Daniel Boone Part 15

"Mr. ---- and I mounted our horses and off we went to the Green River bottoms. After some difficulty--for you must be aware, sir, that great changes have taken place in those woods--I found at last the spot where I had crossed the river, and waiting for the moon to rise, made for the course in which I thought the ash trees grew. On approaching the place I felt as if the Indians were there still, and as if I were still a prisoner among them. Mr. ---- and I camped near what I conceived the spot, and waited until the return of day.

"'At the rising of the sun I was on foot, and after a good deal of musing thought that an ash tree, then in sight, must be the very one on which I had made my mark. I felt as if there could be no doubt about it, and mentioned my thought to Mr. ----.

"'Well, Colonel Boone,' said he, 'if you think so I hope that it may prove true, but we must have some witnesses. Do you stay hereabouts and I will go and bring some of the settlers whom I know.'

"'I agreed. Mr. ---- trotted off, and I, to pa.s.s the time, rambled about to see if a deer was still living in the land. But ah! sir, what a wonderful difference thirty years makes in a country! Why, at the time when I was caught by the Indians, you would not have walked out in any direction more than a mile without shooting a buck or a bear. There were then thousands of buffaloes on the hills in Kentucky. The land looked as if it never would become poor; and to hunt in those days was a pleasure indeed. But when I was left to myself on the banks of Green River, I daresay for the last time in my life, a few _signs_ only of the deer were seen, and as to a deer itself I saw none.

"'Mr. ---- returned, accompanied by three gentlemen. They looked upon me as if I had been Was.h.i.+ngton himself, and walked to the ash tree, which I now called my own, as if in quest of a long lost treasure. I took an axe from one of them and cut a few chips off the bark. Still no signs were to be seen. So I cut again until I thought it time to be cautious, and I sc.r.a.ped and worked away with my butcher knife until I _did_ come to where my tomahawk had left an impression on the wood. We now went regularly to work and sc.r.a.ped at the tree with care until three hacks, as plain as any three notches ever were, could be seen. Mr. ---- and the other gentlemen were astonished, and I must allow that I was as much surprised as pleased myself. I made affidavit of this remarkable occurrence in presence of these gentlemen. Mr. ---- gained his cause. I left Green River for ever, and came to where we are now; and, sir, I wish you a good night."

The life of this wonderful man was filled with similar adventures, many of which can now never be recalled. The following narrative will give the reader an idea of the scenes which were continually occurring in those b.l.o.o.d.y conflicts between the white settlers and the Indians:

"A widow was residing in a lonely log cabin, remote from any settlers, in what is now Bourbon County, Kentucky. Her lonely hut consisted of but two rooms. One, the aged widow occupied herself, with two sons and a widowed daughter with an infant child; the other was tenanted by her three unmarried daughters, the oldest of whom was twenty years of age.

"It was eleven o'clock at night, and the members of the industrious family in their lonely habitation had retired, with the exception of one of the daughters and one of the sons who was keeping her company. Some indications of danger had alarmed the young man, though he kept his fears to himself.

"The cry apparently of owls in an adjoining forest was heard, answering each other in rather an unusual way. The horses in the enclosure by the side of the house, who seemed to have an instinct informing them of the approach of the Indians, seemed much excited and galloped around snorting with terror. Soon steps were heard in the yard, and immediately several loud knocks were made at the door, with some one enquiring, in good English, 'Who keeps this house?' The young man very imprudently was just unbarring the door when the mother sprang from the bed, exclaiming that they were Indians.

"The whole family was immediately aroused, and the young men seized their guns. The Indians now threw off all disguise, and began to thunder at the door, endeavoring to break it down. Through a loop hole prepared for such an emergency, a rifle shot, discharged at the savages, compelled a precipitate retreat. Soon, however, they cautiously returned, and attacking the other end of the cabin, where they found a point not exposed to the fire from within, they succeeded at length in breaking through, and entered the room occupied by the three girls. One of them they seized and bound. Her sister made desperate resistance, and stabbed one of the Indians to the heart with a large knife which she was using at the loom. They immediately tomahawked her and she fell dead upon the floor. The little girl in the gloom of midnight they had overlooked. The poor little thing ran out of the door, and might have escaped had she not, in her terror, lost all self-control, and ran round the house wringing her hands and crying bitterly.

