Part 15

Seeing the disruption of the ranks, the Indians now rushed forward with uplifted tomahawks, uttering the most fiendish yells. Two-thirds of the troops broke into flight and made for the ford, with the redskins in close pursuit. Boone strove to keep his men together, urging them to retreat in a compact body and to present a front to the enemy. The calm demeanor of the pioneer influenced his men for a while after all the others had broken into disorderly rout, but unfortunately Boone’s horse, which had been wounded some time before, suddenly fell to its knees, bringing the rider to the ground. The men, imagining that their leader was killed, immediately took to flight.

When Boone gained his feet, his son Israel and Hardy Goodfellow alone of all his followers were beside him. Savages were advancing from every side, and down at the ford a raging mass of humanity contested the passage. Boone was an indifferent swimmer, but he instantly decided that the best chance of safety for his little party depended upon taking to the stream at its nearest point.

Boone and his young companions turned towards the bank on the western side of the loop. They had progressed but a short distance when five savages attempted to intercept them. Two of these lacked firearms. The aim of the white men was directed at the others, two of whom fell, when Boone and Hardy rushed upon the remaining three with drawn tomahawks. The redskins fled without awaiting the attack, and when Boone turned it was to see his son stretched upon the ground. Israel had received a bullet in his breast.

Without waiting to reload his rifle, Boone picked the boy up in his arms and resumed the road to the river. They were nearing the bank when three Indians came down upon them. One of these Hardy disposed of when they were within twenty yards, but the other two continued to advance. They were extremely big men and unusually courageous. Armed only with their tomahawks they rushed upon the whites without faltering.

Boone laid the boy upon the ground. His form was convulsed in the agonies of death. As the father rose erect his face was calm and his lips close-set, but a tempest raged in his heart. Hardy stood transfixed by the awful gleam of the eyes. Thus he had never seen the man before, nor ever did again.

Boone drew his tomahawk and turned on the savages, who were now almost within arm’s length. He sprang at them like a panther robbed of its whelps. His weapon whizzed through the air and buried itself in the skull of the foremost. Springing aside he avoided a blow from the tomahawk of the second savage, and the next instant gripped his throat and bore him to the ground.

Hardy ran to the spot and raised his tomahawk but, as he was about to strike, Boone glanced up, and at his look Hardy dropped his arm. The Indian was a powerful man, but in the hands of the grief-stricken father he was as a child. Boone struck the savage’s head upon the rocks until he was stunned, and then drew his knife and plunged it into his heart.

This whirlwind combat had occupied less time than it takes to tell, but when Boone turned again to his son the boy was dead. The father looked around. From three directions new enemies were approaching. There was nothing for it but to leave Israel’s body to be mutilated by the savages.

Together, Boone and Hardy gained the bank and, plunging into the river, succeeded in reaching the other side in safety. They were almost the last to leave the battle-field, and by the time they landed upon the south side of the Licking the expiring flames of the fatal fight were flickering out.

Half of the force that rashly pursued Girty’s warriors lay dead upon the peninsula or at the ford. There the carnage had been fearful and would have been much worse but for the presence of mind of a man named Netherland, who on a former occasion had been taxed by his companions with cowardice. With twelve or fifteen other horsemen, Netherland crossed the river. The others were about to consult their own safety by riding off, when Netherland called upon them to halt and protect their comrades by firing upon the Indians. They did so, with the result of enabling many to escape who would otherwise have been slain.

Among many acts of conspicuous bravery that marked that day, was a deed of daring performed by young Reynolds, who had taunted Girty at Bryan’s. Reynolds was making a retreat on horseback to the ford when he overtook Captain Patterson staggering along under a painful wound. A party of Indians were close behind, but the young man stopped and dismounted, insisting upon the officer taking his place in the saddle.

When he had seen the wounded man safely mounted, Reynolds ran to a place below the ford and swam to the other side of the river. He was, however, pursued by a band of Indians and captured. After a while the redskins left him in the hands of one of their number and started in pursuit of other victims. Seizing a favorable opportunity, Reynolds knocked his captor down with his fist and escaped. When he arrived at Bryan’s it was to find Captain Patterson there.

The fugitives from the Blue Licks met Colonel Logan and his reinforcement on the way to the scene of action. Boone and Hardy returned with them. A forced march was made to the battle-field, but when they arrived there was no sign of the Indians. It was almost certain that they had made a rapid retreat to their own country and so Colonel Logan dismissed his men.

The Battle of the Blue Licks impressed Boone, perhaps, more than any other incident of his life. In after years the mere mention of it brought tears to his eyes.

XXI.

