The Three Counties of Kentucky united into One District—Colonel Boone as a Farmer—He outwits a Party of Indians who seek to capture him—Emigration to Kentucky—Outrages by Indians—Failure of General Clark's Expedition.

Kentucky now enjoyed a season of repose. The revolution was ended, the independence of the colonies recognized, and the cession of the British posts in the northwest was considered inevitable. The Indians had not the same incentives to warfare and massacre as heretofore, though murder was so congenial to their nature, and their hatred of the whites was so intense, that it was unsafe to trust to any regard of treaties on their part.

The year 1783, although marked by few stirring incidents, was an important one in the history of Kentucky.

She still belonged to Virginia, but the subject of separation was discussed among the people, and it was apparent to all that the day was not far distant when she would be erected into an independent State; but she organized on a new basis, as may be said. The three counties were united in one district, having a court of common law and chancery, for the whole Territory. The seat of justice was first established at Harrodsburg, but was soon after removed to Danville, which continued the capital and most important town in the State for a number of years.

Upon the cessation of hostilities between England and the Colonies, it was stipulated that the former were to carry away no slaves, were to surrender to the United States her posts in the Northwest, and were permitted to collect the legal debts due her from our citizens.

Each party violated these conditions. Virginia peremptorily forbade the collection of a single debt within her territory until every slave taken away was returned; while England, on her part, refused to surrender a post until all the debts due her subjects had been legally recognized and collected. The result of these complications was that England held her posts in the Northwest for ten years after the close of the war.

Colonel Boone, as was his custom, devoted himself to his farm, and was engaged in the cultivation of considerable tobacco, though he never used the weed himself. As a shelter for curing it, he had built an enclosure of rails which was covered with cane and grass. The raising of tobacco has become so common of late in many States of the Union, that nearly all understand the process. Boone had placed the plants so that they lay in three tiers on the rails, the lowermost one having become very dry. One day, while in the act of removing the lower pile, so as to make room for the rest of his crop, four stalwart Indians entered, carrying guns.

When Boone looked down into the grinning faces of the warriors, he understood what it meant: they had come to take him away prisoner, as he had been taken before.

"We got you now, Boone," said one of them; "you no get away; we carry you to Chillicothe."

Boone, of course, had no gun at command, as he was not expecting any such visit, while each of the Shawanoes carried a rifle and held it so as to command him.

When Boone looked more narrowly into their faces, he recognized one or two of the Shawanoes who had captured him five years before near the Blue Licks.

He affected to be pleased, and called back, with a laugh,

"How are you, friends? I'm glad to see you."

But they were not disposed to wait, for they had ventured, at considerable risk, to steal thus close to the settlement, in their eagerness to secure such a noted prisoner as Colonel Boone.

They, therefore, pointed their guns at him in a menacing way, and suggested that the best plan for him to induce them not to pull the triggers was to descend immediately.

"I don't see as there is any help for it," was the reply of the pioneer, "but, as I have started to shift this tobacco, I hope you'll wait a few minutes till I can shift it. Just watch the way I do it."

The four warriors were unsuspicious, and, standing directly under the mass of dry pungent stuff, they looked up at the pioneer as he began moving the rails. He continued talking to his old acquaintances, as though they were valued friends, who had just dropped in for a chat, and they turned their black eyes curiously upon him, with no thought of the little stratagem he was arranging with such care and skill.

By and by Boone got a large pile of the tobacco in position directly over their heads, and then suddenly drew the rails apart, so as to allow it to fall.

At the same instant, with his arms full of the suffocating weed, he sprang among them and dashed it into their faces. Distributing it as impartially as he could, in the few seconds he allowed himself, he dashed out of the shed and ran for his house, where he could seize his rifle, and defend himself against twice the number.

Great as was his danger, he could not help stopping, when he had run most of the distance, and looking back to see how his visitors were making out.

The sight was a curious one. The eyes of the four warriors were full of the smarting dust, and they were groping about, unable to see, and resembling a party engaged in blind-man's buff. These warriors were able to speak English quite well, and they used some very emphatic expressions in the efforts to put their feelings into words. If they expected to find Boone in these aimless gropings they were mistaken, for he reached his cabin, where he was safe from them, had they been in the full possession of their faculties.

