The Life and Times of Col. Daniel Boone, Hunter, Soldier, and Pioneer

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 cripple 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.