They had reason afterwards to repent their harsh estimate of his intentions. Fragments of his clothes, and traces of blood were found on the opposite side of the swamp. A numerous pack of wolves had been heard to howl in that direction the evening on which he had been lost.

Circ.u.mstances placed it beyond a doubt, that, while wandering about in search of his companions, these terrible animals had come upon him and torn him in pieces. He was never heard of afterwards.

The brothers were thus left alone in this wide wilderness, the only white men west of the mountains; as they concluded the remainder of the original party had returned to North Carolina. But they were neither desponding nor indolent. They held pleasant communion together--hunted by day, cooked their game, sat by their bright fires, and sung the airs of their country by night, as though in the midst of the gayest society.

They devoted, beside, much of their time and labor to preparing a comfortable cabin to shelter them during the approaching winter.

They were in want of many things. Clothing and moccasins they might supply. With bread, sugar, and salt, though articles of the first necessity, they could dispense. But ammunition, an article absolutely indispensable, was failing them. They concluded, too, that horses would be of essential service to them. They finally came to the resolution that the elder Boone should return to North Carolina, and come out to the new country with ammunition, horses, and supplies.

The character of Daniel Boone, in consenting to be left alone in that wilderness, surrounded by perils from the Indians and wild beasts, of which he had so recently and terribly been made aware, appears in its true light. We have heard of a Robinson Crusoe made so by the necessity of shipwreck; but all history can scarcely parallel another such an instance of a man voluntarily consenting to be left alone among savages and wild beasts, seven hundred miles from the nearest white inhabitant.

The separation came. The elder brother disappeared in the forest, and Daniel Boone was left in the cabin, so recently cheered by the presence of his brother, entirely alone. Their only dog followed the departing brother, and Boone had nothing but his unconquerable spirit to sustain him during the long and lonely days and nights, visited by the remembrance of his distant wife and children.

To prevent the recurrence of dark and lonely thoughts, he set out, soon after his brother left him, on a distant excursion to the north-west.

The country grew still more charming under his eye at every step of his advance. He wandered through the delightful country of the Barrens, and gained the heights of one of the ridges of Salt river, whence he could look back on the Alleghany ridges, lifting their blue heads in the direction of the country of his wife and children. Before him rolled the majestic Ohio, down its dark forests, and seen by him for the first time. It may be imagined what thoughts came over his mind, as the lonely hunter stood on the sh.o.r.e of this mighty stream, straining his thoughts towards its sources, and the unknown country where it discharged itself into some other river, or the sea. During this journey he explored the country on the south sh.o.r.e of the Ohio, between the c.u.mberland and the present site of Louisville, experiencing in these lonely explorations a strange pleasure, which, probably, none but those of his temperament can adequately imagine.

Returning to his cabin, as a kind of head quarters, he found it undisturbed by the Indians. Caution suggested to him the expedient of often changing his position, and not continuing permanently to sleep in the cabin. Sometimes he slept in the cane-brake sometimes under the covert of a limestone cliff, often made aware on his return to the cabin that the Indians had discovered it, and visited it during his absence.

Surrounded with danger and death, though insensible to fear, he neglected none of those prudent precautions of which men of his temperament are much more able to avail themselves, than those always forecasting the fashion of uncertain evils. He was, however, never for an hour in want of the most ample supply of food. Herds of deer and buffaloes were seldom out of his sight for a day together. His nights were often disturbed by the howling of wolves, which abounded as much as the other forest animals. His table thus abundantly spread in the wilderness, and every excursion affording new views of the beautiful solitudes, he used to affirm afterwards that this period was among the happiest in his life; that during it, care and melancholy, and a painful sense of loneliness, were alike unknown to him.

We must not, however, suppose that the lonely hunter was capable only of feeling the stern and sullen pleasures of the savage. On the contrary, he was a man of the kindliest nature, and of the tenderest affections.

We have read of verses, in solid columns, said to have been made by him.

We would be sorry to believe him the author of these verses, for they would redound little to his honor as a poet. But, though we believe he did not attempt to make bad verses, the woodsman was essentially a poet. He loved nature in all her aspects of beauty and grandeur with the intensest admiration. He never wearied of admiring the charming natural landscapes spread before him; and, to his latest days, his spirit in old age seemed to revive in the season of spring, and when he visited the fires of the sugar camps, blazing in the open maple groves.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER V.

