The settlers find themselves in a rich and beautiful land—But soon learn that they must fight for the possession of it—A night alarm on the border—How a woman and two children defended their home—The stockade at Boonesborough—Two girls carried off by the savages—Hardy raises an alarm and a party is soon in hot pursuit—Boone circumvents the wily redskins—They are overtaken and caught unprepared—A volley, a charge, and the girls are safe—Back to Boonesborough and a happy reunion.

The country in which Boone and his companions found themselves differed greatly from the gloomy, forest-covered region that they had left. Here were extensive forests, it is true, but they were not so dense as those along the Alleghanies, and furthermore they were interspersed with stretches of fertile plain and valleys of succulent grass. Hill and vale, river-bottom and prairie, timber-land and cane-brake, succeeded one another in pleasing variety and offered the widest opportunities for agricultural pursuits. Game was so plentiful that the settler might almost shoot it from his door-sill, but this very abundance induced to reckless and unnecessary killing, with the result that in a few years there was an actual scarcity and more than once the little community was hard pressed to secure a sufficient supply of food. The wanton killing of game continued until recent years.

Settlers were allowed to acquire lands on very easy terms. An advertisement inserted by Henderson in the newspapers of Virginia stated that: “Any person who will settle on and inhabit the same before the first day of June, 1776, shall have the privilege of taking up and surveying for himself five hundred acres, and for each tithable person he may carry with him and settle there, two hundred and fifty acres, on the payment of fifty shillings sterling per hundred, subject to a yearly quit-rent of two shillings, like money, to commence in the year 1780.” The deeds required the holders of the lands to pay this nominal rent “yearly and every year for ever,” so that had the Company’s title been confirmed, a large portion of Kentucky might have been subject to proprietary control at this day.

Having selected his land, the settler proceeded to clear it of timber and brush and to erect upon it a cabin. In this work he was aided by his neighbors, and himself stood ready to help the next comer. The farms were widely separated from one another and were in many cases situated several miles from the town or fort. Families lived upon them in times of quiet and almost invariably in the winter, when it was the habit of the Indians to retire to their villages. During troublous periods, one half of the men were engaged in scouting and guarding the settlement, whilst the other half tilled the ground. Often runners would make the rounds of the outlying farms warning the occupants of impending attack. There might not be a moment to spare, in which case all the worldly possessions of the family would be abandoned and they would make a hasty retreat to the stockaded village.

Doctor Doddridge, who was born and reared on the frontier says: “I well remember that when a little boy the family were sometimes waked up in the dead of night by an express with a report that the Indians were at hand. The express came softly to the door or back window, and by gently tapping waked the family; this was easily done, as an habitual fear made us ever watchful and sensible to the slightest alarm. The whole family were instantly in motion: my father seized his gun and other implements of war; my stepmother waked up and dressed the children as well as she could; and being myself the oldest of the children, I had to take my share of the burthens to be carried to the fort. There was no possibility of getting a horse in the night to aid us in removing to the fort; besides the little children, we caught up what articles of clothing and provisions we could get hold of in the dark, for we durst not light a candle or even stir the fire. All this was done with the utmost despatch and the silence of death; the greatest care was taken not to awaken the youngest child; to the rest it was enough to say ‘Indian,’ and not a whimper was heard afterwards. Thus it often happened that the whole number of families belonging to a fort, who were in the evening at their homes, were all in their little fortress before the dawn of the next morning. In the course of the succeeding day their household furniture was brought in by parties of the men under arms.”

On the other hand, it frequently happened that when the assembled settlers looked round after such a hasty gathering, it was discovered that one or another family was missing. Then a party of men would go out after them and, if fortunate, bring them in, but it might be that they had wandered from the trail in the darkness and become lost, or that they had encountered the savages and been massacred. Some men of reckless disposition would not leave their cabins until actually forced to do so by the approach of the enemy, or would return to their farms before the removal of danger. Such individuals caused serious trouble to the settlers with whom they were associated and often jeopardized their safety.