"The brothers, agonized by the cries of their little sister, were just about opening the door to rush out to her rescue, when their more prudent mother declared that the child must be abandoned to its fate, that any attempt to save her would not only be unavailing, but would ensure the certain destruction of them all. Just then the child uttered a most frantic scream. They heard the dull sound as of a tomahawk falling upon the brain. There were a few convulsive moans, and all again was silent. It was but too evident to all what these sounds signified.

"Presently the crackling of flames was heard, and through the port holes could be seen the glare of the rising conflagration, while the shouts of the savages grew more exultant. They had set fire to the end of the building occupied by the daughters. The logs were dry as tinder, and the devouring element was soon enveloping the whole building in its fatal embrace. To remain in the cabin was certain death, in its most appalling form. In rus.h.i.+ng out there was a bare possibility that some might escape. There was no time for reflection. The hot stifling flames and smothering smoke were rolling in upon them, when they opened the door and rushed out into the outer air, endeavoring as soon as possible to reach the gloom of the forest.

"The old lady, aided by her eldest son, ran in one direction towards a fence, while the other daughter, with her infant in her arms, accompanied by the younger of the brothers, ran in another direction.

The fire was blazing so fiercely as to shed all around the light of day.

The old lady had just reached the fence when several rifle b.a.l.l.s pierced her body and she fell dead. Her son almost miraculously escaped, and leaping the fence plunged into the forest and disappeared. The other party was pursued by the Indians, with loud yells. Throwing down their guns which they had discharged, the savages rushed upon the young man and his sister with their gleaming tomahawks. Gallantly the brother defended his sister; firing upon the savages as they came rus.h.i.+ng on, and then a.s.sailing them with the b.u.t.t of his musket which he wielded with the fury of despair. He fought with such herculean strength as to draw the attention of all the savages upon himself, and thus gave his sister an opportunity of escaping. He soon however fell beneath their tomahawks, and was in the morning found scalped and mangled in the most shocking manner."

Of this family of eight persons two only escaped from this awful scene of midnight ma.s.sacre. The neighborhood was immediately aroused. The second daughter was carried off a captive by the savages. The fate of the poor girl awakened the deepest sympathy, and by daylight thirty men were a.s.sembled on horseback, under the command of Col. Edwards, to pursue the Indians. Fortunately a light snow had fallen during the night. Thus it was impossible for the savages to conceal their trail, and they were followed on the full gallop. The wretches knew full well that they would not be allowed to retire unmolested. They fled with the utmost precipitation, seeking to gain the mountainous region which bordered upon the Licking River.

A hound accompanied the pursuing party. The sagacious animal was very eager in the chase. As the trail became fresh, and the scent indicated that the foe was nearly overtaken, the hound rus.h.i.+ng forward, began to bay very loudly. This gave the Indians the alarm. Finding the strength of their captive failing, so that she could no longer continue the rapid flight, they struck their tomahawks into her brain, and left her bleeding and dying upon the snow. Her friends soon came up and found her in the convulsions of death. Her brother sprang from his horse and tried in vain to stop the effusion of blood. She seemed to recognize him, gave him her hand, uttered a few inarticulate words, and died.

The pursuit was then continued with new ardor, and in about twenty minutes the avenging white men came within sight of the savages. With considerable military sagacity, the Indians had taken position upon a steep and narrow ridge, and seemed desirous of magnifying their numbers in the eyes of their pursuers by running from tree to tree and making the forest resound with their hideous yells. The pursuers were, however, too well acquainted with Indian warfare to be deceived by this childish artifice. They dismounted, tied their horses, and endeavored to surround the enemy, so as to cut off his retreat. But the cunning Indians, leaving two of their number behind to delay the pursuit by deceiving the white men into the conviction that they all were there, fled to the mountains. One of this heroic rear-guard--for remaining under the circ.u.mstances was the almost certain surrender of themselves to death--was instantly shot. The other, badly wounded, was tracked for a long distance by his blood upon the snow. At length his trail was lost in a running stream. Night came, a dismal night of rain, long and dark.

In the morning the snow had melted, every trace of the retreat of the enemy was obliterated, and the further pursuit of the foe was relinquished.