Boone is pursued by the Indians, and eludes their pursuit--He encounters and kills a bear--The return of his brother with ammunition--They explore the country--Boone kills a panther on the back of a buffalo--They return to North Carolina.

Boone's brother had departed on the first of May. During the period of his absence, which lasted until the twenty-second of July, he considered himself the only white person west of the mountains. It is true, some time in this year, (1770,) probably in the latter part of it, an exploring party led by General James Knox, crossed the Alleghany mountains. But this exploring expedition confined its discoveries princ.i.p.ally to the country south and west of the river Kentucky. This exploration was desultory, and without much result. Boone never met with them, or knew that they were in the country. Consequently, in regard to his own estimation, he was as completely alone in this unexplored world, as though they had not been there.

He never allowed himself to neglect his caution in respect to the numerous savages spread over the country. He knew that he was exposed every moment to the danger of falling into their hands. The fate of Stewart had served as a warning to him. It is wonderful that he should have been able to traverse such an extent of country as he did, and live in it so many months, and yet evade them. It required no little ingenuity and self-possession to take such measures as insured this good fortune.

About mid-day, near the close of the month of June, he paused in one of his excursions for a short time under the shade of a tree. As he looked cautiously around him, he perceived four Indians advancing openly towards him, but at a considerable distance, and apparently without having yet seen him. He did not delay to recommence his course through the woods, hoping by short turns, and concealing himself among the hills, to prevent an encounter with them, as the chance of four to one was too great an odds against him. He advanced in this way one or two miles; but as he cast a glance behind, he saw, with pain, that they sedulously followed in his trail at nearly their first distance, showing the same perseverance and sagacity of pursuit with which a hound follows a deer. When he first perceived them, he was in such a position that he could see them, and yet remain himself unseen. He was convinced that they had not discovered his person, although so closely pursued by them.

But how to throw them off his trail, he was at a loss to conjecture. He adopted a number of expedients in succession, but saw the Indians still on the track behind. Suddenly a method occurred to his imagination, which finally proved successful. Large grape vines swung from the trees in all directions around him.

Hastening onward at a more rapid pace, until he pa.s.sed a hill that would serve to conceal him for a few moments, he seized a vine sufficiently strong to support his weight; and disengaging it from the roots, climbed it a few feet, by bracing against the tree to which it was attached. When he had attained the necessary height, he gave himself so strong an impulse from the tree, that he reached the ground some yards from the spot where he left it. By this expedient he broke his trail.

Resuming his route in a course at right angles from that he had previously followed, as fast as possible, he finally succeeded in entirely distancing his pursuers, and leaving them at fault in pursuing his trail.

Boone soon after this met with a second adventure in which he actually encountered a foe scarcely less formidable than the savage. Rendered doubly watchful by his late escape, none of the forest sounds escaped his notice. Hearing the approach of what he judged to be a large animal by the noise of its movement through the cane, he held his rifle ready for instant use, and drew from its sheath a long and sharp knife, which he always wore in his belt. He determined to try the efficacy of his rifle first. As the animal came in sight it proved to be a she bear.

They are exceedingly ferocious at all times, and their attack is dangerous and often fatal; but particularly so, when they are surrounded by their cubs, as was the case in this instance.

As soon as the animal perceived him it gave indications of an intention to make battle. Boone levelled his rifle, and remained quiet, until the bear was sufficiently near to enable him to shoot with effect. In general his aim was sure; but this time the ball not reach the point at which he had aimed; and the wound it inflicted only served to render the animal mad with rage and pain. It was impossible for him to reload and discharge his gun a second time before it would reach him; and yet he did not relish the idea of grappling with it in close fight. His knife was the resource to which he instantly turned. He held it in his right hand in such a position that the bear could not reach his person without receiving its point. His rifle, held in his left hand, served as a kind of shield. Thus prepared, he awaited the onset of the formidable animal. When within a foot of him, it reared itself erect to grasp him with its huge paws. In this position it pressed upon the knife until the whole blade was buried in its body. Boone had pointed it directly to the heart of the animal. It fell harmless to the ground.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The time fixed for the return of his brother was drawing near. Extreme solicitude respecting him now disturbed the hitherto even tenor of his life. He remained most of his time in his cabin, hunting no more than was necessary for subsistence, and then in the direction in which his brother would be likely to approach. It was not doubt of his brother's compliance with his promise of return, that disturbed the woodsman--such a feeling never even entered his mind. He was confident he would prove faithful to the trust reposed in him; but the difficulties and dangers of the way were so great for a solitary individual upon the route before him, that Boone feared he might fall a victim to them, notwithstanding the utmost exertion of self-possession and fort.i.tude.

