Daniel Boone, Backwoodsman

by C. H. Forbes-Lindsay

The war-cloud gathers over Kentucky—Hardy goes a-hunting and bags a fat turkey—He practices the difficult feat of barking squirrels—He detects a dusky foe spying upon him from behind a tree—And plans to outwit the wily savage—Hardy fires and scatters the head-feathers of the Indian—Hardy is now reduced to his tomahawk for defence—He makes a good throw and barely misses the mark—Powerless, he awaits death as the savage advances—A friend in need is a friend indeed—“My scalp, I reckon, young fellow!”—Simon Kenton, the daring dandy of the backwoods.

Before the close of the summer the Kentuckians became fully alive to the fact that they were threatened with a great Indian war. Most of the settlers were too careless or lacking in foresight to take measures in advance for their safety, and the preparations for the protection of the settlements devolved upon a few leading men among them. There were constant consultation, exchange of views, and formation of plans. The two principal objects desired were the inclusion of the new territory in the State of Virginia and the procurement of a supply of ammunition. By effecting the former, it was hoped to secure aid from the State in the impending struggle, and without the latter the backwoodsmen would soon be reduced to a state of helplessness, for they depended upon the rifle for their supplies of food, no less than for defence against the Indians. George Rogers Clark was sent to Virginia as the representative of the Kentucky settlers, and before the close of the year succeeded in having the desired legislation passed and, after a hazardous voyage down the Ohio, returned with a large quantity of powder.

Daniel Boone was of course indispensable to the councils of the leaders, and his time was entirely occupied in the affairs of the community, which took him frequently from home. Under these circumstances it fell to the lot of Hardy to look after the family and perform the ever-pressing duty of hunter. The search for game did not entail long journeys as in North Carolina, but he made frequent trips into the woods and met with such success as to excite the praise of his adoptive father.

The settlers, had not at this time contrived to plant anything like a sufficiency of corn, nor did they until several years afterwards. Before the country had been two years in occupation the live stock had become reduced to very small numbers, and beeves were not slaughtered for food but carefully kept for breeding purposes and as a reserve against emergency. The sole source of meat supply was the hunter’s rifle, and in the use of that Boone and other leaders were urging economy, for ammunition was running alarmingly low.

It was a fine, mild morning in October when Hardy set out for a day’s hunt, by which he might with reasonable good luck secure enough meat to keep the family pot boiling for a week. He was not in search of big game, but intended to make his bag of birds, of which many edible kinds were to be found in the neighborhood. He filled his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, put a generous piece of corn bread into his wallet and, with tomahawk and knife in belt and rifle over shoulder, left the cabin, with a promise to return before nightfall.

Hardy paddled himself across the river and, after hiding his canoe in a secluded spot, he made his way into the woods. It was not long before he heard the gobble of a turkey. Listening closely for a few minutes, and satisfying himself that the sounds came from a bird and not from an Indian, he commenced stealthily to approach his intended victim. This was not to be easily accomplished, however. The turkey detected Hardy’s movements before he got a sight of the bird. The chase lasted for an hour or more. Now the quarry would take alarm and make off with long, awkward strides, and anon, lulled into quietness by the hunter’s caution, would again allow him to come almost within range, only to run off just as the rifle was coming into position. At length a good chance came to the patient tracker. In one of its sudden retreats the turkey incautiously started across an open space about sixty feet in breadth. Hardy was eighty yards away from his mark but determined not to lose this opportunity. He dropped on one knee and, taking careful aim, fired as the bird reached the middle of the glade. The turkey fluttered for a few paces and then fell dead.

It proved to be a fine, fat bird, and would have justified Hardy in considering the day’s hunt as finished and returning to the many tasks of a less attractive nature that awaited him. But the weather and the surroundings were so enticing that he could not resist the temptation to remain out a little longer. He hid his turkey where he could find it on the return, and determined to indulge himself for a while in the sport of “barking” squirrels. This was a favorite pastime with Hardy, because it involved a very high order of marksmanship, in which he was eager to excel. At the same time, it was the last use to which he should have put his rifle at this time, when, as he knew, powder and shot were precious and every load should be made to count.

As the reader may imagine, a squirrel hit by a rifle ball would be torn to pieces, so that neither its flesh nor its fur could be of any service. In order to secure the animals intact, the backwoodsmen resorted to a skilful expedient which was called “barking.” The marksman aimed, not at the squirrel, but at the bark of the tree immediately below its feet. If he hit the exact place at which he fired, the animal flew into the air and came down, killed by the concussion, but whole. To accomplish this feat required the greatest precision. If the course of the bullet was an inch too high, the squirrel was shattered; if it was as much too low, the ball sank into the wood of the tree without the desired effect.

“Barking” squirrels was one of the favorite methods with the backwoodsmen of showing off their marksmanship. Boone could bring down his animal, without injuring a hair, every time at fifty yards. When far advanced in years, he gave such an exhibition of his skill to Audubon that made the naturalist wonder exceedingly. It is hardly necessary to say that Hardy, although a very creditable pupil, had not attained to anything like the same expertness. Indeed, if he “barked” one squirrel in five attempts he was doing very well. To-day it appeared, however, that our young hunter was in unusually good form, for by careful approach and steady shooting he succeeded in getting three whole squirrels with ten shots. Fragments of a number of others had been uselessly scattered over the ground.

Hardy was blessed with a healthy appetite, and had not yet trained his stomach to the one plenteous meal a day which was the custom with the backwoodsmen. It was now past midday, and feeling keenly hungry he decided to eat one of his squirrels and take a short rest before turning homeward. Whilst his fire was burning up, he skinned and dressed the little animal and soon had it broiling on the end of his hickory ramrod. Well-cooked squirrel and corn bread, washed down with cool spring water, make a very enjoyable meal to a hungry hunter, especially when his taste has not been spoiled by condiments and dainties.