Boone is formally adopted by the Shawnees—He becomes the son of Blackfish and is given the name of Big Turtle—The Indians treat him well but watch him closely—A description of old Chillicothe and its people—Boone gains the confidence of the tribe so that they allow him to go on short hunting trips—He accumulates a store of ammunition and secretes it—A war-party of various tribes visits the town—Boone learns their purpose to attack the Kentucky settlements—He contrives his escape and makes for Boonesborough—Arrives after a remarkable journey.

Adoption was a common practice among the Indians, and probably had always been so. They readily extended it to include white men, as the history of the earliest settlements proves. There are grounds for believing that, while most of the members of the “lost colony” of Roanoke were doubtless massacred, some of them survived as Indians by adoption and left descendants. John Smith was adopted by the Powhatans as the son of their great Werowance, and the Susquehannas were anxious to make him their chief.

At the time to which our story relates, the practice was prevalent among the Indians of the border and was usually resorted to with a view to filling the places of warriors killed in battle. Once admitted to the tribe, the white Indian was treated with kindness and often with more consideration than would have been the case had he been born among his adoptive relatives. He was, however, closely watched until his captors believed him to be fully reconciled to his new condition.

It was seldom that adult whites, thus forcibly affiliated with the redskins, missed a favorable opportunity to escape, and consequently the Indians became more disposed to the adoption of children. With respect to the latter, their designs were naturally attended by better success. The boy, prepared perhaps by a disposition inherited from backwoods ancestors, readily adapted himself to his new surroundings and soon became enamoured of the free and active life of the village and the camp. In many instances, youths recovered by their natural parents after many years’ residence with the Indians displayed the greatest repugnance to the ways of civilization, and sometimes ran away, returning to the people of their adoption.

Shortly after Boone’s return from Detroit, he was informed that his captors had determined to admit him into the tribe and that he was to become the son of the renowned warrior Blackfish, who was the chief of the band that inhabited Chillicothe. Boone professed to be gratified by the announcement and duly appreciative of the great honor of being adopted by the most powerful Indian of those parts. The tribesmen were delighted by his complacence and entered upon the ceremony with the utmost enthusiasm, for many of them had become sincerely attached to their extraordinary captive.

The ceremony of adoption, which the Indians naturally viewed with a sense of solemn importance, occupied several days and included features that were not altogether pleasant to the central figure in it. Indeed, the first stage of the initiation severely taxed Boone’s patience and fortitude, and more than once he was forced to convert a grimace of pain into a pretended grin of amusement. The operation of forming the scalp-lock was performed in the presence of the warriors, who closely noted the manner in which the victim bore his sufferings.

Boone was required to seat himself and was expected to remain passive while two Indians tore his hair out by the roots. The ordeal was the more severe because the operation was protracted and the hair plucked in small strands. It was customary to allow the subject of this ceremony one or two intervals for rest and the recovery of his nervous system. The usual respite was offered to Boone but he replied that if the operators were not too tired to proceed he should like them to go ahead and finish their work. This they did and at the end of several hours Boone’s long locks had all disappeared with the exception of one thick tuft in the centre of the crown. This was the scalp-lock. When it had been tied up with ribbon and fixed with feathers the operation was pronounced complete and our hero stood forth literally and metaphorically a redskin, so far as his head was concerned.

The next morning Boone was conducted to the river, stripped of his clothing and led into the water. He was then vigorously washed and rubbed “to take all his white blood out.” Following this ablution, he was led to the council-house, where the chief, in this case the adoptive father, made an address. The initiate was informed of the great honors and benefits that would accrue to him by admission to the tribe; he was instructed as to the duties that would devolve upon him and the course of behavior he would be expected to follow. The assembled warriors were also reminded of the rights and future status of their new brother and exhorted to accord to him proper treatment and consideration.

At the completion of the chief’s speech, which was received with grunts of approval, two Indians approached Boone, who stood in the centre of the chamber, and with pigments of various hues proceeded to paint his head and face after the most approved fashion. This was the final step in the ceremony. Boone was now a full-blown Shawnee, and his fellow-tribesmen crowded round to congratulate him. A big feast was now spread. After they had eaten heartily, pipes were lit and the company sat smoking and talking far into the night. Boone’s natural dignity and habitual self-control enabled him to adapt himself to his new rÔle with ease, and before the gathering broke up the warriors had begun to look upon him as a kindred spirit and boon companion.