Such warnings as we have described were attendant upon the advance of the Indians in force, but the lone cultivator, upon his isolated farm, was in constant danger of attack from small bands or single savages that skulked unseen through the forest. The clearing was generally surrounded by woods or thicket that afforded ample cover to the foe in his stealthy approach. The settler, driving his team along the furrow, never knew but that watchful eyes were following his every movement, awaiting the opportunity for a favorable shot at him. His boy, going to the spring for water, might be suddenly seized from behind, gagged before he could utter a sound, and carried away to meet a cruel death, or to be brought up in some Indian’s wigwam. The mother, standing in the doorway of the cabin, oblivious to all danger, might be shot through the heart in the very sight of her husband. Perhaps, when the head of the family was away on a short hunt, or a trip to the fort, a party of Indians who had patiently awaited the chance for days would make an attack on the cabin. If the occupants had time to throw the heavy bolts across the door, there was a fair chance of their beating off the assailants, even though their success depended upon the courage of one woman and a half-grown boy. Many a thrilling border story turns upon the heroism of frontier women and children under such circumstances.

A typical affair of the kind occurred in Nelson County, Kentucky, during the year 1791. A party of about a score of Indians attacked the cabin of a settler named Merrill. The place was at some distance from the nearest habitation and no help could reasonably be looked for. The family were taken entirely unawares, the first intimation of the presence of the dreaded redskins being a volley from the neighboring brush aimed at the father who was working near his home. He fell grievously wounded but contrived to struggle to his feet and staggered into the cabin with the foremost savage at his heels. The wife of the settler succeeded, however, in closing the door and throwing the heavy bar across it, before the Indian could enter. Meanwhile, her husband sank helpless upon the floor.

The defence of the home now depended upon the woman and her son and daughter, neither of whom was much more than a child. But the desperate situation did not daunt the brave mother. She seized an axe and prepared to defend the family as best she might with it. There were no firearms in the cabin. Merrill, after the manner of backwoodsmen of the time, had carried his rifle to work with him and after being hit had been unable to regain it from the tree against which it had been placed.

The assailants at once began to hack an opening in the door with their tomahawks and of course the defenders were unable to offer any obstruction to this proceeding. At length a hole was made big enough for a man to squeeze through and one of the savages entered the room by this means. The woman stood beside the door with axe poised and as soon as the Indian was fairly inside, but before he could rise to his feet, she brought the weapon crashing down upon his skull. He expired with scarce a groan.

Close behind the first intruder followed a second. He met with a similar fate and so with a third and a fourth. Each had entered as fast as the way became clear and the death-blows had been delivered swiftly and surely. The Indians now began to suspect that something untimely had befallen their fellows and before another essayed to enter the house they made a cautious survey through the crevice of the door. By the fitful light of the fire four motionless figures stretched upon the floor were discernible and their fate was easily surmised.

The attackers now decided upon another line of tactics. Two of them clambered to the roof of the cabin and began a descent of the capacious chimney. The alert woman had heard the noises made by the climbers and anticipated their designs. Still maintaining her vigilant watch at the door, she bade her children cut open the feather bed and throw its contents upon the fire. The burning feathers flew up the chimney in a fountain of flame and acrid smoke. The two savages half way down strove to regain the roof but were unable to do so and at last fell into the fireplace, scorched and suffocated. They were easily despatched by the children and the wounded father.

Hardly had the attack been repulsed at one end of the room than it was renewed at the other. A fifth savage made an effort to gain entrance by way of the door. He was not more than half way through when the well-wielded axe ended his career. This put an end to the assault. The Indians were more than satisfied and beat a retreat. When they reached their village they assured the tribesmen that the squaws fought better than the “Long Knives” themselves.