AN OLD BIRD

Clark heads a great invasion of the Indian country--And devastates the fields and villages--A period of peace and prosperity--Boone takes up the life of the farmer--He receives a visit from old friends--The Indians learn that “an old bird is not to be caught with chaff”--The farmer turns his tobacco to good account--Boone finds himself beggared--And determines to leave Kentucky--He emigrates to the Spanish possessions--And finds land and honors--His life is rounded out in the performance of important duties--He dies at the ripe old age of eighty-six--Under the American flag.

The defeat at the Blue Licks was the heaviest misfortune that had ever befallen the settlers of Kentucky. They did not learn until afterwards that the loss of the Indians had been even greater than that they had inflicted, and that the chiefs had returned to their villages bemoaning the victory which had cost so many warriors. The Kentuckians were possessed by dread of another such invasion, and not a few of them displayed a disposition to leave the country. Almost immediately after the battle at the Licks, Boone wrote to Governor Benjamin Harrison, of Virginia, saying: “The inhabitants of this county are very much alarmed at the thought of the Indians bringing another campaign into our country this fall. If this should be the case, it will break up these settlements. I hope, therefore, your Excellency will take the matter into your consideration, and send us some relief as quick as possible.”

No sooner had the news of the disaster reached General Clark than he determined upon reprisals and immediately summoned Colonels Boone, Logan, and other officers, as well as Kenton and two or three more scouts, to a council at Fort Nelson. All agreed that a blow should be struck at the Indians before they could recover from the effects of the recent campaign. Their force, which had been drawn from several tribes, would be disbanded and scattered and, if surprised, their country would probably be found in a comparatively defenceless condition. The main object was to strike hard and quickly.

General Clark issued an urgent call for volunteers and supplies and disseminated it throughout the country with all possible despatch. The response was instantaneous. One thousand mounted riflemen soon assembled at the two places of rendezvous, Bryan’s Station and the Falls of the Ohio. Those who could not come contributed generously to the equipment and supply of the expedition, which had an ample number of pack-horses, beeves, and spare mounts. The two divisions marched to the mouth of the Licking, where General Clark assumed the command.

Desiring to move with all possible secrecy and speed, Clark declined to be burdened with the extensive supplies. He required each man to carry a liberal quantity of “jerk” and corn, and left the cattle and other material behind. Although game abounded at this time of the year, it was not deemed prudent to send out hunting parties, and the expedition felt the pinch of hunger before reaching Chillicothe, which was the first point of attack. Here they surprised the Indians so completely that when they entered the place, from which the inhabitants fled without offering resistance, the pots were upon the fires. The troops were very glad to fall to upon the meals that the squaws had been preparing for their men.

Clark’s force spread desolation through the Indian country. Villages were razed to the ground and crops destroyed. Horses and cattle were driven off and the inhabitants dispersed in the forest. The blow paralyzed the redskins and made the greater impression as coming immediately after a decisive defeat of the whites. Nothing could have more effectually convinced them of the futility of waging war against the settlers. Their chiefs became disheartened and their confederacy was disbanded. At the same time, they lost the support of the British, which had constituted a very important element of their strength. Although small parties of Indians continued for years to attack families in exposed parts of the country, a formidable invasion of Kentucky was never attempted after the year 1783.

General Clark’s expedition was the last occasion on which Daniel Boone was called upon to fight in the defence of the settlements of Kentucky. He had been among the earliest explorers of the country. He had led one of the first parties of settlers into it. His rifle had been constantly at the service of the harassed backwoodsmen and his counsel had guided their leaders. None had made greater sacrifices for the territory than he, and none reaped less benefit. He had lost a son at the very threshold of the promised land, and another had fallen in the final fight. His brother Squire had been scalped at the Blue Licks, and there his brother Samuel was sorely stricken. And yet, when the period of strife and stress had passed and the country presented a peaceful picture of well-tilled fields and cheery cabins, Boone’s sole possession was his good name and his trusty rifle. He had not an acre to transmit to his children, nor a habitation he could call his own. He was a mere squatter among men who held their lands in security largely by reason of his determined efforts.

It was not, however, until some time after this that Boone learned that through ignorance of legal requirements and characteristic simplicity, he had failed to make good his title to the land he occupied. For several years he cultivated his farm and in the hunting season followed his favorite pursuit.

In the meantime the population of Kentucky was rapidly increasing. Towns were springing up at various points and a considerable trade in furs and merchandise developed. The settlers lived in comparative peace, but they were by no means exempt from attack by hostile Indians. It is believed that between the years 1783 and 1790 no fewer than fifteen hundred persons were either killed or carried into captivity by small bands of redskins that made stealthy inroads into Kentucky. One such incident must be mentioned in detail.

The Indians probably held Boone in higher estimation than they did any other man among the Kentuckians, and this was particularly the case with the Shawnees, who were best acquainted with him, having thrice had him in their power. A few years after the affair of the Blue Licks they conceived the idea of again trying to capture Boone. Four of the most agile and wily braves were assigned to the task.

