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

"'Mr. – and I mounted our horses, and off we went to the Green River bottoms. After some difficulties – 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-tree 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 of it, and mentioned my thought to Mr. – . 'Well, Colonel Boone,' said he, 'if you think so, I hope it may prove true, but we must have some witnesses; do you stay hereabout, 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 whether a deer was still living in the land. But ah! sir, what a wonderful difference thirty years make in a country! Why, at the time I was caught by the Indians, you would not have walked out in any direction for more than a mile without shooting a buck or a bear. There were then thousands of buffaloes on the hills of 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 dare say for the last time in my life, a few signs only of deer were to be 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 was 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 in 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 I was as much surprised as pleased myself. I made affidavit of this remarkable occurrence in presence of these gentlemen. Mr. – gained the cause. I left Green River forever, and came to where we now are; and, sir, I wish you a good night.'"

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Spain seemed glad to do honor to the great pioneer, Daniel Boone, who was so well known at that time, that no less a poet than Lord Byron rendered tribute to his daring and achievements. Spain gave him a tract of land, numbering 8,500 acres, which was meant as a recognition of his services to the government. The law as it then existed, required, in order to make his title good, that the grant should be confirmed by the representative of the crown at New Orleans, and another condition was that the grantee should reside upon it himself.

As it would have been inconvenient on the part of Boone to comply with the latter provision, the commandant at St Louis, who was his warm friend, assured him that his title could be perfected without acceding to the requirement.

Boone's dear experience in Kentucky should have been remembered, but he left everything to his friends, and when Louisiana came into the possession of the United States, it was found that Boone had not the shadow of a legal title to the lands presented him, and the commissioners had no choice, according to their instructions, but to reject his claim entirely.

This was a serious blow, but the only one who could be censured was Boone himself. However, there was no fear of his coming to want, for he not only had a large number of immediate relatives, all of whom were strongly attached to him, but the States of Kentucky and Missouri would never permit any such disgrace.

Boone liked Missouri, for the people were kind and hospitable and game was plenty. He could never lose his fondness for the woods, and as the beaver were numerous and their furs valuable, he made considerable money by gathering and selling the peltries.

At the end of several years he had amassed enough funds to carry out an intention which does him great credit. When he removed from Kentucky he was obliged to leave several debts behind him, the memory of which disturbed him not a little. He now made a journey to the State, where he paid every creditor in full, and returned to Missouri with just half a dollar in his pocket.

"Now I am ready to die," said he; "I have paid all my debts, and when I am gone, no one shall be able to say I was a dishonest man."

It would scarcely be expected that in his old age, and in the new country to which he had emigrated, he would be subjected to danger from the Indians, and yet he was placed in peril more than once.

His principal companion on his hunting excursions was a black boy about half grown. While thus engaged they were attacked by a small party of Osage Indians, who, however, were not long in learning that the old fire still burned brightly, for they were speedily scattered without having inflicted any injury upon either of the hunters.

On another occasion, while Boone was hunting entirely alone, he discovered that a large encampment of Indians was in the neighborhood, and he had reason to believe that a number of the warriors were hunting for him.

Boone, it will be remembered, was quite an old man, and it must have recalled the scenes of nearly forty years before, when he alternately hunted and hid in the Kentucky wilderness, before the foot of any other white man had penetrated the solitudes.

For nearly three weeks the pioneer lived that life over again, hiding in the deepest recesses of the forest, carefully concealing his trail and cooking his food only at the dead of night, so that the smoke should not be seen by the Indians, who finally took their departure, without being able to catch a glimpse of the old hunter.

His love for the woods knew no abatement with advancing years, and he spent hours, days, and even weeks, in wandering in the grand old forests, breathing the pure fresh air, shooting the timid deer, maneuvering against the Indians, who tracked him many a mile, and returning to his home wearied, but with the same genial good nature, which was one of his distinguishing traits in his early days.

In the year 1812, Colonel Boone petitioned Congress for a confirmation of his original claims, and knowing that such petitions cannot have too great weight, he sent a memorial to the General Assembly of Kentucky, asking their assistance in obtaining the desired confirmation from Congress.

