Daniel Boone: The Pioneer of Kentucky
"I kindled a fire near a fountain of sweet water, and feasted on the
loin of a buck. The fallen shades of night soon overspread the whole
hemisphere, and the earth seemed to gape after the hovering moisture. My
roving excursion this day had fatigued my body and diverted my
imagination. I laid me down to sleep, and I woke not until the sun had
chased away the night. I continued this tour, and in a few days explored
a considerable part of the country, each day equally pleased as the
first. I returned to my old camp which was not disturbed in my absence.
I did not confine my lodging to it, but often reposed in thick cane
brakes, to avoid the savages, who I believe often visited it, but,
fortunately for me, in my absence.
"In this situation I was constantly exposed to danger and death. How
unhappy such a condition for a man tormented with fear, which is vain if
no danger comes; and if it does, only augments the pain! It was my
happiness to be destitute of this afflicting passion, with which I had
the greatest reason to be affected. The prowling wolves diverted my
nocturnal hours with perpetual howlings, and the various species of
animals in this vast forest, in the day-time were continually in my
view. Thus I was surrounded with plenty in the midst of want. I was
happy in the midst of dangers and inconveniences. In such a diversity it
was impossible I should be disposed to melancholy. No populous city,
with all the varieties of commerce and stately structures, could afford
so much pleasure to my mind, as the beauties of nature I found here.
"Thus through an uninterrupted scene of sylvan pleasures, I spent the
time until the twenty-seventh day of July following, when my brother, to
my great felicity, met me, according to appointment, at our old camp."
Boone was at this time thirty-six years of age. He was about five feet
ten inches in height, and of remarkably vigorous and athletic frame. His
life in the open air, his perfect temperance, and his freedom from all
exciting passions, gave him constant health. Squire brought back to his
brother the gratifying news that his wife Rebecca was in good health and
spirits, and cheerfully acquiesced in whatever decision her husband
might make, in reference to his absence. She had full confidence in the
soundness of his judgment, and in his conjugal and parental love. The
children were all well, and from the farm and the forest the wants of
the family were fully supplied.
It appears that Squire Boone had succeeded in bringing one or two
horses across the mountains. The abundance of grass kept them in fine
condition. Upon the backs of these horses, the pioneers could traverse
the treeless prairies without obstruction, and large portions of the
forest were as free from underbrush as the park of an English nobleman.
Invaluable as these animals were to the adventurers, they greatly
increased their perils. They could not easily be concealed. Their
footprints could not be effaced, and there was nothing the Indians
coveted so greatly as a horse.
The two adventurers now set out on horseback for an exploring tour to
the south-west. Following a line nearly parallel with the Cumberland
Range, after traversing a magnificent region of beauty and fertility for
about one hundred and fifty miles, they reached the banks of the
Cumberland river. This majestic stream takes its rise on the western
slope of the Cumberland mountains. After an exceedingly circuitous route
of six hundred miles, running far down into Tennessee, it turns
north-westerly again, and empties its waters into the Ohio, about sixty
miles above the entrance of that river into the Mississippi.
It was mid-summer. The weather was delightful. The forest free from
underbrush, attractive as the most artificial park, and the smooth sweep
of the treeless prairie presented before them as enticing a route of
travel as the imagination could desire. There were of course hardships
and privations, which would have been regarded as very severe by the
dwellers in the sealed houses, but none which disturbed in the slightest
degree the equanimity of these hardy adventurers. They journeyed very
leisurely; seven months being occupied in the tour. Probably only a few
miles were accomplished each day. With soft saddles made of the skin of
buffalo, with their horses never urged beyond a walk, with bright skies
above them, and vistas of beauty ever opening before them, and
luxuriance, bloom and fragrance spread everywhere around, their journey
seemed replete with enjoyment of the purest kind.
Though it was necessary to practice the extreme of caution, to avoid
capture by the Indians, our adventurers do not seem to have been annoyed
in the slightest degree with any painful fears on that account. Each
morning they carefully scanned the horizon, to see if anywhere there
could be seen the smoke of the camp-fire curling up from the open
prairie or from the forest. Through the day they were ever on the alert,
examining the trails which they occasionally passed, to see if there
were any fresh foot prints, or other indications of the recent presence
of their foe. At night, before venturing to kindle their own camp-fire,
they looked cautiously in every direction, to see if a gleam from an
Indian encampment could anywhere be seen. Thus from the first of August
to the ensuing month of March, these two bold men traversed, for many
hundred miles, an unknown country, filled with wandering hunting bands
of hostile Indians, and yet avoided capture or detection.
If a storm arose, they would rear their cabin in some secluded dell, and
basking in the warmth of their camp-fire wait until the returning sun
invited them to resume their journey. Or if they came to some of
nature's favored haunts, where Eden-like attractions were spread around
them, on the borders of the lake, by the banks of the stream, or beneath
the brow of the mountain, they would tarry for a few days, reveling in
delights, which they both had the taste to appreciate.
