Daniel Boone: The Pioneer of Kentucky
exposed to such injury as his tormentors could inflict as he passed. If
he succeeded in reaching the council-house alive, it would prove an
asylum to him for the present.
"At a given signal, Kenton started in the perilous race; exerting his
utmost strength and activity, he passed swiftly along the line,
receiving numerous blows, stripes, buffets, and wounds, until he
approached the town, near which he saw an Indian leisurely awaiting his
advance, with a drawn knife in his hand, intent upon his death.
"To avoid him, he instantly broke through the line, and made his rapid
way towards the council-house, pursued by the promiscuous crowd,
whooping and yelling like infernal furies at his heels. Entering the
town in advance of his pursuers, just as he supposed the council-house
within his reach, an Indian was perceived leisurely approaching him
with his blanket wrapped around him; but suddenly he threw off the
blanket and sprung upon Kenton as he advanced. Exhausted with fatigue
and wounds, he was thrown to the ground, and in a moment he was beset
with crowds, eager to inflict upon him the kick or blow which had been
avoided by breaking through the line. Here beaten, kicked and scourged,
until he was nearly lifeless, he was left to die."[B]
[Footnote B: Macdonald's Sketches.]
A few hours afterwards he was supplied with food and water, and was
suffered to recuperate for a few days, until he was enabled to attend at
the council-house, and receive the announcement of his final doom. It
was here decided that he should be made a public sacrifice to the
vengeance of the nation. The Indian town of Wappatomica, upon the
present site of Zanesville, Ohio, was the appointed place of his
execution. Being in a state of utter exhaustion his escape was deemed
impossible, and he was carelessly guarded. In despair he attempted it.
He was promptly recaptured and punished by being taken to a neighboring
creek where he was dragged through mud and water, till life was nearly
extinct. Still his constitutional vigor triumphed, and he revived.
Wappatomica was a British trading post. Here Kenton met an old comrade,
Simon Girty, who had become a renegade, had joined the Indians, and had
so adopted their dress and manners as hardly to be distinguished from
his savage associates. Girty cautiously endeavored to save the condemned
prisoner. He represented to the band that it would be of great advantage
to them to have possession of one so intimately acquainted with all the
white settlements and their resources.
A respite was granted. Another council was held. The spirit of Indian
revenge prevailed. Kenton was again doomed to death, to be preceded by
the terrible ordeal of running the gauntlet.
But a British officer, influenced by the persuasions of the Indian chief
Logan, the friend of the white man, urged upon the Indian chiefs that
the British officers at Detroit would regard the possession of Kenton,
with the information he had at his command, as a great acquisition, and
that they would pay for him a ransom of at least one hundred dollars.
They took him to Detroit; the ransom was paid, and Kenton became the
prisoner of the British officers, instead of the savage chieftains.
Still he was a prisoner, though treated with ordinary humanity, and was
allowed the liberty of the town.
There were two other American captives there, Captain Nathan Bullit and
Jesse Coffer. Escape seemed impossible, as it could only be effected
through a wilderness four hundred miles in extent, crowded with
wandering Indian bands, where they would be imminently exposed to
recapture, or to death by starvation.
Simon Kenton was a very handsome man. He won the sympathies of a very
kind English woman, Mrs. Harvey, the wife of one of the traders at the
post. She secretly obtained for him and his two companions, and
concealed in a hollow tree, powder, lead, moccasins, and a quantity of
dried beef. One dark night, when the Indians were engaged in a drunken
bout, she met Kenton in the garden and handed him three of the best
rifles, which she had selected from those stacked near the house. The
biographer of these events writes:
"When a woman engages to do an action, she will risk limb, life or
character, to serve him whom she respects or wishes to befriend. How
differently the same action would be viewed by different persons! By
Kenton and his friends her conduct was viewed as the benevolent conduct
of a good angel; while if the part she played in behalf of Kenton and
his companions had been known to the commander at Detroit, she would
have been looked upon as a traitress, who merited the scorn and contempt
of all honest citizens. This night was the last that Kenton ever saw or
heard of her."
Our fugitives traveled mostly by night, guided by the stars. After
passing through a series of wonderful adventures, which we have not
space here to record, on the thirty-third day of their escape, they
reached the settlement at the Falls of the Ohio, now Louisville. During
the rest of the war, Kenton was a very active partisan. He died in the
year 1836, over eighty years of age, having been for more than a quarter
of a century an honored member of the Methodist Church.
CHAPTER VII.
_Life in the Wilderness._
Stewart killed by the Indians.--Squire Boone returns to the
Settlements.--Solitary Life of Daniel Boone.--Return of Squire
Boone.--Extended and Romantic Explorations.--Charms and Perils of
the Wilderness.--The Emigrant Party.--The Fatal Ambuscade.--Retreat
of the Emigrants.--Solitude of the Wilderness.--Expedition of Lewis
and Clarke.--Extraordinary Adventures of Cotter.
