Life of Daniel Boone, the Great Western Hunter and Pioneer

by Cecil B. Hartley

News of Cornwallis's surrender—Its effects—Captain Estill's defeat—Grand army of Indians raised for the conquest of Kentucky—Simon Girty's speech—Attack on Hoy's Station—Investment of Bryant's Station—Expedient of the besieged to obtain water—Grand attack on the fort—Repulse—Regular siege commenced—Messengers sent to Lexington—Reinforcements obtained—Arrival near the fort—Ambushed and attacked—They enter the fort—Narrow escape of Girty—He proposes a capitulation—Parley—Reynolds' answer to Girty—The siege raised—Retreat of the Indians.

In October, 1781, Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown. This event was received in Kentucky, as in other parts of the country, with great joy. The power of Britain was supposed to be broken, or at least so much crippled, that they would not be in a condition to assist their Indian allies, as they had previously done. The winter passed away quietly enough, and the people were once more lulled into security, from which they were again to be rudely awakened. Early in the spring the parties of the enemy recommenced their forays. Yet there was nothing in these to excite unusual apprehensions. At first they were scarcely equal in magnitude to those of the previous year. Cattle were killed, and horses stolen, and individuals or small parties were attacked. But in May an affair occurred possessing more interest, in a military point of view, than any other in the history of Indian wars.

In the month of May, a party of about twenty-five Wyandots invested Estill's Station, on the south of the Kentucky River, killed one white man, took a negro prisoner, and after destroying the cattle, retreated. Soon after the Indians disappeared, Captain Estill raised a company of twenty-five men; with these he pursued the Indians, and on Hinkston's Fork of Licking, two miles below the Little Mountain, came within gunshot of them. They had just crossed the creek, which in that part is small, and were ascending one side as Estill's party descended the other, of two approaching hills of moderate elevation. The water-course which lay between, had produced an opening in the timber and brush, conducing to mutual discovery, while both hills were well set with trees, interspersed with saplings and bushes. Instantly after discovering the Indians, some of Captain Estill's men fired at them; at first they seemed alarmed, and made a movement like flight; but their chief, although wounded, gave them orders to stand and fight—on which they promptly prepared for battle by each man taking a tree and facing his enemy, as nearly in a line as practicable. In this position they returned the fire and entered into the battle, which they considered as inevitable, with all the fortitude and animation of individual and concerted bravery, so remarkable in this particular tribe.

In the mean time, Captain Estill, with due attention to what was passing on the opposite side, checked the progress of his men at about sixty yards distance from the foe, and gave orders to extend their lines in front of the Indians, to cover themselves by means of the trees, and to fire as the object should be seen—with a sure aim. This order, perfectly adapted to the occasion, was executed with alacrity, as far as circumstances would admit, and the desultory mode of Indian fighting was thought to require. So that both sides were preparing and ready at the same time for the bloody conflict which ensued, and which proved to be singularly obstinate.

The numbers were equal; some have said, exactly twenty-five on each side. Others have mentioned that Captain Estill, upon seeing the Indians form for battle, dispatched one or two of his men upon the back trail to hasten forward a small reinforcement, which he supposed was following him; and if so, it gave the Indians the superiority of numbers without producing the desired assistance, for the reinforcement never arrived.

Now were the hostile lines within rifle-shot, and the action became warm and general to their extent. Never was battle more like single combat since the use of fire-arms; each man sought his man, and fired only when he saw his mark; wounds and death were inflicted on either side—neither advancing nor retreating. The firing was deliberate; with caution they looked, but look they would, for the foe, although life itself was often the forfeit. And thus both sides firmly stood, or bravely fell, for more than an hour; upward of one-fourth of the combatants had fallen, never more to rise, on either side, and several others were wounded. Never, probably, was the native bravery or collected fortitude of men put to a test more severe. In the clangor of an ardent battle, when death is forgotten, it is nothing for the brave to die—when even cowards die like brave men—but in the cool and lingering expectation of death, none but the man of the true courage can stand. Such were those engaged in this conflict. Never was maneuvering more necessary or less practicable. Captain Estill had not a man to spare from his line, and deemed unsafe any movement in front with a view to force the enemy from their ground, because in such a movement he must expose his men, and some of them would inevitably fall before they could reach the adversary. This would increase the relative superiority of the enemy, while they would receive the survivors with tomahawk in hand, in the use of which they were practiced and expert. He clearly perceived that no advantage was to be gained over the Indians while the action was continued in their own mode of warfare. For although his men were probably the best shooters, the Indians were undoubtedly the most expert hiders; that victory itself, could it have been purchased with the loss of his last man, would afford but a melancholy consolation for the loss of friends and comrades; but even of victory, without some maneuvre, he could not assure himself. His situation was critical; his fate seemed suspended upon the events of the minute; the most prompt expedient was demanded. He cast his eyes over the scene; the creek was before him, and seemed to oppose a charge on the enemy—retreat he could not. On the one hand he observed a valley running from the creek toward the rear of the enemy's line, and immediately combining this circumstance with the urgency of his situation, rendered the more apparently hazardous by an attempt of the Indians to extend their line and take his in flank, he determined to detach six of his men by this valley to gain the flank or rear of the enemy; while himself, with the residue, maintained his position in front.

The detachment was accordingly made under the command of Lieutenant Miller, to whom the route was shown and the order given, conformably to the above-mentioned determination; unfortunately, however, it was not executed. The lieutenant, either mistaking his way or intentionally betraying his duty, his honor, and his captain, did not proceed with the requisite dispatch; and the Indians, attentive to occurrences, finding out the weakened condition of their adversaries, rushed upon them and compelled a retreat, after Captain Estill and eight of his men were killed. Four others were badly wounded, who, notwithstanding, made their escape; so that only nine fell into the bands of the savages, who scalped and stripped them, of course.

It was believed by the survivors of this action that one half of the Indians were killed; and this idea was corroborated by reports from their towns.

There is also a tradition that Miller, with his detachment, crossed the creek, fell in with the enemy, lost one or two of his men, and had a third or fourth wounded before he retreated.

The battle lasted two hours, and the Indian chief was himself killed immediately after he had slain Captain Estill; at least it is so stated in one account we have seen. This action had a very depressing effect upon the spirits of the Kentuckians. Yet its results to the victors were enough to make them say, with Pyrrhus, "A few more such victories, and we shall be undone." It is very certain that the Indians would not have been willing to gain many such victories, even to accomplish their darling object—the expulsion of the whites from Kentucky.