The town of which Boone was now an inhabitant under the name of Sheltowee, or “Big Turtle,” was situated on the banks of the Little Miami River. The buildings were ranged round a great square which, like the market-place of a country town, was the common resort of loungers and the general rendezvous of the community. Here they performed their ceremonial dances, erected the war-post, celebrated victory or bemoaned defeat, indulged in various sports, including the torture of prisoners, divided spoils, held mass-meetings, and in short gathered for any purpose of general interest.

The council-house was the principal building in the town. It stood on somewhat elevated ground at the northern end of the square and was constructed of logs in part painted and carved. The roof was finished with slabs of bark and the interior furnished with mats and the skins of various animals. A platform, raised to the height of about two feet, ran round three sides of the wall, leaving a sort of pit in the centre. Upon this platform the warriors squatted on the occasions of councils, the receptions of delegations from other tribes, or deliberations on the fate of prisoners; the visitors, or captives, occupying the central and less elevated space.

The cabins of the population, which numbered about six hundred, were of a permanent character and not unlike those of the poorer class of settlers in form. Scattered about amongst them were corn-cribs, poultry-houses and dug-outs. The last were by the Indians called “hot-houses,” and consisted of holes in the ground to which the people resorted in particularly severe weather.

Boone, or “Sheltowee,” as the Indians now always called him, was assigned to lodgings in a small hut with two young braves for companions. The accommodations were far from what he could have desired, but they were as good as those enjoyed by the chief, his adoptive father, and he accepted them with his usual philosophy. Accustomed to fresh air in abundance, Boone found the close and foul atmosphere of the wigwam almost intolerable. The place was often filled with acrid smoke and always infested by insects. How filthy it was he could only guess, for the light of day never penetrated to its interior.

Even the strong stomach of Boone rebelled against the food that was presented to him. It was plentiful and of materials that in another form would have been appetizing, but the Indian methods of cooking spoilt it. Meat, corn, hominy, beans, and other vegetables were stewed in bear’s oil, with little care for cleanliness, and served in one repellent mess. But Boone forced himself to swallow his meals with feigned enjoyment and, indeed, made a point of affecting satisfaction and contentment with all the conditions of his new life.

Boone soon discovered that he was watched during every moment of the day, but he did not allow the Indians to know that he was aware of the fact. The surveillance was often cleverly contrived to evade his detection but never succeeded in that respect. The copper-colored urchin who with precocious cunning pretended to casually encounter him on the outskirts of the town was instantly recognized as a spy, but treated as a welcome friend, and after a joyous romp carried home on the shoulder of the man he had been set to watch. At night no guard was placed, nor was any necessary, for although Boone might with little difficulty have eluded his sleeping companions, he could not have walked twenty paces outside the hut without arousing the dogs which fairly swarmed about the town. These gaunt mongrels were particularly exuberant when they smelt a white man and snarled and snapped at any that came near them.

But it was not in Boone’s mind to make any attempt to escape for the present. It was his purpose to turn his captivity to good account by improving his knowledge of the Indians and gaining information as to their contemplated movements against the settlers. His efforts were now bent towards increasing the feeling of friendliness that they entertained towards him and exciting their confidence in him. He took part in the sports and contests of the young braves, but shrewdly regulated his conduct so as to arouse their admiration without exciting their envy. In the shooting matches he might easily have outdone the best of them, but he contented himself with making a good showing without equalling the performances of their best marksmen.

