those who were not shot down,
made a frenzied flight to the river, with the warriors at their heels.

But the guards left in charge of the boats were so terrified by the
disaster, that they hurriedly rowed out in the river again, without
waiting to take their imperiled comrades aboard.

Caught thus between two fires, the remnants turned about, and, making
a desperate charge upon their enemies, succeeded in forcing their way
through the furious warriors, and those who survived managed to reach
Harrodsburg.

In this battle, or massacre, as it may well be called, sixty whites,
including the commander, Colonel Rogers, were killed, a loss only
equaled by that of the Blue Licks some time previous. The disaster
spread a gloom over the frontier, and awakened a dread in some
quarters that the Indians would be roused to combined action against
the settlements, and that a long series of disasters were likely to
follow.

It was at this battle that an incident took place, almost too
incredible for belief, but it is established upon the best authority.

Among those who were wounded by the terrific volley poured into the
whites was Captain Denham, who was shot through both hips in such a
manner that the bones were broken, and he was deprived of the use of
his legs. Nevertheless he managed to drag himself to the top of a
fallen tree hard by, where he hid himself until the battle was over and
the Indians gone.

His condition was deplorable, for as his friends had fled, he could not
expect any assistance, and it looked indeed as if it would have been a
mercy had he been killed outright.

However, he kept up a brave heart and was able to reach the side of
the river to drink, when his consuming thirst came upon him. Thus he
lived until the close of the second day, when he discovered that some
one else was hiding near him. Whoever he was, the captain concluded it
must be a wounded person and most likely one of his own race, inasmuch
as the Indians always take off their wounded when the opportunity is
presented them.

Accordingly the captain hailed him, and sure enough found it was a
comrade, who was wounded in both arms, so as to make them useless.
Both were plucky soldiers, and as there seemed to be a man "between
them," they formed a strange partnership.

The captain did the shooting, while his friend carried him about on his
shoulders, from place to place.

In this manner they existed until the 27th of September, when they
hailed a passing flat-boat, which took them to Louisville, where they
eventually recovered and lived many years afterward.




CHAPTER XIII.

  Colonel Bowman's Expedition--Its Disastrous Failure--Death of Boone's
    Son--Escape of Boone--Colonel Byrd's Invasion--Capture of Ruddell's
    and Martin's Station--Daring Escape of Captain Hinkston.


An invasion of the Indian country is always popular on the frontier,
and when Colonel Bowman, known to be a good soldier, issued his call
for volunteers, shortly after the massacre of Colonel Rogers and his
command, there was no lack of responses.

He requested them to meet at Harrodsburg, for the purpose of moving
against the Indian town of Chillicothe, and there in a short time
were gathered three hundred men, among them being the veteran Indian
fighters, Harrod and Logan, each holding rank as Captain, but Boone was
not a member of the expedition.

The company was a formidable one, and it started from Harrodsburg
in the month of July, pressing forward through the woods with such
celerity and skill that it reached the neighborhood of the Indian towns
at nightfall without its approach being suspected.

Here a consultation was held, and it was decided to attack the place at
the favorite hour of the savages--just before the break of day--and the
plan of assault was agreed upon.

Advancing close to the Indian town, the little army separated into two
equal divisions, Colonel Bowman retaining command of one, while Captain
Logan led the other. The latter officer was to move half way round the
town, while the Colonel was to go the other way, until they met, when
the superior officer would give the signal for an attack "all along the
line."

Captain Logan obeyed his orders promptly, and, reaching the point
agreed upon, halted and awaited his superior. But unaccountably Colonel
Bowman did not appear.

Logan remained motionless until his impatience gave way to uneasiness,
as he saw the minutes slipping by, and he determined to find out the
cause of the delay. His men were concealed in the long grass, when the
light of day broke over the woods, but Logan, moving here and there,
could learn nothing of his superior.

Several of his own men, in shifting their positions, the better to
hide themselves, attracted the attention of some Indian dogs, which
instantly set up a barking. This brought out a warrior, who moved
cautiously in the direction where the object that alarmed the canine
seemed to be. He probably had no thought that white men were near at
hand, and he might have been made prisoner, but, as is often the case,
and as seems to have been the rule on the frontier, at the very crisis
the whites committed a fatal piece of carelessness. One of the hunters
fired his gun.

As quick as lightning the truth flashed upon the warrior, and whirling
about, he ran like a deer to his cabin. In an incredibly short space of
time, the entire village was alarmed. Logan plainly heard the Shawanoes
hurrying the women and children to the woods, through the cover of a
ridge stretching between them and the other division of soldiers.

Meantime the warriors prepared themselves for the attack, by gathering
with their guns in a strong cabin, doubtless intended as a fort or
means of defence, while Logan and his men took possession of a number
of lodges from which the savages had withdrawn.

He determined upon using the material of these simple structures as
shields in reaching the stronghold of the Shawanoes, and his men were
about to make the advance, confident of success, when orders came from
Colonel Bowman to retreat at once.

The Colonel discovered that the Indians had not been completely
surprised, as was intended, and he thought it too dangerous to venture
upon an attack under such conditions--hence the order to Captain Logan
to extricate his force while there was opportunity of doing so.

The order was received with amazement, but there was no choice but to
obey, "though they knew some one had blundered." The position of the
assailants was such that an orderly retreat was difficult, and it soon
became impossible; the men felt that each must look out for himself,
and they broke and scattered for the wood, running the gauntlet of the
destructive fire of the warriors, who shot, as may be said, at their
leisure.

After the loss of several lives Logan's force got out of its dangerous
advanced position, joined the other division under command of Colonel
Bowman, and the retreat was continued in the direction of Harrodsburg
with some semblance of order.

But nothing gives a foe greater courage than the sight of a retreating
opponent, and when the Shawanoes saw the strong force of volunteers
hurrying away, they too rushed from their fort and assailed them. There
were less than fifty warriors, while the whites numbered almost six
times as many, and yet the retreat was continued in the face of the
insignificant number of savages, who fired upon them from every point
of vantage, the settlers continually falling back, as did the British
before the galling shots of the volunteers at Lexington.

There have been those who defended the course of Colonel Bowman in this
distressing affair, and who insist that his only course was to retreat
before the attack of a much more numerous force than his own, but it
seems clear he lost his head from the moment he came in sight of the
village. He failed to comply with his share of the movement as arranged
by himself, and when the Shawanoes rallied and pursued his men, instead
of turning about and scattering them, he continued retreating in a
disorderly fashion, giving no orders, but allowing every one to do as
he thought best.

But some of his subordinates were better officers than he, and when
the Colonel halted his force in the worst possible position, Logan,
Harrod, and several others mounted the pack-horses and dashed through
the woods in the direction of the galling shots. The noted Blackfish
was leading the warriors, and unless checked, the indications were that
the whites would be cut off to a man.

Captains Logan and Harrod, with their brave comrades, charged wherever
they caught sight of Indians, or whenever the flash of a gun was seen,
and after some vigorous work, they killed the chief Blackfish and
dispersed the rest of his warriors.

The road thus cleared, Colonel Bowman's crippled command continued its
retreat, and finally reached Harrodsburg without further molestation.

The expedition had proven itself one of that long list of failures
and disasters which mark the history of military expeditions against
the Indians on the frontier from the earliest settlement down to the
massacre of Custer and his command.

The Revolution was approaching its close, it being the year 1780, and
hundreds of settlers from the East had swarmed into Kentucky and taken
up land. In their eagerness to acquire possession, they almost forgot
the danger which hung over them, laying themselves so invitingly open
to attack, that the British and Indians took up the gauntlet which, it
may be said, was thus thrown in their faces.

The conquest of Kentucky was a favorite scheme with the British, and in
the summer of 1780, a formidable invasion was made under the direction
of Colonel Byrd, at the head of six hundred Indians and Canadians, and
with six pieces of artillery.

His first demonstration was against Ruddell's station, on the Licking.
This had a weak garrison, and when Captain Ruddell was confronted with
the formidable force and summoned to surrender, he saw that it would be
folly to refuse. The artillery at the command of his foe could speedily
batter the fort to pieces, and he agreed to capitulate on condition
that his garrison should be under the protection of the British.
Colonel Byrd readily agreed to this reasonable stipulation, and the
gates were thrown open.

The instant this was done, the Indians poured tumultuously in, and
laying hold of the soldiers claimed them as prisoners. Captain Ruddell
remonstrated indignantly with Colonel Byrd at this violation of his
agreement, but the British colonel, although he did his best to
restrain his Indians, was unable to do so.

Colonel Byrd seems to have been a gentleman, and, when the Indians
proposed to attack Martin's Station, a short distance off, and which
they were confident of capturing, he refused to move and threatened
to withdraw from Kentucky altogether, unless the chiefs and sachems
should pledge themselves that in every case the prisoners taken should
be given in charge of him, the Indians confining themselves entirely to
the plunder and booty obtained.

The agreement was made on the part of the leaders, and then Colonel
Byrd marched against Martin's Station. The artillery he took along
undoubtedly proved irresistibly persuasive in almost every instance,
for he captured the station with little difficulty, and the Indian
chiefs compelled their warriors to adhere to the pledge they had given.

The Indians now became eager to attack Bryant's Station, but Colonel
Byrd did not seem to have much enthusiasm over the invasion of
Kentucky, and he declined to go further. He collected his stores, and,
placing them upon boats, retreated to Licking Forks, where his Indians
withdrew, taking with them the prisoners captured at Ruddell's Station.

Among the captives was Captain John Hinkston, a noted Indian fighter,
who, as may be supposed, was on the alert for a chance to get away from
his captors, knowing, as he did, that he was liable to suffer torture
at their hands.

On the second night, succeeding the separation of the Indians from the
command of Colonel Byrd, the warriors halted close to the river. When
they started to build a camp-fire, the fuel was found to be so wet that
it was fully dark before they could get the flames going, and so many
of the guard were called upon to assist in the difficult work that
Captain Hinkston made a sudden dash, broke through the lines, and amid
a storm of hastily aimed bullets succeeded in reaching the shelter of
the woods.

As night had just settled, Hinkston felt secure in his escape, though
the Indians immediately scattered and began such a vigorous search that
he heard them moving in all directions about him, sometimes so close
that he could almost touch them, and was forced to stand as motionless
as the tree trunks beside him, lest they should detect his cautious
movements.

But he gradually worked away from the Indian camp, when the vigor
of the hunt had relaxed somewhat, and, starting in the direction of
Lexington, kept going all night; for, as he was confident the Shawanoes
would take his trail at daylight, it was important that he should make
all progress while the opportunity was his.

His hopes rose as hour after hour passed, and he was congratulating
himself on the goodly distance made, when to his consternation he came
directly up to the very Indian camp from which he fled long before. He
had committed that error which people lost in the woods are so prone to
commit, that of walking in a circle instead of in a straight line.

As may be supposed, Hinkston was startled, and he did not stand long
surveying the smoking camp-fires, with the grim warriors gathered about
them; but turning once more, he re-entered the woods, making his way
with so much caution, that whatever might happen, he was sure of not
repeating the blunder committed.

The night was so cloudy and dark, that he was deprived of the compass
of the hunter, the stars in the sky, and he wet his finger and held
it over his head. This enabled him to tell the direction of the wind
which was gently blowing, and by repeating the act, he was enabled to
pursue substantially the same direction through the night, so that when
daylight came, he was sure of one thing, he had placed a goodly number
of miles between him and his enemies.

He was so worn out that he crept close to a fallen tree, where he slept
several hours. When he awoke he found he was surrounded by a dense
fog, which shut out objects a dozen feet distant. The moisture was
dripping from the leaves, and the day was as dismal as can be imagined;
but such weather served to help conceal his trail, and he was hopeful
that none of the keen-eyed Indians would succeed in tracing him to his
resting-place.

But the Shawanoes were prosecuting a most vigorous search, and he
stepped along with the greatest care, glancing to the right and left,
expecting every minute to see some brawny warrior suddenly spring out
of the fog upon him.

On the right he would hear the call of a turkey, answered a moment by
another on the left, followed perhaps by a general chorus from all
points of the compass.

Those wild turkeys were Indians signaling to each other, and they
frequently approached so close, that more than once Hinkston felt it
impossible to break through the fiery ring that was closing about him.

Sometimes the pursuers varied their signals by imitating the howling of
wolves, or the bleating of fawns, and they were often so close that
discovery would have been inevitable but for the London-like vapor
which enveloped the trembling fugitive.

But good fortune waited on Captain Hinkston, and he finally extricated
himself from the perilous vicinity and reached Lexington without harm.




CHAPTER XIV.

  Colonel Clark's Invasion of the Indian Country--Boone is Promoted
    to the Rank of Colonel--His Brother Killed at Blue Licks and
    Boone narrowly Escapes Capture--Attack upon the Shelbyville
    Garrison--News of the Surrender of Cornwallis--Attack upon Estill's
    Station--Simon Girty the Renegade--He Appears before Bryant's
    Station, but Withdraws.


This same year 1780 was noteworthy for two memorable incidents in the
history of Kentucky. The first was Colonel Byrd's invasion, and the
other was the retaliatory invasion of the Indian country by the gallant
Colonel Clark, and his attack upon the Shawanoe towns.

The prisoners taken by the Indians at Ruddell's Station were kept by
their captors, who released a few after the expiration of several
years, but a great many perished by the tomahawk and knife.

Byrd's invasion created great excitement, and the proposed retaliatory
measure of Colonel Clark was received with enthusiasm. The brave
settlers rallied to his standard from every direction, and in a short
time he had a full thousand men under his command.

Such a force, composed of such material, might well be considered
invincible, for no combination of Indians could have been formed on the
frontier capable of checking its march.

Colonel Clark, at the head, marched directly into the Indian country,
spreading devastation wherever he went. The towns were burned and
the corn-fields laid waste--a piece of cruelty, but war is always
cruel--and by destroying their crops, the warriors were given
something else to do besides forming expeditions against the frontier
settlements. No attempt was made to check the advance of Colonel Clark,
and his force having inflicted an incalculable amount of injury,
withdrew and disbanded.

Only one skirmish had taken place; that was at an Indian village where
about twenty men were killed on each side.

In the same year the organization of the militia of Kentucky was
perfected. Colonel Clark was appointed brigadier-general and
commander-in-chief of all the militia. Major Daniel Boone was advanced
to the rank of colonel, and with Pope and Trigg held second rank,
Floyd, Logan and Todd holding first.

