Daniel Boone: The Pioneer of Kentucky
impossible but that the savages must have seen him as he concealed
himself. Greatly alarmed he raised his gun, intending to shoot one and
to trust to his heels for escape from the other.
But his hand was so unsteady that the gun went off before he had taken
aim. Terror stricken, he rushed along the path Yates had trod. Yates,
alarmed by the report of the gun, came running back. As they met, the
two Indians were seen not far from them in hot pursuit. They soon could
easily see that the enemy was gaining upon them. In their rapid flight
they came to a deep gulley which Yates cleared at a bound, but young
Downing failed in the attempt. His breast struck the opposite almost
precipitous bank, and he rolled to the bottom of the ditch. Some
obstruction in the way prevented the Indians from witnessing the fall of
Downing. They continued the pursuit of Yates, crossing the gulley a few
yards below where Downing had met his mishap. Thus in less time than we
have occupied in the narration, the Indians disappeared in their chase
after Yates.
Downing was in great perplexity. He did not dare to creep out of the
gulley, lest he should be seen, and as soon as the Indians should
perceive that he was not with Yates, as they inevitably would ere long
do, they would know that he was left behind, and would turn back for his
capture. Unfortunately young Downing had so far lost his presence of
mind, that he had failed to reload his gun. Just then he saw one of the
savages returning, evidently in search of him. There was no possible
resource left but flight. Throwing away his now useless gun, he rushed
into the forest with all the speed which terror could inspire. He was
but a boy, the full-grown Indian gained rapidly upon him, he could
almost strike him with his tomahawk, when they came to an immense tree,
blown up by the roots. The boy ran on one side of the trunk and the
Indian on the other, towards the immense pile of earth which adhered to
the upturned roots.
The boy now gave up all hope in utter despair. It seemed certain that
the brawny Indian would get ahead of him and intercept his further
flight. But it so happened--was it an accident or was it a
Providence--that a she-bear had made her bed directly in the path which
the Indian with almost blind eagerness was pursuing. Here the ferocious
beast was suckling her cubs. The bear sprang from her lair, and
instantly with a terrific hug grasped the savage in her paws. The Indian
gave a terrific yell and plunged his knife again and again into the body
of the bear. The boy had but one brief glance, as in this bloody embrace
they rolled over and over on the ground. The boy, praying that the bear
might tear the Indian in pieces, added new speed to his flight and
reached the fort in safety.
There he found Yates who had arrived but a few moments before him, and
who had outrun the other Indian. The next morning a well armed party
returned to the tree. Both the bear and the Indian had disappeared.
Probably both had suffered very severely in the conflict, and both had
escaped with their lives.
Another incident illustrative of these perilous adventures in the now
peaceful State of Kentucky. Mr. Rowan, with his own and five other
families, left the little hamlet at Louisville to float down the Ohio to
Green River, and to ascend that stream, intending to rear their new
homes on its fertile and delightful banks. The families were quite
comfortably accommodated in a large flat-bottomed boat. Another boat of
similar construction conveyed their cattle and sundry articles of
household furniture. On the route which they were pursuing, there were
then no settlements. The Ohio river and the Green river flowed through
unbroken solitudes.
The flat boats had floated down the beautiful Ohio, through scenes of
surpassing loveliness, about one hundred miles, when one night about ten
o'clock a prodigious shouting and yelling of Indians was heard some
distance farther down the river on the northern shore. Very soon they
came in sight of their camp-fires, which were burning very brightly. It
was evident that the Indians were having a great carousal rejoicing
over some victory. Mr. Rowan immediately ordered the two boats to be
lashed firmly together. There were but seven men on board who were
capable of making efficient use of the rifle. Plying the oars as
vigorously and noiselessly as they could, they endeavored to keep close
to the Kentucky shore. And yet they were careful not to approach too
near, lest there might be Indians there also. It was evident that there
was a large gathering of the Indians on the northern bank, for their
camp-fires extended for a distance of nearly half a mile along the
river.
As the boats floated noiselessly along in the gloom of the night, under
shadow of the cliffs, they were not detected until they were opposite
the central fire, whose brilliancy threw a flood of light nearly across
the stream. A simultaneous shout greeted this discovery, and with
terrific yells the savages rushed to their canoes and commenced a
pursuit. The two flat boats rapidly floated beyond the illumination of
the fires into the region of midnight darkness. The timid Indians, well
acquainted with the white man's unerring aim, pursued cautiously, though
their hideous yells resounded along the shores.