Although the fort at Boonesborough was not completed until some months after the point at which we have arrived in our story, it will be well to describe it here. There was a close resemblance between all these frontier stockades, and the picture of one serves as a general description of any other. The Boonesborough fort stood about two hundred feet from the river. It was a parallelogram, about three hundred feet in length and half as wide. The sides were formed of cabins set close together, the spaces between being closed with double rows of logs, planted endwise in the ground and standing about ten feet in height. At each corner was a blockhouse, two stories in height, the upper section extending two feet beyond the lower, with the floor of the projection loop-holed so that attackers immediately below might be fired upon. The cabins and palisades were plentifully loop-holed along each of the sides. Stumps, brush and everything that might afford cover, was cleared from the immediate vicinity. In the middle of each of the long sides was a strong, heavy gate, with wooden hinges and bolts. In the centre of the enclosure stood a storehouse for provisions and ammunition, a few trees, and posts for stretching clothes-lines. In time of siege, cattle and horses were driven into the stockade.

Such a fortress could not, of course, stand against artillery and in some instances, where the Indians were supported by British gunners and cannon, the defenders of stockades were obliged to surrender. But it was seldom, indeed, that any force of savages unaided succeeded in carrying a frontier fort by assault when there were a handful of unerring backwoods rifles to defend it. In fact, the redskins had, long before this date, learned the futility of direct attack and usually resorted to subterfuge, or attempted to starve out the garrison. But this was not so easily accomplished in the case of such resourceful and determined men as the pioneers of Kentucky. When food began to fail, one would leave the fort in the dead of night and, stealthily creeping through the cordon of besiegers, take to the woods in search of game. The return, heavily laden, was even a more dangerous and difficult feat than the departure, and many laid down their lives for the sake of their fellows in such enterprises. But though one fell to-day, another was ready to essay the task to-morrow, and in the end some would succeed.

The Indians generally relied upon stratagem to overcome the defenders. A favorite subterfuge was pretended retreat. Simulating discouragement or alarm, they would act as though retiring from the country. The object was to draw the garrison into pursuit and entrap them in ambush. As we shall see, these tactics were sometimes highly successful with men who were ever ready to embrace any excuse for escaping the irksome restraint of the fort.

With the approach of summer, Indian outrages became increasingly frequent. No large bodies of savages were seen, nor was any concerted attack made upon a settlement. It was evident, however, that numbers of redskins were in the country, which was not strange, for at this time of the year hundreds of them had been in the habit of hunting in Kentucky. Settlers were picked off at the plough, or while traversing the forest. Women and children were killed and scalped or seized and carried into captivity. Cattle and horses were frequently found dead, with arrows in their sides, for the redskins still used that weapon upon animals in order to save valuable ammunition for fighting.

Another and more extensive exodus took place. All but three of the stations were abandoned, those maintained being Boonesborough, Harrodsburg, and McClellan’s, and the last-named was deserted early in the following year. There were hardly one hundred “guns,” that is, fighting men, left in the entire territory.

Fair Kentucky was soon to be in the throes of a life-and-death struggle for possession of the soil. As yet the settlers did not realize the fearful danger that beset them. Had they done so, all but the very stoutest hearts must have quailed before it. The Revolution was now in progress and, incited and armed by British agents, the Shawnees, Cherokees, and Mingos were preparing to exterminate the invaders of their old-time hunting-grounds. Virginia could afford but scanty aid to her distant territory. All the men and munitions that the State could command were needed to support the Continental Army. To the devoted band of backwoodsmen, isolated from their fellows and dependent upon their own resources, two courses were open,—either to retreat, or to stand their ground and face the flood of savage onslaught. It is characteristic of such men as Boone and his companions that the former alternative was not even considered by them.

Among the families at Boonesborough was that of Colonel Richard Callaway, an intimate friend of Boone. One day early in July, 1778, the two daughters of the former and Jemima Boone entered a canoe near the fort and cast it off from its moorings. This act was contrary to the injunctions of their parents, who realized that lurking Indians might be encountered even in the immediate neighborhood of the stockade. However, the girls were young and careless and as they drifted idly upon the placid stream that lovely summer evening, no thought of danger entered their minds.