Day after day pa.s.sed, after the extreme limit of the period fixed by the elder Boone for his return, and still he came not. It may be imagined that Boone had need of all the firmness and philosophy of character, with which he was so largely endowed by nature, to sustain him under the pressure of anxiety for the safety of his brother, and to hear through him from his family. He suffered, too, from the conviction that he must soon starve in the wilderness himself, as his ammunition was almost gone. He could not hope to see his family again, unless his brother or some other person furnished him the means of obtaining food on his way to rejoin them. His rifle--his dependence for subsistence and defence--would soon become entirely useless. What to others would have been real dangers and trials--a solitary life in the wilderness, exposure to the attacks of the savages and wild beasts--were regarded by him as nothing; but here he saw himself driven to the last extremity, and without resource. These meditations, although they made him thoughtful, did not dispirit him. His spirit was unconquerable. He was sitting one evening, near sunset, at the door of his cabin, indulging in reflections naturally arising from his position. His attention was withdrawn by a sound as of something approaching through the forest.

Looking up, he saw nothing, but he arose, and stood prepared for defence. He could now distinguish the sound as of horses advancing directly towards the cabin. A moment afterwards he saw, through the trees, his brother mounted on one horse, and leading another heavily laden.

It would be useless to attempt to describe his sensations at this sight.

Every one will feel instantly, how it must have operated upon all the sources of joy. More unmixed happiness is seldom enjoyed on the earth, than that, in which the brothers spent this evening. His brother brought him good news of the health and welfare of his family, and of the affectionate remembrance in which he was held by them; and an abundant supply of ammunition, beside many other articles, that in his situation, might be deemed luxuries. The brothers talked over their supper, and until late at night, for they had much to relate to each other, and both had been debarred the pleasure of conversation so long that it now seemed as though they could never weary of it. The sun was high when they awoke the following morning. After breakfast, they held a consultation with respect to what was next to be done. From observation, Boone was satisfied that numbers of Indians, in small parties, were then in the neighborhood. He knew it was idle to suppose that two men, however brave and skilful in the use of their weapons, could survive long in opposition to them. He felt the impolicy of wasting more time in roaming over the country for the mere purpose of hunting.

He proposed to his brother that they should immediately set themselves seriously about selecting the most eligible spot on which permanently to fix his family. This done, they would return together to North Carolina to bring them out to the new country. He did not doubt, that he could induce a sufficient number to accompany him, to render a residence in it comparatively safe. That they might accomplish this purpose with as little delay as possible, they proceeded the remainder of the day to hunt, and prepare food sufficient for some time. The following day they completed the necessary arrangement, and settled every thing for departure on the next morning.

They directed their course to c.u.mberland river. In common with all explorers of unknown countries, they gave names to the streams which they crossed. After reaching c.u.mberland river, they traversed the region upon its banks in all directions for some days. Thence they took a more northern route, which led them to Kentucky river. The country around the latter river delighted them. Its soil and position were such as they sought; and they determined, that here should be the location of the new settlement. Having acquainted themselves, as far as they deemed necessary, with the character of the region to be revisited, their returning journey was recommenced. No incidents, but such as had marked all the period of their journeyings in the wilderness, the occasional encounter of Indians by day and the cries of wild beasts by night had happened to them, during their last exploration.

Upon the second day of their advance in the direction of their home, they heard the approach of a drove of buffaloes. The brothers remarked, that from the noise there must be an immense number, or some uncommon confusion among them. As the buffaloes came in view, the woodsmen saw the explanation of the unusual uproar in a moment. The herd were in a perfect fury, stamping the ground and tearing it up, and rushing back and forward upon one another in all directions. A panther had seated himself upon the back of one of the largest buffaloes, and fastened his claws and teeth into the flesh of the animal, wherever he could reach it, until the blood ran down on all sides. The movements of a powerful animal, under such suffering, may be imagined. But plunging, rearing, and running were to no purpose. The panther retained its seat, and continued its horrid work. The buffalo, in its agony, sought relief in the midst of its companions, but instead of obtaining it, communicated its fury to the drove.

