Daniel Boone and Others on the Kentucky Frontier: Autobiographies and Narratives, 1769-1795

Daniel Boone and Others on the Kentucky Frontier

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Daniel Boone and Others on the Kentucky Frontier Autobiographies and Narratives, 1769–1795 Edited by DARREN R. REID

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Jefferson, North Carolina, and London

LIBRARY

OF

CONGRESS CATALOGUING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Daniel Boone and others on the Kentucky frontier : autobiographies and narratives, 1769–1795 / edited by Darren R. Reid. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7864-4377-2 softcover: 50# alkaline paper 1. Frontier and pioneer life—Kentucky—Sources. 2. Pioneers— Kentucky—Biography. 3. Kentucky—Biography—Sources. 4. Kentucky—History—18th century—Sources. 5. Boone, Daniel, 1734–1820. I. Reid, Darren R. F454.D36 2009 976.9'02—dc22 2009014113 British Library cataloguing data are available ©2009 Darren R. Reid. All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. On the cover: Daniel Boone Escorting Settlers Through the Cumberland Gap by George Caleb Bingham ¡85¡-52; log borders and map background ©2009 Shutterstock; map detail ©2009 clipart.com Manufactured in the United States of America

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Box 611, Je›erson, North Carolina 28640 www.mcfarlandpub.com

In loving memory of George Reid

Ye gentleman and ladies fair, Who grace this famous city, Just listen if you’ve time to spare, While I rehearse a ditty; And for the opportunity, Conceive yourself quite lucky, For ’tis not often that you see, A hunter from Kentucky. Oh Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky! Oh Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky! —The Hunters of Kentucky, or Half Horse and Half Alligator, 1815

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS As with all things in my life I would first like to gratefully thank my loving (and patient!) wife, Keira, for her continued enthusiasm, support, and help in all of my endeavors. As with everything, she has supported me in the process of assembling this volume and for that, and an endless number of other indulgences, I offer her my sincere thanks. My sincere thanks are also extended to Matthew C. Ward, Richard McMahon, Martine J. Van Ittersum, and Catriona M. Paul for reading various parts of this work and offering their critiques to me over the past several years. I would also like to thank Rao Aluri for his advice and all of the staff and postgraduates at the history program at the University of Dundee. I would also like to extend my sincere thanks and appreciation to my family and friends for the support they have offered me over the past few years, including, in no particular order: my mother (Lesley), sister (Shelley) and her husband (Michael), my father (Stephen) and stepmother (Irene), my little brothers (Danny and Louie), my grandparents (Sandra, Ray, Isobel, and George), my parents-in-law (Robert and Sheila), my brother-inlaw (Craig) and all the many other members of the family I simply do not have room to mention here. Among my friends I would like to single out, again in no particular order, Steven Cull (and his wife-to-be, Sophie), James O’Hara, George Williams, Katie Thornton, Kate Freeman, Duncan Booth, Peter Jarrett, David Duffy, Hazel Brown, David Callaghan and Loraine McKay. And, of course, I would also like to acknowledge John D. Shane, John Filson, Hugh Henry Brackenrige, Edwin James, the Wisconsin Historical Society, and the University of Michigan Library.

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CONTENTS vii

Acknowledgments 1

Introduction

PART I: DANIEL BOONE’S NARRATIVE 11 One. Westward Ho! The Kentucky Frontier War, 1775–1795 (By the Editor)

13

Two. The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon

33

Three. Commentaries and Essays (By the Editor)

46

Four. The Piankashaw Council

74

Five. Boone: A Family History

76

PART II: THE JOHN D. SHANE INTERVIEWS 79 Six. Josiah Collins’ First Interview

82

Seven. Josiah Collins’ Second Interview

98

Eight. William Sudduth’s Interview

116

Nine. A Sketch of the Life of William Sudduth

120

PART III: CROSSING

THE

DIVIDING LINE 141

Ten. The Narrative of Doctor John Knight

147

Eleven. The Narrative of John Slover

155

Twelve. To Live Among the Indians: The Narrative of John Tanner

163

Chapter Notes

197

Bibliography

207

Index

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INTRODUCTION From the middle of the eighteenth century, as Anglo-American settlers tentatively pushed beyond the boundary the Appalachian Mountains had hitherto defined, new frontiers would begin to emerge upon which new generations would strive to survive and prosper. In the new world of the trans–Appalachian west, however, survival could be difficult and most certainly was not a given, while prosperity for many would prove to be nothing more than an unattainable dream. From difficult environmental conditions, periods of scarce food and resources, to one of the most consistently violent frontier wars in North American colonial history, settlers of the new west faced a spectrum of challenges to their new lives. As the American Revolution dawned, particularly in the fertile and desirous Kentucky country, those challenges would only increase in both frequency and severity as displaced and disaffected Native American groups, working with their British allies, began executing significant military maneuvers against the new settler populations. From the mid–1770s until 1795 the Kentucky frontier became trapped in a system of violence that would come to dominate the lives of ordinary men and women on both sides of the frontier. Aggression was met with defiance, attacks were countered, and over time the body count and casualty rate rose sharply. It is perhaps not surprising, then, that some of America’s most important folk heroes (and villains) were forged upon the crucible of the Kentucky and wider trans–Appalachian frontiers. Stories of bravery, defiance, and military ability were celebrated during and after the Kentucky frontier war, and published narratives, such as Daniel Boone’s collaborative autobiography The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon, became international bestsellers, laying the seeds for the transformation of the frontiersman into folk hero. However, Boone’s narrative, as important a document as it is, represents only one man’s account of the frontier war. As the nineteenth century wore on, new histories of the Kentucky country spent more and more time focusing upon exceptional individuals, exaggerating, often beyond sense, their adventures and exploits. From Daniel Boone to Simon Girty, hero to antihero, the lives of particular settlers and important individuals on the frontier were exaggerated to the point that for two centuries a frontier mythology was developed around these fledgling icons whose reported lives had grown almost fully independent of reality and truth. Even as the twentieth century dawned, the early American frontier had already become a time and place enshrouded in myth and fantasy. 1

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INTRODUCTION

The stories and myths told about many of the different frontier heroes and villains are regularly fanciful, often anecdotal, and sometimes outright ridiculous, but they are never without incident. When Timothy Flint, in the 1830s, described a fictitious encounter between Daniel Boone and a bear which the frontiersman was said to have killed with nothing more than a small hunting knife in hand-to-hand combat, he created one of the most enduring and difficult-to-eradicate myths that would help to define Boone’s legend.1 As fanciful as this episode was, the image Flint crafted is one that has since come to define the early American frontier: hardy pioneers overcoming the beasts and hazards of the wilderness with nothing but the most basic of tools and their own unflinching bravery. To be sure, exaggeration and inaccurate retellings of events are not unique to the nineteenth century and during the Kentucky frontier war folktales and anecdotal stories abounded, but compared to the rampant mythmaking of the following centuries, which would see stories told of Boone escaping Native Americans by swinging on vines through the wilderness, such exaggerations were relatively capped.2 When Daniel Boone’s own narrative was published in 1784 the language had clearly been modified for public consumption but the events and descriptions that filled the pages of this document were largely accurate; the contrast between this source and the later myth-producing histories that followed it are marked indeed. Clearly, the legend of Daniel Boone grew exponentially throughout the nineteenth century and it was exaggerated or blatantly false incidents for which he and other frontiersmen were beginning to be remembered. Worse still, when men like Flint focused upon individual settlers and told their wildly exaggerated tales and stories they trivialized the real-life experiences of both settler and Native American populations, and the severity of the conflict that dominated their lives. It is important to remember that the frontier war surrounding Kentucky did not just affect pioneers and settlers but irreversibly caused the destruction of autonomous Native American life in the surrounding country. As settlers streamed down the Ohio River and flooded the Cumberland Gap, taking possession of Native American lands and hunting grounds, they initiated a war of survival in the region that would last for more than two decades and cause the loss of thousands of lives on both sides of the frontier. For their part, the settlers also saw themselves as victims, desperately defending lands which they believed they had every right to possess from an aggressive “savage” force who were striking deep into the heart of their territory. It is this dichotomy of war, the righteousness of both parties, which gives the Kentucky frontier its tragic character, and led to one of the most consistently violent frontier wars to ravage both colonial North America and the early republic. Tales written by Flint and others like him are certainly entertaining, but the histories they obscure are often filled with tragedy and loss, not simple stories of adventure and courage. It is an interesting coincidence that even as some individuals were turning the history of the west into a mythology, others, such as the Reverend John D. Shane and Lyman C. Draper, were gathering vast collections of oral histories and interviews from former pioneers that very often sidestepped the exaggerated tales woven by this new generation of histories. For every tale Flint wrote of Boone, or John McClung told of

Introduction

3

Simon Girty, Draper and Shane were quietly collecting their respective sources, preparing histories that never saw the light of day. John Shane, in particular, studiously collected a vast body of largely unguided interviews from his subjects, taking down the details of everyday life while avoiding the trap Draper fell into of questioning his subjects on already famous characters.3 To be sure, Draper’s constant questioning of his interviewees provides significant insight into the lives of these particular individuals and are of immeasurable value, but the documents Shane produced described the lives not of the legends that were already beginning to monopolize histories of the region but of ordinary, fameless settlers. Thus, even as folk heroes were born and the history of the frontier cast behind a cloak of legend and mystery, collections of documents were being assembled that would allow later historians the opportunity to observe how the pioneers remem- Figure 1—When Timothy Flint described Boone’s bered their time on the frontier, and battle with a bear in hand-to-hand combat he crehow they made sense of the roles they ated one of the most iconic images that would define the growing Boone mythology. In this played in that unfurling world. image Boone is able to hold the bear at bay with Episodes of bravery and courage were one outstretched arm while his hunting rifle lies not limited to the legends of the impotently before him. Boone is at least as tall nineteenth century. Some remarkable and broad as the beast that is attacking him and his right arm is ready, poised to deal a killing incidents certainly appear in the set- blow with his hunting knife (from The First tlers’ accounts, but unlike the new White Man of the West by Timothy Flint, 1856). histories of the region these acts were counterbalanced by episodes of unrestrained brutality and hardship. Although enemies of the settlers, Native Americans were not described in the strictly two-dimensional terms of later histories, and in some cases settlers would describe incidents that not only questioned the apparent immutability of the frontier but demonstrated that it could be crossed. It should be understood that the frontier was as much an imaginary boundary between peoples and cultures as it ever was a place on earth. Even as historians of the nineteenth century were depicting the frontier as a permanent racial divide

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INTRODUCTION

between settlers and Native Americans, the oral histories Shane was collecting demonstrated something else entirely. Like all sources, the documents Shane collected do not depict an objective or balanced point of view, but at the very least they demonstrate the perspective and memories of the pioneer men and women who sat upon the edge, first of the British Empire and, later, the early United States. Presented within this volume is a collection of narratives, autobiographies, and other manuscript sources that have been selected in order to give readers some glimpse of how settlers living upon the frontier, particularly in Kentucky, perceived the world around them. From how settlers conceptualized burgeoning legends such as Daniel Boone to the pervasiveness of the frontier war, the documents presented in this collection offer some small insight into the workings of the new west that developed beyond the Appalachian Mountains in the last quarter of the eighteenth century. Raids by Native Americans are prominent features in these sources, but so too are settler assaults upon Native American towns and populations, even after the most important and valuable lands had already been secured from their former tribal occupants. Even some of the most seemingly brutal episodes described in these documents, such as the slow and terrible execution of Colonel William Crawford at Wyandot hands, had been reciprocal acts for much greater atrocities that the settlers had previously committed.4 Objectivity is not something that will be found in these sources, only one perspective of a very complicated and very personal conflict. In spite of the pervasiveness of the frontier war in these documents, the sources presented here nonetheless go beyond mere war stories and offer some insight into the rhythms and textures of pioneer life. The loss of family members or friends, combat situations, brushes with death, and time spent in captivity are all recurring themes that often appear to overpower these sources, yet tales of love, infidelity, companionship, personal grievances, controversial rumors, and laughter are also present within many of these documents. In some cases, such as the account of William Crawford’s death, these themes are not particularly evident, but in other sources, particularly those that were not published, such themes play a much more important role. To aid the navigation of the collected accounts in this volume a number of essays and commentaries have been included in the early part of this work. It is important to note that these essays are provided not to overshadow the original sources or even necessarily to dictate how the reader should interpret them. They provide both analysis and context, but the purpose of this volume is to present these narratives to a wider audience while providing the necessary context and analytical input for readers to interpret them on their own terms. History tends to be engaged with abstractly through the intermediary, and typically essential role played by the historian with only limited access given to the source material upon which they draw and ultimately base their conclusions. Though it is not being suggested here that the role of the historian is in any way redundant, indeed quite the contrary is true, it is hoped that these collected documents will offer a wide range of readers the opportunity to engage directly with the history of the trans–Appalachian west in a much more direct manner than is often available to them. History, after all, starts and ends with sources and documents. For the more expert readers it is hoped that the sources provided here will prove to be a valuable and convenient resource.