Mr. Rowan ordered all on board to keep perfect silence, to conceal
themselves as much as possible, and ordered not a gun to be fired till
the Indians were so near that the powder of the gun would burn them,
thus rendering every shot absolutely certain. The Indians, with their
hideous yells, pursued in their canoes until within a hundred yards of
the boats. They then seemed simultaneously to have adopted the
conviction that the better part of valor was discretion. In the
darkness, they could not see the boatmen, who they had no doubt were
concealed behind bullet-proof bulwarks. Their birch canoes presented not
the slightest obstruction to the passage of a rifle ball. Knowing that
the flash of a gun from the boat would be certain death to some one of
their number, and that thus the boatmen, with the rapidity with which
they could load and fire, would destroy a large part of their company
before they could hope to capture the flat boats, they hesitated to
approach any nearer, but followed in the pursuit for nearly three miles
down the river, assailing the white men only with harmless yells.
The heroic Mrs. Rowan, as she saw the canoes approaching, supposing that
the savages would attempt to board the boats, crept quietly around in
the darkness, collected all the axes, and placed one by the side of each
man, leaning the handle against his knee. While performing this
significant act she uttered not a word, but returned to her own seat in
silence, retaining a sharp hatchet for herself.
With such determined spirits to assail, it was well for the savages
that they did not approach within arms-length of those whom they were
pursuing. They would certainly have met with a bloody reception.
The savages at length, despairing of success, relinquished the pursuit
and returned to their demoniac orgies around their camp-fires. It was
supposed that they had captured a boat which was descending the river
the day before, and that their extraordinary revelry was accompanied by
the roasting of their captives. A son of Mr. Rowan, but ten years of
age, who subsequently became one of the most distinguished men in
Kentucky, was present on this occasion. He frequently, in after-years,
alluded to the indescribable sensations of sublimity and terror which
the scene inspired. The gloom of the night; the solemn flow of the
majestic river; the dim view of the forests on either side; the gleam of
the camp-fires of the Indians, around which the half-clad savages were
dancing in hideous contortions; the unearthly yells in which every
demoniac passion seemed contending for the mastery; the shout which was
given when they discovered the boats beneath the shadows of the opposite
cliffs; the pursuit of the canoes with redoubled vehemence of hooting;
the rapidity with which, with brawny arms, they paddled their boats to
and fro; the breathless silence which pervaded the flat boat while for
more than an hour the occupants awaited, momentarily expecting the
terrible onset; and above all, the fortitude and heroism displayed by
his mother,--all these combined to leave an impression upon the mind of
the boy which could never be obliterated. Few will be able to read the
record of this adventure without emotion. What then must it have been to
have experienced it in bodily presence, and to have shared in all its
terrible dangers?
As we have before said, there was no distinctly proclaimed war, at this
time, between the pioneers and the Indians. While lawless men on both
sides were committing the most atrocious outrages, the chiefs and the
legitimate authorities were nominally at peace. The red men, whether
engaged in what they deemed lawful warfare, or moving in plundering
bands, were in the habit of inflicting upon their captives the most
dreadful tortures which their ingenuity could devise. The white men
could not retaliate by the perpetration of such revolting cruelty.
It probably was a suggestion of Colonel Boone that a council might be
held with the Indian chiefs, and a treaty formed by which prisoners
should be exempted from torture and exchanged, as in civilized warfare.
The Indians were by no means reckless of the lives of their warriors,
and would probably be very ready to give up a white captive if by so
doing they could receive one of their own braves in return. A council
was held at a station where Maysville now stands. Colonel Boone was at
once selected as the man of all others most fit to take part in these
deliberations. He was not only thoroughly acquainted with the Indians,
their habits, their modes of thought, and the motives most likely to
influence their minds; but his own peculiar character seemed just the
one calculated to inspire them with admiration.
The principle was here adopted of an exchange of prisoners, which
notwithstanding the continued violence of the lawless, saved the lives
of many captives. It is an interesting fact, illustrative of the
sagacity and extraordinary power of Colonel Boone over the Indian mind,
that the chiefs with one consent agreed in grateful commemoration of
this treaty, that if any captive should hereafter be taken by them from
Maysville, that captive should be treated with every possible degree of
lenity. And it is worthy of record that such a captive was subsequently
taken, and that the Indians with the most scrupulous fidelity fulfilled
their pledge. Indeed, it is difficult for an impartial historian to
deny, that these poor savages, ignorant and cruel as they were, often
displayed a sense of honor which we do not so often find in their
opponents. It is to be feared that were Indian historians to write the
record of these wars, we should not find that they were always in the
wrong.
Colonel Boone, ejected from his lands and thus left penniless, felt
keenly the wrongs which were inflicted upon him. He knew full well that
he had done a thousand times more for Kentucky than any other man living
or dead. He had conferred upon the State services which no money could
purchase. Though to his intimate friends he confided his sufferings, he
was too proud to utter loud complaints. In silence he endured. But
Kentucky had ceased to be a happy home for him. Over all its broad and
beautiful expanse which he had opened to the world, there was not a
single acre which he could call his own. And he had no money with which
to purchase a farm of those speculators, into whose hands most of the
lands had fallen. Could the good old man now rise from his grave, a