The travellers did not care to approach the buffaloes too closely; but Boone, picking the flint of his rifle, and looking carefully at the loading, took aim at the panther, determined to displace the monster from its seat. It happened, that the buffalo continued a moment in a position to allow the discharge to take effect. The panther released its hold, and came to the ground. As generally happens in such cases, this herd was followed by a band of wolves. They prowl around for the remains usually found in the train of such numbers of animals. Another rifle was discharged among them, for the sport of seeing them scatter through the woods.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The brothers left such traces--or blazes as they are technically called--of their course, as they thought would enable them to find it again, until they reached the foot of the mountains. They tried various ascents, and finally discovered a route, which, with some labor might be rendered tolerably easy. They proposed to cross the families here, and blazed the path in a way that could not be mistaken. This important point settled, they hastened to the settlement, which they reached without accident.

CHAPTER VI.

Boone starts with his family to Kentucky--Their return to Clinch river--He conducts a party of surveyors to the Falls of Ohio--He helps build Boonesborough, and removes his family to the fort--His daughter and two of Col. Calloway's daughters taken prisoners by the Indians--They pursue the Indians and rescue the captives.

The next step was to collect a sufficient number of emigrants who would be willing to remove to the new country with the families of the Boones, to give the settlements security and strength to resist the attacks of the Indians. This was not an easy task. It may be readily imagined that the Boones saw only the bright side of the contemplated expedition. They painted the fertility and amenity of the flowering wilderness in the most glowing colors. They described the cane-brakes, the clover and gra.s.s, the transparent limestone springs and brooks, the open forests, the sugar maple orchards, the buffaloes, deer, turkeys and wild fowls, in all the fervid colors of their own imaginations. To them it was the paradise of the first pair, whose inhabitants had only to put forth their hands, and eat and enjoy. The depredations, captivities, and scalpings, of the Indians; the howling of the wolves; the diseases, and peculiar trials and difficulties of a new country, without houses, mills, and the most indispensable necessaries of civilized life, were all overlooked. But in such a case, in a compact settlement like that of the Yadkin, there are never wanting gainsayers, opposers, gossips, who envied the Boones. These caused those disposed to the enterprise to hear the other part, and to contemplate the other side of the picture.

They put stories in circulation as eloquent as those of the Boones, which told of all the scalpings, captivities, and murders of the Indians, magnified in a tenfold proportion. With them, the savages were like the ogres and b.l.o.o.d.y giants of nursery stories. They had pleasant tales of horn-snakes, of such deadly malignity, that the thorn in their tails, struck into the largest tree in full verdure, instantly blasted it. They scented in the air of the country, deadly diseases, and to them, Boone's paradise was a _Hinnom, the valley of the shadow of death_.

The minds of the half resolved, half doubting persons, that meditated emigration, vibrated alternately backwards and forwards, inclined or disinclined to it, according to the last view of the case presented to them. But the natural love of adventure, curiosity, fondness for the hunting life, dissatisfaction with the incessant labor necessary for subsistence on their present comparatively sterile soil, joined to the confident eloquence of the Boones, prevailed on four or five families to join them in the expedition.

All the necessary arrangements of preparing for this distant expedition, of making sales and purchases, had occupied nearly two years. The expedition commenced its march on the 26th of September, 1773. They all set forth with confident spirits for the western wilderness, and were joined by forty persons in Powell's Valley, a settlement in advance of that on the Yadkin, towards the western country. The whole made a cavalcade of nearly eighty persons.

The three princ.i.p.al ranges of the Alleghany, over which they must pa.s.s, were designated as Powell's, Walden's, and c.u.mberland. These mountains forming the barrier between the old settlements and the new country, stretch from the north-east to the south-west. They are of great length and breadth, and not far distant from each other. There are nature-formed pa.s.ses over them, which render the ascent comparatively easy. The aspect of these huge piles was so wild and rugged, as to make it natural for those of the party who were unaccustomed to mountains, to express fears of being able to reach the opposite side. The course traced by the brothers on their return to Carolina, was found and followed. The advantage of this forethought was strongly perceived by all. Their progress was uninterrupted by any adverse circ.u.mstance, and every one was in high spirits, until the west side of Walden's ridge, the most elevated of the three, had been gained. They were now destined to experience a most appalling reverse of fortune.

On the tenth of October, as the party were advancing along a narrow defile, unapprehensive of danger, they were suddenly terrified by fearful yells. Instantly aware that Indians surrounded them, the men sprang to the defence of the helpless women and children. But the attack had been so sudden, and the Indians were so much superior in point of numbers, that six men fell at the first onset of the savages. A seventh was wounded, and the party would have been overpowered, but for a general and effective discharge of the rifles of the remainder. The Indians, terror-struck, took to flight, and disappeared.

