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

CHAPTER XII

The Peculiar Position of Boonesborough – Boone rejoins his Family in North Carolina – Returns to Boonesborough – Robbed of a Large Amount of Money – Increased Emigration to the West – Colonel Rogers and his Party almost Annihilated – Captain Denham's Strange Adventure

It must have caused Captain Duquesne great mortification to come to this conclusion, after setting out with a force ten times as great as that against which he contended, and with every reason to count upon success; but his provisions were almost exhausted, and nearly every time he heard the sharp crack of a rifle from the defences it meant that he had one less warrior than before. The prospect of his triumph was diminishing slowly, but none the less steadily, day by day.

Under such circumstances there was but one thing to do, and that was to raise the siege. This was done at the close of the ninth day after the attack, having lost, as is stated, thirty-seven men, with a much larger number wounded.

Boonesborough was never again subjected to a formidable assault by Indians. It had gone through its crucial period, and there was many a day and hour when it seemed certain that the advanced station in the wilderness must succumb to the hordes of Indians who, like so many fierce bloodhounds, were bounding against the stockades.

A peculiar condition of the settlement of the West now acted as a shield to Boonesborough. Between the site of the station and the Ohio River were continually springing up smaller stations, and many of these were so weak as to invite attack, while Boonesborough had proved her powers of resistance.

The Indians were too wise to pass beyond the weaker stations with a view of attacking one further away and much stronger. It therefore came to pass, as already stated, that the siege of which we have made mention was the last danger to which Boonesborough was subjected.

Something like peace and quietness came to the station, where every stockade was pierced with bullets, and the settlers began more earnestly the work of clearing the land for cultivation.

The opportunity having presented itself for the first time, Boone set out for North Carolina to join his family. As they were mourning him for dead, their excitement and delight possibly may be imagined, when the hardy hunter came smilingly out of the woods, and, catching up his little ones in his arms, kissed them over and over again and pressed his happy wife to his heart.

He had a strange story to tell them of his captivity among the Indians – his escape, his tramp through the forest, the attack upon Boonesborough and the repulse of the British and Indians, and finally his long journey over mountain and wood to rejoin them.

Boone stayed in North Carolina all winter with his family, who doubtless would have been glad to remain there still longer; but the fires of the Revolution were flaming and bringing great suffering and privation, and the pioneer showed that Boonesborough could never again be placed in serious peril.

The following summer, therefore, Boone and his family went back to the station, where he set the good example of devoting his energies to the cultivation of the tract of land which belonged to him, and to assisting other immigrants that were pouring into the country. This was a work as substantial in its way as roaming the woods in search of game, as was his favorite custom in his earlier days.

And yet, while thus engaged, he was subjected to a great annoyance if not humiliation. He was openly accused of cowardice for his surrender of his party at the Blue Licks the preceding year. Colonel Richard Callaway and Colonel Benjamin Logan brought charges against him, which, as hinted in another place, led to his trial by court-martial. His two friends were induced to do this as an act of justice to Boone, and with a view of setting at rest the accusations continually made in certain quarters.

Without giving the particulars of the court-martial, it is sufficient to mention as its direct result, Captain Boone's promotion to the rank of major and his increased popularity with all his citizens.

A misfortune, however, overtook the pioneer, which probably caused him more mental suffering than anything that took place during his long, eventful life.

A commission having been appointed by legislature to settle Kentucky land claims, Major Boone attested his faith in the future of the young State by gathering all his funds, with which he started for Richmond, with the intention of investing the entire amount in lands.

On the road he was robbed of every dollar. Boone makes no mention of the distressing circumstance in his autobiography, and none of the particulars are known; but, as he had a great many sums entrusted to him by friends, it will be understood that this misfortune amounted in reality to a public calamity.

However, the robbery did not impair the confidence which was generally felt in Boone's integrity. Those who knew him best, knew he was the soul of honor, – one who would undergo privation and suffering at any time rather than inflict it upon others.

The opinion of the people is best shown in the following letter written by Colonel Thomas Hart, of Lexington, Kentucky, dated Grayfields, August 3, 1780:

"I observe what you say respecting our losses by Daniel Boone. (Boone had been robbed of funds in part belonging to T. and N. Hart). I had heard of the misfortune soon after it happened, but not of my being partaker before now. I feel for the poor people who, perhaps, are to lose their preemptions; but I must say, I feel more for Boone, whose character I am told suffers by it. Much degenerated must the people of this age be, when among them are to be found men to censure and blast the reputation of a person so just and upright, and in whose breast is a seat of virtue too pure to admit of a thought so base and dishonorable. I have known Boone in times of old, when poverty and distress had him fast by the hand; and in these wretched circumstances, I have ever found him of a noble and generous soul, despising every thing mean; and therefore I will freely grant him a discharge for whatever sums of mine he might have been possessed of at the time."