Introduction

5

The first part of this collection focuses upon one of the single most important documents to be published in the early United States, Daniel Boone’s collaborative autobiography The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon, and features the bulk of this volume’s commentary and analysis. Preceding the actual document is an essay, “Westward Ho! The Kentucky Frontier War, 1775–1795,” that introduces the conflict that defined the Kentucky frontier and appeared so prominently in sources generated by settlers during and after this war. Discussion in this essay focuses particularly upon the impact of violence upon frontier society and how the presence of this conflict affected the perceptions held by settlers of the wider world around them. Boone’s narrative immediately follows this essay. Appearing first as an appendix within John Filson’s The Discovery, Settlement, and Present State of Kentucke, Boone’s narrative introduced the legendary frontiersman not only to audiences across America but across the world, telling the story of Kentucky’s early settlement from Boone’s perspective, from his initial exploration of the country in 1769 through the end of the American Revolution in 1783. In his narrative Boone, with the aid of at least one collaborator,5 described a wide spectrum of events that occurred upon the early frontier, including his capture by the Shawnee, the siege of Boonesborough, and the disastrous Battle of the Blue Licks. It was this single narrative that turned Daniel Boone from a locally known hunter and pioneer into an international frontier hero and laid the seeds of his future legend. Over the years, and particularly throughout the nineteenth century, successive exaggerations of the stories contained in Boone’s narrative have led to the name Daniel Boone becoming synonymous with the frontier to the point that Boone exists now as much as a literary figure as he ever did as a living, breathing human being. In addition to the sometimes subtle, sometimes overt alterations in Boone’s recorded character, he has become the basis of the generic frontier hero, his never-existing coonskin cap symbolizing the first, patriotic, push into America’s far west. It was upon Boone that James Fenimore Cooper based his Natty Bumppo character in his perennial bestseller, The Last of the Mohicans, and it was Boone whom Lord Byron integrated into his poetry as the quintessential woodsman.6 “Indian killer,” “noble savage,” “white Indian,” and many other such loaded terms have been used to describe the historical Boone in the years since his death, and sometimes while he yet lived. Over the years, Boone has been recast, each time to fit the values of the society writing about him. In every way, then, the literary Boone has become a true folk hero of the American frontier. But to those wishing to understand the historical character behind the myth, such fanciful stories and reinterpretations of the man are of little use outside the anecdotal realm. Before the rampant myth-making of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, however, the work upon which Boone’s initial national and international fame was constructed was his first narrative, and for those wishing to look for the true Daniel Boone, this is the narrative with which to begin their search. Although the work is written in the first person, much of the language does not belong to Boone.7 Boone, it was said, could write in “a common farmer’s hand,”8 but he lacked the skill expected of an author. There is little doubt that Boone was not responsible for the most grandiose phrasing in his biography — to state otherwise would simply be wishful thinking9— but the basis of this document and the events it described are remarkably accurate and speak of the

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INTRODUCTION

close involvement of Boone in the creation of his narrative. The fanciful wording of much of the text was the product not of Boone but of his collaborator, John Filson, and possibly a man named Humphrey Marshall,10 and though the words may not be Boone’s, and the most florid phrases are most certainly not, the story almost certainly is. The end result of this collaborative endeavor was the creation of one of the most important pieces of literature to come out of the early United States. It defined the characteristics of the trans–Appalachian frontier and established Boone as the archetypal frontiersman and pioneer.11 The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon did not just tell a story, but established the canon upon which future frontier literature would draw. The Adventures do more than tell Boone’s story. They also tell something of the experiences of all of Kentucky’s early pioneers, not to mention the Native Americans who fought to retain control of their traditional hunting grounds. It is the story, then, of the Kentucky frontier, seen through one man’s eyes, not the story of one man. Boone’s description of himself is in part a description of the country, and likewise as he describes the development of the country, he is also describing the development of himself. To understand Boone, it is crucial to understand the world he helped to build. As with all of Kentucky’s early settlers the place informed the person, and the person, as part of a collective of individuals, informed the place. For those interested in Daniel Boone, or for those wishing to learn of the early Kentucky frontier war, The Adventures, then and now, is one of the most important documents available and the ideal starting place for any study. The Adventures is presented here in its original, first edition form including its sometimes erratic eighteenth-century spelling. In order to contextualize this key document while offering some form of orientation to non-expert readers, four short essays, or commentaries, immediately follow this source, providing insight into issues raised (or ignored) in Boone’s narrative. Following these contextual essays are two short pieces that act as an appendix to Boone’s narrative. The first are minutes of the Piankashaw Council, which are referenced in The Adventures and immediately followed the narrative in its original published state. The second is an account by one of Boone’s grandchildren, Septimus Schull, which details some of Boone’s adventures; this story was written by Schull for his own children and demonstrates that even during the pervasive mythmaking of the nineteenth century, efforts were being made by Boone’s descendents to preserve a more accurate family portrait of their patriarch. The second part of this volume collects together several narrative accounts and interviews collected by the Reverend John D. Shane during the 1830s and 1840s. The first two accounts in this section are the interviews Shane conducted with early pioneer Josiah Collins. The first broadly took the form of a chronological narrative, detailing the main events of Collins’ life on the frontier until 1787. As one might imagine, as Collins was interviewed by Shane, he did not remember events perfectly in sequence, something likely compounded by Shane’s lack of regular questioning, and as such the final interview sees Collins jumping forward and backwards between different periods of time as memories occurred to him. Although Collins’ memories collectively created a full and complete source, their often random order coupled with Collins’ tendency

Introduction

7

Figure 2 — Kentucky is bordered to the north by the Ohio River. Above this lived the Shawnee, Miami, Wyandots, Delaware and Mingo. The Shawnee in particular used Kentucky extensively as a hunting ground (map by the editor).

to revisit earlier stories when more details occurred to him renders this narrative inaccessible to readers who do not have a solid understanding of the events and history of the Kentucky frontier. In order to make this fascinating interview as accessible as possible it has been restructured into a chronological order that retains both the original wording and tone of the document. The end result is a broad chronological narrative of Collins’ life and his experiences on the frontier. The second Collins interview is much more thematic in character with a much reduced emphasis upon chronologically retelling events. As such, this second interview did not require any extensive edits and in its original form it compliments the first interview adeptly, introducing new elements absent from Collins’ first narrative. Broadly speaking, Collins’ narratives cover the period between 1778 and 1787 and as such they give an alternative perspective of many of the events described in The Adventures. Following Collins’ accounts are two documents that detail the life of Colonel William Sudduth. Sudduth’s two narratives take on a slightly different form than those of Collins with only the first document being an interview. The second, more important, of these narratives is a written autobiographical account, or “sketch,” that Sudduth wrote and John Shane later transcribed. Appropriately, Sudduth’s sketch begins in 1783, around the time when Boone’s narrative ends, and describes events throughout the rest of Kentucky’s frontier period, until the settlers’ final victory over their Native American neighbors in the Battle of Fallen Timbers in 1794. As with all of the narratives presented here by John Shane, most of the many abbreviations present in the

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INTRODUCTION

text have been expanded into their full form and, where necessary, punctuation has been added or removed to make these fascinating pieces as accessible as possible. The final section of this volume contains three captivity narratives that were all published during their authors’ lifetime. For published narratives such as these it is crucial that readers understand that motivations and prejudices are often particularly evident in this type of source. The publishing and writing processes connected to the preparation of published narratives often necessarily meant that additional details, assumptions, or conclusions were added to these accounts. In some cases additional details are obvious and jarring; in others they are seamlessly laced into the narrative. In the case of The Adventures the language is obviously at odds with descriptions of how Boone expressed himself and other examples of his writing, but the accuracy of events described in that source, for the most part demonstrates Boone’s close involvement in the creation of this document. Likewise, the three final narratives in this volume are a fusion of the realities of experience and perspective with the necessities of publication. The first of these sources is Doctor John Knight’s account of the defeat and execution of Colonel William Crawford, a key event upon the trans–Appalachian frontier which is discussed at various points throughout this volume. This eyewitness account of Crawford’s execution did much to create an antihero out of a man named Simon Girty who, in many ways, occupies the polar opposite space in American folk history to that of Daniel Boone, in spite of the similarities these two men shared. Although this document superficially presented the most brutal aspects of Native American society to contemporaries it also underlines how personal and vicious the frontier war was. This perspective is at least partially the product of the narrative’s original editor, Hugh Henry Brackenrige, who states in the original preface to the piece that it was the failure of the “savages” to cease their “barbarities” against settlers that led him to publish Knight’s account (along with a narrative by John Slover) in the hope that the events described would lead the government to take direct action in the West.12 While Brackenrige may have been responsible for particularly focusing upon the brutal details of Crawford’s death and Simon Girty’s apparent glee at the spectacle,13 it should be noted that this document is very much John Knight’s story and represents a perspective of events he wished to share with the world. The second source in this section of the volume is John Slover’s captivity narrative, a piece which originally accompanied Doctor Knight’s narrative upon its initial publication. Slover, like Knight, took part in William Crawford’s failed expedition, and he too was taken into captivity and faced with the prospect of being burned alive by his captors. Quite unlike Doctor Knight, however, Slover’s relationship with his Native American captors was complicated by his past, particularly the twelve years of prior captivity he had already experienced. From the age of eight through to his twentieth year, Slover lived in captivity, spending his formative years under heavy Native American influence, learning no less than three distinct tribal languages. When Slover returned from his second captivity his account of the failed Crawford expedition was recorded by Hugh Henry Brackenrige and published alongside Knight’s. Unlike the doctor, however, Slover was illiterate and required the services of Brackenrige in a much more extensive

Introduction

9

manner than did Knight. As such, Slover’s narrative contains much more of Brackenrige’s influence, such as footnotes that clearly demonstrate his prejudices and other, much subtler, additions and modifications. In particular, it was Brackenrige’s wish to emphasize how completely Slover had reintegrated back into settler society following his initial captivity and, thus he overemphasizes Slover’s relationship with the church, particularly in the original front matter that preceded Knight and Slover’s narratives. Indeed, had it not been stated explicitly there would have been virtually no evidence within this document to suggest that Slover had spent such an important period of his life living among various tribes in the Ohio Valley. Slover’s narrative is somewhat compromised by the input of its original editor, but there remains much of value that can be taken from it and, in spite of Brackenrige’s best efforts, this source does reflect, to a degree, some Native American perspectives of the unfolding frontier war. The final narrative in this volume is a much edited (for reasons of size) version of John Tanner’s fascinating account of his life as a captive. Tanner, who was kidnapped from his home in Kentucky when he was nine years old in 1789, would go on to live among Native Americans for thirty years before finally returning to Kentucky to be reunited with his surviving family. His return to settler society after such a long period of continuous captivity created some degree of stir, particularly for Doctor Edwin James, who recorded and published Tanner’s account of his extensive captivity. Tanner, who could not even speak English upon his return to settler society, understandably required a man like James to record his narrative even after command of his native tongue was restored to him. As such, Tanner’s account combines not only his own experiences and perspectives but also the prejudices of its transcriber. Tanner’s account reflects the values of Native American society but, in the language employed, the values of Edwin James are also in evidence, particularly his portrayal of settlers versus Native Americans. It appears that opportunities have often been taken to deemphasize some of the worst actions taken by the settlers that Tanner encountered while emphasizing the apparently dogmatic characteristics of many of Tanner’s tribal contemporaries. But for all of James’ efforts in this regard the overall document retains more than a reasonable balance between Tanner and James, and over the course of the entire narrative both settlers and Native Americans are shown in their best and worst lights. Tanner’s contribution to his own narrative is undeniable and the values he expresses are those of Native American, not settler, society. From the importance of dreams and spirituality among the tribes to courtship and marriage, Tanner’s narrative provides a distinctive and rare insight into the workings of Native American society. The original narrative was too extensive to be included in its entirety in this volume, covering as it does thirty years of captivity, and therefore has been edited with regards to its size. In particular, sections that relate to contexts beyond the scope of this volume, such as wars and conflicts between the Ojibway and Sioux, have largely been omitted, whereas sections that deal with a Shawnee prophet, Tanner’s original kidnapping, and his eventual return to Kentucky have all been included. Tanner’s narrative provides a significantly different perspective than those provided by the other documents included in this volume. It is the perspective not of a man like John Knight who quite definitely belonged on one side of the frontier, or even of a man like Daniel Boone who showed some abil-