That legislature by a unanimous vote, passed the following preamble and resolutions:

"The Legislature of Kentucky, taking into view the many eminent services rendered by Colonel Boone, in exploring and settling the Western country, from which great advantages have resulted, not only to this State, but to his country in general; and that, from circumstances over which he had no control, he is now reduced to poverty, not having, so far as appears, an acre of land out of the vast territory he has been a great instrument in peopling; believing, also, that it is as unjust as impolitic, that useful enterprise and eminent services should go unrewarded by a government where merit confers the only distinction; and having sufficient reason to believe that a grant of ten thousand acres of land which he claims in Upper Louisiana, would have been confirmed by the Spanish government, had not said territory passed, by cession, into the hands of the general government; wherefore,

"Resolved, By the General Assembly of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, that our senators in Congress be requested to make use of their exertions to procure a grant of land in said Territory to said Boone, either the ten thousand acres to which he appears to have an equitable claim, from the grounds set forth to this Legislature, by way of confirmation, or to such quantity in such place as shall be deemed most advisable, by way of donation."

While his memorial was pending in Congress, the wife of Boone died at the age of seventy-six years. His memorial was strongly supported by the most distinguished members from the West, but no action could be secured upon it until the 24th of December, 1813, when the committee on public lands made a report, in which the justice of Boone's claims was admitted, and Congress was recommended to give him one thousand arpents, or 850 acres of land.

The act for the confirmation of the title passed on the 10th of February, 1814. As every emigrant to Louisiana was entitled by law to precisely that number of acres, it is difficult to justify the treatment which Boone received at the hands of the law-makers of the country.

The pioneer was never given any other recognition of his services; and as he was growing old, his relatives, all of whom were tenderly attached to him, saw that no want of his was not fulfilled so far as it was possible for human kindness to fulfill it. He devoted himself mainly to hunting, and, when at home, carved powder-horns and made trinkets for his descendants, some of whom were to the fourth and fifth generation.

These last he frequently gathered around his knees and told of his many thrilling adventures with the Indians, long years before they were born, while he entertained the older friends on the long, dismal wintry evenings, with his narrative of his experiences on the Dark and Bloody Ground, in the days that tried men's souls.

CHAPTER XXI

Last Days of Colonel Boone – Reinterment of the Remains of Himself and Wife at Frankfort – Conclusion

The hunting days of Colonel Boone at last came to an end. He had passed his three score and ten, and the iron limbs and hardy frame were compelled to bend before the infirmities of age, to which Hercules himself must succumb in the end.

So long as he was able, he kept up his hunting expeditions in the wood, but on one occasion, he was taken violently ill, and made his preparations for death, his only companion being the negro boy, who had been with him many times before.

He was brought to recognize at last the danger of going beyond the immediate reach of his friends, and for ten years he did not do so.

He was held in great affection and respect by his numerous friends and relatives, and he was a more than welcome visitor at the hearthstone of each. The harsh treatment received at the hands of the government could not embitter such a sweet nature as his, and he showed no resentment over the fact that the land upon which he had toiled in the vigor of his early manhood, and whose labors had made it exceptionally valuable, passed to the hands of a stranger without cost or claim.

As the stream of life neared the great ocean beyond, it assumed a serene and majestic flow, which comes only from the assurance that no storms are awaiting the bark which has been tossed so long on the waves of suffering, danger and disaster.

In the summer of 1820, the well known American artist, Chester Harding, visited Boone and painted an excellent portrait of him. The old pioneer was so feeble that he had to be supported by a friend while sitting for the likeness.

Boone at this time made his home with his son-in-law, Flanders Callaway, and he was continually visited by distinguished citizens and foreigners, who, having heard of the exploits of the explorer of the wilderness, hastened to look upon him ere the opportunity should pass forever.

Some years before his death he had his coffin made, and kept it in the house. His temperate habits, the active out-door life of his earlier days, and his regard for the laws of health, naturally resulted in a ripe old age, marked by the gradual decay of the vital powers, and unaccompanied by any pain, as should be the case with all mankind.

It was not until the month of September, 1820, that the premonition of his coming end unmistakably showed itself. He was attacked by a species of fever, which did not prove severe, for he soon recovered, and afterward visited his son Major Nathan Boone. He was attacked again, was confined to his bed three days, and peacefully passed away on the 26th of September, in the eighty-sixth year of his age.

The legislature of Missouri was in session at the time, and as soon as the news reached it, adjourned, after passing a resolution that its members should wear the usual badge of mourning for twenty days.

He was laid by the side of his wife, who died a number of years before, an immense concourse attending the funeral. There the remains of the two lay for a quarter of a century, when an interesting ceremony took place.

The consent of the family having been obtained, the coffins were disinterred and removed to Frankfort, Kentucky, and there placed in the new cemetery.