There was general peace, so to speak, along the frontier, and that part of our country took immense strides in the march of civilization; and yet the year 1779 is noted for the occurrence of one of the bloodiest battles that ever was fought in that portion of the West.

In the autumn of the year, Colonel Rogers, who had been to New Orleans to procure supplies for the posts on the upper Mississippi, made his way back until he came opposite the present site of Cincinnati.

As he reached that point he discovered the Indians coming out of the mouth of the Little Miami, in a large number of canoes, and crossing to the Kentucky side of the Ohio. He determined at once to attempt a surprise, with a view of cutting them off, as they effected a landing.

The Ohio was quite low at that season, and was very shallow on the southern shore, a long sand-bar extending along the bank. Colonel Rogers landed his men, some seventy in number, upon this bar, and started them for a point a short distance away, where he hoped to effect the capture of the entire party of Indians.

But Rogers had made a most fearful miscalculation.

They had scarcely started toward the spot, when they were fiercely attacked by a large force of Indians, numbering fully two hundred. They first poured in a terrible volley and then springing to their feet, rushed upon the panic-stricken whites, with their knives and tomahawks. Before this hurricane-like charge, Colonel Rogers and more than forty of his men were almost instantly killed. Those who were not shot down, made a frenzied flight to the river, with the warriors at their heels.

But the guards left in charge of the boats were so terrified by the disaster, that they hurriedly rowed out in the river again, without waiting to take their imperiled comrades aboard.

Caught thus between two fires, the remnants turned about, and, making a desperate charge upon their enemies, succeeded in forcing their way through the furious warriors, and those who survived managed to reach Harrodsburg.

In this battle, or massacre, as it may well be called, sixty whites, including the commander, Colonel Rogers, were killed, a loss only equaled by that of the Blue Licks some time previous. The disaster spread a gloom over the frontier, and awakened a dread in some quarters that the Indians would be roused to combined action against the settlements, and that a long series of disasters were likely to follow.

It was at this battle that an incident took place, almost too incredible for belief, but it is established upon the best authority.

Among those who were wounded by the terrific volley poured into the whites was Captain Denham, who was shot through both hips in such a manner that the bones were broken, and he was deprived of the use of his legs. Nevertheless he managed to drag himself to the top of a fallen tree hard by, where he hid himself until the battle was over and the Indians gone.

His condition was deplorable, for as his friends had fled, he could not expect any assistance, and it looked indeed as if it would have been a mercy had he been killed outright.

However, he kept up a brave heart and was able to reach the side of the river to drink, when his consuming thirst came upon him. Thus he lived until the close of the second day, when he discovered that some one else was hiding near him. Whoever he was, the captain concluded it must be a wounded person and most likely one of his own race, inasmuch as the Indians always take off their wounded when the opportunity is presented them.

Accordingly the captain hailed him, and sure enough found it was a comrade, who was wounded in both arms, so as to make them useless. Both were plucky soldiers, and as there seemed to be a man "between them," they formed a strange partnership.

The captain did the shooting, while his friend carried him about on his shoulders, from place to place.

In this manner they existed until the 27th of September, when they hailed a passing flat-boat, which took them to Louisville, where they eventually recovered and lived many years afterward.

CHAPTER XIII

Colonel Bowman's Expedition – Its Disastrous Failure – Death of Boone's Son – Escape of Boone – Colonel Byrd's Invasion – Capture of Ruddell's and Martin's Station – Daring Escape of Captain Hinkston

An invasion of the Indian country is always popular on the frontier, and when Colonel Bowman, known to be a good soldier, issued his call for volunteers, shortly after the massacre of Colonel Rogers and his command, there was no lack of responses.

He requested them to meet at Harrodsburg, for the purpose of moving against the Indian town of Chillicothe, and there in a short time were gathered three hundred men, among them being the veteran Indian fighters, Harrod and Logan, each holding rank as Captain, but Boone was not a member of the expedition.

The company was a formidable one, and it started from Harrodsburg in the month of July, pressing forward through the woods with such celerity and skill that it reached the neighborhood of the Indian towns at nightfall without its approach being suspected.

Here a consultation was held, and it was decided to attack the place at the favorite hour of the savages – just before the break of day – and the plan of assault was agreed upon.