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INTRODUCTION

ity to cross the boundary between settlers and Native Americans. Rather, Tanner’s perspective is that of an individual looking at the world from a broadly Native American point of view, if such a thing can be said to exist. For Tanner and his adopted tribe the important frontier was not necessarily the boundary between settlers and Native American tribes, but those border zones between the tribes themselves and the often transparent division between the spiritual and corporeal. To be sure, Tanner is an inherently difficult individual to categorize, but it is precisely this ambiguity of identity that gives his narrative its importance. The sources and narratives presented in this volume represent a window through which readers might observe the hyperviolent world of the frontier through the eyes of the individuals who helped to create it. Through The Adventures, much of the mythologized aspects of both the frontier and Daniel Boone can very easily be sidestepped, with perhaps the exception that Boone was able to write in detailed, poetic prose; even this, however, is a controversy picked up in one of the other sources presented here. The Adventures was how Boone was first introduced to the world and it is fitting that it is presented here so that readers can continue to be introduced to this man as he was first known. The other documents presented here introduce other pioneers and early settlers whose names have not entered the popular consciousness in anywhere near the same way that Boone’s has, but whose experiences and memories are just as important, if not more so, than those of their more famous contemporary. Through the documents presented here it is hoped that readers will gain something of an appreciation for primary source material and the value contained therein. Obviously the documents presented here offer only a glimpse of the sources available to historians and as such the perspective they offer is likewise only fleeting. Regardless, this fleeting glimpse is an invaluable insight into how early pioneers living in Kentucky and across the trans–Appalachian west perceived their lives and the wider world around them. It is not the purpose of this volume to provide a complete firsthand account of the frontier; such an undertaking would take many, many more volumes. But it is hoped that by glimpsing the world of the frontier through the eyes of the settlers who helped to build it readers will gain a new understanding of both what the early frontier was, and who the people living on it were.

PART I

Daniel Boone’s Narrative Daniel Boone One of eleven children, Daniel Boone was born in 1734 to Quaker parents in the Oley Valley in Pennsylvania. Raised on the Pennsylvania and later North Carolina frontiers, Boone was no stranger to hunting or life in the woodlands. Indeed, stories abound of Boone shunning traditional farming duties in his youth in favor of spending increasing amounts of time in the woodlands, hunting game. In 1755, while living in North Carolina, Boone experienced the reality of organized guerrilla warfare firsthand when he served as a teamster under General Braddock, whose army would go on to suffer a devastating defeat at the hands of skilled Native American woodland fighters; as a teamster, not a combat soldier, Boone was not directly involved in the fighting. In 1756, Daniel married Rebecca Bryan with whom he had his first child the following year. In total, the Boones would have ten children in the years between 1757 and 1781. In 1765 Daniel began his pioneering career when, along with his brother, Squire, and a number of other wilderness explorers he journeyed to Florida in search of lands suitable for settling. Unable to convince his growing family to make the journey to Florida, Boone instead turned his focus to other areas and, in 1769, he, his brother Squire, his brother-in-law, John Stewart, and several other pioneers set off to explore the desirable and largely vacant Kentucky country. By 1773, Boone was ready to attempt to settle this new land, but the party which he led was defeated en route by Native Americans who killed a number of aspiring settlers, including Boone’s eldest son, James. In 1775 led a successful settlement attempt into Kentucky when he founded the fort town of Boonesborough. Although he was successful in establishing a permanent base for himself and a number of other settlers Boone would, in the years that followed, be dogged by almost incessant frontier warfare that would eventually claim his second son, Israel, in 1782 and see the rest of his family exposed to significant levels of danger. In 1784, “The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon” was published as a part of John Filson’s The Discovery, Settlement, and Present State of Kentucke, propelling Boone’s fame, not to mention an erroneous spelling of his surname, beyond the realm of the frontier and onto the international stage. In the mid to late 1780s Boone’s surveying business suffered a series of significant setbacks and collapsed amid a flurry of lawsuits and the loss of Boone’s own property. By the end of the decade Boone moved his family from Kentucky to the western Virginia settle11

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PART I

ment of Point Pleasant where they continued to be dogged by frontier warfare. In 1795 Boone and his family returned to Kentucky but by 1799 they had once again departed, this time for the Spanish territory of Missouri where Boone had been invited by the governor. In spite of receiving significant land grants from the Spanish government, the U.S. government did not recognize Boone’s claims in Missouri following their acquisition of the territory and, as happened years earlier in Kentucky, Boone was made landless. In 1820, whilst living with his son, Nathan, Boone died with virtually no property to his name, but a strong and growing international reputation that was already beginning to spawn barely factual stories that would see Boone recast as an American folk hero.

John Filson Born around 1753, John Filson moved to Kentucky in the early 1780s having acquired a significant acreage of land in that country. Working as a school teacher, Filson continued to survey lands, an activity that would eventually result in the creation of his map of Kentucky, not to mention bringing Filson into contact with various early settlers whose experiences would form the basis of his principal work, The Discovery, Settlement, and Present State of Kentucke. Perhaps the most important individual contributor to Filson’s published work was Daniel Boone, whose narrative “The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon,” would provide the foundation for the frontiersman’s future fame. Kentucke was published in 1784 and was endorsed by early settlers Daniel Boone, Levi Todd and James Harrod. The Discovery, Settlement, and Present State of Kentucke, in particular “The Adventures of Daniel Boon,” stands as Filson’s most important achievement, launching, as it did, Daniel Boone onto the world stage. In 1788, Filson disappeared.

Chapter One

WESTWARD HO! THE KENTUCKY FRONTIER WAR, 1775–1795 (BY

THE

EDITOR)

“Come down Nipsico, the Great Spirit sent you here yesterday, to die with me today.” — Attributed to Shawnee Chief and peace broker Cornstalk, immediately before being killed by settlers

On the evening of December 22, 1769, as Daniel Boone and his brother-in-law, John Stewart, enjoyed the embers of a “pleasing ramble,” they were accosted by a group of Native Americans who, in short order, captured the two hunters and took possession of everything of value they had upon them. Boone and Stewart would spend a week in captivity before finally making their escape and beginning anew the hunt for skins and game. So it was that six years before permanent settlement began in the Kentucky country, the hunters had already lived something of an analogy of the coming two decades of bitter cultural warfare that would unfurl between settlers and the Native American groups vying for control of the valuable region. That said, neither Boone, Stewart, nor any of the attacking Native Americans were killed or injured in this incident, and perhaps, then, the analogy is not entirely complete. Aggressive interactions such as this initial clash of cultures are one thing, but the pattern of unrestrained violence that would grow to encompass Kentucky in the following decades would throw the relative tameness of this encounter into sharp relief. Indeed, some hint of the shape of future settler–Native American relations in the region was better realized some short time after this incident when Stewart, a man whom Boone subsequently described as his most respected brother,1 would go missing. Stewart’s body remained undiscovered for approximately six years and it was not until 1775, the year when regular settlement began in the country, that his remains would be found. It is morbidly appropriate, then, that one of the first discoveries made by Kentucky’s first generation of Euro-American settlers was the body of one of the explorers who had made that settlement possible. Perhaps now the analogy is complete. When Daniel Boone and his companions first began exploring the Kentucky country in 1769, they ventured into a region that, to them, appeared empty. No Native Americans had lived in the region for decades, although both the Shawnee and Cherokee 13

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claimed the region as a hunting ground and parties from both of these tribes could often be found in the country, hunting the large stocks of game that roamed through the wilderness.2 Although Kentucky appeared empty to its early pioneers, the Shawnee and Cherokee felt, the rights to these lands rested exclusively with them, not the settlers who were only now beginning to trickle beyond the line of the Appalachian Mountains. To them, Boone and his party were an early vanguard of an unwelcome settler presence in a country which, until then, had been seen by only a handful of Euro-Americans. Within a few years this trickle of pioneers would grow to a flood and both settlers and Native Americans would come to be locked in an escalating state of warfare that would drag on for more than two decades. The Kentucky frontier war was beginning. Although erupting in tandem with the Revolutionary War, the frontier conflict that raged in Kentucky and across the trans–Appalachian west developed and concluded at its own pace, very often independent of the larger conflict that gripped the thirteen colonies. When John Filson published “The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon” in 1784, he openly declared that the frontier war was at a close. It is with no small degree of irony, then, that Filson met his end some four years later, a victim of the very same conflict. There is some evidence that the frontier war slowed as the Revolution came to an end but such a situation was limited and temporary and, in short order, the frontier war resumed with all of its prior ferocity. If the publication of Filson’s work was an end, it was an end only of the beginning. In the years after Filson’s volume was published, the location of the frontier in Kentucky shifted as a secure interior developed from previously vulnerable zones. For the settlers who moved into Kentucky during the period of Boone’s narrative, however, no area in the country could be considered definitively safe and as such all of Kentucky during this period suffered due to the frontier war. During the first stage of the conflict, circa 1775–1783, many of those living in the country had firsthand experience of the war. Of those who didn’t, virtually all knew someone who had encountered a Native American and been killed, injured, suffered a close call, or had lost family members to these encounters. When we talk about the Kentucky frontier in its first stage we are talking about the country in its entirety, as it was only after 1783 that frontier zones, that is to say areas still vulnerable to significant Native American military maneuvers, could be identified and contrasted with a largely safe interior. As safe as certain areas may have been in the years following 1783, those regions of the country that still made up the frontier, particularly around the Ohio River, were as deadly and dangerous as the entire country had been up to that point. For settlers living on the frontier, be it in the first or second stage of the frontier war, no place was safe, and everywhere families grouped together for mutual protection and support, fighting as much for survival as they were striving for prosperity. Over time the frontier in Kentucky may have shifted, but until the signing of the Treaty of Greenville in 1795 it remained a particularly dangerous place to live with the war that defined it making a mockery of the distinctions between civilian and military; for the pioneers who came to settle the frontier, or later the frontier region, it was simply not possible to be simply settlers or civilians. They were soldiers of settlement, and for their Native American adversaries the case was very much the same.