Although he did not use the weed, Boone had a patch of tobacco upon his farm with a view to meeting the market demand for the leaf. A short distance from his cabin was a small shed in which he cured his crop. Around the inside of the shed was a construction of rails twelve or fifteen feet in height. Poles were laid upon these so as to extend across the hut. Upon the poles were spread stacks of leaves in three tiers, representing three different stages of curing.

Boone was one day at work in this shed. On the lower tiers was a large quantity of dry tobacco which the farmer required to move to the uppermost poles in order to make room for fresh leaves. He was standing upon the rails that supported the poles and just about to enter into his task when four Indians, carrying rifles, entered the place.

“Now we got you, Boone,” cried the leader. “We carry you back to Chillicothe and you never get away again.”

The days were past when the settler constantly had his gun beside him. Boone was unarmed, but he did not exhibit the slightest uneasiness. He kept his position and looked down upon the redskins with a pleasant smile.

“Well, well! Is that you, Pewultee?” he cried, recognizing one of the sons of old Blackfish. “How is the squaw and how are the papooses? How is everyone at Chillicothe? I think I should like to see them all again.”

The Indians expressed some impatience to have Boone come down, but his manner was so cordial that they fell under its spell as of old. He assured them that he would descend in a few minutes but begged them to wait until he should have finished his work. He kept up a running fire of talk about the old times, about adventures and fights that he and they had taken part in. The savages were soon absorbed in the conversation. They stood leaning upon their rifles and gazing up intently at the speaker.

Meanwhile, Boone had been arranging his bundles of tobacco and at length had them adjusted to his satisfaction. Suddenly he removed two poles and the next instant the four Indians were buried beneath a huge pile of dry leaves. Before they could extricate themselves Boone had sprung through the open door and was fifty yards away.

When he had reached what he considered a safe distance, the farmer turned and at the sight that met his eyes, burst into peals of laughter. The Indians, blinded and half suffocated, had groped their way out of the shed and were now aimlessly stumbling around, whilst their frames shook with violent coughing and sneezing. With scanty breath they cursed Boone’s cunning and bewailed their own folly.

Boone went to the cabin and secured his rifle. He then bade the Indians, who were by this time somewhat recovered, get their guns and begone. He warned them that if he should catch them in that part of the country again worse would assuredly befall them. It would be interesting to know the story Pewultee and his companions told upon their returning to Chillicothe.

With the development of the territory and the return of peace, steps were taken by the authorities for the proper surveying of land in Kentucky and the perfection of titles. In this process hundreds of the older settlers were dispossessed in favor of shrewder claimants, better versed in the technicalities of the law. Boone had always displayed an aversion for legal forms and carelessness in matters of business. Scrupulously honest, he credited all others with a similar quality. His life had been governed by the golden rule, which, indeed, generally prevailed in the backwoods communities. He was as ignorant as any child of the devious ways of the speculator and land-shark. Nor was it possible for him to conceive that the State he had served so loyally should fail to protect him in what he reasonably considered his rights.

When his beautiful farm at Boonesborough and other tracts were wrested from him by the subtle processes of law, he was aggrieved to think that the community for which he had bled and suffered could offer him no better recompense than the beggar’s portion, but he did not become embittered, as did Clark towards the close of his life. Boone laid his misfortunes at the door of the speculators and lawyers, and resolved to leave Kentucky and seek a new home in the wilderness. In a memorial to the legislature of Kentucky in 1812, he says: “Unacquainted with the niceties of the law, the few lands I was enabled to locate were, through my ignorance, generally swallowed up by better claims.”

Hale and active, and with spirit undaunted, the grand old pioneer set out when past sixty years of age for the land of prairies beyond the “Father of Waters.” His fame had reached the Spanish dominions in America, and the Lieutenant-Governor whose seat was at St. Louis invited him to settle in that district with “assurance that ample portions of land should be given to him and his family.”

The proposal was an alluring one to Boone. Many Americans were settled in Louisiana, and it was already generally believed that the country would soon be annexed to the United States. Boone’s eldest son, Nathan, had some years previous taken up land in the rich country bordering on the Missouri River. The invitation of the Spanish official presented a means of acquiring land which Boone had not the money to purchase and, finally, the region beyond the Mississippi abounded in game.

Boone accepted the liberal offer and in 1795, accompanied by his family, journeyed to the Femme Osage settlement, about forty-five miles from St. Louis, and there took up his abode. Here, as promised, a large tract of land was conveyed to him and he was made commandant, or syndic, of the district. The post was an important one, entailing both civil and military duties of a responsible nature.