Thick woods and dense undergrowth came down to the water’s edge upon the opposite bank. Here a party of savages crouched, motionless and silent, peering hungrily through the leafy screen at their intended victims. Laughing and chatting, while they aimlessly paddled the little craft, the girls gradually approached the farther bank. At length they were within a few feet of it, when suddenly the foliage parted in several places and five hideous forms sprang into the shallow water, seized the horror-stricken young women, and plunged into the thicket with them.

The screams of the girls as their captors bore them away were heard in the fort. Hardy, who was seated in the doorway of the Boones’ cabin, cleaning his rifle, sprang up and ran to the river bank. The empty canoe, drifting in the current, and a bonnet, floating on the stream, told the story. Hardy’s first thought was to plunge into the river and swim across, but he quickly realized that he could accomplish no good by following the abductors alone, and so he turned to the fort for assistance. Both Boone and Callaway were some miles distant, surveying a piece of land. In two minutes Hardy was astride a horse and galloping in the direction they had taken. He was fortunate in coming upon them without loss of time, but night had fallen before the party regained the stockade of Boonesborough.

Of course every man in the settlement was eager to join in the pursuit, but Boone determined to take but seven picked men with him. Even though the Indians should prove to be a large body, it was more important to come upon them by surprise than in force. The main point was to recover the girls before the savages should have time to kill them. The smaller the body of pursuers, then, the greater the likelihood of their success. Hardy Goodfellow begged, but without success, to be allowed to accompany the party. He was greatly disappointed but, although he did not suspect it, his eagerness for Indian fighting was soon to be satisfied.

At the first streak of dawn the eight men crossed the river, the two fathers in the lead. At the outset they experienced a check, but this was no more than their knowledge of Indian tactics had led them to suspect. The redskins, on leaving the river bank, had separated and made their way at considerable distance from one another through the thickest cane-brake. The pursuers could not follow any one of these tracks without danger of being misled. It was noticed that they all pointed in one general direction and that gave a clue as to their destination and Boone concluded that they were bound for the Ohio River and the Indian villages beyond it.

It was probable that the savages would drop scouts in the rear to ascertain whether they were being followed, and if they had reason to believe that they were not, that they would relax their speed and their vigilance. Taking these probabilities into consideration, Boone formed a plan of action with his usual decision. He abandoned the track and took his party by a rapid march over a circuit of thirty miles, coming round to a point where he hoped to again pick up the trail of the warriors. Sure enough, it was discovered in a buffalo path and the backwoodsmen were delighted to find that the Indians had made a considerable turn in order to cross their trace, and so had lost much headway. It was evident, too, from the signs that they had begun to travel carelessly and imagined themselves safe from pursuit.

The men under Boone pushed on as rapidly as possible and with every mile saw that they were getting nearer to their quarry. Vigilance was of no less consequence than speed. They knew that at the first alarm the redskins would bury their tomahawks in the skulls of the girls and scatter in the forest. Noiselessly, then, and tirelessly, the trackers followed the trail, every moment bringing them closer to the now slowly-moving savages. At length, towards the close of the third day, and after a journey of fifty miles, Boone decided that nightfall would bring them within striking distance of the Indians’ camp.

The pace was now slackened and each man bent his efforts to a stealthy advance without sound. The moccasined feet, hardly less adept than those of the redskins, trod so lightly as scarcely to disturb a twig or leaf. And so, several feet separating each man from the next, they crept forward until at length they came in sight of the abductors. In a small glade surrounded by thick cane they were in the act of building a fire at which to cook their evening meal.

The party had been instructed as to their action in this situation, which had been anticipated. Four rifles went up in careful aim, the others reserving their fire. The instant that the reports rang out, the whole body charged forward with a yell. The manoeuvre was a perfect success. Two Indians fell. The others dashed into the forest, leaving their rifles, and even their knives, tomahawks and moccasins behind them. The girls were unharmed, and without delay the party turned about and retraced its steps to Boonesborough.