The ceremonies were touching and impressive. Nearly three quarters of a century had passed since the daring hunter and pioneer, in the flush of early manhood, had threaded his way through the trackless forests from the Old Pine State, and, crossing mountain and stream, braving all manner of dangers, had penetrated the solitudes of Kentucky and laid the foundation of one of the grandest States of the Union.

There were a few old men who had known Boone, and they were present from different parts of the State, with hundreds of friends, descendants and relatives. The hearse was hung with lilies and evergreens, and the ceremony was one which can never be forgotten by those who took part in or witnessed it.

A stirring and powerful address was delivered by Senator J. J. Crittenden, in which eloquent tribute was done the daring hunter, the intrepid scout, and matchless pioneer.

In closing the biography of Colonel Daniel Boone, we feel that the reader of these pages, shares with us in our admiration of the stern integrity, the unquestioned bravery, the clear self-possession, and the honest simplicity of the most illustrious type of the American pioneer, who, long before his death, had fixed his place high and enduring in the history of our country.

Toward the close of the latter part of the century, Colonel Boone dictated his autobiography to a friend, and nothing can be more appropriate as an illustration of his character than these few closing words, with which we lay down our pen:

"My footsteps have often been marked with blood; two darling sons and a brother have I lost by savage hands, which have also taken from me forty valuable horses and cattle. Many dark and sleepless nights have I been a companion for owls, separated from the cheerful society of men, scorched by the summer's sun, and pinched by the winter's cold – an instrument ordained to settle the wilderness.

"What thanks, what ardent and ceaseless thanks are due to that all-superintending Providence which has turned a cruel war into peace, brought order out of confusion, made the fierce savages placid, and turned away their hostile weapons from our country.

"May the same almighty goodness banish the accursed monster, war, from all lands, with her hated associates, rapine and insatiable ambition!

"Let peace, descending from her native heaven, bid her olives spring amid the joyful nations; and plenty, in league with commerce, scatter blessings from her copious hand!"

GENERAL SIMON KENTON

CHAPTER I

Birth of Kenton – Desperate Affray with a Rival – Flees to the Kentucky Wilderness – He and Two Companions attacked by Indians – One is Killed and the Survivors Escape – Rescued, after great Suffering – Kenton spends the Summer alone in the Woods – Serves as a Scout in the Dunmore War – Kenton and Two Friends settle at Upper Blue Lick – Joined by Hendricks, who meets with a Terrible Fate

The fame of Simon Kenton, hunter and pioneer, is scarcely second to that of Daniel Boone; he was fully as courageous and equally skilled in woodcraft, while personally more winning in manner. Had the opportunities of Boone been his, he would have achieved a fame scarcely less; but such as he was, no history of the West would be complete without mention of Boone's intimate friend, Simon Kenton.

Of the early years of Kenton little is known, and it is not likely that they were marked by anything worthy of mention. He was born in Fauquier County, Virginia, May 15th, 1755. His parents were very poor, and Simon led a life of drudging toil on a farm, until he was sixteen, at which age he was unable to read or write his name.

The young man, however, was strong, robust, very athletic, good looking, and with a pleasing, musical voice. He was just the kind of youth to become popular among the rough spirits of the border, and it was at that time that an incident occurred which marked an era in his life.

Young as Kenton was, he was a rival of another in the esteem of an attractive young lady of the neighborhood; and, as the lady herself seemed unwilling to decide as to who was her preference, Kenton and his rival agreed to decide it by a bout at fisticuffs.

The conflict took place, but, through the treachery of his rival, Kenton was terribly beaten. He had no choice but to submit to the outrage in silence, but, like Dr. Winship, the modern Samson, he determined to get strong, and then punish the one who had treated him so foully.

Within the year or two succeeding, Kenton reached the stature of six feet, and, confident of his own strength and skill, he called upon his former rival and asked him to try conclusions again with him. The other was also a powerful man and gladly accepted the challenge, for he hated Kenton intensely, and resolved to give him such a terrific punishment that he would never be able to annoy him again.

At first, the rival got the best of Kenton and injured him severely; but the future scout was full of grit, and he managed to secure the upper hand, when he administered such a chastisement that when he released his man he seemed to be gasping in death.

Kenton looked at him for a moment, and was so certain he could not live a half hour longer, that he was seized with a panic and fled. He did not dare even to return home for a change of clothing, but faced toward the West and ran as though his pursuers were in sight.

Feeling no doubt that his rival was dead, he was sure his avengers would be at his heels, and he scarcely rested during the day. When, however, he reached the neighborhood of the Warm Springs, the settlements were so sparse that he drew a sigh of relief, and felt that he was in no immediate peril from the officers of the law.

