Daniel Boone, Backwoodsman

by C. H. Forbes-Lindsay

The attackers now decided upon another line of tactics. Two of them clambered to the roof of the cabin and began a descent of the capacious chimney. The alert woman had heard the noises made by the climbers and anticipated their designs. Still maintaining her vigilant watch at the door, she bade her children cut open the feather bed and throw its contents upon the fire. The burning feathers flew up the chimney in a fountain of flame and acrid smoke. The two savages half way down strove to regain the roof but were unable to do so and at last fell into the fireplace, scorched and suffocated. They were easily despatched by the children and the wounded father.

Hardly had the attack been repulsed at one end of the room than it was renewed at the other. A fifth savage made an effort to gain entrance by way of the door. He was not more than half way through when the well-wielded axe ended his career. This put an end to the assault. The Indians were more than satisfied and beat a retreat. When they reached their village they assured the tribesmen that the squaws fought better than the “Long Knives” themselves.

Although the fort at Boonesborough was not completed until some months after the point at which we have arrived in our story, it will be well to describe it here. There was a close resemblance between all these frontier stockades, and the picture of one serves as a general description of any other. The Boonesborough fort stood about two hundred feet from the river. It was a parallelogram, about three hundred feet in length and half as wide. The sides were formed of cabins set close together, the spaces between being closed with double rows of logs, planted endwise in the ground and standing about ten feet in height. At each corner was a blockhouse, two stories in height, the upper section extending two feet beyond the lower, with the floor of the projection loop-holed so that attackers immediately below might be fired upon. The cabins and palisades were plentifully loop-holed along each of the sides. Stumps, brush and everything that might afford cover, was cleared from the immediate vicinity. In the middle of each of the long sides was a strong, heavy gate, with wooden hinges and bolts. In the centre of the enclosure stood a storehouse for provisions and ammunition, a few trees, and posts for stretching clothes-lines. In time of siege, cattle and horses were driven into the stockade.

Such a fortress could not, of course, stand against artillery and in some instances, where the Indians were supported by British gunners and cannon, the defenders of stockades were obliged to surrender. But it was seldom, indeed, that any force of savages unaided succeeded in carrying a frontier fort by assault when there were a handful of unerring backwoods rifles to defend it. In fact, the redskins had, long before this date, learned the futility of direct attack and usually resorted to subterfuge, or attempted to starve out the garrison. But this was not so easily accomplished in the case of such resourceful and determined men as the pioneers of Kentucky. When food began to fail, one would leave the fort in the dead of night and, stealthily creeping through the cordon of besiegers, take to the woods in search of game. The return, heavily laden, was even a more dangerous and difficult feat than the departure, and many laid down their lives for the sake of their fellows in such enterprises. But though one fell to-day, another was ready to essay the task to-morrow, and in the end some would succeed.

The Indians generally relied upon stratagem to overcome the defenders. A favorite subterfuge was pretended retreat. Simulating discouragement or alarm, they would act as though retiring from the country. The object was to draw the garrison into pursuit and entrap them in ambush. As we shall see, these tactics were sometimes highly successful with men who were ever ready to embrace any excuse for escaping the irksome restraint of the fort.

With the approach of summer, Indian outrages became increasingly frequent. No large bodies of savages were seen, nor was any concerted attack made upon a settlement. It was evident, however, that numbers of redskins were in the country, which was not strange, for at this time of the year hundreds of them had been in the habit of hunting in Kentucky. Settlers were picked off at the plough, or while traversing the forest. Women and children were killed and scalped or seized and carried into captivity. Cattle and horses were frequently found dead, with arrows in their sides, for the redskins still used that weapon upon animals in order to save valuable ammunition for fighting.

Another and more extensive exodus took place. All but three of the stations were abandoned, those maintained being Boonesborough, Harrodsburg, and McClellan’s, and the last-named was deserted early in the following year. There were hardly one hundred “guns,” that is, fighting men, left in the entire territory.

Fair Kentucky was soon to be in the throes of a life-and-death struggle for possession of the soil. As yet the settlers did not realize the fearful danger that beset them. Had they done so, all but the very stoutest hearts must have quailed before it. The Revolution was now in progress and, incited and armed by British agents, the Shawnees, Cherokees, and Mingos were preparing to exterminate the invaders of their old-time hunting-grounds. Virginia could afford but scanty aid to her distant territory. All the men and munitions that the State could command were needed to support the Continental Army. To the devoted band of backwoodsmen, isolated from their fellows and dependent upon their own resources, two courses were open,—either to retreat, or to stand their ground and face the flood of savage onslaught. It is characteristic of such men as Boone and his companions that the former alternative was not even considered by them.

Among the families at Boonesborough was that of Colonel Richard Callaway, an intimate friend of Boone. One day early in July, 1778, the two daughters of the former and Jemima Boone entered a canoe near the fort and cast it off from its moorings. This act was contrary to the injunctions of their parents, who realized that lurking Indians might be encountered even in the immediate neighborhood of the stockade. However, the girls were young and careless and as they drifted idly upon the placid stream that lovely summer evening, no thought of danger entered their minds.

Thick woods and dense undergrowth came down to the water’s edge upon the opposite bank. Here a party of savages crouched, motionless and silent, peering hungrily through the leafy screen at their intended victims. Laughing and chatting, while they aimlessly paddled the little craft, the girls gradually approached the farther bank. At length they were within a few feet of it, when suddenly the foliage parted in several places and five hideous forms sprang into the shallow water, seized the horror-stricken young women, and plunged into the thicket with them.