When the Shawanoes had managed to free their eyes to some extent from the biting, pungent dust, they moved off into the woods and made no more calls upon the pioneer. Emigration to Kentucky increased, and new settlements were continually forming. Strong, sturdy settlers erected their cabins in every quarter, and the forests were rapidly cleared. Livestock increased in numbers, and naturally a brisk trade sprang up in many commodities. Trains of pack-horses carried goods from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, where they were taken down the Ohio in flat-boats and distributed among the various settlements.

As the expression goes, in these later days, everything was "booming" in Kentucky during those years, and the Territory made immense strides in material wealth and prosperity. Most of the immigrants came from North Carolina and Virginia, and they were hospitable, enterprising, vigorous and strongly attached to each other.

The time for "universal peace," along the frontier had not yet come; small affrays were continually occurring between the settlers and Indians, and in the spring of 1784, an incident of a singular nature took place. A Mr. Rowan, with his own and five other families, was descending the Ohio, one flat-boat being occupied by the cattle, while the emigrants were in the other. They had progressed a considerable distance, when, late at night, they were alarmed by the number of Indian fires which were burning for a half mile along the banks. The savages called to the whites and ordered them to come ashore, but, without making any reply, the settlers continued floating silently down the river. Finding their orders disregarded, the savages sprang into their canoes and paddled rapidly toward the boats; but, in this instance, certainly silence proved golden, for the unnatural stillness which continued seemed to awe the Indians, who, after following the craft awhile, drew off without inflicting the slightest injury. Most likely they were fearful of a surprise, in case of an open attack.

In the month of March, 1785, a settler named Elliot was killed and his family broken up, and while Thomas Marshall was descending the Ohio, he was hailed in the fashion often adopted by the decoys employed by the Indians. In this instance, however, the white man said he was a brother of the notorious Simon Girty, and he wished to warn the settlers against their danger. He admonished them to be on the watch every hour of the day and night, and under no circumstances to approach the shore.

He added the remarkable information that his brother repented the hostility he had shown the whites, and intended to return to them, if they would overlook his former enmity. But, as Simon remained a bitter enemy until his death, nearly thirty years later, his repentance could not have been very sincere.

A brief while after this, Captain Ward was attacked on the river and all his horses were killed, his nephew also falling a victim. In October an emigrant party was fired into, and six slain, then another company lost nine; and the desultory warfare was pushed with such persistency by the savages, that the settlers demanded that the Indian country should be invaded and a blow delivered which would prove effectual in keeping them away for a long time to come.

The situation of affairs became so exasperating that General Clark, in accordance with the fashion, issued his call for volunteers, and in a brief space of time a thousand veterans flocked about him at the Falls of the Ohio.

This was an army which, if properly handled, was irresistible and could have marched straight through the Indian country, laying the fields and towns waste and dispersing any force the tribes could combine against them.

But, from the first, it encountered two most serious difficulties: General Clark had lost prestige from his habits of intoxication, which unfitted him to assume the leadership of such an important enterprise, where a man needed to be cool, collected, and with the command of every faculty of his being.

But for this one fatal weakness, which has stricken so many a genius to the dust, Clark would have risen to far greater eminence, and would have reached and held the position through life to which his commanding genius entitled him.

The provisions for the soldiers were sent down the river in keel boats, but the obstructions delayed them, and, when two weeks passed without their arrival, the dissatisfaction of the men broke out in open insubordination. Desertions began, and in one instance, it is said, three hundred soldiers left in a body. General Clark protested, begged and entreated, but all in vain. His force went to pieces, like snow melting in the sun, and he was finally forced to return to Kentucky, humiliated beyond measure.

Whenever any such movement was started by the whites, the Indians kept themselves informed of every step of its progress. Their spies were out and allowed no incident, however slight, to escape their observation. It was natural, therefore, that when they saw the formidable force break up and go to their homes, they should conclude that the settlers were afraid to invade their territory, with the lesson of the former repeated failures before their eyes.

The Indians were stimulated to greater audacity than ever, and it may be said that the whole border became aflame with the most murderous kind of warfare.