A singular fatality seemed to attach itself to Blue Licks, already the
scene of several disasters to the whites. In October, 1780, Boone and
his brother visited the place, and had scarcely reached it when they
were fired upon by a number of Indians in ambush, and the brother fell
dead.

Boone himself dashed into the woods and fled for life, the Indians
pursuing with the help of a dog. The latter clung so close to the heels
of the fugitive, that, when he got a safe distance, he turned about and
shot him, then resuming his flight, he soon placed himself beyond all
danger from the savages.

In March, 1781, a number of straggling Indians entered Jefferson county
at different points, and hiding along the paths, treacherously shot
down several settlers. This served as a reminder to the pioneers that
it was too soon to count upon any degree of safety from the red men.

In fact there was a state of continual unrest along the border. Among
those killed in the manner mentioned, was Colonel William Linn. Captain
Whitaker, with the resolve to punish the assassins, started in hot
pursuit of them.

Striking their trail, he followed it rapidly to the Ohio, where he
entered several canoes purposing to cross and continue the pursuit. He
supposed that the warriors had already gone over, but such was not the
case, the Indians being concealed on the Kentucky shore.

Just as Captain Whitaker and his men were pushing off, the savages
fired, killing and wounding nine of them, but the others turned with
such fierceness, that the Indians were put to flight, several of their
number being left dead.

In the succeeding month a small station near Shelbyville, which had
been founded by Boone, became so alarmed that the settlers determined
to remove to Bear's Creek. While engaged in doing so, they were
attacked by Indians and many killed.

Colonel Floyd hastily gathered twenty-five men and started in pursuit,
but he was ambushed, half his party killed, and he himself would have
been tomahawked, but for the assistance of the noted scout, Captain
Wells, who helped him off the ground.

Toward the close of 1781, news reached Kentucky that Lord Cornwallis
had surrendered at Yorktown, that the war was ended, and the
Independence of the American colonies secured forever. It is impossible
to imagine the delight which thrilled the country at this joyful
tidings. America now took her place among the nations, and began that
career of progress, advancement and civilization which has made her
people the foremost of the world.

The settlers along the frontier believed their day of security and
safety had come at last, and that now they might give their whole
attention to the development of the country.

But the hope was an unsubstantial one. The American Indians, as a rule,
are as regardless of treaties as are we, and they showed no disposition
to recognize the fact that the war was over and the dawn of universal
peace had come.

In May, 1782, twenty-five Wyandots suddenly appeared in front of
Estill's Station, and after killing one man, and taking a prisoner,
retreated. Captain Estill, with an equal force, started in pursuit,
and overtook them at Hinkston's, where he savagely attacked them. His
lieutenant, Miller, showed the white feather, failed to carry out
instructions, and Captain Estill and nine of his men were killed and
scalped, the Indians also losing their leader and half their warriors.

Simon Girty the renegade figures as an actor in the darkest deeds in
the history of the West. He was a soldier at the fierce battle of Point
Pleasant, but was so maltreated by his Commander, General Lewis, after
the battle, that he forswore his race, and became one of the leaders of
the Indians and the most merciless enemy of the settlers.

In the month of August, a runner arrived at Bryant's Station with
news that Girty, at the head of a large force of Indians, was pushing
through the woods with the intention of capturing the station.
Immediate preparations were made to receive them, and when the Indians
appeared, on the 14th of August, everything possible had been done to
put the place in the best form of defence.

Girty was at their head, as had been announced, and he at once advanced
to the clearing and summoned the settlers to surrender, telling them
that no other course was left, for, besides the large force under him
he had a number of re-enforcements marching to join him with artillery.

The sound of the last word was alarming to most of the settlers, but
Reynolds, one of their number, took upon himself to answer Girty, who
had assured them of honorable treatment in case of capitulation, and
the tomahawk in the event of their failure to accept the terms.

The answer of Reynolds to this demand was of the most insulting
nature. He laughed at the threats of Girty and challenged him to make
them good; he said he was the owner of one of the mangiest and most
worthless curs ever seen, and that he put the last crowning disgrace
upon the poor dog by naming him "Girty;" that if he had military
artillery or re-enforcements, he was invited to exhibit them, and that,
finally, if Girty remained two hours longer before the fort, they would
go out and scalp him and all the warriors he had with him.

This was an emphatic reply to the question, and Girty expressed in turn
his regret that the settlers were so blind to the fate of themselves
and those dependent upon them; but he had given them fair warning, and
their blood must be on their own heads.

They had deliberately chosen to disregard the proffer of peace and
safety, and the world could not blame him now for carrying out his
threat--that of putting every one to death with the tomahawk.

The resistance which they had determined to offer would only excite
the Indians to the highest point of fury, and they would now be
irrestrainable.

Thereupon Simon Girty went back to where his Indian allies were
awaiting him, placed himself at their head, and then deliberately
turned about and marched away, without firing a shot at the station!




CHAPTER XV.

  Arrival of Boone with Re-enforcements--Pursuit of the Indian
    Force--Boone's Counsel Disregarded--A Frightful Disaster--Reynold's
    Noble and Heroic Act--His Escape.


On the morning succeeding the departure of Girty and his Indians
from the front of Bryant's Station, Boone reached the place with
re-enforcements, among them being his son Israel and his brother
Samuel. Before the day closed, Colonel Trigg came in from Harrodstown,
and Colonel Todd from Lexington, each with a similar force, so that the
retreat of the noted renegade was the best thing that could have taken
place for his own personal safety.

The company that gathered within the station was a curious
one--numbering about two hundred, one-fourth of whom were commissioned
officers. A noisy consultation was held, and amid much uproar and
wrangling, it was resolved to pursue the Indians at once, without
awaiting the arrival of Colonel Logan, who was known to be approaching
with a large force, and was certain to arrive within the succeeding
twenty-four hours.

Accordingly the pursuit was begun without delay, and it proved most
easy to keep up, for the retreat of Girty and his Indians was marked by
such a broad and plain trail that there could be no mistaking it.

The bushes had been bent down, the bark was hacked off the trees with
tomahawks, and articles were strewn along the way with most remarkable
prodigality.

Indeed there was so much pains taken to show the trail that Boone and
his older companions were alarmed. They believed Girty had caused it
to be done for the very purpose of drawing them in pursuit, and Boone
spoke to many of the officers. But they laughed at his fears and
pressed forward with the ardor of Kentuckians who see the certainty of
a fierce struggle close at hand, where the victory is likely to be on
their side.

When the settlers reached Blue Licks--an ominous name for them--they
discovered several Indians on the other side of the Licking, who
leisurely retreated into the woods, without showing any special alarm
over the pursuit of the Kentuckians.

As it was certain that Girty and his whole force were immediately
in front, another consultation was held; for the pursuers began to
feel the need of care and caution in their movements. After a long
discussion, all turned to Boone, who they felt was the best qualified
to advise them in the emergency.

The grave face and manner of the great pioneer showed that he
appreciated the danger.

"Our situation is a critical one," said he; "you know nothing of
the nature of the country on the other side of the Licking, and the
Indians have acted in such a manner that I'm satisfied they have laid
an ambush for us. In my opinion, we have the choice of two courses:
the first is to divide our men and send one half up the river to
cross it at the Rapids and attack in the rear, while the rest make a
simultaneous assault in front. But the other course and the one which
I most earnestly urge is to await the coming of Colonel Logan and his
re-enforcements. We have a strong body in front of us, and we have been
taught more than one lesson by the disasters of the past few years,
which we cannot afford to forget to-day. At any rate, we ought not to
try to cross the river until we have sent forward spies to learn the
number and disposition of the troops."

These were the words of wisdom and prudence, but they fell upon
unwilling ears, and the majority bitterly opposed the advice of the
old pioneer. They insisted that the Indians were fleeing in alarm, and
that such delay would give them time to get away unscathed, while the
proposal to divide the settlers would so weaken them that the Indians
would fall upon the detachments separately and destroy them. It may be
said there was reason in the last objection, but none in the former.

It is probable there was little discipline in this wrangling assemblage
which was engaged in discussing a most momentous question, for while
the arguments were going on, Major McGary sprang upon his horse,
spurred him at full gallop toward the river, calling upon all those who
were not cowards to follow him.

The next instant he was plunging through the stream, and the whole
shouting rabble rushed tumultuously after him. There was no semblance
of order as they shouted, struggled, and hurried pell-mell to their
doom. Simon Girty, the renegade, from the woods on the other side, must
have smiled grimly, as he saw his victims doing everything in their
power to hasten their own destruction, just as the majority of the
expeditions against the Indians did before and have done since.

The soldiers hastened forward, until they reached the point against
which Boone had warned them--the heading of two ravines. They had
scarcely halted, when a party of Indians appeared and opened fire upon
them. McGary returned the fire, but his position was disadvantageous,
being on an exposed ridge, while, as usual, the Shawanoes were in a
ravine with plenty of opportunity to conceal themselves, while picking
off the whites.

The majority of the settlers had not yet come up, but they were
hurrying forward in the same wild disorder, and continued rushing up
the ridge, in time to meet the fire from the Indians which grew hotter
and more destructive every minute.

Although placed at such disadvantage, the whites fought with great
bravery, loading and shooting rapidly, though without any attempt at
discipline and regularity. The fact was, the whites saw they were
entrapped, and each and all were fighting for their very lives.

Had the warriors been given their choice of ground, they would have
selected in all probability that taken by the respective combatants,
for nothing could have been more in favor of Girty and his savages.

The Indians gradually closed in around the whites, loading and firing
with great rapidity, while the settlers fell fast before the bullets
rained in upon them from every quarter.

Among the officers, Todd, Trigg, Harland and McBride were soon killed,
and Daniel Boone's son Israel, while gallantly doing his duty, fell
pierced by bullets. The savages gaining confidence from their success
continued to extend their line, so as to turn the right of the
Kentuckians, until they got in their rear and cut off their retreat to
the river.

The soldiers saw what the Indians were doing, for the heavy fire
indicated it, and they became panic-stricken. At once every one
thought of saving only himself, and a tumultuous, headlong rush was
made for the river. As a matter of course, the savages did not allow
the invitation to pass unaccepted, and they swarmed down upon the
demoralized whites, tomahawking them without mercy.

Most of the horsemen escaped, but the slaughter of the foot soldiers
was terrible. Nearly all of those who were in Major McGary's party
were killed, and at the river the scene became appalling. Horsemen,
foot soldiers, and painted Indians were mingled in fierce confusion,
fighting desperately in the water, which was crowded from shore to
shore.

A score of soldiers, having got across, halted and poured a volley into
the red men, which checked them for a few minutes; but they quickly
rallied and resumed the massacre and pursuit, the latter continuing
for fully twenty miles. More than sixty Kentuckians were killed, a
number made prisoners; and another disaster was added to the long roll
of those which mark the history of the attempts at civilization in the
West.

Daniel Boone bore himself in this fight with his usual intrepidity and
coolness, doing his utmost to check the hurricane-like rush of the
Indians, and endeavoring to rally those around him into something like
organized resistance. Could this have been done, the renegade Girty
and his merciless horde would have been routed, for some of those who
fought on his side admitted years afterward that they were once on the
very point of breaking and fleeing in disorder.

But Boone saw his son and many of his closest friends shot dead, and
himself almost surrounded by Indians, before he comprehended his
imminent personal peril.

The ford which was looked upon by most of the settlers as the only door
of escape was crowded with fugitives, and several hundred warriors were
between him and the river. Instead of seeking to reach the stream,
he turned toward the ravine from which the Shawanoes themselves had
emerged, and, with several comrades, made a desperate dash for it.

There was firing all along the line at the few who took this
exceptional means, and several small parties sprang after them. Boone
and his companions were fleet of foot, but he succeeded in eluding
their enemies more by strategy than speed, and finally brought his
friends to the river bank at a point so far below the ford that they
were invisible to the Indians.

Here they swam across and then started for Bryant's Station, which they
reached without further molestation.

Such an utter rout and irretrievable disaster is always marked by some
extraordinary incidents. Reynolds, who made the insulting reply to
Simon Girty, when he demanded the surrender of Bryant's Station, was in
the battle and fought furiously against the renegade and his allies,
but was forced back by the turbulent tide which, once set in motion,
swept everything before it.

Reynolds was making for the river, when he overtook an officer on foot
who was so weak from wounds received in a former engagement with the
Indians, that he could not keep up with the fugitives, and, indeed, was
so exhausted, that he was ready to fall fainting to the ground.

Reynolds sprang from his horse and helped the officer upon it, and then
told him to do the best he could. The captain did so and saved himself.

Reynolds was now placed in great peril, but he made a plunge into the
river, and soon carried himself by powerful strokes to the other side,
where he was immediately made prisoner.

The Shawanoes, at this juncture, were so engaged in capturing and
killing the fugitives, that they could not leave very large guards to
keep those who fell into their hands.

Thus it came about that the guard placed over Reynolds was a single
Indian, but he was tall and muscular, and would have preferred to
tomahawk his prisoner and join in the general massacre.

Reynolds did not give him time to debate the matter, but, turning
quickly upon the warrior, dealt him a blow which felled him like an ox,
and then, before he could rise, Reynolds was in the woods, speeding for
life.

One of the first men whom he encountered, after reaching the
settlement, was the officer to whom he had given his horse, when there
was no other means by which he could be saved.

The officer appreciated the favor, and showed it by making Reynolds a
present of two hundred acres of land.




CHAPTER XVI.

  General Clark's Expedition--A Dark Page in American History--Colonel
    Crawford's Disastrous Failure and his own Terrible Fate--Simon
    Girty.


Kentucky now approached an eventful period in her history. As we have
stated, the career of Daniel Boone is woven in the very warp and woof
of the narrative of the early days of the West, and in order to reach a
proper understanding of the life and character of the great pioneer, it
is necessary to carry the two along together.

The defeat and massacre at Blue Licks excited a profound shock and
indignation along the frontier, and the feeling was general that
necessity demanded the chastisement of the Indians, who would be likely
otherwise to continue their depredations.

The gallant and clear-headed officer, General George Rogers Clark, the
"Hannibal of the West," issued a call for volunteers to assemble at
Bryant's Station. The General was so popular, and the confidence in
him so universal, that hundreds flocked to the rendezvous, where, in a
brief time, he placed himself at the head of one of the most formidable
forces ever raised in that portion of the country during its early days.

The Indians were too wise to meet this army in anything like open
battle. They carefully kept out of its way, expending their energies in
picking off stragglers, and occasionally sending in a stray shot from
some point, from which they could flee before it could be reached by
the infuriated soldiers.

