He was brought to recognize at last the danger of going beyond the immediate reach of his friends, and for ten years he did not do so.
He was held in great affection and respect by his numerous friends and relatives, and he was a more than welcome visitor at the hearthstone of each. The harsh treatment received at the hands of the government could not embitter such a sweet nature as his, and he showed no resentment over the fact that the land upon which he had toiled in the vigor of his early manhood, and whose labors had made it exceptionally valuable, passed to the hands of a stranger without cost or claim.
As the stream of life neared the great ocean beyond, it assumed a serene and majestic flow, which comes only from the assurance that no storms are awaiting the bark which has been tossed so long on the waves of suffering, danger and disaster.
In the summer of 1820, the well known American artist, Chester Harding, visited Boone and painted an excellent portrait of him. The old pioneer was so feeble that he had to be supported by a friend while sitting for the likeness.
Boone at this time made his home with his son-in-law, Flanders Callaway, and he was continually visited by distinguished citizens and foreigners, who, having heard of the exploits of the explorer of the wilderness, hastened to look upon him ere the opportunity should pass forever.
Some years before his death he had his coffin made, and kept it in the house. His temperate habits, the active out-door life of his earlier days, and his regard for the laws of health, naturally resulted in a ripe old age, marked by the gradual decay of the vital powers, and unaccompanied by any pain, as should be the case with all mankind.
It was not until the month of September, 1820, that the premonition of his coming end unmistakably showed itself. He was attacked by a species of fever, which did not prove severe, for he soon recovered, and afterward visited his son Major Nathan Boone. He was attacked again, was confined to his bed three days, and peacefully passed away on the 26th of September, in the eighty-sixth year of his age.
The legislature of Missouri was in session at the time, and as soon as the news reached it, adjourned, after passing a resolution that its members should wear the usual badge of mourning for twenty days.
He was laid by the side of his wife, who died a number of years before, an immense concourse attending the funeral. There the remains of the two lay for a quarter of a century, when an interesting ceremony took place.
The consent of the family having been obtained, the coffins were disinterred and removed to Frankfort, Kentucky, and there placed in the new cemetery.