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15

For tribes like the Shawnee, the stream of settlers that was pouring over the Appalachian Mountains represented an invasion of one of their most important hunting grounds. The Appalachians, through a combination of geography and politics, had until recently provided a boundary between Anglo-American settlement and Native Americans living in the Ohio Valley and beyond.3 But now, as Euro-Americans, along with their slaves, were beginning to appear and settle regions where no previous settlements had existed, Native Americans were left with no choice but to push back against this growing tide of human traffic. The result was an escalating pattern of violence that grew to encompass the entire country as, first, Native Americans tried to expel these invaders and, later, the settlers fought back against what they perceived as an aggressive, intrusive force. Both sides fought indiscriminately, recognizing no significant or universal difference between military and civilian, and as the conflict escalated both settlers and Native Americans, each essentially different sides of the same coin, began to suffer massive losses. Although the first stage of the Kentucky frontier war took place during the American Revolution, with the British supplying their Native American allies, particularly from 1778 onwards, the frontier war of this period would go on to outlast the Revolutionary conflict by more than a decade. There were certainly Patriots and Loyalists in this region, and those who spoke with revolutionary sentiment, but the priority beyond the Appalachians, whether settler or Native American, Patriot or Loyalist, was survival, not politics. As early pioneer William Clinkenbeard remembered, “Eight of us had been ordered from Strode’s Station [settlement] to Boone’s Station to guard the (Tories, [I] dare not call them Tories).... They were afraid, and we were as afraid as they.”4 The first stage of the frontier war, then, did not comfortably conform to bipartisan politics or world views, and frequently settlers, regardless of how they perceived the unfurling Revolution, stood together against the dangers the frontier war produced, albeit reluctantly at times. The frontier conflict was the concern of thousands of ordinary men and women, White, Black, and Native American, all fighting for survival in a world that had descended into chaos and bloodshed. Unlike some other superficially comparable frontiers, the Kentucky frontier was exposed to consistent, prolonged periods of violence that must be measured in decades, not weeks or months. In this region, settlers were isolated from the east and exposed to attacks for over two decades from every direction. The result was a relentless cultural war that developed between the settlers and those who sought to defend their ancestral home that was both prolonged and brutal. The direct origins of the Kentucky frontier war date to the time when the first permanent Anglo-American settlements were established in that country. Aggressive and hostile interactions had occurred prior to this between early pioneers, such as Daniel Boone and John Stewart and Shawnee and Cherokee hunters, but these incidents had been largely prophetic of coming events rather than a direct cause of them. It was the permanency of the settlements established in 1774 and 1775 (Harrodsburgh and Boonesborough respectively) that escalated tensions between settlers in the region and the tribes whose lands they were now physically possessing. To compound matters, both the settlers now residing in the region and the Native Americans who traditionally controlled the country both appeared to have legitimate claims to the territory. When

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Daniel Boone led his expedition into the country in 1775 to found Boonesborough he did so following the signing of both the Treaty of Camp Charlotte, which appeared to cede the Shawnee rights in the region, and Richard Henderson’s purchase of the Cherokee interests in the country.5 The trouble was that, for the most part, the Shawnee did not recognize the right of one of their chiefs, Cornstalk, to surrender their rights in Kentucky and the British, and later the Continental Congress and much of the Cherokee tribe, all refused to recognize Richard Henderson’s apparent ownership of the country.6 In short, these agreements were not worth the paper they were written on and when Boone marched into Kentucky in 1775 he entered a region that both his party, subsequent groups of settlers, and neighboring Native tribes would all claim to control. It was little wonder that within a short period of time settlers and Native American groups would be locked into a chain of hostilities that would remain virtually unbroken until 1795. Kentucky, upon its initial settlement, was more than just contested ground. The Appalachian Mountains were a significant barrier that separated the American interior from its eastern seaboard. For those settlers who crossed this line, they were entering a country that was, to all intents and purposes, isolated from the societies from which they had come. But this isolation was not universal and where the settlers entering Kentucky were cut off from easy access to the thirteen rebelling colonies, they were exposed at all angles to the Native American tribes who occupied the region. In addition to the Shawnee and Cherokee, the Wyandots, Mingo, Pickaway, and representatives of other various tribes were all within striking distance of the new, burgeoning settlements. The settlement of the Kentucky country represented to many of these Native Americans an invasion of their territory, and thus the settlers found themselves simultaneously exposed to attack and isolated from aid. When attacks did come, or battles were fought, they were both ferocious and deadly. It has been argued by historian John Mack Faragher, for instance, that the death rate in Kentucky was seven times higher than in the thirteen rebelling colonies throughout the course of the Revolution.7 This was not just a war, then, but a cataclysm of human experience. Even before he successfully settled Kentucky, Boone would lose a son in an unsuccessful settlement attempt in 1773 to Native American attackers. Throughout his time in the country, Boone and the other settlers would be exposed to a steady stream of loss and heartbreak. By the time Boone sat down with his collaborators to tell the story that would be published in 1784, he was no stranger to loss or warfare. A veteran of a frontier war that showed no real signs of stopping, Boone told a story like that of many settlers in the region. John Filson may have had in mind when he published his volume the idea of attracting more settlers to the region in order to increase the value of his land,8 but what he published instead gives historians an insight into both the mind and character of Boone, and the chaotic world in which both settlers and Native Americans lived. The settlement of Kentucky may have begun in the mid–1770s but in order to understand how this country could descend so absolutely into such a brutal cultural war it is necessary to look back to 1763 and the end of the international conflict known as the Seven Years War. The Seven Years War was an international conflict that took place between the

One. Westward Ho! The Kentucky Frontier War, 1775–1795

17

years 1756 and 1763,9 with a large proportion of the combat taking place within the North American theater as the British and French, each utilizing their Native American allies, attempted to gain control of the Ohio Valley from 1754. With the defeat of the French the conflict drew to a close in 1763, but the extensive use of Native American forces throughout the war, particularly against frontier territories, created a lasting legacy that would, for decades yet to come, affect how settlers perceived Native Americans.10 This war, and the two years of conflict that preceded it in North America, has been described by historian David Curtis Skaggs as the start of a much larger American conflict which he describes as the “Sixty Years War.” Whether or not the period 1754–1814 truly represents a sixty-year period of war is a subject that is open to debate, but the important point being made here is that the Seven Years War marked a turning point, or at least a new stage, in settler–Native American relations.11 During this conflict, battles fought on the frontier took on a new character, and new, more effective tactics were developed for woodland and wilderness combat. Put simply, when war is the subject of discussion, “more effective” tends to mean “more violent or deadly,” and among the new tools employed in the wilderness during this war, the deliberate use of psychological warfare to complement existing guerrilla tactics was one of the most significant.12 Such tactics were effectively employed by Native American forces against British troops during the conflict, but they had another, unforeseen, effect; their use, at least in part, soured how ordinary settlers would perceive Native Americans in the coming years and decades. Following the war settlers would fully come to expect atrocities to be committed against their person by Native Americans, and where previously these groups had been treated with some degree of cautious curiosity, they were now treated with open hostility and trepidation. By the 1770s little would be required to turn this general fear and animosity into a more general state of brutal bloodletting. The year 1763 was also the year that the Appalachian Mountain Range became the official limit of British-American settlement in North America.13 This limit, known as the Proclamation Line after the Royal Proclamation that put it into effect, stretched down the spine of the Appalachian Mountains and was the theoretical limit of BritishAmerican settlement on the American continent. Beyond this line settlers were not only denied protection but they faced the constant, albeit largely theoretical, risk of being ejected from the region by the small number of British soldiers garrisoned in the west.14 More than simply being a geographic obstacle to settling the trans–Appalachian west, the Appalachian Mountains now represented a political hurdle. In theory, at least, the British government was now protecting Native American lands from illegal settlement. When, in 1769, Daniel Boone and his companions appeared in the Kentucky country, then, one can imagine the chagrin of the Native Americans who discovered them. It was they and their lands, after all, that the Proclamation Line was designed to protect. But for all of the theoretical protection this line of settlement offered, in practical terms it could do very little to keep aspiring settlers or hunters out of the region. And as the Native Americans who found and captured Daniel Boone and John Stewart discovered, the practical enforcement of this line would, to all intents and purposes, fall to them. For settlers the Seven Years War marked a turning point in how they perceived

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PART I—DANIEL BOONE’S NARRATIVE

Figure 3 — The Appalachian Mountains and some of the earliest settlements in Kentucky: Harrodsburgh, Logan’s Fort, McClelland’s Station, and Boonesborough (map by the editor).

Native Americans and by 1769, with the first vanguard of settlement already penetrating into the Kentucky country, tension between these two groups could only escalate. As the 1770s dawned a confrontation between two forces, each one looking upon the other with growing animosity, seemed unavoidable. Boone had himself been a teamster for the British army during what was probably the most devastating defeat they suffered during the Seven Years War in North America, under one General Braddock.15 The battle, which cost the British dearly in men, resources, and morale, was a complete disaster and would for years after be lamented and remarked upon by settlers. When Boone and Stewart were accosted in 1769, just six years after the war had concluded, the fact that Daniel did not attempt to seek any revenge or retribution speaks much of his often noted “pleasant countenance.” But where Boone showed remarkable and characteristic restraint, many others who would find themselves in similar positions in the years that followed would set an entirely different precedent. Indeed, John Stewart’s subsequent disappearance and death boded ill for the future potential of animosity and tension in this region to spiral out of control. As already noted, attempts were made by British authorities and private enterprises to legally acquire or purchase the Kentucky country from the Shawnee and Cherokee respectively in the 1770s, but such agreements were rarely recognized by most members of a given tribe.16 The Shawnee, for their part, were largely split by how they intended to respond to growing settlement in the west with one faction, led by Cornstalk, promoting peace and accommodation and another, led by chiefs such as Blackfish, which demanded military resistance.17 Prior to the signing of the Treaty of Camp Char-

One. Westward Ho! The Kentucky Frontier War, 1775–1795

19

lotte, the infamous agreement that apparently ceded the Shawnee’s hunting rights in Kentucky and helped polarize differing factions within the tribe, resistance to any pioneer or settler presence within Kentucky was marked and hostile, although not excessively violent. When Boone and his fellow explorers appeared in Kentucky in 1769, had their accumulated hides were taken and they became prisoners, but none suffered any undue harm. Although this first clash was relatively tame by comparison to later Native American–settler collisions, it was hardly welcoming and set a somber tone for future encounters between aspiring settlers and tribal groups. Boone’s initial explorations of Kentucky symbolized the first real incursion of Anglo-Americans into the region and, from the outset, the Native American hunters they encountered took to expelling these unwanted explorers, usually without any of the skins, hides, or other resources they had accumulated. Indeed, an early explorer of Kentucky could count himself lucky if he left the region with more than he had initially entered. The Shawnee in particular during this early period proved a significant obstacle to pioneer exploration and settlement attempts in the region. The so-called purchase of Kentucky from the Cherokee by Richard Henderson in 1775 left the Shawnee temporarily one of the main adversaries to settlement in the region, and these early years and encounters are marked by a relatively distinct set of conflicts between the settlers and this tribe. Without a permanent foothold in the territory and no support system to speak of, early explorers were at a decided disadvantage to the experienced Native American hunters they encountered. The fact that these early explorers were not quickly eradicated speaks volumes as to the potential tolerance shown by the Shawnee and their allies towards pioneers, in spite of the growing hostilities that marred the entire trans–Appalachian West at the time. By 1773, Boone, in spite of these escalating tensions, was ready to make his first attempt at establishing a permanent settlement in the Kentucky country. This expedition, however, would end in failure and tragedy when it was attacked and defeated by Native American forces. This attack marked a growing trend towards outright violence being directed at settlers discovered in the country, rather than previous practices which involved intimidation and the confiscation of goods and resources. In spite of this growing hotbed of hostilities, conflict between the two groups had remained both cautionary and limited until the establishment of permanent settlements in the region which, with their permanent settler populations, triggered a spiraling chain of violent encounters. Founded in 1775, Boonesborough represented a significant step forward in establishing a permanent settler presence in the Kentucky country, and, because of this, it also signified a significant step forward in turning the undercurrent of hostilities between settlers and Native Americans into a full-blown cultural war. Throughout its construction and early years, Boonesborough and other early settlements such as Harrodsburgh and Logan’s Fort were dogged by attacks, injuries, and death which, by 1777, resulted in a significant settler exodus from the country. The year 1777 represented a nadir in the settlement of Kentucky as consistent assaults by the Shawnee and their allies drove out settlers leaving, at its lowest ebb, as few as two hundred persons spread across just three settlements in the whole country. But it was the murder of Shawnee chief and peace broker Cornstalk in late 1777 by enraged settlers

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PART I—DANIEL BOONE’S NARRATIVE

in western Virginia that escalated the situation in the country to one of open and unrestrained hostilities18 upon which tensions, assumptions, and stereotypes formed during and since the Seven Years War could be played out to their fullest. Cornstalk was not killed in Kentucky, but in Point Pleasant, located east along the Ohio River on the western Virginia frontier during a peace negotiation with British officials. Cornstalk had, in 1774, surrendered the Shawnee rights in the Kentucky country to the British at the Treaty of Camp Charlotte, however, this treaty was largely unpopular among the Shawnee and served as the basis of a split among Cornstalk’s fellow tribespersons. Whereas Cornstalk represented accommodation with the British and their settlers, another chief, Blackfish, had come to represent confrontation and aggression. During the early years of Kentucky’s settlement it was Blackfish’s followers who would typically attack and disrupt early settlements, including attacking and killing isolated hunters and persons found without the protection of their settlement’s stockade. One of the most famous incidents from this period was the kidnapping of one of

Figure 4 — Point Pleasant, where the Shawnee chief Cornstalk was murdered, was located east along the Ohio River from Kentucky. Following the murder, the Shawnee launched a series of devastating assaults upon Kentucky. McClelland’s Station, shown here, was abandoned in the same year as Cornstalk’s murder as part of a much larger exodus of settlers from the country following a year of Native American attacks (map by the editor).