General Clark pushed forward, burned several Indian towns, and laid
waste many fields. A few prisoners were taken, and a few killed, when
the expedition returned and disbanded.

This was the only enterprise of the kind that was set on foot by
Kentucky during the year 1782, which, however, was marked by one of the
darkest deeds on the part of white men, which blacken the pages of our
history.

On the 8th of March, Colonel Daniel Williamson, with a body of men,
marched to the Moravian town of Gnadenhutten, where he obtained
possession of the arms of the Christian Indians through treachery,
and then massacred one hundred of them in as cruel and atrocious
manner as that shown by Nana Sahib at Cawnpore. The harvest of such an
appalling crime was rapine and death along the frontier, as it has been
demonstrated many a time since.

These outrages became so numerous that Colonel William Crawford
organized an expedition in Western Pennsylvania, numbering 450 men,
with which he started against the Wyandot towns on the Sandusky.

His force in fact was nothing but an undisciplined rabble, and no one
could predict anything but disaster, when it should penetrate the
Indian country. It was this lack of discipline that had given the
death-blow to so many expeditions against the tribes on the frontier,
and which is the strongest ally an enemy can have.

Early in June, Colonel Crawford's force reached the plains of Sandusky,
straggling along like the remnants of a defeated army, and so mutinous
that numbers were continually straying back, deserting openly and
caring nothing for the wishes or commands of their leader.

Colonel Crawford saw that a crisis was approaching, and calling a
council, it was agreed that if a large force of Indians was not
encountered within the succeeding twenty-four hours, they would
withdraw altogether from the country.

A thousandfold better would it have been had they done so at once.

Within the succeeding hour, scouts came in with the news that a large
body of savages were marching against them, and at that moment were
almost within rifle-shot.

The proximity of danger impressed itself upon the soldiers and
officers, who made hurried preparations to receive the warriors that
appeared shortly after, swarming through and filling the woods by the
hundred.

The whites were eager for battle and they opened upon them at once,
keeping up a hot galling fire until dark, when the Indians drew off.
The soldiers slept on their arms.

At daylight the fight was renewed, but it assumed the nature of a
skirmish more than that of a regular battle. The Indians had suffered
severely, and they were more careful of exposing themselves. They
took advantage of the trees and bushes, firing rapidly and doing
considerable damage.

But the soldiers were accustomed to such warfare, and they not only
held their own ground, but maintained a destructive, though desultory
fire which was more effective than that of the enemy.

The most alarming fact was that the Indians were not only waiting for
re-enforcements but were receiving them all through the day. The spies
of Colonel Crawford reported that other warriors were continually
coming in, it being evident that runners had been sent out by the
chiefs to summon all the help they could command.

This caused a great deal of uneasiness on the part of the whites,
who saw the probability of an overwhelming force gathering in front
of them, with the awful sequel of massacre, which had marked so many
expeditions into the Indian country.

At sunset, when the second day's battle ceased, an anxious consultation
was held by the officers of Crawford's command, at which the momentous
question was discussed as to what was to be done.

The conviction was so general that they would be attacked by a
resistless force, if they remained on the ground another day, that
it was agreed to retreat during the night. As the savage force was
already very large and was hourly increasing, it will be understood a
withdrawal could only be accomplished by the utmost secrecy, and amid
the most profound silence.

It was decided, therefore, that the march should begin at midnight, in
perfect silence, and preparations were made to carry out the decision
of the council of officers.

At a late hour the troops were arranged in good order, and the retreat
was begun. A few minutes after, some confusion and the firing of guns
were noticed in the rear and threatened a panic, but the soldiers were
speedily quieted, and the withdrawal resumed in an orderly manner.

Probably it would have been continued as intended, but, at the critical
moment, some terrified soldier called out that the Indians had
discovered what they were doing and were coming down upon them in full
force.

The retreat at once became a rout, every man feeling that scarcely a
hope of escape remained. The cavalry broke and scattered in the woods,
and the desperate efforts of Colonel Crawford, who galloped back and
forth, shouting and seeking to encourage them to stand firm, were
thrown away.

As if it was decreed that nothing should be lacking in this grotesque
tragedy, the men shouted and yelled like crazy persons, so that the
impression went to the astounded Indians that "the white men had routed
themselves and they had nothing to do but to pick up the stragglers."

The sequel can be imagined. The warriors sprang to the pursuit and
kept it up with the ferocious tenacity of blood-hounds, all through
the night and into the succeeding day. The massacre went on hour
after hour, until over a hundred of the soldiers had been killed or
captured, and still another frightful disaster was added to those which
already marked the history of the development of the West.

Among the prisoners captured were two--Dr. Knight, the surgeon of the
company, and Colonel Crawford himself.

Dr. Knight and the Colonel were taken at the close of the second day,
the latter having incurred unusual danger from his anxiety respecting
the fate of his son. Their captors were a small party of Delawares, who
carried them to the old Wyandot town. Just before reaching it, a halt
was made, and the celebrated chief, Captain Pipe, painted Dr. Knight
and Colonel Crawford black. This meant they had already been doomed to
death by being burned at the stake!

Their immediate experience did not tend to lessen their terrors. As
they moved along, they continually passed bodies of their friends that
had been frightfully mangled by their captors, who were evidently
determined that the massacre of the Christian Indians should be fully
avenged.

When near the Indian town, they overtook five prisoners who were
surrounded by a mob that were tormenting them by beating and taunting.
Suddenly the Indians sprang upon them with a yell, and every one was
tomahawked. Colonel Crawford was turned over to a Shawanoe doctor, and
Surgeon Knight went along with them.

A few minutes previous, Simon Girty, the renegade, rode up beside them
and became more fiendish in his taunts than the Indians. He had been
acquainted with Colonel Crawford years before, and had special cause
for enmity, because the Colonel had used his efforts to defeat Girty
for some military office he was eager to obtain.

He now commented upon their appearance (being painted black and of
course in great distress of mind), and he assured them that their death
at the stake was one of the certainties of the immediate future. He
laughed and swore and was in high spirits, as well he might be; for,
inspired as he was by the most rancorous hatred of his own race, he
had been gratified that day by assisting in one of the most dreadful
disasters to the settlers that had ever occurred on the frontier.

When the village was reached, Colonel Crawford seized a forlorn hope
of escaping by appealing to a Shawanoe chief named Wingenund, who
had frequently visited his house, and between whom quite a strong
friendship existed.

When the chief learned that Colonel Crawford was painted black, he knew
that nothing could save him, and he withdrew to his own lodge that he
might not witness his sufferings; but Crawford sent for him, and the
chief could not refuse to go to his friend.

Their meeting was quite affecting, the chief showing some embarrassment
and pretending to be uncertain of the identity of the prisoner, through
his paint.

"You are Colonel Crawford, I believe."

"Yes, Wingenund, you must remember me."

"Yes, I have not forgotten you; we have often drank and eaten together,
and you have been kind to me many times."

"I hope that friendship remains, Wingenund."

"It would remain forever, if you were in any place but this, and were
what you ought to be."

"I have been engaged only in honorable warfare, and when we take your
warriors prisoners we treat them right."

The chief looked meaningly at the poor captive and said,

"I would do the most I can for you, and I might do something, had you
not joined Colonel Williamson, who murdered the Moravian Indians,
knowing they were innocent of all wrong and that he ran no risk in
killing them with their squaws and children."

"That was a bad act--a very bad act, Wingenund, and had I been with
him, I never would have permitted it. I abhor the deed as do all good
white men, no matter where they are."

"That may all be true," said the chief, "but Colonel Williamson went a
second time and killed more of the Moravians."

"But I went out and did all I could to stop him."

"That may be true, too, but you cannot make the Indians believe it, and
then, Colonel Crawford, when you were on the march here, you turned
aside with your soldiers and went to the Moravian towns, but found them
deserted. Our spies were watching you and saw you do this. Had you
been looking for warriors, you would not have gone there, for you know
the Moravians are foolish and will not fight."

"We have done nothing, and your spies saw nothing that your own people
would not have done had they been in our situation."

"I have no wish to see you die, though you have forfeited your life,
and had we Colonel Williamson, we might spare you; but that man has
taken good care to keep out of our reach, and you will have to take his
place. I can do nothing for you."

Colonel Crawford begged the chief to try and save him from the
impending fate, but Wingenund assured him it was useless, and took his
departure.

Shortly afterward the Indians began their preparations for the
frightful execution.

A large stake was driven into the ground, and wood carefully placed
around it. Then Crawford's hands were tied behind his back, and he was
led out and securely fastened to the stake.

At this time, Simon Girty was sitting on his horse near by, taking no
part in the proceedings, but showing by his looks and manner that he
enjoyed them fully as much as did the executioners themselves.

Happening to catch the eye of the renegade, Colonel Crawford asked him
whether the Indians really intended to burn him at the stake. Girty
answered with a laugh that there could be no doubt of it, and Crawford
said no more. He knew that it was useless to appeal to him who was of
his own race, for his heart was blacker and more merciless than those
of the savages who were kindling the fagots at his feet.

The particulars of the burning of Colonel Crawford have been given by
Dr. Knight, his comrade, who succeeded in escaping, when he, too, had
been condemned to the same fate. These particulars are too frightful to
present in full, for they could only horrify the reader.

Colonel Crawford was subjected to the most dreadful form of torture,
the fire burning slowly, while the Indians amused themselves by firing
charges of powder into his body. He bore it for a long time with
fortitude, but finally ran round and round the stake, when his thongs
were burned in two, in the instinctive effort to escape his tormentors.

The squaws were among the most fiendish of the tormentors, until the
miserable captive was driven so frantic by his sufferings that he
appealed to Girty to shoot him and thus end his awful sufferings.

This dying request was refused, and at the end of two hours nature gave
out and the poor Colonel died.

Simon Girty assured Dr. Knight that a similar fate was awaiting him,
and Knight himself had little hope of its being averted. A son of
Colonel Crawford was subjected to the same torture, but, as we have
stated, Dr. Knight effected his escape shortly afterward.

Simon Girty, the most notorious renegade of the West, remained with the
Indians until his death. He became a great drunkard, but took part in
the defeat and massacre of St. Clair's army in 1791, and was at the
battle of the Fallen Timbers, three years later. Fearful of returning
to his own kindred at the end of hostilities, he went to Canada, where
he became something of a trader, until the breaking out of the war of
1812, when he once more joined the Indians and was killed at the battle
of the Thames.




CHAPTER XVII.

  Adventure of the Spies White and M'Clelland--Daring Defence of her
    Home by Mrs. Merrill--Exploits of Kennan the Ranger.


The block-house garrison at the mouth of Hocking River was thrown into
considerable alarm on one occasion by the discovery that an unusual
number of Indians were swarming in their town in the valley. Such a
state of affairs, as a rule, means that the savages are making, or have
made, preparations for a serious movement against the whites.

To ascertain the cause of the presence of so many warriors in that
section, two of the most skillful and daring rangers of the West
were sent out to spy their movements. These scouts were White and
McClelland, and the season on which they ventured upon their dangerous
expedition was one of the balmy days in Indian summer.

The scouts made their way leisurely to the top of the well-known
prominence near Lancaster, Ohio, from whose rocky summit they looked
off over the plain spreading far to the west, and through which the
Hocking River winds like a stream of silver.

From this elevation, the keen-eyed scouts gazed down upon a curious
picture--one which told them of the certain coming of the greatest
danger which can break upon the frontier settlement. What they saw, and
the singular adventures that befell them, are told by the Reverend J.
B. Finley, the well-known missionary of the West.

Day by day the spies witnessed the horse-racing of the assembled
thousands. The old sachems looked on with their Indian indifference,
the squaws engaged in their usual drudgery, while the children indulged
unrestrainedly in their playful gambols. The arrival of a new war
party was greeted with loud shouts, which, striking the stony face of
Mount Pleasant, were driven back in the various indentations of the
surrounding hills, producing reverberations and echoes as if so many
fiends were gathered in universal levee. On several occasions, small
parties left the prairie and ascended the mount from its low and grassy
eastern <DW72>. At such times, the spies would hide in the deep fissures
of the rocks on the west, and again leave their hiding-places when
their unwelcome visitors had disappeared. For food, they depended on
jerked venison and corn-bread, with which their knapsacks were well
stored. They dare not kindle a fire, and the report of one of their
rifles would have brought upon them the entire force of Indians. For
drink, they resorted to the rain-water which still stood in the hollows
of the rocks; but, in a short time, this source was exhausted, and
McClelland and White were forced to abandon their enterprise, or find a
new supply. To accomplish this, M'Clelland, being the oldest, resolved
to make the attempt. With his trusty rifle in hand and two canteens
slung over his shoulders, he cautiously descended, by a circuitous
route, to the prairie skirting the hills on the north.

Under cover of the hazel thicket, he reached the river, and turning the
bold point of a hill, found a beautiful spring within a few feet of
the stream now known by the name of Cold Spring. Filling his canteens,
he returned in safety to his watchful companion. It was now determined
to have a fresh supply of water every day, and the duty was performed
alternately.

On one of these occasions, after White had filled his canteens, he
sat watching the water as it came gurgling out of the earth, when the
light sound of footsteps fell on his ear. Upon turning around he saw
two squaws within a few feet of him. The eldest gave one of those
far-reaching whoops peculiar to Indians.

White at once comprehended his perilous situation. If the alarm should
reach the camps or town, he and his companion must inevitably perish.
Self-preservation compelled him to inflict a noiseless death on the
squaws, and in such a manner as, if possible, to leave no trace behind.
Ever rapid in thought and prompt in action, he sprang upon his victims
with the rapidity and power of the lion, and grasping the throat of
each, sprang into the river. He thrust the head of the eldest under the
water, and while making strong efforts to submerge the younger (who,
however, powerfully resisted him), to his astonishment, she addressed
him in his own language, though in almost inarticulate sounds.
Releasing his hold, she informed him she had been a prisoner ten years,
and was taken from below Wheeling; that the Indians had killed all
the family; that her brother and herself were taken prisoners, but
he succeeded, on the second night, in making his escape. During this
narrative, White had drowned the elder squaw, and had let the body
float off down the current, where it was not likely soon to be found.
He now directed the girl to follow him, and, with his usual speed and
energy, pushed for the mount.

