Daniel Boone, Backwoodsman

by C. H. Forbes-Lindsay

Boone was required to seat himself and was expected to remain passive while two Indians tore his hair out by the roots. The ordeal was the more severe because the operation was protracted and the hair plucked in small strands. It was customary to allow the subject of this ceremony one or two intervals for rest and the recovery of his nervous system. The usual respite was offered to Boone but he replied that if the operators were not too tired to proceed he should like them to go ahead and finish their work. This they did and at the end of several hours Boone’s long locks had all disappeared with the exception of one thick tuft in the centre of the crown. This was the scalp-lock. When it had been tied up with ribbon and fixed with feathers the operation was pronounced complete and our hero stood forth literally and metaphorically a redskin, so far as his head was concerned.

The next morning Boone was conducted to the river, stripped of his clothing and led into the water. He was then vigorously washed and rubbed “to take all his white blood out.” Following this ablution, he was led to the council-house, where the chief, in this case the adoptive father, made an address. The initiate was informed of the great honors and benefits that would accrue to him by admission to the tribe; he was instructed as to the duties that would devolve upon him and the course of behavior he would be expected to follow. The assembled warriors were also reminded of the rights and future status of their new brother and exhorted to accord to him proper treatment and consideration.

At the completion of the chief’s speech, which was received with grunts of approval, two Indians approached Boone, who stood in the centre of the chamber, and with pigments of various hues proceeded to paint his head and face after the most approved fashion. This was the final step in the ceremony. Boone was now a full-blown Shawnee, and his fellow-tribesmen crowded round to congratulate him. A big feast was now spread. After they had eaten heartily, pipes were lit and the company sat smoking and talking far into the night. Boone’s natural dignity and habitual self-control enabled him to adapt himself to his new rôle with ease, and before the gathering broke up the warriors had begun to look upon him as a kindred spirit and boon companion.

The town of which Boone was now an inhabitant under the name of Sheltowee, or “Big Turtle,” was situated on the banks of the Little Miami River. The buildings were ranged round a great square which, like the market-place of a country town, was the common resort of loungers and the general rendezvous of the community. Here they performed their ceremonial dances, erected the war-post, celebrated victory or bemoaned defeat, indulged in various sports, including the torture of prisoners, divided spoils, held mass-meetings, and in short gathered for any purpose of general interest.

The council-house was the principal building in the town. It stood on somewhat elevated ground at the northern end of the square and was constructed of logs in part painted and carved. The roof was finished with slabs of bark and the interior furnished with mats and the skins of various animals. A platform, raised to the height of about two feet, ran round three sides of the wall, leaving a sort of pit in the centre. Upon this platform the warriors squatted on the occasions of councils, the receptions of delegations from other tribes, or deliberations on the fate of prisoners; the visitors, or captives, occupying the central and less elevated space.

The cabins of the population, which numbered about six hundred, were of a permanent character and not unlike those of the poorer class of settlers in form. Scattered about amongst them were corn-cribs, poultry-houses and dug-outs. The last were by the Indians called “hot-houses,” and consisted of holes in the ground to which the people resorted in particularly severe weather.

Boone, or “Sheltowee,” as the Indians now always called him, was assigned to lodgings in a small hut with two young braves for companions. The accommodations were far from what he could have desired, but they were as good as those enjoyed by the chief, his adoptive father, and he accepted them with his usual philosophy. Accustomed to fresh air in abundance, Boone found the close and foul atmosphere of the wigwam almost intolerable. The place was often filled with acrid smoke and always infested by insects. How filthy it was he could only guess, for the light of day never penetrated to its interior.

Even the strong stomach of Boone rebelled against the food that was presented to him. It was plentiful and of materials that in another form would have been appetizing, but the Indian methods of cooking spoilt it. Meat, corn, hominy, beans, and other vegetables were stewed in bear’s oil, with little care for cleanliness, and served in one repellent mess. But Boone forced himself to swallow his meals with feigned enjoyment and, indeed, made a point of affecting satisfaction and contentment with all the conditions of his new life.

Boone soon discovered that he was watched during every moment of the day, but he did not allow the Indians to know that he was aware of the fact. The surveillance was often cleverly contrived to evade his detection but never succeeded in that respect. The copper-colored urchin who with precocious cunning pretended to casually encounter him on the outskirts of the town was instantly recognized as a spy, but treated as a welcome friend, and after a joyous romp carried home on the shoulder of the man he had been set to watch. At night no guard was placed, nor was any necessary, for although Boone might with little difficulty have eluded his sleeping companions, he could not have walked twenty paces outside the hut without arousing the dogs which fairly swarmed about the town. These gaunt mongrels were particularly exuberant when they smelt a white man and snarled and snapped at any that came near them.