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21

Daniel Boone’s, and two of Colonel Richard Calloway’s, daughters from the vicinity of Boonesborough while the girls “were [out] pleasuring in the water.”19 Such incidents and attacks grew in frequency the longer permanent settlements existed in the country but it was the murder of Cornstalk that was the turning point from which frontier stability and peace would not recover. Pioneer John Craig was told this story of the incident by his father who had lived at Point Pleasant at the time of Cornstalk’s murder: Cornstalk was marking down on the floor, for the officers, a map of the Ohio country; when suddenly a halloo was heard from the other side of the river. C[ornstalk] stopped, and wo’dn’t mark anymore, saying that’s my son Nipsico. He was sent for and bro’t over. Word was then also gotten, that some man had been killed over the other side of the river. That night the Indians were all shut up together in the guard-house. On the next day, C[ornstalk] said for them to keep his son, and all the other chiefs, and let him only go, and he wo’d bring them the man that had killed the white man. They wo’d not; but set to work to killing them there. Nipsico jumped on the rafters, and began to tear away the shingles, in order to make his escape. Cornstalk, it is said, called out to his son, [“]Come down Nipsico, the Great Spirit sent you here yesterday, to die with me today.” N[ipsico] came down, & sat by his father, to await with him the common fate.”20

This is an example of the type of folklore settlers used to remember this infamous killing some decades after it occurred. The Shawnee did not produce documents at the time detailing how they remembered the incident, but the actions they took against settlers across the frontier conveyed the message nonetheless. Their first major retaliatory strike in Kentucky took place just as 1778 dawned, only a few weeks after Cornstalk’s death. The goal of the large Shawnee force that appeared deep in the Kentucky interior was simple; the destruction of Boonesborough and the capture of the town’s inhabitants, who were to be taken to their towns and adopted, or sold to the British at Detroit. This offensive expedition was unusual, not least because it took place in the winter when settlers could normally expect an increased degree of security. Obviously, the death of Cornstalk had sufficiently motivated the Shawnee to take military action when they were typically least inclined to do so. Before reaching the settlement, however, the Shawnee came across Daniel Boone in a place known as the Blue Licks and, in short order, they captured the entire twenty-six-man party which had accompanied him to harvest much-needed salt for the town. What happened next is a matter of some confusion and will come to light through Boone’s narrative and later essays, but the end result was that Boone and his fellow salt boilers were taken by the Shawnee who, happy with their large parcel of captives, returned to their towns. The Shawnee army tentatively planned to return to Boonesborough in order to finish their assault in the summer. Some months later, Boone’s escape from his captors and arrival back at Boonesborough, clad from head to toe in Shawnee garb, warning of the returning tribal army, probably best summarizes the precarious state of Kentucky’s burgeoning settlement process. Up to now the violence that had affected the frontier had not yet escalated to the point of all-out warfare, but by the time of Boone’s reappearance at the town that bore his name, all of the previous incidents and tensions that had marred settlement in that country were about to come to a chaotic head.

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PART I—DANIEL BOONE’S NARRATIVE

When the Shawnee reached Boonesborough, the townspeople could only look on as members of the surrounding army began “whooping and yelling about, with some shooting down beeves and others cutting down corn” in preparation for the coming siege.21 When the settlers and their attackers did communicate it was often an exercise in intimidation for the Shawnee. One message, sent by a Black go-between, informed the settlers that “Blackfish and some of the warriors wanted to see Boone’s squaws,” an allusion to Blackfish’s earlier threat that if the settlers did not surrender he would “put all the other prisoners to death, & reserve the young squaws for wives.”22 All things considered, perhaps the word “settlement” is not the most appropriate turn of phrase to describe the process of immigration, and the resulting cultural war, that took place within the Kentucky country. As John Demos argued when discussing the early immigration process to Virginia, “settlement” can be a misleading term, suggesting as it does the ability of pioneers to form a stable, settled society.23 Demos’ argument certainly has its merits and perhaps finds its most appropriate application in the settling of Kentucky, a process that would be dogged by two decades of intensive, ultra-violent cultural warfare between the new immigrants and the Native American groups who relied upon the region as a hunting ground. Ordered to “surrender the fort,” the town’s residents looked out upon a force that appeared “impossible to defend themselves against.”24 According to Daniel Boone in his narrative, the Shawnee army beyond the town’s stockade had an “appearance [that] proclaimed inevitable death”25 and, evidently, Boone was not alone in coming to this conclusion. As fighting broke out between the attacking forces and those defending the town at least one man was found “hiding under Mrs. Stephen Hancock’s bed.”26 When this unfortunate individual was dragged into the open courtyard in the center of town he protested that he was a “potter, not a fighter”27 and, as such, could not be expected to help in the defense of the settlement. Whatever this individual’s abilities as a fighter or soldier, his statement, wishes, and self-perception were at odds with both the siege unfolding around him and the world in which he now lived. He may have seen himself as a potter, may even have been recognized by the community as being a potter, but to the attacking forces outside of the town, and to historians looking back at this series of events, he was but one member of an invading force of settlers that was now beginning to pass beyond the line of the Appalachian Mountains. Settlers, as individuals, may not have been violent or particularly invasive, but because the movement west of the Appalachian Mountains represented an invasion to the Native American tribes who inhabited the region, collectively no distinction was, or could, be made between them. Likewise, when settlers gained an opportunity to deal a counterblow against Native Americans, they too often failed to discriminate between different members of society. To the detriment of Boonesborough’s potter, events such as the siege unfolding around him did not selectively involve martial members of society but instead drew the entirety of the local population into the fray, creating no distinct or easily discernable line between military and civilian. Indeed, when local populations were besieged or attacked outright, all members of these groups shared and took part in the ordeal. Soldiers, fighters, or simple potters — none were immune to the realities of settler–Native

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Figure 5 — A map of Boonesborough at the time of the last siege (map by the editor, based upon a sketch by Josiah Collins and Moses Boone, Draper Manuscripts, Wisconsin Historical Society).

American warfare and, when settlements were attacked each member of the community took part or was affected by these military events. As the siege wore on, casualties on both sides of Boonesborough’s stockade began to mount. Within the stockade the settler population enjoyed a relative degree of safety and defense, so long as the picketing was not breached by the surrounding army.28 Maintaining this level of defense, however, required almost constant vigilance on the part of the defenders for the duration of the siege, including the involvement of all adult members of the community, irrespective of gender or race. One of the first casualties suffered within the town during the siege was a slave who was killed as he fired into the surrounding army. Even as this happened women, dressed in men’s clothing to give the impression of greater numbers, ran bullets and powder to the beleaguered defenders.29 All of this collectively ensured that the surrounding army could not dig under, set fire to, or otherwise breach the town wall. In spite of the protection offered by the stockade, however, casualties were nonetheless taken within the town, each one a very real reminder to those within the walls that their lives and well-being, along with the lives and well-being of their family and the rest of town’s inhabitants, were precarious. David Brundin was one of only two men to receive a mortal wound within the fort, but his death was a slow and potent reminder to the town’s inhabitants of some of the worst potential outcomes of this siege. Brundin did not die quickly, and he did not die peacefully. “Shot in the forehead,”30 Brundin endured a slow death that was likely extenuated by the notoriously frugal use of gunpowder by Native American forces attacking from the Ohio.31 In some instances, ranged shots fired by Native American forces were so weak that by the time they reached their target the clothing worn by settlers was enough to protect them from serious

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injury. Such was the case during this siege when former captive Jemima Boone was hit by a stray shot that “drove the cloth into the fleshy part of her back.” Luckily for Jemima that particular shot was all but spent and “the clothe was not broken” by the impact. Brundin, on the other hand, was not so lucky as to be hit by a stray or spent ball. Instead, he spent the next three days suffering his way towards death “when apparently all his brains ran out of the wound” in his head. During his dying days Brundin, it was noted, “rocked his body, all the while his elbow on his knees in a sitting posture but never spoke a word. He sometimes wiped away the oozing out brains with his hand.”32 Ultimately, the siege was raised and the attacking Shawnee forces withdrew when they failed to breach the settlement’s robust stockade. Native American forces were not effective in outright assaults against fortified locations, and the way they conducted war was not compatible with prolonged sieges against individual settlements. During this siege of Boonesborough the settlers suffered six casualties compared to the dozens suffered by the attacking force and, ultimately, Boonesborough still stood and the majority of its inhabitants remained safe, if not unaffected, by the experience. The year 1778 may have been difficult for Kentucky’s struggling settlers, but ultimately it had proven something of a triumph; the settler exodus caused by the previous four years of growing warfare was reversed. By the end of 1779 the country’s settler population had recovered from its 1777 nadir of a little over two hundred to closer to three thousand persons.33 If 1777 was perhaps one of the most violent and destructive years in Kentucky’s short settler history, 1778, in spite of all its hardships, was the settlers’ vindication, if not their victory. The settlers may have won out the day during this third and final siege of Boonesborough but such events would continue to hound much of the rest of Kentucky’s frontier for years yet to come. On April 1, 1793, some fifteen years after this last direct siege on Boonesborough, and nine years after Boone’s narrative was first published, declaring peace in the troubled region, another fortified settlement, Morgan’s Station, would

Figure 6 — A reconstruction of Boonesborough. Note the high stockade wall which allowed settlers to defend themselves against major attacks very effectively (drawing by the editor).

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come under attack from a Cherokee raiding party. Like Boonesborough fifteen years previously, this fortified settlement was populated by a combination of men, women, and children; however, unlike Boonesborough, the “Indians found the gates open, and everything out of order and just rushed in.” Without the protection of a secured stockade the settlement offered little shelter for its inhabitants, who were quickly overrun by the attacking Cherokees, allowing just enough time for “One man ... with all his family and several others,” to escape the attack. 34 The balance of the fort’s population were killed, taken captive, or taken captive and then killed — or left for dead. George Trumbo was one of those who joined a company to help those victims of the raid but, upon reaching the station, Trumbo and the rest of his party had no choice but to conclude that they were simply “too late” to render any assistance to the victims of the assault.35 Other parties of settlers attempted to recover the captives taken during the raid, and though they were not too late to begin a pursuit, their actions indirectly caused the deaths of most of the remaining captives when the fleeing raiders began executing prisoners in order to facilitate their escape. The first to die in captivity was Mrs. McCraft, an “an elderly lady” who “co’dn’t travel over 7 or 8 miles. They killed her.” After traveling approximately 20 miles from the site of Morgan’s Station the “Indians finding they were pursued, killed all their prisoners but 3,” William Sudduth remembered of the pursuit. But not all of those left for dead actually perished. “2 ... had their skulls broken,” Sudduth continued, “and had been left for dead by the Indians.” These two victims had been “scalped and both had their skulls broken,” but remarkably, these wounds were not necessarily mortal, at least for one Miss McCraft who would go on to make a full recovery. The second captive recovered by the rescue party, Mrs. Craig, would not recover from her wounds and died back in the settlements.36 The year 1778 may have been a vindication of Anglo-American settlement in Kentucky but it was hardly a victory, as the events of April 1, 1793, demonstrate. Neither of the two events recounted here happened in isolation but were instead links in an almost unbroken chain of violence that stretched back to the first settlements in the country and lasted until the Treaty of Greenville. The siege of Boonesborough may have been motivated by the murder of the Shawnee chief and peace broker Cornstalk, but it was ultimately apart of the much larger struggle between Native Americans defending their ancestral home and settlers attempting to gain legal possession of lands upon which they could construct solid economic foundations for their social and kin networks. Various events, notably the American Revolution and post-revolutionary British support of Native American tribes, served to periodically inflame levels of violence, but the importance of such international politics lies mainly in identifying peaks and troughs in the levels of violence that affected this frontier. The violence that dominated the Kentucky frontier was certainly informed by international politics, but it was driven by the needs and wants of both common settlers and Native Americans. From the establishment of permanent settlements in Kentucky in 1774 and 1775, until the Battle of Fallen Timbers and subsequent Treaty of Greenville in 1794 and 1795, respectively, violence on the Kentucky frontier was endemic. Directly, it affected a huge proportion of the population, and indirectly it affected the frontier population in its