They had scarcely gone half way, when they heard the alarm-cry, some
quarter of a mile down the stream. It was supposed some party of
Indians, returning from hunting, struck the river just as the body of
the squaw floated past. White and the girl succeeded in reaching the
mount, where M'Clelland had been no indifferent spectator to the sudden
commotion among the Indians. Parties of warriors were seen immediately
to strike off in every direction, and White and the girl had scarcely
arrived before a company of some twenty warriors had reached the
eastern <DW72> of the mount, and were cautiously and carefully keeping
under cover. Soon the spies saw their foes, as they glided from tree
to tree and rock to rock, till their position was surrounded, except
on the west perpendicular side, and all hope of escape was cut off. In
this perilous position, nothing was left but to sell their lives as
dearly as possible.

This they resolved to do, and advised the girl to escape to the Indians
and tell them she had been taken prisoner. She said, "No! Death in the
presence of my own people is a thousand times better than captivity and
slavery. Furnish me with a gun, and I will show I know how to die. This
place I will not leave. Here my bones shall lie bleaching with yours,
and, should either of you escape, you will carry the tidings of my
death to my few relatives."

Remonstrance proved fruitless. The two spies quickly matured their
means of defence, and vigorously commenced the attack from the front,
where, from the very narrow backbone of the mount, the savages had to
advance in single file, and without any covert. Beyond this neck, the
warriors availed themselves of the rocks and trees in advancing, but,
in passing from one to the other, they must be exposed for a short
time, and a moment's exposure of their swarthy forms was enough for the
unerring rifles of the spies. The Indians, being entirely ignorant of
how many were in ambuscade, grew very cautious as they advanced.

After bravely maintaining the fight in front, and keeping the enemy
in check, the scouts discovered a new danger threatening them. The
foe made preparation to attack them on the flank, which could be most
successfully done by reaching an isolated rock, lying in one of the
projections on the southern hill-side. This rock once gained by the
Indians, they could bring the whites under point-blank range without
the possibility of escape. The spies saw the hopelessness of their
situation, which it appeared nothing could change.

With this impending fate resting over them, they continued calm and
calculating, and as unwearied as the strongest desire of life could
produce. Soon M'Clelland saw a tall, swarthy figure preparing to
spring from a covert, so near to the fatal rock that a bound or two
would reach it, and all hope of life would then be gone. He felt that
everything depended on one single advantageous shot; and, although
but an inch or two of the warrior's body was exposed, and that at the
distance of eighty or a hundred yards, he resolved to fire.

Coolly raising his rifle, shading the sight with his hand, he drew a
bead so sure that he felt conscious it would do the deed. He touched
the trigger with his finger; the hammer came down, but, in place of
striking fire, it broke his flint into many pieces! He now felt sure
that the Indian must reach the rock before he could adjust another
flint, yet he proceeded to the task with the utmost composure. Casting
his eye toward the fearful point, suddenly he saw the warrior stretch
every muscle for the leap, and with the agility of a panther he made
the spring, but, instead of reaching the rock, he uttered a yell and
his dark body fell, rolling down the steep to the valley below.

Some unknown hand had slain him, and a hundred voices from the valley
below echoed his death cry. The warrior killed, it was evident, was a
prominent one of the tribe, and there was great disappointment over the
failure of the movement, which, it was considered, would seal the doom
of the daring scouts.

Only a few minutes passed, when a second warrior was seen stealthily
advancing to the covert, which had cost the other Indian his life in
attempting to reach. At the same moment the attack in front was renewed
with great fierceness, so as to require the constant loading and
firing of the spies to prevent their foes from gaining the eminence.
Still the whites kept continually glancing at the warrior, who seemed
assured of the coveted position.

Suddenly he gathered his muscles and made the spring. His body was
seen to bound outward, but instead of reaching the shelf, for which it
started, it gathered itself like a ball and rolled down the hill after
his predecessor.

The unknown friend had fired a second shot!

This caused consternation among the Shawanoes, and brave as they
unquestionably were, there was no one else who tried to do that which
had cost the others their lives. Feeling that they had no ordinary foe
to combat on the hill, the savages withdrew a short distance to consult
over some new method of attack.

The respite came most opportunely to the spies, who had been fighting
and watching for hours and needed the rest.

It suddenly occurred to M'Clelland that the girl was not with them,
and they concluded that she had fled through terror and most probably
had fallen into the hands of the Indians again, or what was equally
probable, she had been killed during the fight.

But the conclusion was scarcely formed, when she was seen to come
from behind a rock, with a smoking rifle in her hand. Rejoining the
astonished and delighted spies, she quickly explained that she was the
unsuspected friend who shot the two warriors when in the very act of
leaping to the point from which they expected to command the position
of the defenders.

While the fight was at its height, she saw a warrior advance some
distance beyond the others, when a rifle-ball from the scouts stretched
him lifeless. Without being seen, the girl ran quickly out to where he
lay and possessed herself of his gun and ammunition.

Subsequent events showed what good use she made of the weapon. Her life
among the Indians taught her to see on the instant the point which
the warriors would strive to secure, and, which secured, would place
the spies at their mercy. She crawled under some brush, and carefully
loading the rifle, held it ready for the critical moment.

It was a singular coincidence, in which the girl must have perceived
the hand of Providence, that the second warrior who advanced to the
spot was recognized by her as the identical wretch who led the company
which killed nearly all her family and who carried her away a prisoner.
She made sure, when she pulled trigger upon him, that the bullet should
go straight to the mark!

M'Clelland and White appreciated the value of the ally who had joined
them, for, without those well-aimed shots of hers, the two must have
fallen before the rifles of the Shawanoes. They congratulated her on
her nerve and skill, and assured her, that her achievements alone had
placed them in a position in which they could feel there was some hope
of escape.

As night approached, dark and tumultuous clouds rolled up from the
horizon, and overspreading the skies rendered the night like that of
Egypt. As the spies felt that their withdrawal from the dangerous spot
must be effected, if effected at all, before the rise of the morning's
sun, they saw how much the inky blackness of sky and earth was likely
to embarrass them.

However, as the girl was intimately acquainted with the topography
of the country immediately surrounding them, it was decided that she
should take the lead, the others following close after her.

The great advantage likely to accrue from such an arrangement was
that, if they encountered any Indians, as they were more than likely
to do, her knowledge of their tongue would enable her to deceive them.
They had not gone a hundred yards when the wisdom of this course was
demonstrated.

A low "whist" from the guide admonished the spies of danger, and, as
agreed beforehand, they sank flat upon their faces and waited for the
signal that all was right, before going further. Peering cautiously
through the dense gloom, they became aware that the girl was missing,
and she was gone so long that they were filled with serious misgivings.

Finally her shadowy figure came out of the gloom, and she told them she
had succeeded in having two sentinels removed whose position was such
that it would have been impossible for them to get by undiscovered.

In the same noiseless manner the flight was resumed, and the three
phantoms, moved along through the gloom for a half hour, when they
were startled by the barking of a dog close to them. Instantly White
and M'Clelland cocked their guns, but their guide whispered that they
were now in the very middle of the village, and their lives depended
on the utmost silence and secrecy. They needed hardly to be assured
of that, and they signified that her directions would be followed
implicitly.

A minute later they were accosted by a squaw from an opening in her
wigwam; the guide made appropriate reply, in the Indian tongue, and
without pause, moved on. Her voice and manner disarmed suspicion, and
the three were not disturbed.

Only a short distance further was passed, when the girl assured them
they were beyond the limits of the village, and the great danger
was ended. She had shown extraordinary wisdom and shrewdness in
leading the spies out of their great peril. She knew the Shawanoes
had their sentinels stationed at every avenue of escape, and instead
of taking those which it would seem most natural to follow under
the circumstances, she adopted the bold plan of disarming all these
precautions by passing directly through the center of the village. The
very boldness of the plan proved its success.

The fugitives now made for the Ohio River, and, at the end of three
days' hard travel, they safely reached the block-house. Their escape
prevented the contemplated attack by the Indians, and the adventure
itself is certainly one of the most remarkable of the many told of the
early days of Ohio and Kentucky.

Among the members of Mr. Finley's church was a quiet, plain-looking
woman who was mild, gentle, and consistent in her talk and
conversation. And yet this Mrs. Merril was the heroine of the following
wonderful exploit:

In 1791, the house of Mr. Merril, in Nelson county, was assaulted
by Indians. He was fired upon and fell wounded into the room. The
savages attempted to rush in after him, but Mrs. Merril and her
daughter succeeded in closing the door. The assailants began to hew a
passage through it with their tomahawks; and, having made a hole large
enough, one of them attempted to squeeze into the room. Undismayed,
the courageous woman seized an axe, gave the ruffian a fatal blow as
he sprang through, and he sunk quietly to the floor. Another, and
still another, followed till four of their number met the same fate.
The silence within induced one of them to pause and look through the
crevice in the door. Discovering the fate of those who had entered,
the savages resolved upon another mode of attack. Two of their number
clambered to the top of the house, and prepared to descend the broad
wooden chimney. This new danger was promptly met. Mrs. Merril did not
desert her post; but directed her little son to cut open the feather
bed, and pour the feathers upon the fire. This the little fellow did
with excellent effect. The two savages, scorched and suffocated, fell
down into the fire, and were soon dispatched by the children and the
wounded husband. At that moment a fifth savage attempted to enter the
door; but he received a salute upon the head from the axe held by Mrs.
Merril, that sent him howling away. Thus seven of the savages were
destroyed by the courage and energy of this heroic woman. When the sole
survivor reached the town, and was asked, "What news?" a prisoner heard
his reply: "Bad news! The squaws fight worse than long knives."

William Kennan, a noted scout and ranger, was the hero of many
extraordinary incidents.

He had long been remarkable for strength and activity. In the course
of the march from Fort Washington, he had repeated opportunities of
testing his astonishing powers in those respects, and was admitted to
be the swiftest runner of the light corps. On the evening preceding
the action, his corps had been advanced in front of the first line of
infantry, to give seasonable notice of the enemy's approach.

As day was dawning, he observed about thirty Indians within one hundred
yards of the guard-fire, approaching cautiously toward the spot
where he stood, in company with twenty other rangers, the rest being
considerably in the rear. Supposing it to be a mere scouting party, and
not superior in number to the rangers, he sprang forward a few paces in
order to shelter himself in a spot of peculiarly rank grass, and, after
firing with a quick aim at the foremost Indian, fell flat upon his
face, and proceeded with all possible rapidity to reload his gun, not
doubting for a moment that his companions would maintain their position
and support him.

The Indians, however, rushed forward in such overwhelming masses, that
the rangers were compelled to flee with precipitation, leaving young
Kennan in total ignorance of his danger. Fortunately, the captain of
his company had observed him, when he threw himself in the grass,
and suddenly shouted aloud: "Run, Kennan, or you are a dead man!" He
instantly sprang to his feet, and beheld the Indians within ten feet of
him, while his company were more than one hundred yards in front.

Not a moment was to be lost. He darted off, with every muscle strained
to the utmost, and was pursued by a dozen of the enemy with loud yells.
He at first pressed straight forward to the usual fording-place in the
creek, which ran between the rangers and the main army; but several
Indians, who had passed him before he arose from the grass, threw
themselves in his way and completely cut him off from the rest.

By the most powerful exertions, he had thrown the whole body of
pursuers behind him, with the exception of one young chief, probably
Meeshawa, who displayed a swiftness and perseverance equal to his own.
In the circuit which Kennan was obliged to make, the race continued
for more than four hundred yards. The distance between them was about
eighteen feet, which Kennan could not increase, nor his adversary
diminish. Each for the time put his whole soul in the race.

Kennan, as far as he was able, kept his eye upon the motions of his
pursuer, lest he should throw the tomahawk, which he held aloft in a
menacing attitude, and, at length, finding that no other Indian was at
hand, he determined to try the mettle of his pursuer in a different
manner, and felt for his knife in order to turn at bay. It had escaped
from its sheath, however, while he lay in the grass, and his hair
almost lifted the cap from his head when he found himself wholly
unarmed.

As he had slackened his space for a moment, the Indian was almost
within reach of him when he started ahead again; but the idea of being
without arms lent wings to his flight, and for the first time he saw
himself gaining ground. He had watched the motions of his pursuer too
closely to pay proper attention to the nature of the ground before him,
and suddenly found himself in front of a large tree, which had been
blown down, and upon which had been heaped brush and other impediments
to the height of eight or nine feet.

The Indian, heretofore silent, now gave utterance to an exultant shout,
for he must have felt sure of his victim. Not a second was given to
Kennan to deliberate. He must clear the obstacle in front or it was
all over with him. Putting his whole soul into the effort, he bounded
into the air with a power which astonished himself, and, clearing
limbs, brush, and everything else, alighted in perfect safety on the
other side. An exclamation of amazement burst from the band of pursuers
bringing up the rear, not one of whom had the hardihood to attempt the
same feat.

Kennan, however, had no leisure to enjoy his triumph. Dashing into the
creek, where the high banks would protect him from the fire of the
enemy, he ran up the edge of the stream until he found a convenient
crossing place, and rejoined the rangers in the rear of the encampment,
panting from the fatigue of exertions which had seldom been surpassed.
But little breathing time was allowed him. The attack instantly
commenced, and was maintained for three hours with unabated fury.

When the retreat took place, Kennan was attached to Major Clark's
battalion, which had the dangerous service of protecting the rear. The
corps quickly lost its commander, and was completely disorganized.
Kennan was among the hindmost when the flight commenced, but exerting
those same powers which had saved him in the morning, he quickly gained
the front, passing several horsemen in his flight.

Here he beheld a private in his own company, lying upon the ground with
his thigh broken, who, in tones of distress, implored each horseman as
he hurried by to take him up behind. As soon as he beheld Kennan coming
up on foot, he stretched out his hands and entreated him to save him.
Notwithstanding the imminent peril of the moment, his friend could not
reject such an appeal, but, seizing him in his arms, placed him upon
his back, and ran in this manner several hundred yards.

At length the enemy was gaining upon them so fast, that Kennan saw
their death was certain unless he relinquished his burden. He
accordingly told his friend that he had used every exertion possible
to save his life, but in vain; that he must relax his hold about his
neck, or they would both perish. The unhappy man, heedless of every
remonstrance, still clung convulsively to Kennan's back, until the
foremost of the enemy, armed with tomahawks alone, were within twenty
yards of them. Kennan then drew his knife from its sheath, and cut the
fingers of his companion, thus compelling him to relinquish his hold.
The wounded man fell upon the ground in utter helplessness, and Kennan
beheld him tomahawked before he had gone thirty yards. Kennan, relieved
from his burden, darted forward with the activity which once more
brought him to the van. Here again he was compelled to neglect his own
safety to attend to that of others.

