Daniel Boone: The Pioneer of Kentucky
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. ---- had 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 or the tree. His letter mentioned
that all 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 were yet standing.
"Mr. ---- and I mounted our horses and off we went to the Green River
bottoms. After some difficulty--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 trees 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 about it,
and mentioned my thought to Mr. ----.
"'Well, Colonel Boone,' said he, 'if you think so I hope that it may
prove true, but we must have some witnesses. Do you stay hereabouts 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 if a deer was still living in the land. But ah! sir, what a
wonderful difference thirty years makes in a country! Why, at the time
when I was caught by the Indians, you would not have walked out in any
direction more than a mile without shooting a buck or a bear. There were
then thousands of buffaloes on the hills in 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
daresay for the last time in my life, a few _signs_ only of the deer
were 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 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 on 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 that I was as much
surprised as pleased myself. I made affidavit of this remarkable
occurrence in presence of these gentlemen. Mr. ---- gained his cause. I
left Green River for ever, and came to where we are now; and, sir, I
wish you a good night."
The life of this wonderful man was filled with similar adventures, many
of which can now never be recalled. The following narrative will give
the reader an idea of the scenes which were continually occurring in
those bloody conflicts between the white settlers and the Indians:
"A widow was residing in a lonely log cabin, remote from any settlers,
in what is now Bourbon County, Kentucky. Her lonely hut consisted of but
two rooms. One, the aged widow occupied herself, with two sons and a
widowed daughter with an infant child; the other was tenanted by her
three unmarried daughters, the oldest of whom was twenty years of age.
"It was eleven o'clock at night, and the members of the industrious
family in their lonely habitation had retired, with the exception of one
of the daughters and one of the sons who was keeping her company. Some
indications of danger had alarmed the young man, though he kept his
fears to himself.
"The cry apparently of owls in an adjoining forest was heard, answering
each other in rather an unusual way. The horses in the enclosure by the
side of the house, who seemed to have an instinct informing them of the
approach of the Indians, seemed much excited and galloped around
snorting with terror. Soon steps were heard in the yard, and immediately
several loud knocks were made at the door, with some one enquiring, in
good English, 'Who keeps this house?' The young man very imprudently was
just unbarring the door when the mother sprang from the bed, exclaiming
that they were Indians.
"The whole family was immediately aroused, and the young men seized
their guns. The Indians now threw off all disguise, and began to thunder
at the door, endeavoring to break it down. Through a loop hole prepared
for such an emergency, a rifle shot, discharged at the savages,
compelled a precipitate retreat. Soon, however, they cautiously
returned, and attacking the other end of the cabin, where they found a
point not exposed to the fire from within, they succeeded at length in
breaking through, and entered the room occupied by the three girls. One
of them they seized and bound. Her sister made desperate resistance, and
stabbed one of the Indians to the heart with a large knife which she was
using at the loom. They immediately tomahawked her and she fell dead
upon the floor. The little girl in the gloom of midnight they had
overlooked. The poor little thing ran out of the door, and might have
escaped had she not, in her terror, lost all self-control, and ran round
the house wringing her hands and crying bitterly.
"The brothers, agonized by the cries of their little sister, were just
about opening the door to rush out to her rescue, when their more
prudent mother declared that the child must be abandoned to its fate,
that any attempt to save her would not only be unavailing, but would
ensure the certain destruction of them all. Just then the child uttered
a most frantic scream. They heard the dull sound as of a tomahawk
falling upon the brain. There were a few convulsive moans, and all again
was silent. It was but too evident to all what these sounds signified.
"Presently the crackling of flames was heard, and through the port holes
could be seen the glare of the rising conflagration, while the shouts of
the savages grew more exultant. They had set fire to the end of the
building occupied by the daughters. The logs were dry as tinder, and the
devouring element was soon enveloping the whole building in its fatal
embrace. To remain in the cabin was certain death, in its most appalling
form. In rushing out there was a bare possibility that some might
escape. There was no time for reflection. The hot stifling flames and
smothering smoke were rolling in upon them, when they opened the door
and rushed out into the outer air, endeavoring as soon as possible to
reach the gloom of the forest.