Advancing close to the Indian town, the little army separated into two equal divisions, Colonel Bowman retaining command of one, while Captain Logan led the other. The latter officer was to move half way round the town, while the Colonel was to go the other way, until they met, when the superior officer would give the signal for an attack "all along the line."

Captain Logan obeyed his orders promptly, and, reaching the point agreed upon, halted and awaited his superior. But unaccountably Colonel Bowman did not appear.

Logan remained motionless until his impatience gave way to uneasiness, as he saw the minutes slipping by, and he determined to find out the cause of the delay. His men were concealed in the long grass, when the light of day broke over the woods, but Logan, moving here and there, could learn nothing of his superior.

Several of his own men, in shifting their positions, the better to hide themselves, attracted the attention of some Indian dogs, which instantly set up a barking. This brought out a warrior, who moved cautiously in the direction where the object that alarmed the canine seemed to be. He probably had no thought that white men were near at hand, and he might have been made prisoner, but, as is often the case, and as seems to have been the rule on the frontier, at the very crisis the whites committed a fatal piece of carelessness. One of the hunters fired his gun.

As quick as lightning the truth flashed upon the warrior, and whirling about, he ran like a deer to his cabin. In an incredibly short space of time, the entire village was alarmed. Logan plainly heard the Shawanoes hurrying the women and children to the woods, through the cover of a ridge stretching between them and the other division of soldiers.

Meantime the warriors prepared themselves for the attack, by gathering with their guns in a strong cabin, doubtless intended as a fort or means of defence, while Logan and his men took possession of a number of lodges from which the savages had withdrawn.

He determined upon using the material of these simple structures as shields in reaching the stronghold of the Shawanoes, and his men were about to make the advance, confident of success, when orders came from Colonel Bowman to retreat at once.

The Colonel discovered that the Indians had not been completely surprised, as was intended, and he thought it too dangerous to venture upon an attack under such conditions – hence the order to Captain Logan to extricate his force while there was opportunity of doing so.

The order was received with amazement, but there was no choice but to obey, "though they knew some one had blundered." The position of the assailants was such that an orderly retreat was difficult, and it soon became impossible; the men felt that each must look out for himself, and they broke and scattered for the wood, running the gauntlet of the destructive fire of the warriors, who shot, as may be said, at their leisure.

After the loss of several lives Logan's force got out of its dangerous advanced position, joined the other division under command of Colonel Bowman, and the retreat was continued in the direction of Harrodsburg with some semblance of order.

But nothing gives a foe greater courage than the sight of a retreating opponent, and when the Shawanoes saw the strong force of volunteers hurrying away, they too rushed from their fort and assailed them. There were less than fifty warriors, while the whites numbered almost six times as many, and yet the retreat was continued in the face of the insignificant number of savages, who fired upon them from every point of vantage, the settlers continually falling back, as did the British before the galling shots of the volunteers at Lexington.

There have been those who defended the course of Colonel Bowman in this distressing affair, and who insist that his only course was to retreat before the attack of a much more numerous force than his own, but it seems clear he lost his head from the moment he came in sight of the village. He failed to comply with his share of the movement as arranged by himself, and when the Shawanoes rallied and pursued his men, instead of turning about and scattering them, he continued retreating in a disorderly fashion, giving no orders, but allowing every one to do as he thought best.

But some of his subordinates were better officers than he, and when the Colonel halted his force in the worst possible position, Logan, Harrod, and several others mounted the pack-horses and dashed through the woods in the direction of the galling shots. The noted Blackfish was leading the warriors, and unless checked, the indications were that the whites would be cut off to a man.

Captains Logan and Harrod, with their brave comrades, charged wherever they caught sight of Indians, or whenever the flash of a gun was seen, and after some vigorous work, they killed the chief Blackfish and dispersed the rest of his warriors.

The road thus cleared, Colonel Bowman's crippled command continued its retreat, and finally reached Harrodsburg without further molestation.

The expedition had proven itself one of that long list of failures and disasters which mark the history of military expeditions against the Indians on the frontier from the earliest settlement down to the massacre of Custer and his command.

The Revolution was approaching its close, it being the year 1780, and hundreds of settlers from the East had swarmed into Kentucky and taken up land. In their eagerness to acquire possession, they almost forgot the danger which hung over them, laying themselves so invitingly open to attack, that the British and Indians took up the gauntlet which, it may be said, was thus thrown in their faces.

The conquest of Kentucky was a favorite scheme with the British, and in the summer of 1780, a formidable invasion was made under the direction of Colonel Byrd, at the head of six hundred Indians and Canadians, and with six pieces of artillery.