The late Governor Madison, of Kentucky, who afterward commanded the
corps which defended themselves so honorably at the River Raisin,
was at that time a subaltern in St. Clair's army. Being a man of
feeble constitution, he was totally exhausted by the exertions of the
morning, and was found by Kennan sitting calmly upon a log, awaiting
the approach of his enemies. Kennan hastily accosted him, and inquired
the cause of his delay. Madison, pointing to a wound which had bled
profusely, replied he was unable to walk further, and had no horse.
Kennan instantly ran back to the spot where he had seen an exhausted
horse grazing, caught him without difficulty, and having assisted
Madison to mount, walked by his side till they were out of danger.
Fortunately, the pursuit ceased soon after, as the plunder of the camp
presented irresistible attractions to the Indians. The friendship thus
formed between these two young men continued through life. Kennan never
entirely recovered from the immense exertions he was constrained to
make during this unfortunate expedition.




CHAPTER XVIII.

  The Three Counties of Kentucky united into One District--Colonel
    Boone as a Farmer--He outwits a Party of Indians who seek to
    capture him--Emigration to Kentucky--Outrages by Indians--Failure
    of General Clark's Expedition.


Kentucky now enjoyed a season of repose. The revolution was ended, the
independence of the colonies recognized, and the cession of the British
posts in the northwest was considered inevitable. The Indians had not
the same incentives to warfare and massacre as heretofore, though
murder was so congenial to their nature, and their hatred of the whites
was so intense, that it was unsafe to trust to any regard of treaties
on their part.

The year 1783, although marked by few stirring incidents, was an
important one in the history of Kentucky.

She still belonged to Virginia, but the subject of separation was
discussed among the people, and it was apparent to all that the day was
not far distant when she would be erected into an independent State;
but she organized on a new basis, as may be said. The three counties
were united in one district, having a court of common law and chancery,
for the whole Territory. The seat of justice was first established at
Harrodsburg, but was soon after removed to Danville, which continued
the capital and most important town in the State for a number of years.

Upon the cessation of hostilities between England and the Colonies, it
was stipulated that the former were to carry away no slaves, were to
surrender to the United States her posts in the Northwest, and were
permitted to collect the legal debts due her from our citizens.

Each party violated these conditions. Virginia peremptorily forbade
the collection of a single debt within her territory until every
slave taken away was returned; while England, on her part, refused to
surrender a post until all the debts due her subjects had been legally
recognized and collected. The result of these complications was that
England held her posts in the Northwest for ten years after the close
of the war.

Colonel Boone, as was his custom, devoted himself to his farm, and was
engaged in the cultivation of considerable tobacco, though he never
used the weed himself. As a shelter for curing it, he had built an
enclosure of rails which was covered with cane and grass. The raising
of tobacco has become so common of late in many States of the Union,
that nearly all understand the process. Boone had placed the plants so
that they lay in three tiers on the rails, the lowermost one having
become very dry. One day, while in the act of removing the lower pile,
so as to make room for the rest of his crop, four stalwart Indians
entered, carrying guns.

When Boone looked down into the grinning faces of the warriors, he
understood what it meant: they had come to take him away prisoner, as
he had been taken before.

"We got you now, Boone," said one of them; "you no get away; we carry
you to Chillicothe."

Boone, of course, had no gun at command, as he was not expecting any
such visit, while each of the Shawanoes carried a rifle and held it so
as to command him.

When Boone looked more narrowly into their faces, he recognized one or
two of the Shawanoes who had captured him five years before near the
Blue Licks.

He affected to be pleased, and called back, with a laugh,

"How are you, friends? I'm glad to see you."

But they were not disposed to wait, for they had ventured, at
considerable risk, to steal thus close to the settlement, in their
eagerness to secure such a noted prisoner as Colonel Boone.

They, therefore, pointed their guns at him in a menacing way, and
suggested that the best plan for him to induce them not to pull the
triggers was to descend immediately.

"I don't see as there is any help for it," was the reply of the
pioneer, "but, as I have started to shift this tobacco, I hope you'll
wait a few minutes till I can shift it. Just watch the way I do it."

The four warriors were unsuspicious, and, standing directly under the
mass of dry pungent stuff, they looked up at the pioneer as he began
moving the rails. He continued talking to his old acquaintances, as
though they were valued friends, who had just dropped in for a chat,
and they turned their black eyes curiously upon him, with no thought of
the little stratagem he was arranging with such care and skill.

By and by Boone got a large pile of the tobacco in position directly
over their heads, and then suddenly drew the rails apart, so as to
allow it to fall.

At the same instant, with his arms full of the suffocating weed, he
sprang among them and dashed it into their faces. Distributing it as
impartially as he could, in the few seconds he allowed himself, he
dashed out of the shed and ran for his house, where he could seize his
rifle, and defend himself against twice the number.

Great as was his danger, he could not help stopping, when he had run
most of the distance, and looking back to see how his visitors were
making out.

The sight was a curious one. The eyes of the four warriors were full
of the smarting dust, and they were groping about, unable to see, and
resembling a party engaged in blind-man's buff. These warriors were
able to speak English quite well, and they used some very emphatic
expressions in the efforts to put their feelings into words. If they
expected to find Boone in these aimless gropings they were mistaken,
for he reached his cabin, where he was safe from them, had they been in
the full possession of their faculties.

When the Shawanoes had managed to free their eyes to some extent from
the biting, pungent dust, they moved off into the woods and made no
more calls upon the pioneer.

Emigration to Kentucky increased, and new settlements were continually
forming. Strong, sturdy settlers erected their cabins in every quarter,
and the forests were rapidly cleared. Livestock increased in numbers,
and naturally a brisk trade sprang up in many commodities. Trains
of pack-horses carried goods from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, where
they were taken down the Ohio in flat-boats and distributed among the
various settlements.

As the expression goes, in these later days, everything was "booming"
in Kentucky during those years, and the Territory made immense strides
in material wealth and prosperity. Most of the immigrants came from
North Carolina and Virginia, and they were hospitable, enterprising,
vigorous and strongly attached to each other.

The time for "universal peace," along the frontier had not yet come;
small affrays were continually occurring between the settlers and
Indians, and in the spring of 1784, an incident of a singular nature
took place. A Mr. Rowan, with his own and five other families, was
descending the Ohio, one flat-boat being occupied by the cattle, while
the emigrants were in the other. They had progressed a considerable
distance, when, late at night, they were alarmed by the number of
Indian fires which were burning for a half mile along the banks. The
savages called to the whites and ordered them to come ashore, but,
without making any reply, the settlers continued floating silently
down the river. Finding their orders disregarded, the savages sprang
into their canoes and paddled rapidly toward the boats; but, in this
instance, certainly silence proved golden, for the unnatural stillness
which continued seemed to awe the Indians, who, after following the
craft awhile, drew off without inflicting the slightest injury. Most
likely they were fearful of a surprise, in case of an open attack.

In the month of March, 1785, a settler named Elliot was killed and his
family broken up, and while Thomas Marshall was descending the Ohio, he
was hailed in the fashion often adopted by the decoys employed by the
Indians. In this instance, however, the white man said he was a brother
of the notorious Simon Girty, and he wished to warn the settlers
against their danger. He admonished them to be on the watch every hour
of the day and night, and under no circumstances to approach the shore.

He added the remarkable information that his brother repented the
hostility he had shown the whites, and intended to return to them, if
they would overlook his former enmity. But, as Simon remained a bitter
enemy until his death, nearly thirty years later, his repentance could
not have been very sincere.

A brief while after this, Captain Ward was attacked on the river and
all his horses were killed, his nephew also falling a victim. In
October an emigrant party was fired into, and six slain, then another
company lost nine; and the desultory warfare was pushed with such
persistency by the savages, that the settlers demanded that the Indian
country should be invaded and a blow delivered which would prove
effectual in keeping them away for a long time to come.

The situation of affairs became so exasperating that General Clark, in
accordance with the fashion, issued his call for volunteers, and in a
brief space of time a thousand veterans flocked about him at the Falls
of the Ohio.

This was an army which, if properly handled, was irresistible and could
have marched straight through the Indian country, laying the fields and
towns waste and dispersing any force the tribes could combine against
them.

But, from the first, it encountered two most serious difficulties:
General Clark had lost prestige from his habits of intoxication, which
unfitted him to assume the leadership of such an important enterprise,
where a man needed to be cool, collected, and with the command of every
faculty of his being.

But for this one fatal weakness, which has stricken so many a genius
to the dust, Clark would have risen to far greater eminence, and would
have reached and held the position through life to which his commanding
genius entitled him.

The provisions for the soldiers were sent down the river in keel
boats, but the obstructions delayed them, and, when two weeks passed
without their arrival, the dissatisfaction of the men broke out in open
insubordination. Desertions began, and in one instance, it is said,
three hundred soldiers left in a body. General Clark protested, begged
and entreated, but all in vain. His force went to pieces, like snow
melting in the sun, and he was finally forced to return to Kentucky,
humiliated beyond measure.

Whenever any such movement was started by the whites, the Indians kept
themselves informed of every step of its progress. Their spies were out
and allowed no incident, however slight, to escape their observation.
It was natural, therefore, that when they saw the formidable force
break up and go to their homes, they should conclude that the settlers
were afraid to invade their territory, with the lesson of the former
repeated failures before their eyes.

The Indians were stimulated to greater audacity than ever, and it may
be said that the whole border became aflame with the most murderous
kind of warfare.




CHAPTER XIX.

  General Harmar's Expedition against the Indians--Colonel Hardin
    Ambushed--Bravery of the Regulars--Outgeneraled by the
    Indians--Harmar and Hardin Court-martialed--General St. Clair's
    Expedition and its Defeat.


The outrages upon the part of the Indians became so alarming that
Congress was forced to see that the only way to check them and
to give anything like security to the frontier, was to send a
regularly-organized army into the country, which should so <DW36> the
power of the combined tribes that they would be compelled to sue for
peace.

A force of eleven hundred men was therefore organized and placed under
the command of General Harmar, who was directed to march against the
Indian towns of the Northwest. In the latter part of September, Harmar,
at the head of this large body, moved against the villages on the
Miami. The savages, as a matter of course, knew of their coming, and
were gone. General Harmar laid waste their cornfields and applied the
torch to their lodges, making the destruction as complete as possible.
Discovering a fresh trail, he detached one hundred and eighty of his
men, and placing them under the command of Colonel John Hardin and
Ensign Hartshorn, sent them with orders to move with all speed with a
view of overtaking the fugitives.

Pursuit was pushed with great vigor, when the whole force ran directly
into ambush and were assailed on all sides by a large force of Indians.
At the beginning of the attack, the militia, numbering five-sixths of
the whole force, broke and scattered, while the few regulars stood
their ground and fought bravely, until nearly every man was shot down.

When night came, the Indians held a jollification dance over the
dead and dying soldiers, and the great victory they themselves had
again obtained. Among the witnesses of the curious scene were Ensign
Hartshorn (who, having stumbled over a log in the tall grass, was
prudent enough to lie still where he was unnoticed) and Colonel Hardin,
who was sunk to his chin in mud and water, where he stayed until he
gained an opportunity of crawling out. He and Hartshorn succeeded in
rejoining the main body.

The news of the frightful slaughter so discouraged General Harmar
that he broke up his camp and began a retrogade movement toward the
settlements. When a few miles from the Indian towns which he had
burned, he halted and sent out Colonel Hardin with three hundred
militia and sixty regulars.

They were victimized more shamefully than before. It seems
unaccountable how men in such circumstances, and with the crimson
lessons of the preceding few years before them, could be so deceived as
were the leaders of the expeditions in the West.

Colonel Hardin had not advanced far, when a small company of warriors
showed themselves and succeeded with little difficulty in drawing off
the militia in pursuit of them--the very purpose of the stratagem--and
then the main body of savages attacked the regulars in overwhelming
force and with tiger-like ferocity.

Although unused to such fighting, the regulars stood their ground like
Spartans, and loaded and fired with great accuracy and rapidity. The
warriors dropped like autumn leaves, and had there been only a few
hundred of them, the soldiers would have routed them very quickly; but
re-enforcements continued to swarm forward, the woods were alive, and
every tree and bush seemed to conceal a savage who aimed with deadly
effect at the brave soldiers.

The latter stood and fought until only ten men were left, including
their intrepid commander. These escaped, while fifty were killed--the
fight, scarcely heard of in this day, being one of the most remarkable
exhibitions of bravery ever given in the history of our country.

Just about the time the little force was practically annihilated, the
militia came back, so as to take their turn in offering themselves as
victims to Indian treachery and bravery. The warriors were ready for
them, and they were attacked with the same fierceness. The horrible
massacre went on until two-thirds of the militia were slain, when the
others scattered for the main body.

It would seem that mismanagement could not go further, and the
indignation against Harmar and Hardin was so intense that they were
court-martialed. Hardin obtained a unanimous acquittal, as did Harmar;
but the latter felt the disgrace so keenly that he resigned his
commission in the army.

One of the inevitable results of these repeated blunders on the part
of the soldiers was the renewal of the Indian outrages, which became
bolder than ever. The condition of Kentucky was so critical that
Congress appointed St. Clair, Governor of the Northwest Territory,
Major-General, and he was instructed to raise a new regiment for the
defence of the frontier.

General St. Clair was given command of the expedition, and it was the
crowning act of imbecility and disgrace on the part of those who had
in charge the protection of the border. Arthur St. Clair was born at
Edinburgh, Scotland, and was in the prime of life when he assumed
command of the expedition against the western tribes. It was he who
in the month of June, 1777, was besieged in Ticonderoga by Burgoyne's
troops and compelled to evacuate the fort with great loss. His career
in the Revolution had not been creditable to him, and there was no man
in whom the Kentuckians had less confidence than he. When it became
known that he was to lead the large force against the Indians, the
dissatisfaction was universal, and the predictions of failure were
heard in every quarter.

The distrust was so deep that his call for volunteers received no
response. It was intended that his command should consist of two
thousand regular troops, composed of cavalry, infantry and artillery.
These rendezvoused at Fort Washington, the site of Cincinnati, in
September, 1791. Kentucky finally sent forward a thousand of her
militia, but they so disliked service under St. Clair, that the most of
them deserted and returned to their homes.

The chief object of this formidable campaign was to establish a series
of posts, extending from the Ohio to the Maumee; and by leaving a
garrison of a thousand men on the latter river, it was believed that
the neighboring tribes could be kept in a state of submission.