In this way, they very thoroughly explored the upper valley of the
Cumberland river. For some reason not given, they preferred to return
north several hundred miles to the Kentucky river, as the seat of their
contemplated settlement. The head waters of this stream are near those
of the Cumberland. It however flows through the very heart of Kentucky,
till it enters the Ohio river, midway between the present cities of
Cincinnati and Louisville. It was in the month of March that they
reached the Kentucky river on their return. For some time they wandered
along its banks searching for the more suitable situation for the
location of a colony.
"The exemption of these men," said W. H. Bogart, "from assault by the
Indians during all this long period of seven months, in which, armed and
on horseback, they seem to have roamed just where they chose, is most
wonderful. It has something about it which seems like a special
interposition of Providence, beyond the ordinary guardianship over the
progress of man. On the safety of these men rested the hope of a nation.
A very distinguished authority has declared, that without Boone, the
settlements could not have been upheld and the conquest of Kentucky
would have been reserved for the emigrants of the nineteenth century."
Boone having now, after an absence of nearly two years, apparently
accomplished the great object of his mission; having, after the most
careful and extensive exploration, selected such a spot as he deemed
most attractive for the future home of his family, decided to return to
the Yadkin and make preparations for their emigration across the
mountains. To us now, such a movement seems to indicate an almost insane
boldness and recklessness. To take wife and children into a pathless
wilderness filled with unfriendly savages, five hundred miles from any
of the settlements of civilization, would seem to invite death. A
family could not long be concealed. Their discovery by the Indians
would be almost the certain precursor of their destruction. Boone, in
his autobiography, says in allusion to this hazardous adventure:
"I returned home to my family with a determination to bring them as soon
as possible, at the risk of my life and fortune, to live in Kentucky,
which I esteemed a second paradise."
The two brothers accomplished the journey safely, and Daniel Boone found
his family, after his long absence, in health and prosperity. One would
have supposed that the charms of home on the banks of the Yadkin, where
they could dwell in peace, abundance and safety, would have lured our
adventurer to rest from his wanderings. And it is probable that for a
time, he wavered in his resolution. Two years elapsed ere he set out for
his new home in the Far-West.
There was much to be done in preparation for so momentous a movement. He
sold his farm on the Yadkin and invested the proceeds in such comforts
as would be available on the banks of the Kentucky. Money would be of no
value to him there. A path had been discovered by which horses could be
led through the mountains, and thus many articles could be transported
which could not be taken in packs on the back. Several of the neighbors,
elated by the description which Boone gave of the paradise he had
found, were anxious to join his family in their emigration. There were
also quite a number of young men rising here and there, who, lured by
the romance of the adventure, were eager to accompany the expedition.
All these events caused delays. The party of emigrants became more
numerous than Boone at first expected.
It was not until the twenty-fifth of September, 1773, that Daniel Boone,
his brother Squire, and quite a large party of emigrants, probably in
all--men, women and children--not less than sixty in number, commenced
their journey across the mountains. There were five families and forty
pioneers, all well armed, who were quite at home amid the trials and
privations of the wilderness. Four horses, heavily laden, led the train
through the narrow trails of the forest. Then came, in single file, the
remainder of the party, of all ages and both sexes. It must have been a
singular spectacle which was presented, as this long line wound its way
through the valleys and over the ridges.
Squire Boone was quite familiar with the path. It was delightful
autumnal weather. The days were long and calm, and yet not oppressively
hot. There were no gloved gentlemen or delicate ladies in the company.
All were hardy men and women, accustomed to endurance. Each day's
journey was short. An hour before the sun disappeared in the west, the
little village of cabins arose, where some spring gurgled from the
cliff, or some sparkling mountain stream rippled before them. In front
of each cabin the camp-fire blazed. All was animation and apparent joy,
as the women prepared the evening meal, and the wearied children rested
upon their couch of dried leaves or fragrant twigs. If a storm arose,
they had but to remain beneath their shelter until it passed away.
"Traveling," says Madame de Stael, who was accustomed to the most
luxurious of European conveyances, "is the most painful of pleasures."
Probably our travelers on this journey experienced as many pleasures and
as few pains as often fall to the lot of any tourist. The solitary
wilderness has its attractions as well as the thronged town.
These bold men armed with their rifles, under such an accomplished
leader as Daniel Boone, penetrated the wilderness with almost the
strength of an invading army. Upon the open prairie, the superiority of
their arms would compensate for almost any inferiority of numbers.
Indeed they had little to fear from the savages, unless struck suddenly
with overwhelming numbers leaping upon them from some ambush. Pleasant