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entirety. As already noted, the mortality rate in Kentucky was significantly higher than in the thirteen rebelling colonies during the Revolution, but death rates can only shed so much light on how warfare affects society. It is worth remembering that for each person killed, many more suffered injuries, were taken into captivity, lost family members, or were affected in a multitude of other ways by the violence behind these killings. The potential reach of violent clashes was further compounded by the close-knit nature of the frontier fort, or station, that became the standard settlement type on the frontier.37 These stations offered mutual protection from outright attack but also ensured that the death, injury, or captivity of an individual became well known not only within the affected fort town but throughout all of the settlements in the neighboring region. The kin, social, and settlement networks that were established early on in this area ensured that victims of frontier violence, even if they were not known to a person directly, could easily be placed into a complicated social network that connected kin and settlement groups throughout the country. More problematic still, the personal relationships that formed in these frontier stations and the close nature of station life meant that it was much more likely that individuals were not only aware of attacks or clashes but often witnessed or partook in them directly. In 1777 only three inhabited Anglo-American settlements remained in Kentucky; Boonesborough, Logan’s Fort, and Harrodsburgh, the combined populations of which likely represent a total settler population of a little over two hundred persons. At this low point of settlement, with only these few pioneers remaining in the country, small attacks, raids, or incidents could have a significant impact upon the remaining settlers, and every death, injury or captive taken was a significant blow to these tiny, isolated communities. As 1777 drew to a close and settlers in Point Pleasant murdered the Shawnee chief Cornstalk, open warfare between the Shawnee, their allies, and the settlers in Kentucky exploded at the same time that fresh immigrants began to expand the country’s population. This ensured that the escalating frontier war expanded alongside the country’s growing population, maintaining the high mortality and casualty rates established in the first years of settlement. This growing warfare affected settlers in a variety of ways including the death of some, the injury and kidnapping of others, and the complicated impact the loss of fathers, husbands, mothers, and children had upon those left in the settlements. To be sure, the war as it escalated had a similar impact upon the Native American peoples who were attempting to regain control of their territory, and it is always crucial to remember that this war was a two-sided affair that deeply affected both of the societies who fought for a territory they both believed they had the right to control. For settlers, the impact of the frontier war was compounded by the complicated kin and social networks that linked individuals and families together in the country. These networks were formed by alliance, marriage, and familial bonds that linked isolated settlements together, but also reinforced the perception among settlers that the country was an isolated wilderness and, beyond the protection offered by settlement walls, no safety could be guaranteed to individuals who were in any case never necessarily safe from danger. This perspective was reinforced by the siege-like form many attacks took. Although

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Native American tactics were not typically effective in outright assaults or prolonged sieges, they were extremely effective in less formal siege settings, occupying woodland areas and disrupting settlement activities. In 1790 the inhabitants of Baker’s Station suffered a sleepless night and no small amount of apprehension when two hunters, returning to their settlement, were attacked. One, Isaac Baker, was able to reach the relative safety of the settlement, but the second, unable to reach the township in time, “was scalped, but not killed.” Throughout the night this unfortunate man “co’d be heard groaning from the out-side; but was never bro’t in till morning, by which time he was dead.” The station’s population did not retrieve the badly injured man as “their lives would have been exposed” and, though there was no further evidence that the attacking Native Americans had indeed sat in ambush, this was the assumption the station’s inhabitants had to make. Almost certainly there was at least some danger of further attacks, particularly if the station’s inhabitants had attempted to recover their fallen comrade, but fear, rather than caution, played a significant role in the settlers’ inaction. As Billy Keaton, a visitor to the station that night, demonstrated when he “crept under the bed,” the tactics employed by these attackers affected far more than the unfortunate man who suffered his way audibly towards death through the night. 38 This episode was not a direct attack upon the settlement, nor was it a prolonged siege, though it did take on some elements of the latter, but it did affect all those who dwelt within the settlement. Perhaps the most significant aspect of this incident was that this station was brought to a complete standstill not by an attacking army, but by just four Native Americans. Crucially, this incident typifies the type of warfare that dominated the Kentucky frontier until the conflict was finally drawn to a close. Warfare on the Kentucky frontier, then, was not an incidental matter. Significant proportions of the population were exposed, either as perpetrator, victim, or witness, to some significantly violent episodes. The nature of warfare, particularly woodland warfare, in the 18th century meant that deaths and injuries typically did not occur in isolation, and were rarely quick or painless. Men who were shot or tomahawked typically did not go down silently or without witness. When they cried out, often for hours at time as secondary injury or infection slowly killed them, it was those around them, be them women, children, or men taking part in armed conflict, who heard the screams or saw the blood. James Lane was one member of a party who struck out in pursuit of a group of Native American raiders who had stolen horses from his settlement. Following a day of pursuit, those who remained in the party (thirty out of approximately forty men had turned back) made a camp for the night. Lane, for warmth, lay with one of his fellow pursuers, Clifton, “under one blanket, spoon fashion,” when their party fell under attack from the same group whom they had been pursuing. Clifton was one of the first to be hit during the opening volley of this surprise attack, the shot breaking his “thigh as he lay.” Left with no other choice, Lane could only run from his injured companion when “2 Indians came running after [him], calling whoo! whoo!” Lane was able to escape the ambuscade, but even as he ran he “heard Clifton [cry out] when [he was] tomahawked.” Evidently, this event left an impression upon Lane’s mind as he would recall and recite it decades after it had occurred, but he was not the only indi-

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vidual who was haunted by Clifton’s death cry. Although often not present in the wilderness where much of the frontier war was played out, women and children could be drawn into the conflict by a number of different means, and the death of a husband was one particularly common way in which women were confronted by the realties and repercussions of this war. Although Clifton’s wife had not been present when her husband had been killed she was, nonetheless, a victim of the assault in her own right. The loss of her companion, not to mention the person upon which the family’s economic security was likely founded, was no small blow to this woman who would, according to Lane, “always burst out crying, whenever she saw me” thereafter.39 For settlers war was not simply an inconvenient truth or a notion that could be engaged with on an abstract level; it was an ever-present threat and reality that affected almost all aspects of life on the frontier. Prolonged warfare of the type that dominated Kentucky for two decades was a difficult system in which to live or raise a family, and the on-the-ground tactics employed by Native Americans involved in no small part the use of psychological warfare that had begun to be employed during the Seven Years War to complement existing guerrilla tactics. The use of psychological warfare was, at least in part, a consequence of the conditions in which settlers and Native Americans fought. Siege warfare or direct settlement assaults were not well suited to Native American approaches to war and, as such, the wilderness became one of the single most important and common theaters in which combat occurred. The wilderness and woodlands found in Kentucky allowed Native Americans to launch unexpected and devastating strikes against settlers while facilitating their disappearance shortly thereafter. To compound matters, this type of assault was not only frequent but occurred over an extended period of time, covering as it did the entire period of the conflict. The end result was a world in which settlers had to cope with the daily possibility that an attack, either against themselves or their family and friends, could come at any moment, from any direction, with little to no warning.40 This was a perception that Native Americans were keen to maintain. Intimidation was a significant tool employed by Native American forces in the war upon the settlers’ minds. Attacking settlements was a difficult and costly operation, but attacking isolated settler groups, particularly those moving through the wilderness, was far more likely to end in success for the raiders. Such attacks were widespread and occurred continuously throughout the period of the frontier war, coloring the everyday experiences that defined the settler’s lives. The seemingly constant nature of attacks meant the wilderness came to represent danger to many settlers who had to treat even short journeys through the woodlands and canebrakes with extreme caution. Thus, the dangers of the wilderness became the dangers of frontier war; attack, injury, death, captivity, or the loss of a companion to any of these factors were all potential outcomes for a trip taken through the woods. John Shelp gained the ire of Josiah Collins in 1778 for not understanding the danger Collins, and most other settlers, recognized as inherent to the wilderness. Collins and a small party of hunters were exercising a sensible level of caution when they continued traveling throughout the night so that they could reach the safety of the fort at Harrodsburgh in an effort to avoid being ambushed by one of the many

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raiding parties occupying the woodlands. When they discovered a campfire, and possibly a raiding party, “The party was stopped, and one scout [was dispatched] as a spy, who discovered [the campes] to be a white man.” The white man in question was John Shelp, whose insistence that “he wasn’t afraid” would for decades afterwards see him being remembered by Collins as “a fool of the Dutch fort.” It is often tempting to think of cowardice in very two-dimensional terms, particularly when frontiers and backcountries are considered, but the truth of such labels can be incredibly complicated with very thin lines separating acts of bravery from the acts of the foolhardy or cowardly. Shelp may have considered himself brave, stating boldly that he “Wo’dn’t die till his time came,” but to the rest of the hunting party he was anything but. As it transpired, Shelp’s time did indeed come in the wilderness, when he was killed while “out on [a] hunting tour.”41 Extensive and skilled wilderness warfare, then, was an end in its own right to achieving a balance of terror in the woodlands but it also facilitated, at different times throughout the war, more direct attacks upon the settlers and their resources. While direct assaults and sieges were impractical for Native Americans, a periodic near-constant presence in the wilderness around particular settlements facilitated the opportunity to engage in informal siege situations that made it difficult, and in some cases impossible, for settlers to gain access to much-needed resources, particularly game animals and salt. The siege of Boonesborough was not a success for the Shawnee army that executed this attack, gaining as it did very little at a very steep cost, but other, less formal sieges of that settlement had previously proven much more effective. When Josiah Collins arrived at the fort town he observed no formal siege in place, but the settlement was, nonetheless, “daily surrounded by the savage,” and food and other resources proved particularly scarce at this time. 42 Often, Native American raiders focused upon theft as an alternative to outright attacks upon the settlers themselves. The theft and destruction of resources, particularly horses, allowed Native Americans to attack and disrupt settlements while simultaneously transferring those valuable resources to themselves. But there was another side to horse theft that specifically targeted the settlers’ minds and confidence.43 When James Lane, along with a number of companions, settled Smith’s Station, the party was careful to make “as little sign as possible, in making our improvement.” Regardless, their presence did not go unnoticed and a group of Native Americans “took the bells off of some horses but not the horses themselves.”44 The message sent by the attackers that night was a clear one. They had seen the settlers and they had both the capacity and the opportunity to steal, or kill, the horses, or, for that matter, any other creature they encountered. It is doubtful anyone hid under a bed at this discovery but it was a warning to these settlers that was designed to remind them that death, injury, and captivity were all real possibilities if they remained where they were. These Native Americans apparently had no desire or need for these horses, but they did take the opportunity, through this demonstration, to send Lane and the other settlers a message. Incidentally, that demonstration and message still have a resonance and value today. The Kentucky frontier war, then, cannot simply be viewed in terms of overt phys-