Still Kenton did not dare pause for any length of time, and he was walking forward when he came upon a Jerseyman named Johnson, who was journeying in the same direction.

It is at such times that the heart craves companionship, and the two men affiliated at once. Johnson was driving a pack-horse before him, and seemed pretty well tired out; but he was full of pluck, and it took but a few minutes for the two adventurers fully to understand each other.

As a proof of the fear which Kenton felt that his pursuers might overtake him, it may be stated at this point that he changed his name to Simon Butler, with a view of rendering it more difficult to identify him.

The new friends penetrated the wilderness of the Alleghanies, relying under heaven upon their own prowess and bravery. Both were skillful marksmen, and they had no difficulty in securing all the game they needed, while they kept unceasing watchfulness against the prowling Indians, who, at that day, were liable to spring upon them at any time.

They pushed steadily forward until they reached a small settlement at the forks of the Monongahela; there they separated, and, so far as known, never saw each other again.

At the settlement was a small company under the leadership of John Mahon and Jacob Greathouse, who had just made ready to explore the country below them. Embarking in a large canoe, they floated down the river until they reached the Province's settlement. Here Kenton formed the acquaintance of two young men, named Yager and Strader, the former of whom had once been a captive among the Indians.

He fired the heart of Kenton by his glowing accounts of the region of Kentucky, which he declared was a hunter's paradise.

"There is no richer soil in the world," said Yager; "vegetation is so luxuriant that it will strike you with wonder, and the herds of buffalo and elk which roam through those woods are so immense that you wouldn't believe me if I were to tell you the numbers."

Kenton was sure there was some foundation for the positive assertions of Yager, and he listened eagerly to what he had to add;

"The region has no white men in it; any one who chooses to hunt there can do so. I have gone with the Indians many a time on their hunting excursions, and I could lead you through the same. If you will go with us, I will do so."

Kenton accepted the proposition with great enthusiasm, declaring that he would start at once.

Yager and Strader were equally hopeful, and in a short time the three were drifting down the Ohio in a single canoe.

Yager had lived among the Indians in his childhood, and while he entertained a vivid recollection of the incidents, he could not be positive concerning the distances between certain points. He was unable to say how far down the river they would have to go to find the place where the Indians crossed from Ohio into Kentucky to hunt, but he was sure he would recognize the spot the instant he saw it, for it was very different from any other point on the stream, and was indelibly fixed in his memory.

They were so anxious to reach the promised land, as it seemed to be to them, that the men rowed strongly and continuously, keeping at the oars far into the night.

There can be no question as to Yager's honesty, but he was led astray by his own impressions; the crossing he was seeking was a great deal further away than he believed.

Kenton and Strader began to think they were a long time in arriving at a point so near at hand. When they expressed their dissatisfaction, Yager still insisted, and the lusty arms were plied again with renewed vigor.

But, though the keen eyes scrutinized the shore on either hand with a watchfulness which could not be mistaken, they failed to discover anything resembling the crossing, which Yager had described so often and so vividly that the others saw it distinctly in their mind's eye.

Kenton and Strader were not angered, but they rallied their companion on his error, and suggested that he was describing and they were searching for a place which never had an existence, unless it was in the imagination of the former Indian captive.

Finally, Yager admitted that he didn't understand how it was, unless they had passed the crossing in the night.

"There is such a place," he asserted with great positiveness, "for I saw it more than once, when I was a child with the Indians, and I remember it so well, that I would recognize it on the instant. It must be that we went by it in the night."

After awhile, they agreed to return and explore the country more thoroughly. They did so, visiting the land in the neighborhood of Salt Lick, Little and Big Sandy, and Guyandotte. They finally wearied of hunting for that which it seemed impossible to find, and, locating on the Great Kanawha, devoted themselves to hunting and trapping. They found the occupation so congenial, that they pursued it for two years, exchanging their furs and peltries with the traders at Fort Pitt, for such necessaries as hunters require.

The period passed by these three men on the Kanawha will be recognized by the reader as a momentous one; for not only were the fires of the Revolution kindling, but the embers of war along the border were fanning into a blaze that was to sweep over thousands of square miles of settlement and wilderness, and to bring appalling disaster to the West.

Nothing gives a more vivid idea of the insecurity of the pioneers of Kentucky and Ohio, than the bloodhound-like persistency with which the red men hunted down all invaders of their soil. Boone and his party, which might have been considered strong enough to take care of themselves against any ordinary war party, were attacked before they caught more than a glimpse of the fair land; while the settler, who builded his cabin close to the frowning block-house, was shot down on his own threshold.