There were now four hungry men to occupy the little camp of our bold
adventurers. They do not seem to have been conscious of enduring any
hardships. The winter was mild. Their snug tent furnished perfect
protection from wind and rain. With abundant fuel, their camp-fire ever
blazed brightly. Still it was necessary for them to be diligent in
hunting, to supply themselves with their daily food. Bread, eggs, milk,
butter, sugar, and even salt, were articles of which they were entirely
destitute.
One day, not long after the arrival of Squire Boone, Daniel Boone, with
his companion Stewart, was a long distance from the camp, hunting.
Suddenly the terrible war-whoop of the Indians resounded from a thicket,
and a shower of arrows fell around them. Stewart, pierced by one of
these deadly missiles, fell mortally wounded. A sturdy savage sprang
from the ambuscade upon his victim, and with a yell buried a tomahawk in
his brain. Then, grasping with one hand the hair on the top of his head,
he made a rapid circular cut with his gleaming knife, and tore off the
scalp, leaving the skull bare. The revolting deed was done quicker than
it can be described. Shaking the bloody trophy in his hand, he gave a
whoop of exultation which echoed far and wide through the solitudes of
the forest.
Boone, swift of foot as the antelope, escaped and reached the camp with
the sad tidings of the death of his companion, and of the presence, in
their immediate vicinity, of hostile Indians. This so affrighted the
North Carolinian who had come with Squire Boone, that he resolved upon
an immediate return to the Yadkin. He set out alone, and doubtless
perished by the way, as he was never heard of again. A skeleton,
subsequently found in the wilderness, was supposed to be the remains of
the unfortunate hunter. He probably perished through exhaustion, or by
the arrow or tomahawk of the savage.
The two brothers, Daniel and Squire, were now left entirely alone.
They selected a favorable spot in a wild ravine where they would be the
least likely to be discovered by hunting bands, and built for
themselves a snug and comfortable log-house, in which they would be more
effectually sheltered from the storms and cold of winter, and into which
they moved from their open camp. Here they remained, two loving brothers
of congenial tastes, during the months of January, February, March and
April. Solitary as their life must have been probably, every hour
brought busy employment. Each day's food was to be obtained by the
rifle. Wood was to be procured for their fire. All their clothing, from
the cap to the moccasin, was to be fashioned by their own hands from the
skin of the deer, which they had carefully tanned into pliancy and
softness; and there were to be added to their cabin many conveniences
which required much ingenuity with knife and hatchet for their only
tools, and with neither nail nor screw for their construction. In
addition to this they were under the necessity of being ever on the
alert to discover indications of the approach of the Indians.
The winter passed away, not only undisturbed, but evidently very
happily. It is remarkable that their retreat was not discovered by any
of the Indian bands, who in pursuit of game were constantly roving over
those rich hunting grounds.
As summer's warmth returned, Squire Boone decided to retrace his steps
to the Yadkin, to carry to his brother's family news of his safety, and
to obtain much needed supplies of powder and of lead. There is no
satisfactory explanation of the motives which could have induced Daniel,
after the absence of a year from his home, to remain alone in that
solitary cabin. In his autobiography he has assigned no reason for the
extraordinary decision. One of the most judicious of his biographers
makes the following statement which by no means solves the mystery:
"When the spring came it was time for another movement. The spring came
early, and the awaking to its foliage seemed like the passing from night
to the day. The game had reduced their powder and lead, and without
these there was no existence to the white man. Again Daniel Boone rises
to the emergency. It was necessary that the settlement which they had
made should be continued and protected, and it was the duty in the
progress of events that one of them should remain to that task. He made
the selection and chose himself. He had the courage to remain alone. And
while he felt the keenest desire to see his own family, he felt that he
had a noble purpose to serve and was prepared for it."[C]
[Footnote C: Life of Boone, by W. H. Bogart.]
Daniel Boone, in his quaint autobiography, in the following terms
alludes to the departure of his brother and his own solitary mode of
life during the three months of his brother's absence:
"On the first day of May, 1770, my brother returned home to the
settlement by himself for a new recruit of horses and ammunition,
leaving me by myself without bread, salt or sugar, without company of my
fellow creatures, or even a horse or dog. I confess I never before was
under greater necessity of exercising philosophy and fortitude. A few
days I passed uncomfortably. The idea of a beloved wife and family, and
their anxiety on account of my absence and exposed situation, made
sensible impressions on my heart. A thousand dreadful apprehensions
presented themselves to my view, and had undoubtedly exposed me to
melancholy if further indulged.
"One day I took a tour through the country, and the diversity and
beauties of nature I met with in this charming season, expelled every
gloomy and vexatious thought. Just at the close of the day the gentle
gales retired and left the place to the disposal of a profound calm. Not
a breeze shook the most tremulous leaf. I had gained the summit of a
commanding ridge, and looking around with astonishing delight beheld the
ample plain, the beauteous tracts below. On the other hand I surveyed
the famous river Ohio, that rolled in silent dignity, marking the
western boundary of Kentucky, with inconceivable grandeur. At a vast
distance I beheld the mountains lift their venerable heads and penetrate
the clouds.