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ical violence. It was an enduring struggle that dominated lives and frontier culture for decades, not merely weeks or months. Indeed, the extended period of time over which this frontier war took place is another defining feature of this conflict. The fact that Boone’s narrative was published a decade before the war drew to a close suggests how deeply ingrained violence had become in the region. From before the establishment of the first permanent settlements in the country, Native American resistance to EuroAmerican migration was pronounced, and, as settlement progressed, attacks and retaliatory actions increased in frequency and brutality, with civilians, women, and children on both sides of the conflict as likely to be targeted as were soldiers or armed men. For an extended period of time, two cultures clashed, each one targeting the civilian populations of the other. These tactics undermined the perceived everyday safety the settlers held for themselves, their family, kin, and social networks. This was also the case for many of the Native Americans who took part in this frontier war as retaliatory strikes against their towns began to take a significant toll upon their populations. In the climate of an out-of-control cultural war, atrocities on both sides could be mirrored by acts of unexpected compassion, or alliance, all of which were fueled by a strong sense of loyalty and emotion that could either buck or reinforce the overall trend of deep-rooted animosity that such wars create. Daniel Boone, during his time as a captive among the Shawnee, was no stranger to this phenomenon but, when a choice had to be made between either siding with the settlers or his captors, Boone invariably sided with his native social group. Others, however, did not, including one John Holly who had been kidnapped by Native Americans “4 or 5 years before” a settler army set out to attack the Ohio Native American towns. Instead of aiding his fellow settlers, Holly instead chose to warn their intended victims of the attacking force’s approach.45 Such incidents stand in vivid contrast to the usual acrimonious relationships the frontier war tended to create, while others fell into an uneasy compromise between affection and disdain. Andrew Johnson, who was taken along with Boone and the other salt boilers in early 1778, is one such case. It seems that Johnson, who was a “very small man,” was mistaken by his captors to be younger than his years, and, primarily because of his size, it was assumed “that he hadn’t [reached] his full growth.” As such, Johnson, or Peguolly as his adoptive Shawnee family knew him, very much acted into his fictitious role as an adolescent, and during his adoptive father’s absence, he fought with his Shawnee “brothers.” Because of this, “His [adoptive] father gave him a great reprimand for fighting ... in his absence, & threatened to sell him for his bad behaviour. That night was to be a great war dance, the warriors having returned home. His father, to punish him, told him to go to bed with the children — he sho’dn’t go to the dance. Peguolly went to his bed as ordered, but some time after, rose and went out to the dance. His father told him to take a dance, go home and not come back.” Peguolly, it appears, took this instruction from his Shawnee father to heart and in a particularly adolescent way carried out the instruction literally, choosing that moment to take “his father[’]s gun, tomahawk, knife, powder and lead, blanket coat, & c, & escaped.” In complete contrast to John Holly, who forewarned his former captives of an upcoming attack, Andrew Johnson, after spending just two weeks back in the set-

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tlements, “took 4 men with him” and launched one of the first settler raids north of the Ohio River. Whatever Johnson’s feelings towards his adopted parents, his Shawnee father, who “very much regretted that he had given the reprimand,” appeared to have cared a great deal for his lost adoptive son. Following Johnson/Peguolly’s escape the Shawnee “hunted 3 days for his track without success & grieved therefore very much saying Peguolly poor little fool, co’dn’t shoot and didn’t know the way to Kentuck[y], and [now] he wo’d die in the woods.” Incidentally, Peguolly meant “Little Shut His Eyes.”46 Such episodes help to illustrate the wide spectrum of emotion, loyalty and friendship that intersected on this frontier, but episodes in which settlers sided, even for a time, with Native Americans were rare and typically the exception. More often, when emotions dominated actions, they typically did so because of prior violent clashes and a need for revenge. Hugh McGary was one settler who, it appears, often allowed his emotions to dominate and guide his actions, particularly when he was fueled by anger, something “the Shawnee King, an old man by the name of Molontha” discovered when he was captured by McGary and “instantly knocked in the head” and killed. On the same expedition, in an episode somewhat reminiscent of Cornstalk’s murder, “A young warrior was taken & put under guard, & murdered by some of McGary’s party, the next evening.”47 Such bloodletting was sadly not an uncommon feature of the frontier war and both sides, caught in a self-perpetuating mechanism of conflict and aggression, became victims of an escalating and increasing world of violence and warfare. The Kentucky frontier war waged for approximately twenty years, beginning with the settlement of Boonesborough in 1775 and ending with the treaty of Greenville in 1795. Throughout these two decades, the Kentucky frontier became a battleground between two cultures, each of whom claimed to control the region and each of whom fought bitterly to enforce that control. As important as 1775 is as the year that the war began in the Kentucky country, it is important to remember that tension and animosity between settlers and Native Americans in the Ohio Valley had had its seeds planted years earlier during the Seven Years War and that the Kentucky frontier war was the culmination of a number of factors including settler migration beyond the Appalachian Mountains, the Revolutionary War, and the existing state of tension and prejudice that had festered since 1763. Over time, the frontier in Kentucky began to shift and the interior of the country became much more stable and settled, very often free from Native American attacks. But even as the frontier shifted, creating safe zones, the frontier regions remained as dangerous as ever. When Daniel Boone, along with his collaborators, wrote his narrative he described the world of the Kentucky frontier as it changed from a region that was completely uninhabited by settlers into one that was beginning to take on the guise of a settled country. But even as the Kentucky interior became secure, its frontier would remain dominated by a cultural war for over a decade yet to come. When his narrative was published in 1784, the frontier continued to sit upon a knife edge as settlers and Native Americans continued to struggle for control of the country. Combat throughout the frontier war was intense and brutal, mixing field, guerrilla, and psychological warfare tactics to great effect. Raids into Kentucky were unpre-

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dictable and, along with the tactics employed, created among the settlers the impression and perception that danger was ever present around them. As the war progressed, the settlers, who were themselves the invaders, began to strike back by directly attacking Native American settlements north of the Ohio River. As the war continued to rage over the years, more and more settlers and Native Americans were exposed to combat, killed or injured in battle, taken into captivity, or lost family members or dear friends. The frontier war was a double-edged sword that both sides grasped tightly, each seeing the necessity and virtue of their cause. The end result, for both parties, however, was significant losses among the individuals who took part, willingly and unwillingly, in the contest for Kentucky. Throughout the war heavy casualties mounted on both sides, and on the frontier and in the Native American towns society as a whole was affected by the loss of life and injuries that were sustained during the course of combat. But just as the war created and reinforced deep divisions between the settlers and Native Americans, it also created unlikely bonds of friendship and alliance. John Holly is perhaps one of the most extreme examples of an individual who chose to side with Native American tribes, but others, particularly some of those who had spent some significant time in captivity, could also form close relationships with the people their society was fighting so bitterly to defeat. Daniel Boone was never the Indian killer he has sometimes been made out to be, but even he could not avoid the realities of the frontier war that raged throughout the last quarter of the century. In spite of the loss of two sons, a brother, and a brotherin-law, however, Boone still made a point of visiting the relatives of his former captors when he and his family moved out to Missouri.48 In spite of all that had transpired and the heavy toll the frontier war had taken upon Boone and his family, he continued to make a point of maintaining ties with the tribe who had captured him and the family that adopted him all those years before. What makes Boone stand out is not the fact that he was the renowned Indian killer of legend but that he actively bucked the trend of many of his contemporaries. Daniel Boone visiting his former Shawnee family after the frontier war had ended is a happy coda to this conflict, but not a particularly accurate one. Instead, the frontier war that dominated Kentucky helped to shatter settler perceptions of Native Americans and compound ideas of savagery, separating the two cultures absolutely, and massively undermining autonomous Native American life in the Ohio Valley.

Chapter Two

THE ADVENTURES OF COLONEL DANIEL BOON Curiosity is natural to the soul of man, and interesting objects have a powerful influence on our affections. Let these influencing powers actuate, by the permission or disposal of Providence, from selfish or social views, yet in time the mysterious will of Heaven is unfolded, and we behold our conduct, from whatsoever motives excited, operating to answer the important designs of heaven. Thus we behold Kentucke, lately an howling wilderness, the habitation of savages and wild beasts, become a fruitful field; this region, so favourably distinguished by nature, now become the habitation of civilization, at a period unparalleled in history, in the midst of a raging war, and under all the disadvantages of emigration to a country so remote from the inhabited parts of the continent. Here, where the hand of violence shed the blood of the innocent; where the horrid yells of savages,1 and the groans of the distressed, sounded in our ears, we now hear the praises and adoration of our Creator; where wretched wigwams stood, the miserable abodes of savages, we behold the foundations of cities laid, that, in all probability, will rival the glory of the greatest upon earth. And we view Kentucke situated on the fertile banks of the great Ohio, rising from obscurity to shine with splendor, equal to any other of the stars of the American hemisphere. The settling of this region well deserves a place in history. Most of the memorable events I have myself been exercised in; and, for the satisfaction of the public, will briefly relate the circumstances of my adventures, and scenes of life, from my first movement to this country until this day. It was on the first of May, in the year 1769, that I resigned my domestic happiness for a time, and left my family and peaceable habitation on the Yadkin River, in North-Carolina, to wander through the wilderness of America, in quest of the country of Kentucke, in company with John Finley, John Stewart, Joseph Holden, James Monay, and William Cool. We proceeded successfully, and after a long and fatiguing journey through a mountainous wilderness, in a westward direction, on the seventh day of June following, we found ourselves on Red-River, where John Finley had formerly been trading with the Indians, and, from the top of an eminence, saw with pleasure the beautiful level of Kentucke. Here let me observe, that for some time we had experienced the most uncomfortable weather as a prelibation of our future sufferings. 33

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At this place we encamped, and made a shelter to defend us from the inclement season, and began to hunt and reconnoitre the country. We found every where abundance of wild beasts of all sorts, through this vast forest. The buffaloes were more frequent than I have seen cattle in the settlements, browzing on the leaves of the cane, or croping the herbage on those extensive plains, fearless, because ignorant, of the violence of man. Sometimes we saw hundreds in a drove, and the numbers about the salt springs were amazing. In this forest, the habitation of beasts of every kind natural to America, we practised hunting with great success until the twenty-second day of December following. This day John Stewart and I had a pleasing ramble, but fortune changed the scene in the close of it. We had passed through a great forest on which stood myriads of trees, some gay with blossoms, others rich with fruits. Nature was here a series of wonders, and a fund of delight. Here she displayed her ingenuity and industry in a variety of flowers and fruits, beautifully coloured, elegantly shaped, and charmingly flavoured; and we were diverted with innumerable animals presenting themselves perpetually to our view. In the decline of the day, near Kentucke river, as we ascended the brow of a small hill, a number of Indians rushed out of a thick cane-brake upon us, and made us prisoners. The time of our sorrow was now arrived, and the scene fully opened. The Indians plundered us of what we had, and kept us in confinement seven days, treating us with common savage usage. During this time we discovered no uneasiness or desire to escape, which made them less suspicious of us; but in the dead of night, as we lay in a thick cane-brake by a large fire, when sleep had locked up their senses, my situation not disposing me for rest, I touched my companion and gently awoke him. We improved this favourable opportunity, and departed, leaving them to take their rest, and speedily directed our course towards our old camp, but found it plundered, and the company dispersed and gone home. About this time my brother, Squire Boon,2 with another adventurer, who came to explore the country shortly after us, was wandering through the forest, determined to find me, if possible, and accidentally found our camp. Notwithstanding the unfortunate circumstances of our company, and our dangerous situation, as surrounded with hostile savages, our meeting so fortunately in the wilderness made us reciprocally sensible of the utmost satisfaction. So much does friendship triumph over misfortune, that sorrows and sufferings vanish at the meeting not only of real friends, but of the most distant acquaintances, and substitutes happiness in their room. Soon after this, my companion in captivity, John Stewart, was killed by the savages, and the man that came with my brother returned home by himself.3 We were then in a dangerous, helpless situation, exposed daily to perils and death amongst savages and wild beasts, not a white man in the country but ourselves. Thus situated, many hundred miles from our families in the howling wilderness, I believe few would have equally enjoyed the happiness we experienced. I often observed to my brother, You see now how little nature requires to be satisfied. Felicity, the companion of content, is rather found in our own breasts than in the enjoyment of external things; And I firmly believe it requires but a little philosophy to make a man happy

