The worst of the danger now seemed over; but still his road ahead was beset with Indians, who were killing and scalping all that fell in their power; and behind him were the infuriated renegade and his party now in hot pursuit. His steed, however, was strong and fleet, and he put him to his wind; by which means he not only distanced those behind him, but passed one or two parties in front unharmed. About half way between the ravines and the river, he overtook Major McGary, and some five or six other horsemen, who were dashing forward at a fast gallop; and checking his fiery beast somewhat, he silently joined them. A little further on, Reynolds observed an officer on foot, who, exhausted by his recent exertions, and lame from former wounds, had fallen behind his companions. On coming up, he recognized in the crippled soldier the brave Captain Patterson; and with a magnanimity and self-sacrifice worthy of all imitation, he instantly reined in his horse and dismounted, while the others kept upon their course.
"Sir!" cried he to Patterson; "you are, I perceive, fatigued and weak. Your life is in great danger. Mount, sir—mount! I am fresh and will take my chance on foot."
"God bless you, sir!—God bless you for this noble act!" exclaimed Patterson, as Reynolds assisted him, into the saddle. "If I escape—"
"Enough!" said Reynolds, hurriedly, interrupting him. "Fly, sir—fly! God be with you! Adieu!"
And turning away as he spoke, he sprung down the side of the ridge, and running along the edge of the river some little distance, plunged into the water and swam to the opposite shore. Unfortunately for our hero, he had changed his garments at Bryan's Station, and now wore a pair of buckskin breeches, which, in swimming the stream, had become so soaked and heavy that he was obliged to remove them in order to display his usual agility. While seated upon the bank and occupied in this manner, he was startled by a hand being placed upon his shoulder, and the familiar grunt of an Indian sounding in his ear. On looking up, he at once recognized the grim features of Wild-cat, and saw himself in the power of some half a dozen savages.
"Me wanty you," said Wild-cat, quietly. "Kitchokema give much for Long Knife. Come!"
There was no alternative now; and Algernon rose to his feet, and suffered his weapons to be taken from him, with what feelings we leave the reader to imagine. Taking him along, the savages set forward, on the alert for other game; and presently three of them darted away in chase of a party of whites; and directly after, two others, leaving our hero alone with Wild-cat. Hope now revived that he might yet escape; nor was he this time disappointed; for after advancing a short distance, Wild-cat stooped down to tie his moccasin; when Reynolds immediately sprung upon him, knocked him down with his fist, seized his rifle, tomahawk, and knife, fled into the thicket, and reached Bryan's Station, during the night succeeding, unscathed.[24]
Throughout the short but severe action at the ravines, Boone maintained his ground with great coolness and courage, animating his soldiers by word and deed, until the rout became general, when he found it necessary, to prevent falling into the hands of the enemy, to have recourse to immediate flight. As he cast his eyes around him for this purpose, he saw himself cut off from the ford by the large body of Indians, through whose lines our hero was even then struggling. At this moment he heard a groan which attracted his attention; and looking down, he perceived his son Israel lying on the ground, scarcely five paces distant, weltering in his blood. With all a father's feelings of affection and alarm, he instantly sprung from his horse, and, raising the youth in his arms, darted into the nearest ravine, and made with all speed for the river. A few of the Indians were herein concealed, who discharged their rifles at him as he passed, without injury, and then joined in pursuit. One, a powerful warrior, having outstripped his companions, was rushing upon the old woodsman with his tomahawk, when the latter, with backwoods celerity, instantly raised his rifle and shot him through the body. Finding himself hard pressed, and that his son was already in the agonies of death, the old hunter strained him for the last time to his heart, with choking emotion, pressed his lips to those already growing cold, and then, with a groan of agony, left him to his fate and the scalping-knife of the savage, while he barely made his own escape by swimming the river below the bend. To him this was a mournful day—never to be forgotten—and one that, even long, long years after, could never be mentioned but with tears.
In this action the brother of Boone was wounded; but in company with Isaac Younker, and some three or four others, he succeeded in making his escape.
On the day of the battle, Colonel Logan arrived at Bryan's Station with a command of four hundred and fifty soldiers. On learning that the garrison with their reinforcements had gone the day preceding in pursuit of the Indians, and fearful of some disaster, he resolved on a forced march to give them assistance as soon as possible. For this purpose he immediately set forward on their trail; but had advanced only a few miles, when he met a party of the fugitives returning from the scene of slaughter. They were alarmed and excited, and of course their account of the battle was greatly exaggerated, believing as they did that they were the only escaped survivors. Their report, to say the least, was very startling, allowing that only the half were true; and in consequence, Logan decided on retracing his steps to the station, until he should be able to collect more definite news concerning the fight. Gradually one party after another came dropping in; and by nine o'clock nearly or quite all of the survivors were assembled in the fortress; when it was ascertained that a little over one-third of the party, or between sixty and seventy of those engaged in the battle, were missing. It was a sad night of wailing, and lamentation, and dreadful excitement in the station; for scarcely a family there, but was mourning the loss of some friend or relation. Algernon and Isaac had returned, to the great joy of those most interested in their welfare; but the father-in-law of the latter came not, and there was mourning in consequence.