Fort Jefferson was established close to the present boundary line
between Ohio and Indiana, but the progress of the army was so
snail-like that desertions became numerous. A month passed before the
march was resumed, and the impatient Kentuckians left by scores. In one
instance at least a whole detachment drew off and went home.

The principal guide and scout attached to the expedition was a
Chickasaw chief, who saw what was certain to be the result of this
wholesale insubordination, and he with his few warriors also left. The
wiser course would have been for St. Clair to have done the same, for
nothing but irretrievable disaster stared him in the face.

St. Clair, however, pressed forward, and on the 3d of November, he
encamped upon a tributary of the Wabash. Indians were seen continually,
but they kept beyond reach. The regulars and levies encamped in two
lines, covered by the stream, while the militia were a quarter of a
mile in advance on the other side of the river. Beyond these, Captain
Clough was stationed with a company of regulars, with orders to
intercept the advance of the enemy. Colonel Oldham was directed to send
out patrols of twenty-five men each, through the woods to prevent the
insidious approach of the Indians.

No attack was made, but during the succeeding night, Captain Clough was
rendered uneasy by the discovery that the woods were full of savages,
who were evidently carrying out some pre-arranged plan, for the tribes
had proven long before their ability to outgeneral the whites in
fighting battles in the forest.

The captain reported his discovery to General Butler, who failed to
notify the commanding general, and, at sunrise, the Indians made a
furious charge upon the camp of the militia. The regulars, as usual,
fought with the greatest daring, and the militia, as usual, displayed
the greatest cowardice, breaking and fleeing in a panic. The regulars
were enabled to hold the savages in check for a short time, but the
panic of the militia was irretrievable.

There were none quicker to perceive this than the Indians themselves,
who immediately massed and poured a terribly destructive fire into the
advance, the artillery and the second line.

The surprise was complete, but credit must be given St. Clair and his
officers, who were personally brave, and who fought with the utmost
daring, striving at great personal risk to rally the men.




CHAPTER XX.

  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.




CHAPTER XXI.

  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 <DW64> 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.

Before he could do so, the warrior grasped the end of the barrel, and
as he was immensely powerful and active, he brought Wetzel to his
knees, and came within a hair's-breadth of wrenching the weapon from
his grasp. The white man, however, during the fierce struggle, managed
to get the muzzle of the gun turned toward the savage, when he pulled
the trigger, killing him instantly.

The struggle was very brief, but during its continuance the other two
Indians had approached so nigh, that Wetzel bounded away again at
the highest bent of his speed and soon had his rifle reloaded. Then
he slackened his pace, so as to allow them to come up, but they were
suspicious of the white man who always seemed to have a charged rifle
at his service, and they held back. Then Wetzel stopped and they did
the same. Several times he wheeled about and raised his gun, when they
immediately dodged behind trees. One of them did not conceal his body
perfectly, and Wetzel fired, wounding him badly. The remaining warrior
ran for life, shouting: "_Dat white man's gun am always loaded!_"

Actuated by that intense hate of the Indians which marked the career
of Lewis Wetzel and several of his brothers, there was but the single
thought of revenge which inspired the muscular arm to deeds as savage
as the red man himself ever engaged in. While General Harmar was doing
his utmost to establish peace with the Indians, Lewis Wetzel and a
companion hid themselves near the fort, and, in pure wantonness, the
former fired upon a warrior who was riding by. He was so badly wounded
that he was barely able to reach the fort, where he died that night.

General Harmar was so indignant over the murder, which Wetzel
unblushingly avowed, that he sent Captain Kingsbury and a squad of men
with orders to take Wetzel dead or alive. All considerations called
for the prompt punishment of the murderer, but his capture was an
impossibility, inasmuch as he possessed the fullest sympathy of the
frontiersmen, who would have rallied to a man in his defence.

When Captain Kingsbury reached the Mingo Bottom, and his errand became
known, Lewis Wetzel and a large number of equally reckless companions
formed a plan for attacking the party and massacring every one of them.
Only by the interference of Major M'Mahan, who persuaded the Captain of
his danger and induced him to withdraw, was the crime averted.

Sometime later, however, Wetzel was seized while asleep in a cabin, put
in irons and carried to the guard-house. He was greatly humiliated by
the shame of being handcuffed, and sent for General Harmar, to whom he
made the characteristic proposal that he should release him among the
large party of Indians who were around the fort, and allow him to fight
it out with them. This of course was declined by the officer, who,
however, consented to knock off his irons, but kept on the handcuffs,
allowing him to walk about the fort.

After Wetzel had loosened his limbs by some moderate exercise, he
suddenly made a break for the woods and was soon among them. He was
fired upon by the guards, and General Harmar instantly sent a number of
his fleetest runners, including several Indians, in pursuit.

They almost captured him too, for a couple of the warriors sat down
on the log, under which he was crouching, and Wetzel afterwards said
that his great fear was that his position would be betrayed by the
tumultuous throbbing of his heart. The next day he came across a friend
who released him from his handcuffs, furnished him with a gun and
ammunition, and Wetzel paddled down the river for Kentucky, where he
could feel safe from General Harmar.

The latter issued a proclamation offering a large reward for the
capture of Wetzel, but no frontiersman ever made the dangerous attempt
to take him, and soon after he joined a party of scouts under Major
M'Mahan. They numbered twenty men, and were organized to punish
the Indians for murdering a family in the Mingo Bottom. One of the
inducements for enlisting was the offer of a hundred dollars to the man
who should bring in the first Indian scalp.

The scouts had not penetrated far into the hostile country, when they
suddenly found themselves in the presence of a large war party. A hasty
consultation was held and it was deemed best to withdraw, but Wetzel
refused to return until he should accomplish something. He announced
that he would never be seen at home until he lost his own scalp or
brought that of an Indian with him.

It was a dangerous task he had taken on himself, but he persevered
and spent several days in prowling through the woods, hunting for the
coveted opportunity. At last he found a couple of warriors encamped by
themselves, and he watched by them until the night was far advanced.
Finally one of them got up and moved away, taking a torch with him,
doubtless with the intention of watching a deer lick. Wetzel was so
anxious to kill both savages that he waited until daylight for the
return of the other.

He did not show himself, however, and unwilling to wait longer, the
merciless white man stole up to where the sleeping warrior lay and slew
him with one furious blow of his knife.

Wetzel reached his home without difficulty and received the one hundred
dollars reward for the murder.

A singular occurrence took place shortly after this. From the fort
at Wheeling, there had been heard on several occasions, cries such
as would be made by a wounded turkey, and more than once some of the
men had crossed over to ascertain the cause. The fact that several
soldiers were never seen again, did not arouse a suspicion of the real
explanation in the minds of any one excepting that of Lewis Wetzel.

He concluded to make an investigation for himself. Cautiously stealing
around in the direction of the sound, he approached a deep cavern, the
mouth of which was some twenty yards above the river. From this crept
forth an Indian warrior, who uttered the peculiar call that had lured
so many to their death. Wetzel waited until he gained a fair sight of
the savage, when he took careful aim and the decoy never uttered his
deceptive signal again.

Wetzel supposed that his trouble with General Harmar would gradually
die out with the lapse of time, but the commander had issued standing
orders to his officers to arrest him wherever and whenever he could be
found. On his way down the river toward Kenawha, Wetzel landed at Point
Pleasant, where he roamed about the town with perfect unconcern. While
doing so he unexpectedly came face to face with Lieutenant Kingsbury,
who had set out to capture him once before.

Wetzel expected a desperate encounter with him, and braced himself for
the attack; but Kingsbury, who was personally brave, saluted him with
the order to get out of his sight, and passed on. Wetzel thought it
wise to leave the neighborhood, and, taking to his canoe, he put off
for Limestone, which place, and the county town, Washington, he made
his headquarters for a considerable time after.

His skill with the rifle, and his reckless bravery, could not fail to
render him a great favorite among the rough men of the border. Could
his capture have been arranged with perfect safety to those concerned,
it is not probable that any one could have been induced to undertake it.

One day Wetzel was sitting in a tavern in Maysville, when Lieutenant
Lawler of the regular army, who was going down the Ohio to Fort
Washington with a number of soldiers, landed and discovered him.
Without a moment's unnecessary delay, he ordered out a file of
soldiers, took Wetzel aboard the boat, and before the citizens had time
to rally, he was delivered to General Harmar at Cincinnati.

The General placed him in irons again, preparatory to his trial for
the killing of the Indian, and then followed a scene of extraordinary
excitement. Petitions for the release of Wetzel poured in upon General
Harmar from every quarter, and the indignation became so great that
mutterings of a general uprising were soon heard. Serious trouble for
a time threatened, for passions were roused to a high pitch, and the
intensity deepened as the time for the trial approached.

Finally Judge Symmes issued a writ of habeas corpus in the case, and
abundant security being furnished, Wetzel was released. He was escorted
in triumph to Columbia, where he was treated to a grand supper,
including the usual speeches and congratulations, and where no doubt
he concluded his friends were right in looking upon him as a model of
heroism and chivalry to whom it was an honor to do homage.

Lewis Wetzel hunted Indians as most men hunt the deer and buffalo. He
looked upon the red man as legitimate game, and many a time has he
slung his rifle over his shoulder and plunged into the woods for the
express purpose of bringing down one of the race against which he had
vowed eternal vengeance.

Numerous of his barbarous exploits must remain unrecorded, and well
would it be could the necessity never arise for a history of any of
them, for they do not show the character of an undoubtedly brave man in
an attractive light.

Late one autumn he started out on one of his sanguinary hunts and
directed his steps toward the Muskingum River. He had not tramped long
when he discovered a camp where four Indians had established themselves
for the winter. Not dreaming of any danger, the red men, contrary to
their custom, had not taken their usual precautions, and kept neither
watch nor sentinels.

This was a tempting opportunity, but a single white hunter, no matter
how daring and skillful, might well hesitate before attacking four
athletic and well-armed warriors; but the hesitation of Lewis Wetzel
was caused only by the necessity for reflecting on the best course to
be pursued.

He decided to make his attack on the four in the dead of night when all
were sound asleep. He therefore waited patiently in the gloom until he
saw they were wrapped in profound slumber. Then he stole forward, and
with his dreadful knife, dispatched three in quick succession, but the
fourth darted into the woods and escaped in the darkness.

It was near Wheeling, while he was engaged on one of his numerous
scouts, that he came upon a deserted cabin. It was raining at the time,
and he was glad to use the place as a shelter. A few pieces of boards
were gathered together in the loft and used as a bed, but before he
fell asleep, six Indians entered and started a fire, with a view of
preparing their evening meal.

Had the scout been asleep when they entered they would have been
certain to discover him by his heavy breathing, and as it was, Wetzel
scarcely saw how he could escape detection. So he grasped his knife and
held himself ready for the desperate encounter which was certain to
follow such a discovery.

The Indians, however, did not dream of the presence of the human tiger
that was glaring down upon them from the loft above, and soon the
half dozen were unconscious in sleep. Feeling that his quarters were
dangerous, Wetzel cautiously stole out during the darkness and hid
himself behind a log which commanded the front of the cabin.

In the morning the first warrior who presented himself at the door was
shot dead. Before the others could comprehend what had taken place the
murderer was fleeing like a deer through the woods, and was soon safe
from all danger of pursuit.

Such exploits as these increased the popularity of Wetzel, while the
attempts made by General Harmar to punish him for his crimes deepened
the dislike felt toward him for what was regarded as his unjust
persecution of a worthy man.

Not long after the Indian-killer accepted the invitation of a relative
to visit him on Dunkard Creek. It was some distance away, and the two
men pursued their walk through the woods at a leisurely pace, talking
of their hunting adventures, chatting like a couple of school-boys, and
with no thought of impending trouble.

But when they emerged from the forest into the clearing where the home
of the relative stood, a most startling sight met their eyes.

The house was a mass of smoking ruins. The Indians had been there and
left this proof of their ferocity. Wetzel carefully examined the trail
and found that the party numbered three warriors and one white man, and
that they had taken off a single prisoner.

The last was the betrothed of the relative of the scout, and, as may
well be supposed, he was wild with excitement and fury and determined
to pursue them without an instant's delay. But Wetzel argued him into
something like calmness, and he saw the necessity of placing himself
under the control of such a wonderfully skillful woodman as was his
companion.

The wish of Wetzel was to overtake the party before they reached the
Ohio, though there could be no certainty as to how much start the
red men had gained. It was soon seen, however, that they anticipated
pursuit, for they had taken the greatest pains to hide their trail.
They might have succeeded in the case of ordinary pursuers, but it was
impossible to conceal the faint but unerring signs from the keen eye of
Wetzel, who pushed forward on their path like the bloodhound tracking
its victim through thicket and morass.

It soon became certain that the savages were making for the river, and
feeling quite sure of the particular crossing they would seek, Wetzel
left the trail altogether, and with his friend hastened to the same
place.

It was a long distance, but the hunters for the time were tireless,
never throwing away a single minute. As it was reasonable to believe
that the Indians would take a short route to the stream, it can be
understood that the pursuers could not hope to gain much in the race
after all.

When night settled over the great wilderness, they were still a good
distance from the Ohio. They stopped for a brief while until they could
swallow a few mouthfuls of food. Then they hastened on again guided
by the stars overhead. But even this help was soon taken from them by
the heavy clouds which overspread the sky, and shut out the slightest
twinkling orb in the firmament.

It was useless to seek to go any further, when, with all their cunning,
they could not prevent themselves from losing their bearings and most
likely going directly back upon the true course.

So they halted where they were, until it began to grow light in the
East, when they resumed their hurried journey. They had not gone
far before they struck the trail again, and one of the first tracks
recognized was the imprint of the small shoe worn by the affianced of
the young man.

The Indians, however, were still far ahead, and though the two hunters
pushed forward with all the energy possible, they caught no sight of
the enemy, as hour after hour passed away.

But Wetzel was convinced they were gaining, and both were in high
hope, for as the afternoon wore to its close, they recognized from the
signs around them that they were in the neighborhood of the Ohio, and
undoubtedly were close upon the Indians and their captive.

The night had fairly set in when they reached the river side, and they
caught the glimmer of the camp-fire of those on the other shore, just
below the mouth of the Captina. Cautiously the two pursuers entered the
river and swam across. A few minutes spent in reconnoissance enabled
them to locate each member of the party, including the captive.

The sight of the young lady drove her betrothed almost frantic, and he
insisted on attacking the marauders at once; but Wetzel, who was as
cool and collected as though no enemy was within a dozen miles, would
not permit it.