A large proportion of the people in the district were Americans, among whom were included several of Boone’s relatives. The population was a peaceable, happy and prosperous one. Boone found the new conditions of his life congenial and he passed his last years in cheery contentment. He discharged his duties agreeably to the community under his control, and to the satisfaction of the Spanish authorities. When, at length, he passed peacefully away in the year 1820, at the ripe old age of eighty-six, the American flag was flying over the land.

XXII.

THE LAST HUNT

Travelers in a strange land--“I’m dying to see old Dad!”--Old friends meet after many years--Kenton and Hardy find the old man happy in his simple life--“I have more than I need and no man can lay a claim against me”--The simple creed of a sincere Christian--One more hunt together--Boone proves that he is still a stout backwoodsman--And shows Hardy how to “bark” a squirrel--He tells his companions of his early life and adventures--His strange dread of dying in the wilderness--Kenton and Hardy part with the old man for ever--He stood at the cabin door and watched them out of sight.

Let us go back in our story and take a parting glimpse at some of its characters.

On a bright September day of the year 1808 two men stepped from a boat to the landing at St. Louis. They were both bronzed and weather-beaten and wore the familiar dress of the American backwoodsman. One was a fair-haired giant of about forty years, with laughing blue eyes and a musical voice. He had the careless, joyous manner of a boy and the air of one to whom mere living was a delight. His companion was a younger man but of graver aspect. His slight but sinewy frame gave evidence of strength and activity, and the clear-cut features bespoke alert intelligence.

The travellers carried rifles but were unburdened with baggage. They did not appear to be pressed for time nor hampered by business. Two or three hours were spent by them in rambling about the quaint town with its mixed population of Americans and Creoles, French and Spanish. Then they resorted to a tavern and ate a hearty meal. When at length they returned to the street it was with the air of men refreshed and with a purpose in view.

“Well, Hardy, how shall it be? On horseback, or on foot?” asked Kenton.

“On foot, Si, by all means. I’m dying to see old Dad, but I don’t want to ride up to his doorstep like a trooper. It will seem more like old times if we come in on the tramp. In fact, I want to arrive with a good fat buck on my back.”

“Right you are, but it shall be two bucks. We’ll come on the old man just as we used to do in the good old days at Boonesborough. Those were good times, Hardy! Things are getting too tame in the back country now. You and I will have to go farther west, I’m thinking.”

“Yes. If we stay this side of the Mississippi, I shall never get a chance to pay off that little debt I contracted to you. Do you remember--the first time I ever saw you?”

Kenton laughed heartily and slapped his companion on the back, as he said:

“You know better now than to aim at the crest-feathers of a redskin and then throw your tomahawk at him, eh, young ’un?”

It was a beautiful country through which the travellers passed in their two days’ journey. On every hand stretched timbered prairie, over which roamed herds of buffalo, deer, and other game. Every few miles brought them to a little settlement surrounded by orchards and standing crops. Many of the inhabitants were Americans. In fact, three-fifths of the population of Upper Louisiana were immigrants from the States at the time of annexation.

On the evening of the second day, the friends learned that they were within a few miles of their destination. They determined to defer their arrival until the next morning, and spent the interval before bedtime in securing the two fat bucks that they had proposed to take to their old leader as a humble testimony of respect.

Early the next morning Kenton and Hardy, laboring under their heavy burdens, approached a cabin, to which they had been directed, on the outskirts of a settlement in St. Charles County, Missouri. It was a small, two-roomed, structure of hewn logs and shingle roof. Well-fenced fields and a large orchard lay behind the building.

On a tree-stump near the cabin sat an old man, with snow-white hair falling over his shoulders. He was repairing the lock of a gun, whilst a hound crouched at his feet and looked up in eager expectation, hoping that a hunt was in prospect.

The travellers hurried forward as well as they could with their loads, shouting greetings as they came:

“Hallo, Colonel!”

“Hallo, dad!”

The old man rose, displaying surprising activity and erectness of carriage. He shaded his eyes with his hand and in a moment recognized his visitors.

“Hardy! Si!” he cried, in accents of delight. “Bless your dear hearts! The sight of you is surely good for old eyes! It looks like old times to see you two coming up to the cabin so.”

Twelve years had passed since these former followers of Boone had seen him. Of course, they had a great deal to tell one another. The old pioneer’s life had been comparatively uneventful in these later years, but his two disciples insisted on hearing all about it. At sight of the humble cabin they had feared that the old man might be in straitened circumstances. They were relieved to learn that he was very comfortably situated, and lived in his little log hut because he felt more at home in it than in a spacious dwelling. At times, he told them, he would spend a few weeks in the mansion of his son Nathan, a few miles distant, or in the roomy frame house of his son-in-law Callaway, but he was always glad to get back to his own little two-roomed cabin.