His first demonstration was against Ruddell's station, on the Licking. This had a weak garrison, and when Captain Ruddell was confronted with the formidable force and summoned to surrender, he saw that it would be folly to refuse. The artillery at the command of his foe could speedily batter the fort to pieces, and he agreed to capitulate on condition that his garrison should be under the protection of the British. Colonel Byrd readily agreed to this reasonable stipulation, and the gates were thrown open.

The instant this was done, the Indians poured tumultuously in, and laying hold of the soldiers claimed them as prisoners. Captain Ruddell remonstrated indignantly with Colonel Byrd at this violation of his agreement, but the British colonel, although he did his best to restrain his Indians, was unable to do so.

Colonel Byrd seems to have been a gentleman, and, when the Indians proposed to attack Martin's Station, a short distance off, and which they were confident of capturing, he refused to move and threatened to withdraw from Kentucky altogether, unless the chiefs and sachems should pledge themselves that in every case the prisoners taken should be given in charge of him, the Indians confining themselves entirely to the plunder and booty obtained.

The agreement was made on the part of the leaders, and then Colonel Byrd marched against Martin's Station. The artillery he took along undoubtedly proved irresistibly persuasive in almost every instance, for he captured the station with little difficulty, and the Indian chiefs compelled their warriors to adhere to the pledge they had given.

The Indians now became eager to attack Bryant's Station, but Colonel Byrd did not seem to have much enthusiasm over the invasion of Kentucky, and he declined to go further. He collected his stores, and, placing them upon boats, retreated to Licking Forks, where his Indians withdrew, taking with them the prisoners captured at Ruddell's Station.

Among the captives was Captain John Hinkston, a noted Indian fighter, who, as may be supposed, was on the alert for a chance to get away from his captors, knowing, as he did, that he was liable to suffer torture at their hands.

On the second night, succeeding the separation of the Indians from the command of Colonel Byrd, the warriors halted close to the river. When they started to build a camp-fire, the fuel was found to be so wet that it was fully dark before they could get the flames going, and so many of the guard were called upon to assist in the difficult work that Captain Hinkston made a sudden dash, broke through the lines, and amid a storm of hastily aimed bullets succeeded in reaching the shelter of the woods.

As night had just settled, Hinkston felt secure in his escape, though the Indians immediately scattered and began such a vigorous search that he heard them moving in all directions about him, sometimes so close that he could almost touch them, and was forced to stand as motionless as the tree trunks beside him, lest they should detect his cautious movements.

But he gradually worked away from the Indian camp, when the vigor of the hunt had relaxed somewhat, and, starting in the direction of Lexington, kept going all night; for, as he was confident the Shawanoes would take his trail at daylight, it was important that he should make all progress while the opportunity was his.

His hopes rose as hour after hour passed, and he was congratulating himself on the goodly distance made, when to his consternation he came directly up to the very Indian camp from which he fled long before. He had committed that error which people lost in the woods are so prone to commit, that of walking in a circle instead of in a straight line.

As may be supposed, Hinkston was startled, and he did not stand long surveying the smoking camp-fires, with the grim warriors gathered about them; but turning once more, he re-entered the woods, making his way with so much caution, that whatever might happen, he was sure of not repeating the blunder committed.

The night was so cloudy and dark, that he was deprived of the compass of the hunter, the stars in the sky, and he wet his finger and held it over his head. This enabled him to tell the direction of the wind which was gently blowing, and by repeating the act, he was enabled to pursue substantially the same direction through the night, so that when daylight came, he was sure of one thing, he had placed a goodly number of miles between him and his enemies.

He was so worn out that he crept close to a fallen tree, where he slept several hours. When he awoke he found he was surrounded by a dense fog, which shut out objects a dozen feet distant. The moisture was dripping from the leaves, and the day was as dismal as can be imagined; but such weather served to help conceal his trail, and he was hopeful that none of the keen-eyed Indians would succeed in tracing him to his resting-place.

But the Shawanoes were prosecuting a most vigorous search, and he stepped along with the greatest care, glancing to the right and left, expecting every minute to see some brawny warrior suddenly spring out of the fog upon him.

On the right he would hear the call of a turkey, answered a moment by another on the left, followed perhaps by a general chorus from all points of the compass.

Those wild turkeys were Indians signaling to each other, and they frequently approached so close, that more than once Hinkston felt it impossible to break through the fiery ring that was closing about him.

Sometimes the pursuers varied their signals by imitating the howling of wolves, or the bleating of fawns, and they were often so close that discovery would have been inevitable but for the London-like vapor which enveloped the trembling fugitive.

But good fortune waited on Captain Hinkston, and he finally extricated himself from the perilous vicinity and reached Lexington without harm.