Colonel Boone, deprived of his property by the unrelenting processes of pitiless law, had left Kentucky impoverished and in debt. His rifle was almost the only property he took with him beyond the Mississippi. The rich acres which had been a.s.signed to him there were then of but little more value than so many acres of the sky. Though he was so far away from his creditors that it was almost impossible that they should ever annoy him, still the honest-hearted man was oppressed by the consciousness of his debts, and was very anxious to pay them. The forests were full of game, many of the animals furnis.h.i.+ng very valuable furs. He took his rifle, some pack-horses, and, accompanied by a single black servant boy, repaired to the banks of the Osage River to spend the winter in hunting.

Here he was taken dangerously sick, and was apprehensive that he should die. We know not what were his religious thoughts upon this occasion, but his calmness in view of death, taken in connection with his blameless, conscientious, and reflective life, and with the fact that subsequently he became an openly avowed disciple of Jesus, indicate that then he found peace in view of pardoned sin through faith in the atonement of Jesus Christ. He pointed out to the black boy the place where, should he die, he wished to be buried. He gave very minute directions in reference to his burial and the disposal of his rifle, blankets, and peltry. Mr. Peck in the following language describes this interesting incident in the life of the pioneer:

"On another occasion he took pack-horses and went to the country on the Osage river, taking for a camp-keeper a negro boy about twelve or fourteen years of age. Soon after preparing his camp and laying in his supplies for the winter, he was taken sick and lay a long time in camp.

The horses were hobbled out on the range. After a period of stormy weather, there came a pleasant and delightful day, and Boone felt able to walk out. With his staff--for he was quite feeble--he took the boy to the summit of a small eminence and marked out the ground in shape and size of a grave, and then gave the following directions.

"He instructed the boy, in case of his death, to wash and lay his body straight, wrapped up in one of the cleanest blankets. He was then to construct a kind of shovel, and with that instrument and the hatchet to dig a grave exactly as he had marked it out. He was then to drag the body to the place and put it in the grave, which he was directed to cover up, putting posts at the head and foot. Poles were to be placed around and above the surface, the trees to be marked so that the place could be easily found by his friends; the horses were to be caught, the blankets and skins gathered up, with some special instructions about the old rifle, and various messages to his family. All these directions were given, as the boy afterwards declared, with entire calmness, and as if he were giving instructions about ordinary business. He soon recovered, broke up his camp, and returned homeward without the usual signs of a winter's hunt."

One writer says Colonel Boone went on a trapping excursion up the Grand River. This stream rises in the southern part of Iowa, and flows in a southerly course into the Missouri. He was entirely alone. Paddling his canoe up the lonely banks of the Missouri, he entered the Grand River, and established his camp in a silent sheltered cove, where an experienced hunter would with difficulty find it.

Here he first laid in his supply of venison, turkeys, and bear's meat, and then commenced his trapping operation, where no sound of his rifle would disturb the beavers and no smell of gunpowder would excite their alarm. Every morning he took the circuit of his traps, visiting them all in turn. Much to his alarm, he one morning encountered a large encampment of Indians in his vicinity, engaged in hunting. He immediately retreated to his camp and secreted himself. Fortunately for him, quite a deep snow fell that night, which covered his traps. But this same snow prevented him from leaving his camp, lest his footprints should be discovered. For twenty days he continued thus secreted, occasionally, at midnight, venturing to cook a little food, when there was no danger that the smoke of his fire would reveal his retreat. At length the enemy departed, and he was released from his long imprisonment. He subsequently stated that never in his life had he felt so much anxiety for so long a period, lest the Indians should discover his traps and search out his camp.

It seems that the object of Colonel Boone in these long hunting excursions was to obtain furs that he might pay the debts which he still owed in Kentucky. A man of less tender conscience would no longer have troubled himself about them. He was far removed from any importunity on the part of his creditors, or from any annoyance through the law. Still his debts caused him much solicitude, and he could not rest in peace until they were fully paid.

After two or three seasons of this energetic hunting, Colonel Boone succeeded in obtaining a sufficient quant.i.ty of furs to enable him, by their sale, to pay all his debts. With this object in view, he set out on his long journey of several hundred miles, through an almost trackless wilderness, to Kentucky. He saw every creditor and paid every dollar. Upon his return, Colonel Boone had just one half dollar in his pocket. But he said triumphantly to his friends who eagerly gathered around him:

"Now I am ready and willing to die. I am relieved from a burden which has long oppressed me. I have paid all my debts, and no one will say when I am gone, 'Boone was a dishonest man.' I am perfectly willing to die."