"The first hour of daybreak is the time," said he, "and nothing shall
be done until then." His companion had no choice but to obey, though it
drove him to madness to remain so near his beloved, without striking a
blow in her behalf.

The long wearisome hours passed slowly, and at last it began to grow
light in the East. The young man was quivering with excitement, but
Wetzel had been engaged in too many terrific encounters to lose his
self-possession at such a critical time.

The red men are early risers, when on the march, and as soon as it
began to grow light in the East, they were astir. Wetzel directed his
friend to take sure aim at the renegade, pledging him that he would
attend to the Indians.

They fired simultaneously, and each brought down his man. The lover
dashed into camp to his affianced, while the two warriors ran among the
trees until they could learn the strength of the attacking party. The
dauntless Wetzel followed as impetuously as though he had an entire
company at his back.

As was his custom, he reloaded on the run, and after a short pursuit,
fired his gun at random, so as to draw out the savages. It produced the
effect, for the warriors, supposing him to be defenceless, came rushing
forth, with uplifted tomahawks and whooping in triumph; but Wetzel took
but a few seconds to reload his gun, when he shot the nearest through
the body.

As there could be no doubt that his rifle was now unloaded, the single
remaining Indian made for him with the fury of a panther. Wetzel, who
was no less active and athletic, dodged from tree to tree and ran here
and there, baffling the fatal tomahawk that was on the point of being
hurled more than once, until his terrible rifle was ready again, when
he wheeled and brought down the Indian, who must have wondered in his
last moments at the wonderful gun carried by the white man.

While Lewis Wetzel was engaged in these extraordinary forays, several
of his brothers were scarcely less active. As they were inspired by
the same intense hate which nerved the arms of the more famous scout,
it will be readily conceded that the murder of the elder Wetzel years
before by the Indians was repaid with more than interest.

After Lewis had roamed through the wilderness some time longer, he
concluded to make a journey to the extreme south, and for that purpose
engaged on a flat-boat bound for New Orleans. While in that city he got
into some serious difficulty, the precise nature of which is unknown.
The result was he suffered imprisonment for two years. It is not
improbable that he discovered the difference between breaking the law
in the Western wilderness and in the Crescent City.

He finally found his way back to Wheeling, where he resumed his roaming
through the woods, and soon became involved in his characteristic
adventures with the red men.

He was returning one day from a hunt, when happening to look up, he
observed a warrior in the very act of leveling his gun at him. Quick
as a flash Wetzel dodged behind a tree, the Indian doing the same, and
they stood facing each other for a considerable time.

Growing impatient of waiting, the scout resorted to the oft-described
trick of placing his cap on the end of his ramrod and projecting it a
short distance beyond the trunk. This brought the fire of the savage,
and before he could reload the white man shot him.

Wetzel was known so generally as a daring and skillful scout, that
General Clarke, while organizing his celebrated expedition to the
country beyond the Rocky Mountains, used his utmost effort to secure
him as a member of the company. Wetzel was not inclined to go, but he
was finally persuaded, and when they started, he was one of the most
valuable members. He kept with them for three months and then turned
about and came home.

Some time later he left on a flat-boat, and went to the house of a
relative, near Natchez, where he died in the summer of 1808.




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       *       *       *       *       *

  "This is incomparably the best account of our great second revolution
  that has yet been even attempted. It is so calm, so dispassionate, so
  accurate in detail, and at the same time so philosophical in general,
  that its reader counts confidently on finding the complete work
  thoroughly satisfactory."--_Evening Bulletin, Philadelphia._

       *       *       *       *       *

  "The work expresses the calm, deliberate judgment of an experienced
  military observer and a highly intelligent man. Many of its
  statements will excite discussion, but we much mistake if it does
  not take high and permanent rank among the standard histories
  of the civil war. Indeed that place has been assigned it by the
  most competent critics both of this country and abroad."--_Times,
  Cincinnati._

       *       *       *       *       *

  "Messrs. Porter & Coates, of Philadelphia, will publish in a few
  days the authorized translation of the new volume of the Comte de
  Paris' History of Our Civil War. The two volumes in French--the fifth
  and sixth--are bound together in the translation in one volume. Our
  readers already know, through a table of contents of these volumes,
  published in the cable columns of the _Herald_, the period covered
  by this new installment of a work remarkable in several ways. It
  includes the most important and decisive period of the war, and the
  two great campaigns of Gettysburg and Vicksburg.

  "The great civil war has had no better, no abler historian than the
  French prince who, emulating the example of Lafayette, took part
  in this new struggle for freedom, and who now writes of events, in
  many of which he participated, as an accomplished officer, and one
  who, by his independent position, his high character and eminent
  talents, was placed in circumstances and relations which gave him
  almost unequalled opportunities to gain correct information and form
  impartial judgments.

  "The new installment of a work which has already become a classic
  will be read with increased interest by Americans because of the
  importance of the period it covers and the stirring events it
  describes. In advance of a careful review we present to-day some
  extracts from the advance sheets sent us by Messrs. Porter & Coates,
  which will give our readers a foretaste of chapters which bring back
  to memory so many half-forgotten and not a few hitherto unvalued
  details of a time which Americans of this generation at least cannot
  read of without a fresh thrill of excitement."


  HALF-HOURS WITH THE BEST AUTHORS. With short Biographical and
    Critical Notes. By CHARLES KNIGHT.

New Household Edition. With six portraits on steel. 3 vols., thick
12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, per set, $1.50; half imt. Russia,
marbled edges, $6.00; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, $12.00.

Library Edition. Printed on fine laid and tinted paper. With
twenty-four portraits on steel. 6 vols., 12mo. Cloth, extra, per set,
$7.50; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, per set, $18.00; half Russia,
gilt top, $21.00; full French morocco, limp, per set, $12.00; full
smooth Russia, limp, round corners, in Russia case, per set, $25.00;
full seal grained Russia, limp, round corners, in Russia case to match,
$25.00.

  The excellent idea of the editor of these choice volumes has been
  most admirably carried out, as will be seen by the list of authors
  upon all subjects. Selecting some choice passages of the best
  standard authors, each of sufficient length to occupy half an hour
  in its perusal, there is here food for thought for every day in the
  year: so that if the purchaser will devote but one-half hour each day
  to its appropriate selection he will read through these six volumes
  in one year, and in such a leisurely manner that the noblest thoughts
  of many of the greatest minds will be firmly in his mind forever.
  For every Sunday there is a suitable selection from some of the
  most eminent writers in sacred literature. We venture to say if the
  editor's idea is carried out the reader will possess more and better
  knowledge of the English classics at the end of the year than he
  would by five years of desultory reading.

  They can be commenced at any day in the year. The variety of reading
  is so great that no one will ever tire of these volumes. It is a
  library in itself.


  THE POETRY OF OTHER LANDS. A Collection of Translations into English
    Verse of the Poetry of Other Languages, Ancient and Modern.
    Compiled by N. CLEMMONS HUNT. Containing translations from the
    Greek, Latin, Persian, Arabian, Japanese, Turkish, Servian,
    Russian, Bohemian, Polish, Dutch, German, Italian, French, Spanish,
    and Portuguese languages. 12mo. Cloth, extra, gilt edges, $2.50;
    half calf, gilt, marbled edges, $4.00; Turkey morocco, gilt edges,
    $6.00.

  "Another of the publications of Porter & Coates, called 'The Poetry
  of Other Lands,' compiled by N. Clemmons Hunt, we most warmly
  commend. It is one of the best collections we have seen, containing
  many exquisite poems and fragments of verse which have not before
  been put into book form in English words. We find many of the old
  favorites, which appear in every well-selected collection of sonnets
  and songs, and we miss others, which seem a necessity to complete the
  bouquet of grasses and flowers, some of which, from time to time, we
  hope to republish in the 'Courier.'"--_Cincinnati Courier._

  "A book of rare excellence, because it gives a collection of choice
  gems in many languages not available to the general lover of poetry.
  It contains translations from the Greek, Latin, Persian, Arabian,
  Japanese, Turkish, Servian, Russian, Bohemian, Polish, Dutch, German,
  Italian, French, Spanish, and Portuguese languages. The book will
  be an admirable companion volume to any one of the collections
  of English poetry that are now published. With the full index of
  authors immediately preceding the collection, and the arrangement
  of the poems under headings, the reader will find it convenient for
  reference. It is a gift that will be more valued by very many than
  some of the transitory ones at these holiday times."--_Philadelphia
  Methodist._


  THE FIRESIDE ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF POETRY. Edited by HENRY T. COATES. This
    is the latest, and beyond doubt the best collection of poetry
    published. Printed on fine paper and illustrated with thirteen
    steel engravings and fifteen title pages, containing portraits of
    prominent American poets and fac-similes of their handwriting, made
    expressly for this book, 8vo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, gilt
    edges, $5.00: half calf, gilt, marbled edges, $7.50; half morocco,
    full gilt edges, $7.50; full Turkey morocco, gilt edges, $10.00;
    tree calf, gilt edges $12.00; plush, padded side, nickel lettering,
    $14.00.

  "The editor shows a wide acquaintance with the most precious
  treasures of English verse, and has gathered the most admirable
  specimens of their ample wealth. Many pieces which have been passed
  by in previous collections hold a place of honor in the present
  volume, and will be heartily welcomed by the lovers of poetry
  as a delightful addition to their sources of enjoyment. It is a
  volume rich in solace, in entertainment, in inspiration, of which
  the possession may well be coveted by every lover of poetry. The
  pictorial illustrations of the work are in keeping with its poetical
  contents, and the beauty of the typographical execution entitles it
  to a place among the choicest ornaments of the library."--_New York
  Tribune._

  "Lovers of good poetry will find this one of the richest collections
  ever made. All the best singers in our language are represented,
  and the selections are generally those which reveal their highest
  qualities.... The lights and shades, the finer play of thought and
  imagination belonging to individual authors, are brought out in this
  way (by the arrangement of poems under subject-headings) as they
  would not be under any other system.... We are deeply impressed with
  the keen appreciation of poetical worth, and also with the good taste
  manifested by the compiler."--_Churchman._

  "Cyclopaedias of poetry are numerous, but for sterling value of its
  contents for the library, or as a book of reference, no work of
  the kind will compare with this admirable volume of Mr. Coates.
  It takes the gems from many volumes, culling with rare skill and
  judgment."--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._


  THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF POETRY. Compiled by HENRY T. COATES.
    Containing over 500 poems carefully selected from the works of
    the best and most popular writers for children; with nearly 200
    illustrations. The most complete collection of poetry for children
    ever published. 4to. Cloth, extra, black and gold, gilt side and
    edges, $3.00; full Turkey morocco, gilt edges, $7.50.

  "This seems to us the best book of poetry for children in
  existence. We have examined many other collections, but we cannot
  name another that deserves to be compared with this admirable
  compilation."--_Worcester Spy._

  "The special value of the book lies in the fact that it nearly or
  quite covers the entire field. There is not a great deal of good
  poetry which has been written for children that cannot be found in
  this book. The collection is particularly strong in ballads and
  tales, which are apt to interest children more than poems of other
  kinds; and Mr. Coates has shown good judgment in supplementing this
  department with some of the best poems of that class that have been
  written for grown people. A surer method of forming the taste of
  children for good and pure literature than by reading to them from
  any portion of this book can hardly be imagined. The volume is richly
  illustrated and beautifully bound."--_Philadelphia Evening Bulletin._

  "A more excellent volume cannot be found. We have found within the
  covers of this handsome volume, and upon its fair pages, many of the
  most exquisite poems which our language contains. It must become a
  standard volume, and can never grow old or obsolete."--_Episcopal
  Recorder._


  THE COMPLETE WORKS OF THOS. HOOD. With engravings on steel. 4 vols.,
    12mo., tinted paper. Poetical Works; Up the Rhine; Miscellanies
    and Hood's Own; Whimsicalities, Whims, and Oddities. Cloth, extra,
    black and gold, $6.00; red cloth, paper label, gilt top, uncut
    edges, $6.00; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, $14.00; half Russia,
    gilt top, $18.00.

  Hood's verse, whether serious or comic--whether serene like a
  cloudless autumn evening or sparkling with puns like a frosty January
  midnight with stars--was ever pregnant with materials for the
  thought. Like every author distinguished for true comic humor, there
  was a deep vein of melancholy pathos running through his mirth, and
  even when his sun shone brightly its light seemed often reflected as
  if only over the rim of a cloud.

  Well may we say, in the words of Tennyson, "Would he could have
  stayed with us." for never could it be more truly recorded of any
  one--in the words of Hamlet characterizing Yorick--that "he was a
  fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy."--D. M. MOIR.


  THE ILIAD OF HOMER RENDERED INTO ENGLISH BLANK VERSE. By EDWARD, EARL
    OF DERBY. From the latest London edition, with all the author's
    last revisions and corrections, and with a Biographical Sketch
    of Lord Derby, by R. SHELTON MACKENZIE, D.C.L. With twelve steel
    engravings from Flaxman's celebrated designs. 2 vols., 12mo. Cloth,
    extra, bev. boards, gilt top, $3.50; half calf, gilt, marbled
    edges, $7.00; half Turkey morocco, gilt top, $7.00.

The same. Popular edition. Two vols. in one. 12mo. Cloth, extra, $1.50.

  "It must equally be considered a splendid performance; and for the
  present we have no hesitation in saying that it is by far the best
  representation of Homer's Iliad in the English language."--_London
  Times._

  "The merits of Lord Derby's translation may be summed up in one word,
  it is eminently attractive; it is instinct with life; it may be read
  with fervent interest; it is immeasurably nearer than Pope to the
  text of the original.... Lord Derby has given a version far more
  closely allied to the original, and superior to any that has yet been
  attempted in the blank verse of our language."--_Edinburg Review._


  THE WORKS OF FLAVIUS JOSEPHUS. Comprising the Antiquities of the
    Jews; a History of the Jewish Wars, and a Life of Flavius Josephus,
    written by himself. Translated from the original Greek, by WILLIAM
    WHISTON, A.M. Together with numerous explanatory Notes and seven
    Dissertations concerning Jesus Christ, John the Baptist, James the
    Just, God's command to Abraham, etc., with an Introductory Essay
    by Rev. H. STEBBING, D.D. 8vo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, plain
    edges, $3.00; cloth, red, black and gold, gilt edges, $4.50; sheep
    marbled edges, $3.50; Turkey morocco, gilt edges, $8.00.

This is the largest type one volume edition published.