"The old lady, aided by her eldest son, ran in one direction towards a
fence, while the other daughter, with her infant in her arms,
accompanied by the younger of the brothers, ran in another direction.
The fire was blazing so fiercely as to shed all around the light of day.
The old lady had just reached the fence when several rifle balls pierced
her body and she fell dead. Her son almost miraculously escaped, and
leaping the fence plunged into the forest and disappeared. The other
party was pursued by the Indians, with loud yells. Throwing down their
guns which they had discharged, the savages rushed upon the young man
and his sister with their gleaming tomahawks. Gallantly the brother
defended his sister; firing upon the savages as they came rushing on,
and then assailing them with the butt of his musket which he wielded
with the fury of despair. He fought with such herculean strength as to
draw the attention of all the savages upon himself, and thus gave his
sister an opportunity of escaping. He soon however fell beneath their
tomahawks, and was in the morning found scalped and mangled in the most
shocking manner."
Of this family of eight persons two only escaped from this awful scene
of midnight massacre. The neighborhood was immediately aroused. The
second daughter was carried off a captive by the savages. The fate of
the poor girl awakened the deepest sympathy, and by daylight thirty men
were assembled on horseback, under the command of Col. Edwards, to
pursue the Indians. Fortunately a light snow had fallen during the
night. Thus it was impossible for the savages to conceal their trail,
and they were followed on the full gallop. The wretches knew full well
that they would not be allowed to retire unmolested. They fled with the
utmost precipitation, seeking to gain the mountainous region which
bordered upon the Licking River.
A hound accompanied the pursuing party. The sagacious animal was very
eager in the chase. As the trail became fresh, and the scent indicated
that the foe was nearly overtaken, the hound rushing forward, began to
bay very loudly. This gave the Indians the alarm. Finding the strength
of their captive failing, so that she could no longer continue the rapid
flight, they struck their tomahawks into her brain, and left her
bleeding and dying upon the snow. Her friends soon came up and found her
in the convulsions of death. Her brother sprang from his horse and tried
in vain to stop the effusion of blood. She seemed to recognize him,
gave him her hand, uttered a few inarticulate words, and died.
The pursuit was then continued with new ardor, and in about twenty
minutes the avenging white men came within sight of the savages. With
considerable military sagacity, the Indians had taken position upon a
steep and narrow ridge, and seemed desirous of magnifying their numbers
in the eyes of their pursuers by running from tree to tree and making
the forest resound with their hideous yells. The pursuers were, however,
too well acquainted with Indian warfare to be deceived by this childish
artifice. They dismounted, tied their horses, and endeavored to surround
the enemy, so as to cut off his retreat. But the cunning Indians,
leaving two of their number behind to delay the pursuit by deceiving the
white men into the conviction that they all were there, fled to the
mountains. One of this heroic rear-guard--for remaining under the
circumstances was the almost certain surrender of themselves to
death--was instantly shot. The other, badly wounded, was tracked for a
long distance by his blood upon the snow. At length his trail was lost
in a running stream. Night came, a dismal night of rain, long and dark.
In the morning the snow had melted, every trace of the retreat of the
enemy was obliterated, and the further pursuit of the foe was
relinquished.
Colonel Boone, deprived of his property by the unrelenting processes of
pitiless law, had left Kentucky impoverished and in debt. His rifle was
almost the only property he took with him beyond the Mississippi. The
rich acres which had been assigned to him there were then of but little
more value than so many acres of the sky. Though he was so far away from
his creditors that it was almost impossible that they should ever annoy
him, still the honest-hearted man was oppressed by the consciousness of
his debts, and was very anxious to pay them. The forests were full of
game, many of the animals furnishing very valuable furs. He took his