In the year 1803, the territory west of the Mississippi came into the possession of the United States. The whole region, embracing what is now Missouri, was then called the territory of Louisiana. Soon after this a commission was appointed, consisting of three able and impartial men, to investigate the validity of the claims to land granted by the action of the Spanish Government. Again poor Boone was caught in the meshes of the law. It was found that he had not occupied the land which had been granted him, that he had not gone to New Orleans to perfect his t.i.tle, and that his claim was utterly worthless.

"Poor Boone! Seventy-four years old, and the second grasp you have made upon the West has been powerless. You have risked life, and lost the life next dearest your own for the West. In all its fearful forms, death has looked you in the face, and you have moved on to conquer the soil which you did but conquer, that it might be denied to you. You have been the architect of the prosperity of others, but your own crumbles each time as you are about to occupy it. When he lost his farm in Boonesborough, he did not linger around in complainings, but went quietly away, returning only to fulfil the obligations he had incurred.

And now this last decision came, even at old age, to leave Daniel Boone, the Pioneer of the West, unable to give a t.i.tle deed to a solitary acre."[G]

[Footnote G: Life of Boone, by W. H. Bogart, p. 369.]

The fur trade was at this time very lucrative. Many who were engaged in it acc.u.mulated large fortunes. It was in this traffic that John Jacob Astor laid the foundations of his immense wealth. A guide of Major Long stated that he purchased of an Indian one hundred and twenty beaver skins for two blankets, two gallons of rum, and a pocket mirror. The skins he took to Montreal, where he sold them for over four hundred dollars.

In the employment of the fur companies the trappers are of two kinds, called the "hired hand," and the "free trapper." The former is employed by the month, receiving regular wages, and bringing in all the furs which he can obtain. Be they more or less, he receives his stipulated monthly wages. The free trapper is supplied by the company with traps and certain other conveniences with which he plunges into the forest on his own hook, engaging however to sell to the company, at a stipulated price, whatever furs he may secure.

The outfit of the trapper as he penetrated the vast and trackless region of gloomy forests, treeless prairies, and solitary rivers, spreading everywhere around him, generally consisted of two or three horses, one for the saddle and the others for packs containing his equipment of traps, ammunition, blankets, cooking utensils, etc., in preparation for pa.s.sing lonely months in the far away solitudes. He would endeavor to find, if possible, a region which neither the white man nor the Indian had ever visited.

The dress of the hunter consisted of a strong s.h.i.+rt of well-dressed and pliant buckskin, ornamented with long fringes. The vanity of dress, if it may be so called, followed him into regions where no eye but his own could see its beauties. His pantaloons were also made of buckskin decorated with variously-colored porcupine quills and with long fringes down the outside of the leg. Moccasins, often quite gorgeously embroidered, fitted closely to his feet. A very flexible hat or cap covered his head, generally of felt, obtained from some Indian trader.

There was suspended over his left shoulder, so as to hang beneath his right arm, a powder horn and bullet pouch. In the latter he carried b.a.l.l.s, flints, steel, and various odds and ends. A long heavy rifle he bore upon his shoulder.

A belt of buckskin buckled tightly around the waist, held a large butcher knife in a sheath of stout buffalo hide, and also a buckskin case containing a whet-stone. A small hatchet or tomahawk was also attached to this belt. Thus rigged and in a new dress the hunter of good proportions presented a very picturesque aspect. With no little pride he exhibited himself at the trading posts, where not only the squaws and the children, but veteran hunters and Indian braves contemplated his person with admiration.

Thus provided the hunter, more frequently alone but sometimes accompanied by two or three others, set out for the mountain streams, as early in the spring as the melting ice would enable him to commence operations against the beaver.

Arrived on his hunting ground he carefully ascends some creek or stream, examining the banks with practiced eye to discern any sign of the presence of beaver or of any other animal whose fur would prove valuable. If a cotton-wood tree lies prostrate he examines it to see if it has been cut down by the sharp tooth of the beaver; and if so whether it has been cut down for food or to furnish material for damming a stream. If the track of a beaver is seen in the mud, he follows the track until he finds a good place to set his steel trap in the run of the animal, hiding it under water and carefully attaching it by a chain to a bush or tree, or to some picket driven into the bank. A float strip is also made fast to the trap, so that should the beaver chance to break away with the trap, this float upon the surface, at the end of a cord a few feet long, would point out the position of the trap.