  THE ANCIENT HISTORY OF THE EGYPTIANS, CARTHAGINIANS, ASSYRIANS,
    BABYLONIANS, MEDES AND PERSIANS, GRECIANS AND MACEDONIANS.
    Including a History of the Arts and Sciences of the Ancients. By
    CHARLES ROLLIN. With a Life of the Author, by JAMES BELL. 2 vols.,
    royal 8vo. Sheep, marbled edges, per set, $6.00.


  COOKERY FROM EXPERIENCE. A Practical Guide for Housekeepers in the
    Preparation of Every-day Meals, containing more than One Thousand
    Domestic Recipes, mostly tested by Personal Experience, with
    Suggestions for Meals, Lists of Meats and Vegetables in Season,
    etc. By Mrs. SARA T. PAUL. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold,
    $1.50.

Interleaved Edition. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.75.


  THE COMPARATIVE EDITION OF THE NEW TESTAMENT. Both Versions in One
    Book.

The proof readings of our Comparative Edition have been gone over by so
many competent proof readers, that we believe the text is absolutely
correct.

Large 12mo., 700 pp. Cloth, extra, plain edges, $1.50; cloth, extra,
bevelled boards and carmine edges, $1.75; imitation panelled calf,
yellow edges, $2.00; arabesque, gilt edges, $2.50; French morocco,
limp, gilt edges, $4.00; Turkey morocco, limp, gilt edges, $6.00.

  The Comparative New Testament has been published by Porter & Coates.
  In parallel columns on each page are given the old and new versions
  of the Testament, divided also as far as practicable into comparative
  verses, so that it is almost impossible for the slightest new word
  to escape the notice of either the ordinary reader or the analytical
  student. It is decidedly the best edition yet published of the most
  interest-exciting literary production of the day. No more convenient
  form for comparison could be devised either for economizing time or
  labor. Another feature is the foot-notes, and there is also given
  in an appendix the various words and expressions preferred by the
  American members of the Revising Commission. The work is handsomely
  printed on excellent paper with clear, legible type. It contains
  nearly 700 pages.


  THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO. By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. Complete in one
    volume, with two illustrations by George G. White. 12mo. Cloth,
    extra, black and gold, $1.25.


  THE THREE GUARDSMEN. By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. Complete in one volume, with
    two illustrations by George G. White. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and
    gold, $1.25.

  There is a magic influence in his pen, a magnetic attraction in
  his descriptions, a fertility in his literary resources which
  are characteristic of Dumas alone, and the seal of the master of
  light literature is set upon all his works. Even when not strictly
  historical, his romances give an insight into the habits and modes of
  thought and action of the people of the time described, which are not
  offered in any other author's productions.


  THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII. By Sir EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, Bart.
    Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.00. Alta
    edition, one illustration, 75 cts.


  JANE EYRE. By CHARLOTTE BRONTE (Currer Bell). New Library Edition.
    With five illustrations by E. M. WIMPERIS. 12mo. Cloth, extra,
    black and gold, $1.00.


  SHIRLEY. By CHARLOTTE BRONTE (Currer Bell). New Library Edition. With
    five illustrations by E. M. WIMPERIS. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and
    gold, $1.00.


  VILLETTE. By CHARLOTTE BRONTE (Currer Bell). New Library Edition.
    With five illustrations by E. M. WIMPERIS. 12mo. Cloth, extra,
    black and gold, $1.00.


  THE PROFESSOR, EMMA and POEMS. By CHARLOTTE BRONTE (Currer Bell). New
    Library Edition. With five illustrations by E. M. WIMPERIS. 12mo.
    Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.00.

Cloth, extra, black and gold, per set, $4.00; red cloth, paper label,
gilt top, uncut edges, per set, $5.00; half calf, gilt, per set,
$12.00. The four volumes forming the complete works of Charlotte Bronte
(Currer Bell).

  The wondrous power of Currer Bell's stories consists in their fiery
  insight into the human heart, their merciless dissection of passion,
  and their stern analysis of character and motive. The style of these
  productions possesses incredible force, sometimes almost grim in its
  bare severity, then relapsing into passages of melting pathos--always
  direct, natural, and effective in its unpretending strength. They
  exhibit the identity which always belongs to works of genius by the
  same author, though without the slightest approach to monotony.
  The characters portrayed by Currer Bell all have a strongly marked
  individuality. Once brought before the imagination, they haunt the
  memory like a strange dream. The sinewy, muscular strength of her
  writings guarantees their permanent duration, and thus far they have
  lost nothing of their intensity of interest since the period of their
  composition.


  CAPTAIN JACK THE SCOUT; or, The Indian Wars about Old Fort Duquesne.
    An Historical Novel, with copious notes. By CHARLES McKNIGHT.
    Illustrated with eight engravings. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and
    gold, $1.50.

  A work of such rare merit and thrilling interest as to have been
  republished both in England and Germany. This genuine American
  historical work has been received with extraordinary popular favor,
  and has "won golden opinions from all sorts of people" for its
  freshness, its forest life, and its fidelity to truth. In many
  instances it even corrects History and uses the drapery of fiction
  simply to enliven and illustrate the fact.

  It is a universal favorite with both sexes, and with all ages and
  conditions, and is not only proving a marked and notable success in
  this country, but has been eagerly taken up abroad and republished
  in London, England, and issued in two volumes in the far-famed
  "Tauchnetz Edition" of Leipsic, Germany.


  ORANGE BLOSSOMS, FRESH AND FADED. By T. S. ARTHUR. Illustrated. 12mo.
    Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.50.

  "Orange Blossoms" contains a number of short stories of society. Like
  all of Mr. Arthur's works, it has a special moral purpose, and is
  especially addressed to the young who have just entered the marital
  experience, whom it pleasantly warns against those social and moral
  pitfalls into which they may almost innocently plunge.


  THE BAR ROOMS AT BRANTLEY; or, The Great Hotel Speculation. By T. S.
    ARTHUR. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.50.

  "One of the best temperance stories recently issued."--_N. Y.
  Commercial Advertiser._

  "Although it is in the form of a novel, its truthful delineation
  of characters is such that in every village in the land you meet
  the broken manhood it pictures upon the streets, and look upon sad,
  tear-dimmed eyes of women and children. The characters are not
  overdrawn, but are as truthful as an artist's pencil could make
  them."--_Inter-Ocean, Chicago._


  EMMA. By JANE AUSTEN. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, $1.25.


  MANSFIELD PARK. By JANE AUSTEN. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra,
    $1.25.


  PRIDE AND PREJUDICE; and Northanger Abbey. By JANE AUSTEN.
    Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, $1.25.


  SENSE AND SENSIBILITY; and Persuasion. By JANE AUSTEN. Illustrated.
    12mo. Cloth, extra, $1.25.

The four volumes, forming the complete works of Jane Austen, in a neat
box: Cloth, extra, per set, $5.00; red cloth, paper label, gilt top,
uncut edges, $3.00; half calf, gilt, per set, $12.00.

  "Jane Austen, a woman of whom England is justly proud. In her novels
  she has given us a multitude of characters, all, in a certain sense,
  commonplace, all such as we meet every day. Yet they are all as
  perfectly discriminated from each other as if they were the most
  eccentric of human beings.... And almost all this is done by touches
  so delicate that they elude analysis, that they defy the powers of
  description, and that we know them to exist only by the general
  effect to which they have contributed."--_Macaulay's Essays._


  ART AT HOME. Containing in one volume House Decoration, by RHODA and
    AGNES GARRETT; Plea for Art in the House, by W. J. LOFTIE; Music,
    by JOHN HULLAH; and Dress, by Mrs. OLIPHANT. 12mo. Cloth, extra,
    black and gold, $1.50.


  TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS AT RUGBY. By THOMAS HUGHES. New Edition,
    large clear type. With 36 illustrations after Caldecott and others.
    12mo., 400 pp. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.25; half calf,
    gilt, $2.75. Alta Edition. One illustration, 75 cents.

  "It is difficult to estimate the amount of good which may be done by
  'Tom Brown's School Days.' It gives, in the main, a most faithful
  and interesting picture of our public schools, the most English
  institutions of England, and which educate the best and most powerful
  elements in our upper classes. But it is more than this; it is an
  attempt, a very noble and successful attempt, to Christianize the
  society of our youth, through the only practicable channel--hearty
  and brotherly sympathy with their feelings; a book, in short, which
  a father might well wish to see in the hands of his son."--_London
  Times._


  TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. By THOMAS HUGHES. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth,
    extra, black and gold, $1.50; half calf, gilt, $3.00.

  "Fairly entitled to the rank and dignity of an English classic. Plot,
  style and truthfulness are of the soundest British character. Racy,
  idiomatic, mirror-like, always interesting, suggesting thought on
  the knottiest social and religious questions, now deeply moving by
  its unconscious pathos, and anon inspiring uproarious laughter, it
  is a work the world will not willingly let die."--_N. Y. Christian
  Advocate._


  SENSIBLE ETIQUETTE OF THE BEST SOCIETY. By Mrs. H. O. WARD. Customs,
    manners, morals, and home culture, with suggestions how to word
    notes and letters of invitations, acceptances, and regrets, and
    general instructions as to calls, rules for watering places,
    lunches, kettle drums, dinners, receptions, weddings, parties,
    dress, toilet and manners, salutations, introductions, social
    reforms, etc., etc. Bound in cloth, with gilt edge, and sent by
    mail, postage paid, on receipt of $2.00.


  LADIES' AND GENTLEMEN'S ETIQUETTE: A Complete Manual of the Manners
    and Dress of American Society. Containing forms of Letters,
    Invitations, Acceptances, and Regrets. With a copious index. By E.
    B. DUFFEY. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.50.

  "It is peculiarly an American book, especially adapted to our people,
  and its greatest beauty is found in the fact that in every line and
  precept it inculcates the principles of true politeness, instead
  of those formal rules that serve only to gild the surface without
  affecting the substance. It is admirably written, the style being
  clear, terse, and forcible."--_St. Louis Times._


  THE UNDERGROUND CITY; or, The Child of the Cavern. By JULES
    VERNE. Translated from the French by W. H. KINGSTON. With 43
    illustrations. Standard Edition. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and
    gold, $1.50.


  AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS. By JULES VERNE. Translated by GEO.
    M. TOWLE. With 12 full-page illustrations. 12mo. Cloth, extra,
    black and gold, $1.25.


  AT THE NORTH POLE; or, The Voyages and Adventures of Captain
    Hatteras. By JULES VERNE. With 130 illustrations by RIOU. Standard
    Edition. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.25.


  THE DESERT OF ICE; or, The Further Adventures of Captain Hatteras.
    By JULES VERNE. With 126 illustrations by RIOU. Standard Edition.
    12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.25.


  TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEAS; or, The Marvellous and
    Exciting Adventures of Pierre Aronnax, Conseil his servant, and
    Ned Land, a Canadian Harpooner. By JULES VERNE. Standard Edition.
    Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold, $1.25.


  THE WRECK OF THE CHANCELLOR, Diary of J. R. Kazallon, Passenger, and
    Martin Paz. By JULES VERNE. Translated from the French by ELLEN
    FREWER. With 10 illustrations. Standard Edition. 12mo. Cloth,
    extra, black and gold, $1.25.

  Jules Verne is so well known that the mere announcement of anything
  from his pen is sufficient to create a demand for it. One of
  his chief merits is the wonderful art with which he lays under
  contribution every branch of science and natural history, while he
  vividly describes with minute exactness all parts of the world and
  its inhabitants.


  THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS; or, Mirth and Marvels. By RICHARD HARRIS
    BARHAM (Thomas Ingoldsby, Esq.). New edition, printed from entirely
    new stereotype plates. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and
    gold, $1.50; half calf, gilt, marbled edges, $3.00.

  "Of his poetical powers it is not too much to say that, for
  originality of design and diction, for grand illustration and musical
  verse, they are not surpassed in the English language. The Witches'
  Frolic is second only to Tam O'Shanter. But why recapitulate the
  titles of either prose or verse--since they have been confessed
  by every judgment to be singularly rich in classic allusion and
  modern illustration. From the days of Hudibras to our time the
  drollery invested in rhymes has never been so amply or felicitously
  exemplified."--_Bentley's Miscellany._


  TEN THOUSAND A YEAR. By SAMUEL C. WARREN, author of "The Diary of a
    London Physician." A new edition, carefully revised, with three
    illustrations by GEORGE G. WHITE. 12mo. Cloth, extra, black and
    gold, $1.50.

  "Mr. Warren has taken a lasting place among the imaginative writers
  of this period of English history. He possesses, in a remarkable
  manner, the tenderness of heart and vividness of feeling, as well as
  powers of description, which are essential to the delineation of the
  pathetic, and which, when existing in the degree in which he enjoys
  them, fill his pages with scenes which can never be forgotten."--_Sir
  Archibald Alison._


  THOMPSON'S POLITICAL ECONOMY; With Especial Reference to the
    Industrial History of Nations. By Prof. R. E. THOMPSON, of the
    University of Pennsylvania. 12mo. Cloth, extra, $1.50.

  This book possesses an especial interest at the present moment. The
  questions of Free Trade and Protection are before the country more
  directly than at any earlier period of our history. As a rule the
  works and textbooks used in our American colleges are either of
  English origin or teach Doctrines of a political economy which, as
  Walter Bagehot says, was made for England. Prof. Thompson belongs to
  the Nationalist School of Economists, to which Alexander Hamilton,
  Tench Coxe, Henry Clay, Matthew Carey, and his greater son, Henry C.
  Carey, Stephen Colwell, and James Abram Garfield were adherents. He
  believes in that policy of Protection to American industry which has
  had the sanction of every great American statesman, not excepting
  Thomas Jefferson and John C. Calhoun. He makes his appeal to history
  in defence of that policy, showing that wherever a weaker or less
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      *      *      *      *      *      *




Transcribers' note:

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unpaired
quotation marks were retained.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.

Page 26: "estray" was printed that way.

Page 61: "rendered the greater? is" was printed with a lower-case "is".

Page 62: "calvacade" was printed that way.

Page 65: "wofully" was printed that way.

Page 70: "tomahawk griped in his hand" probably is a misprint for
"gripped"; "With scarcely the slightest plash" probably is a misprint
for "splash".

Page 159: Closing quotation mark added after 'my few relatives.'

Page 172: "warfare" was misprinted as "war-ware" when split across two
lines, and has been changed here.

Page 181: "retrogade" appears to be a misprint for "retrograde".

Page 188: "give it the reader" may be missing a "to".

Page 212: "rallied their companion" may be a misprint for "railed";
closing quotation mark added after 'by it in the night.'



***