Boone’s judicious behavior soon created in the Indians the state of mind that he had desired. Blackfish grew quite fond of his adopted son, and in the course of a few weeks began to entertain the belief that he had made up his mind to remain with the Indians and continue the life that appeared to be so congenial to him. Boone was now permitted to go on occasional hunting trips alone, but the chief was not yet entirely devoid of suspicion. The hunter’s hours were limited and he was given to understand that if his absence exceeded the stipulated period of liberty, a party would be sent in search of him. The number of bullets and the charges of powder issued to him were carefully counted, and he was held to a strict accountability for the supply. But Boone was even more shrewd and cunning than Blackfish. By cutting his bullets in two and using reduced charges of powder, the backwoodsman contrived to accumulate a considerable store of ammunition, which he secreted for use in emergency.

Early in June Boone was sent with a party of braves to the salt springs of the Scioto, where they remained ten days engaged in the manufacture of salt. On his return to Chillicothe, he was greatly concerned to find in the town something like five hundred strange warriors, fully armed and bedecked in war-paint and feathers. Boone’s knowledge of the Shawnee language was more thorough than he had allowed the Indians to imagine, and mingling with the crowd in the square he had no difficulty in picking up all the information that he needed. He learned that the war party was organized for an immediate attack upon Boonesborough, to which they had been instigated by the British commandant at Detroit. He ascertained the proposed route and other details of the expedition.

Boone decided that he must escape without an hour’s unnecessary delay. That night the Indians engaged in their war dances and other ceremonies and no doubt he might have slipped away from the town without being missed until he should have gained several hours’ start, but many considerations induced him to defer his departure. Boone never lost his head. Indeed, the greater the emergency the more carefully he laid his plans before action. The first stages of his journey would be through a district difficult to traverse and with which he was little acquainted, whilst the warriors of Chillicothe were perfectly familiar with every rood of it. Consequently a night start would give him less advantage than an equal number of hours’ headway in the daytime. Furthermore, he had that day made a long march and was somewhat fatigued. The task he proposed for himself would tax his strength to the utmost and he determined to fortify himself with a night’s rest before setting out upon it.

The next morning Boone left the town with his rifle as though going upon one of his usual hunting trips. This was the more easily contrived because the presence in the place of so many strangers made it necessary for the young braves to secure a much larger supply of meat than ordinary. He had not dared to excite suspicion by providing himself with any considerable quantity of food but he managed to secrete a small piece of jerked venison in his hunting-shirt. He made directly for the spot where his reserve stock of ammunition lay hidden and filled his powder-horn and bullet-pouch. Thus equipped, he headed for the Ohio with all the speed he could command.

Boonesborough was one hundred and sixty miles away, and Boone proposed to cover the distance in the least possible time. He knew that he would be pursued within a few hours and realized that the greatest danger of his recapture would be passed if he should gain safely the other side of the Ohio. He therefore exerted himself to the utmost at the outset, combining speed with skilful efforts to hide his trail. His route lay through dense forest and led him across several streams and through more than one swamp. Where the ground was firm and fairly open, he ran with long, loping strides for hours at a time. The first night the moon served him until early morning and he kept on his way until it set, stopping to sleep for a few hours only before dawn. The next day similar progress was made, and on the morning of the third Boone arrived at the bank of the Ohio River. He had covered more than seventy miles in about forty-four hours.

Here an obstruction confronted the fugitive that had not been unforeseen. Boone was an indifferent swimmer. Recent long-continued rains had swelled the river and it was running with a strong current. It would be hazardous to delay long and Boone was hastily skirting the bank, almost decided to commit himself to the stream with a log upon the chance of reaching the other side, when he stumbled upon an abandoned canoe. The paddle lay with it but a large hole gaped in one end. This Boone stopped with his hunting-shirt, and launching the rickety craft succeeded in gaining the farther bank.

Although he began to feel confident of eluding his pursuers after putting the river between them and himself, Boone realized that he was not out of danger and pushed on rapidly. His own safety was not the only incentive to speed. If the war Party had adhered to its plan it must have left Chillicothe two days after Boone and every hour gained to Boonesborough for defence would be of account.

On the third day, after crossing the Ohio, Boone shot a turkey and made a hearty meal upon it, and this was the only one that he allowed himself in five days. At other times he had eaten morsels of his jerk as he went along. At the close of the fifth day he walked into the stockade at Boonesborough, having averaged more than thirty miles of travel for every twenty-four hours from the time of leaving Chillicothe.