"When a 'lodge' is discovered the trap is set at the edge of the dam, at the point where the animal pa.s.ses from deep to shoal water. Early in the morning the hunter always mounts his mule and examines the traps. The captured animals are skinned, and the tails, which are a great dainty, carefully packed into camp. The skin is then stretched over a hoop or frame-work of osier twigs and is allowed to dry, the flesh and fatty substance being carefully sc.r.a.ped off. When dry it is folded into a square sheet, the fur turned inward, and the bundle, containing from about ten to twenty skins, lightly pressed and corded, is ready for transportation.

"During the hunt, regardless of Indian vicinity, the fearless trapper wanders far and near in search of 'sign.' His nerves must ever be in a state of tension and his mind ever present at his call. His eagle eye sweeps around the country, and in an instant detects any foreign appearance. A turned leaf, a blade of gra.s.s pressed down, the uneasiness of wild animals, the flight of birds, are all paragraphs to him written in nature's legible hand and plainest language. All the wits of the subtle savage are called into play to gain an advantage over the wily woodsman; but with the instinct of the primitive man, the white hunter has the advantage of a civilised mind, and thus provided seldom fails to outwit, under equal advantages, the cunning savage.

"Sometimes the Indian following on his trail, watches him set his traps on a shrub-belted stream, and pa.s.sing up the bed, like Bruce of old, so that he may leave no track, he lies in wait in the bushes until the hunter comes to examine. Then waiting until he approaches his ambush within a few feet, whiz flies the home-drawn arrow, never failing at such close quarters to bring the victim to the ground. For one white scalp, however, that dangles in the smoke of an Indian lodge, a dozen black ones at the end of the hunt ornament the camp-fire of the rendezvous.

"At a certain time when the hunt is over, or they have loaded their pack animals, the trappers proceed to their rendezvous, the locality of which has been previously agreed upon; and here the traders and agents of the fur companies await them, with such a.s.sortments of goods as their hardy customers may require, including generally a fair supply of alcohol. The trappers drop in singly and in small bands, bringing their packs of beaver to this mountain market, not unfrequently to the value of a thousand dollars each, the produce of one hunt. The dissipation of the rendezvous, however, soon turns the trapper's pocket inside out. The goods brought by the traders, although of the most inferior quality, are sold at enormous prices. Coffee twenty and thirty s.h.i.+llings a pint cup, which is the usual measure; tobacco fetches ten and fifteen s.h.i.+llings a plug; alcohol from twenty to fifty s.h.i.+llings a pint; gunpowder sixteen s.h.i.+llings a pint cup, and all other articles at proportionately exhorbitant prices.

"The rendezvous is one continued scene of drunkenness, gambling, brawling and fighting, so long as the money and credit of the trappers last. Seated Indian fas.h.i.+on around the fires, with a blanket spread before them, groups are seen with their 'decks' of cards playing at 'euchre,' 'poker,' and 'seven-up,' the regular mountain games. The stakes are beaver, which is here current coin; and when the fur is gone, their horses, mules, rifles and s.h.i.+rts, hunting packs and breeches are staked. Daring gamblers make the rounds of the camp, challenging each other to play for the highest stake--his horse, his squaw if he have one, and as once happened his scalp. A trapper often squanders the produce of his hunt, amounting to hundreds of dollars, in a couple of hours; and supplied on credit with another equipment, leaves the rendezvous for another expedition which has the same result, time after time, although one tolerably successful hunt would enable him to return to the settlements and civilised life with an ample sum to purchase and stock a farm, and enjoy himself in ease and comfort for the remainder of his days.

"These annual gatherings are often the scene of b.l.o.o.d.y duels, for over their cups and cards no men are more quarrelsome than your mountaineers.

Rifles at twenty paces settle all differences, and as may be imagined, the fall of one or other of the combatants is certain, or, as sometimes happens, both fall at the same fire."[H]

[Footnote H: Ruxton's Travels.]

CHAPTER XIV.

_Conclusion._

Colonel Boone Appeals to Congress--Complimentary Resolutions of the Legislature of Kentucky.--Death of Mrs. Boone.--Catholic Liberality.--Itinerant Preachers.--Grant by Congress to Colonel Boone.--The Evening of his Days.--Personal Appearance.--Death and Burial.--Transference of the Remains of Mr. and Mrs. Boone to Frankfort, Kentucky.