Had the numbers of the travellers allowed it, they felt no inclination to pursue the retreating Indians. Their loss had been too serious to permit the immediate gratification of revenge. The eldest son of Daniel Boone was found among the slain. The domestic animals accompanying the expedition were so scattered by the noise of the affray, that it was impossible again to collect and recover them. The distress and discouragement of the party were so great, as to produce an immediate determination to drop the projected attempt of a settlement in Kentucky, and return to Clinch river, which lay forty miles in their rear, where a number of families had already fixed themselves.

They then proceeded to perform the last melancholy duties to the bodies of their unfortunate companions with all decent observances which circ.u.mstances would allow. Their return was then commenced. Boone and his brother, with some others, did not wish to forsake the undertaking upon which they had set out; but the majority against them was so great, and the feeling on the subject so strong, that they were compelled to acquiesce. The party retraced, in deep sadness, the steps they had so lately taken in cheerfulness, and even joy.

Daniel Boone remained with his family on Clinch river, until June, 1774; when he was requested by the governor of Virginia to go to the falls of Ohio, to act as a guide to a party of surveyors. The manifestations of hostility, on the part of the Indians, were such, that their longer stay was deemed unsafe. Boone undertook to perform this service, and set out upon this journey, with no other companion than a man by the name of Stoner. They reached the point of destination, now Louisville, in a surprisingly short period, without any accident. Under his guidance the surveyors arrived at the settlements in safety. From the time that Boone left his home, upon this enterprise, until he returned to it, was but sixty-two days. During this period he travelled eight hundred miles on foot, through a country entirely dest.i.tute of human habitations, save the camps of the Indians.

In the latter part of this year, the disturbances between the Indians north-west of the Ohio, and the frontier settlers, grew to open hostilities. Daniel Boone being in Virginia, the governor appointed him to the command of three contiguous garrisons on the frontier, with the commission of captain. The campaign of the year terminated in a battle, after which the militia were disbanded. Boone was consequently relieved from duty.

Col. Henderson, of North Carolina, had been for some time engaged in forming a company in that state, for the purpose of purchasing the lands on the south side of the Kentucky, from the southern Indians. The plan was now matured, and Boone was solicited by the company to attend the treaty to be made between them and the Indians, at Wataga, in March, 1775, to settle the terms of the negociation. The requisite information, in respect to the proposed purchase, was given him, and he acceded to the request. At the appointed time, he attended and successfully performed the service intrusted to him. Soon afterwards the same company applied to him to lay out a road between the settlements on Holston river and Kentucky river. No little knowledge of the country, and judgment were requisite for the proper fulfilment of this service. A great many different routes must be examined, before the most practicable one could be fixed upon. The duty was, however, executed by Boone, promptly and faithfully. The labor was great, owing to the rugged and mountainous country, through which the route led. The laborers, too, suffered from the repeated attacks of Indians. Four of them were killed, and five wounded. The remainder completed this work, by reaching Kentucky river, in April, of the same year. They immediately proceeded to erect a fort near a salt spring, where Boonesborough now stands. The party, enfeebled by its losses, did not complete the erection of the fort until June. The Indians troubled them exceedingly, and killed one man. The fort consisted of a block-house, and several cabins, surrounded by palisades.

The fort being finished, Boone returned to his family, and soon after removed them to this first garrison of Kentucky. The purpose on which his heart had so long been set, was now accomplished. His wife and daughters were the first white women that ever stood on the banks of Kentucky river. In our zeal to blazon our subject, it is not affirmed, that Boone was absolutely the first discoverer and explorer of Kentucky, for he was not. But the high meed of being the first actual settler and cultivator of the soil, cannot be denied him. It was the pleasant season of the close of summer and commencement of autumn, when the immigrants would see their new residence in the best light. Many of its actual inconveniences were withheld from observation, as the mildness of the air precluded the necessity of tight dwellings. Arrangements were made for cultivating a field in the coming spring. The Indians, although far from friendly, did not attempt any immediate a.s.sault upon their new neighbors, and the first events of the settlement were decidedly fortunate. The game in the woods was an unfailing resource for food. The supplies brought from their former homes by the immigrants were not yet exhausted, and things went on in their usual train, with the added advantage, that over all, in their new home, was spread the charm of novelty.