Kenton and his two companions had spent months enjoying their free, open life in the woods, when the red men came down upon them like the whirlwind.

It was in the month of March, 1773, while they were stretched out in their rude tent, chatting and smoking, that the dark woods around them suddenly flamed with fire, and a volley was poured in upon them, followed by the fierce shouts of the warriors, who seemed to swarm up from the very earth.

Poor Strader was riddled with bullets, and scarcely stirred, so instant was his death. By wonderful good fortune, neither of the others was injured, and, leaping to their feet, they bounded into the woods like frightened deer, the bullets whistling all about them and their ferocious enemies at their heels.

The gathering darkness and their own fleetness enabled them speedily to place themselves beyond reach of the savages; but their plight was a pitiable one.

So desperate was their haste, that neither had time to catch up blanket, gun or a scrap of provisions; an instant's pause would have been fatal. And now they found themselves in the gloomy woods, with the chilling wind cutting them to the bone, and without the means even of starting a fire.

The brave fellows, however, did not despair. They felt that while there was life there was hope, and they determined to make for the Ohio without delay. Had they possessed their guns, it would have been an easy matter to secure such game as they needed, and to kindle a fire, but with undaunted hearts and with their knowledge of woodcraft which enabled them to determine the direction to the Ohio, they started for the river.

During the first two days, they allayed the pangs of gnawing hunger by chewing succulent roots, while the bark on the trees was a sufficient guide to keep them going in the right direction. The miserable nourishment, however, soon told, and the third day found them much weaker, though with their courage undiminished.

They grew feeble very fast, and both were seized with a violent nausea, caused by the unwelcome substances they had taken into their stomachs to satisfy the pangs of hunger. Their condition became so much worse on the fourth day, that, strong men as they were, they felt it was useless to strive longer. They threw themselves on the ground with the intention of waiting for death, but when they assumed the prone position, they seemed to rally both in body and spirits, and, after awhile, they would rise and press forward again.

On the fifth day, death appeared near to them, and they were scarcely able to crawl. They staggered and crept along for about a mile, and, just as the sun was setting, found themselves on the bank of the Ohio, which was a Beautiful River indeed to them.

Almost at the same moment, they came upon a party of traders, and saw they were saved, for the men gave them the provisions they needed, and were anxious to do all in their power for the emaciated and distressed hunters.

But the story told by the latter filled them with such alarm for their own safety, that they prepared to leave such a perilous section without delay. Hastily gathering their effects together, they made all haste to the Little Kanawha, where they encountered another exploring party under the leadership of Dr. Briscoe, who furnished Kenton with a new rifle and ammunition. Yager had had enough of the wilderness, and he stayed with his new-found friends. But Kenton, with his gun and powder, felt like a giant refreshed, and, bidding the others good-bye, plunged alone into the woods.

He spent the following summer in hunting, just as Daniel Boone did under somewhat similar circumstances, and, toward the close of the season, made his way back to the little Kanawha. Here he found an exploring party under the direction of Dr. Wood and Hancock Lee, who were descending the Ohio with the purpose of joining Captain Bullitt, whom they expected to find at the mouth of the Scioto, with a company of pioneers so large that nothing was to be feared from the Indians.

Kenton willingly accepted the invitation to join them, and the descent of the stream was resumed. They moved at a leisurely pace, often stopping on the way to examine the country. They were not disturbed by the Indians until they reached the Three Islands. There, to their dismay, they discovered such a formidable body of warriors, that they were compelled to abandon their canoes precipitately, and they hurried across the country in a diagonal direction for Green Brier county, Virginia.

The journey was a most uncomfortable one, for they were in constant danger from the red men, and were afraid to pause long enough to secure and prepare the necessary food.

To add to their troubles, the leader of the party, Dr. Wood, while tramping along was bitten by a venomous snake, known as the copperhead. The physician applied all the remedies at his command, but, for several days, he lay at the point of death and unable to move. Despite the great danger of pausing on the way, the party were compelled to go into camp for a couple of weeks on account of their leader's condition. At the end of that time, however, he had so far recovered that the journey was resumed, and they reached the settlements without further mishap.

Kenton was so sorely troubled by the recollection of the affray with his rival several years before, whom he supposed to be dead, that he was afraid to remain in Virginia. Accordingly, he built a canoe on the banks of the Monongahela, paddled to the mouth of the Great Kanawha, and resumed his hunting, which he prosecuted with great success until the spring of 1774.