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in whatsoever state he is. This consists in a full resignation to the will of Providence; and a resigned soul finds pleasure in a path strewed with briars and thorns. We continued not in a state of indolence, but hunted every day, and prepared a little cottage to defend us from the Winter storms. We remained there undisturbed during the Winter; and on the first day of May, 1770, my brother returned home to the settlement by himself, for a new recruit of horses and ammunition, leaving me by myself, without bread, salt or sugar, without company of my fellow creatures, or even a horse or dog. I confess I never before was under greater necessity of exercising philosophy and fortitude. A few days I passed uncomfortably. The idea of a beloved wife and family, and their anxiety upon the account of my absence and exposed situation, made sensible impressions on my heart. A thousand dreadful apprehensions presented themselves to my view, and had undoubtedly disposed me to melancholy, if further indulged. One day I undertook a tour through the country, and the diversity and beauties of nature I met with in this charming season, expelled every gloomy and vexatious thought. Just at the close of day the gentle gales retired, and left the place to the disposal of a profound calm. Not a breeze shook the most tremulous leaf. I had gained the summit of a commanding ridge, and, looking round with astonishing delight, beheld the ample plains, the beauteous tracts below. On the other hand, I surveyed the famous river Ohio that rolled in silent dignity, marking the western boundary of Kentucke with inconceivable grandeur. At a vast distance I beheld the mountains lift their venerable brows, and penetrate the clouds. All things were still. I kindled a fire near a fountain of sweet water, and feasted on the loin of a buck, which a few hours before I had killed. The sullen shades of night soon overspread the whole hemisphere, and the earth seemed to gasp after the hovering moisture. My roving excursion this day had fatigued my body, and diverted my imagination. I laid me down to sleep, and I awoke not until the sun had chased away the night. I continued this tour, and in a few days explored a considerable part of the country, each day equally pleased as the first. I returned again to my old camp, which was not disturbed in my absence. I did not confine my lodging to it, but often reposed in thick cane-brakes, to avoid the savages, who, I believe, often visited my camp, but fortunately for me, in my absence. In this situation I was constantly exposed to danger, and death. How unhappy such a situation for a man tormented with fear, which is vain if no danger comes, and if it does, only augments the pain. It was my happiness to be destitute of this afflicting passion, with which I had the greatest reason to be affected. The prowling wolves diverted my nocturnal hours with perpetual howlings; and the various species of animals in this vast forest, in the daytime, were continually in my view. Thus I was surrounded with plenty in the midst of want. I was happy in the midst of dangers and inconveniences. In such a diversity it was impossible I should be disposed to melancholy. No populous city, with all the varieties of commerce and stately structures, could afford so much pleasure to my mind, as the beauties of nature I found here. Thus, through an uninterrupted scene of sylvan pleasures, I spent the time until the 27th day of July following, when my brother, to my great felicity, met me, according

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to appointment, at our old camp. Shortly after, we left this place, not thinking it safe to stay there longer, and proceeded to Cumberland river, reconnoitring that part of the country until March, 1771, and giving names to the different waters. Soon after, I returned home to my family with a determination to bring them as soon as possible to live in Kentucke, which I esteemed a second paradise, at the risk of my life and fortune. I returned safe to my old habitation, and found my family in happy circumstances. I sold my farm on the Yadkin, and what goods we could not carry with us; and on the twenty-fifth day of September, 1773, bade a farewel to our friends, and proceeded on our journey to Kentucke, in company with five families more, and forty men that joined us in Powel’s Valley, which is one hundred and fifty miles from the now settled parts of Kentucke. This promising beginning was soon overcast with a cloud of adversity; for upon the tenth day of October, the rear of our company was attacked by a number of Indians, who killed six, and wounded one man. Of these my eldest son was one that fell in the action.4 Though we defended ourselves, and repulsed the enemy, yet this unhappy affair scattered our cattle, brought us into extreme difficulty, and so discouraged the whole company, that we retreated forty miles, to the settlement on Clench river. We had passed over two mountains, viz. Powel’s and Walden’s, and were approaching Cumberland mountain when this adverse fortune overtook us. These mountains are in the wilderness, as we pass from the old settlements in Virginia to Kentucke, are ranged in a S. west and N. east direction, are of a great length and breadth, and not far distant from each other. Over these, nature hath formed passes, that are less difficult than might be expected from a view of such huge piles. The aspect of these cliffs is so wild and horrid, that it is impossible to behold them without terror. The spectator is apt to imagine that nature had formerly suffered some violent convulsion; and that these are the dismembered remains of the dreadful shock; the ruins, not of Persepolis or Palmyra, but of the world! I remained with my family on Clench until the sixth of June, 1774, when I and one Michael Stoner were solicited by Governor Dunmore, of Virginia, to go to the Falls of the Ohio, to conduct into the settlement a number of surveyors that had been sent thither by him some months before; this country having about this time drawn the attention of many adventurers. We immediately complied with the Governor’s request, and conducted in the surveyors, compleating a tour of eight hundred miles, through many difficulties, in sixty-two days. Soon after I returned home, I was ordered to take the command of three garrisons during the campaign, which Governor Dunmore carried on against the Shawanese Indians: After the conclusion of which, the Militia was discharged from each garrison, and I being relieved from my post, was solicited by a number of North-Carolina gentlemen, that were about purchasing the lands lying on the S. side of Kentucke River, from the Cherokee Indians, to attend their treaty at Wataga, in March, 1775, to negotiate with them, and, mention the boundaries of the purchase. This I accepted, and at the request of the same gentlemen, undertook to mark out a road in the best passage from the settlement through the wilderness to Kentucke, with such assistance as I thought necessary to employ for such an important undertaking.

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I soon began this work, having collected a number of enterprising men, well armed. We proceeded with all possible expedition until we came within fifteen miles of where Boonsborough now stands, and where we were fired upon by a party of Indians that killed two, and wounded two of our number; yet, although surprised and taken at a disadvantage, we stood our ground. This was on the twentieth of March, 1775. Three days after, we were fired upon again, and had two men killed, and three wounded. Afterwards we proceeded on to Kentucke river without opposition; and on the first day of April began to erect the fort of Boonsborough at a salt lick, about sixty yards from the river, on the S. side. On the fourth day, the Indians killed one of our men. We were busily employed in building this fort, until the fourteenth day of June following, without any farther opposition from the Indians; and having finished the works, I returned to my family, on Clench. In a short time, I proceeded to remove my family from Clench to this garrison; where we arrived safe without any other difficulties than such as are common to this passage, my wife and daughter being the first white women that ever stood on the banks of Kentucke river. On the twenty-fourth day of December following we had one man killed, and one wounded, by the Indians, who seemed determined to persecute us for erecting this fortification. On the fourteenth day of July, 1776, two of Col. Calaway’s daughters, and one of mine, were taken prisoners near the fort. I immediately pursued the Indians, with only eight men, and on the sixteenth overtook them, killed two of the party, and recovered the girls. The same day on which this attempt was made, the Indians divided themselves into different parties, and attacked several forts, which were shortly before this time erected, doing a great deal of mischief. This was extremely distressing to the new settlers. The innocent husbandman was shot down, while busy cultivating the soil for his family’s supply. Most of the cattle around the stations were destroyed. They continued their hostilities in this manner until the fifteenth of April, 1777, when they attacked Boonsborough with a party of above one hundred in number, killed one man, and wounded four. Their loss in this attack was not certainly known to us. On the fourth day of July following, a party of about two hundred Indians attacked Boonsborough, killed one man, and wounded two. They besieged us forty-eight hours; during which time seven of them were killed, and at last, finding themselves not likely to prevail, they raised the siege, and departed.5 The Indians had disposed their warriors in different parties at this time, and attacked the different garrisons to prevent their assisting each other, and did much injury to the distressed inhabitants. On the nineteenth day of this month, Col. Logan’s fort was besieged by a party of about two hundred Indians. During this dreadful siege they did a great deal of mischief, distressed the garrison, in which were only fifteen men, killed two, and wounded one. The enemies loss was uncertain, from the common practice which the Indians have of carrying off their dead in time of battle. Col. Harrod’s fort was then defended by only sixty-five men, and Boonsborough by twenty-two, there being no more forts or

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white men in the country, except at the Falls, a considerable distance from these, and all taken collectively, were but a handful to the numerous warriors that were every where dispersed through the country, intent upon doing all the mischief that savage barbarity could invent. Thus we passed through a scene of sufferings that exceeds description. On the twenty-fifth of this month a reinforcement of forty-five men arrived from North-Carolina, and about the twentieth of August following, Col. Bowman arrived with one hundred men from Virginia. Now we began to strengthen, and from hence, for the space of six weeks, we had skirmishes with Indians, in one quarter or other, almost every day. The savages now learned the superiority of the Long Knife, as they call the Virginians, by experience; being out-generalled in almost every battle. Our affairs began to wear a new aspect, and the enemy, not daring to venture on open war, practised secret mischief at times. On the first day of January, 1778, I went with a party of thirty men to the Blue Licks, on Licking River, to make salt for the different garrisons in the country. On the seventh day of February, as I was hunting, to procure meat for the company, I met with a party of one hundred and two Indians, and two Frenchmen, on their march against Boonsborough, that place being particularly the object of the enemy. They pursued, and took me; and brought me on the eighth day to the Licks, where twenty-seven of my party were, three of them having previously returned home with the salt. I knowing it was impossible for them to escape, capitulated with the enemy, and, at a distance in their view, gave notice to my men of their situation, with orders not to resist, but surrender themselves captives. The generous usage the Indians had promised before in my capitulation, was afterwards fully complied with, and we proceeded with them as prisoners to old Chelicothe,6 the principal Indian town, on Little Miami, where we arrived, after an uncomfortable journey, in very severe weather, on the eighteenth day of February, and received as good treatment as prisoners could expect from savages. On the tenth day of March following, I, and ten of my men, were conducted by forty Indians to Detroit, where we arrived the thirtieth day, and were treated by Governor Hamilton, the British commander at that post, with great humanity. During our travels, the Indians entertained me well; and their affection for me was so great, that they utterly refused to leave me there with the others, although the Governor offered them one hundred pounds Sterling for me, on purpose to give me a parole to go home. Several English gentlemen there, being sensible of my adverse fortune, and touched with human sympathy, generously offered a friendly supply for my wants, which I refused, with many thanks for their kindness; adding, that I never expected it would be in my power to recompense such unmerited generosity. The Indians left my men in captivity with the British at Detroit, and on the tenth day of April brought me towards Old Chelicothe, where we arrived on the twenty-fifth day of the same month. This was a long and fatiguing march, through an exceeding fertile country, remarkable for fine springs and streams of water. At Chelicothe I spent my time as comfortably as I could expect; was adopted, according to their custom, into

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a family where I became a son, and had a great share in the affection of my new parents, brothers, sisters, and friends. I was exceedingly familiar and friendly with them, always appearing as chearful and satisfied as possible, and they put great confidence in me.7 I often went a hunting with them, and frequently gained their applause for my activity at our shooting-matches. I was careful not to exceed many of them in shooting; for no people are more envious than they in this sport. I could observe, in their countenances and gestures, the greatest expressions of joy when they exceeded me; and, when the reverse happened, of envy. The Shawanese king took great notice of me, and treated me with profound respect, and entire friendship, often entrusting me to hunt at my liberty. I frequently returned with the spoils of the woods, and as often presented some of what I had taken to him, expressive of duty to my sovereign. My food and lodging was, in common, with them, not so good indeed as I could desire, but necessity made every thing acceptable. I now began to meditate an escape, and carefully avoided their suspicions, continuing with them at Old Chelicothe until the first day of June following, and then was taken by them to the salt springs on Sciotha, and kept there, making salt, ten days. During this time I hunted some for them, and found the land, for a great extent about this river, to exceed the soil of Kentucke, if possible, and remarkably well watered. When I returned to Chelicothe, alarmed to see four hundred and fifty Indians, of their choicest warriors, painted and armed in a fearful manner, ready to march against Boonsborough, I determined to escape the first opportunity. On the sixteenth, before sun-rise, I departed in the most secret manner, and arrived at Boonsborough on the twentieth, after a journey of one hundred and sixty miles; during which, I had but one meal. I found our fortress in a bad state of defence, but we proceeded immediately to repair our flanks, strengthen our gates and posterns, and form double bastions, which we compleated in ten days. In this time we daily expected the arrival of the Indian army; and at length, one of my fellow prisoners, escaping from them, arrived, informing us that the enemy had an account of my departure, and postponed their expedition three weeks. The Indians had spies out viewing our movements, and were greatly alarmed with our increase in number and fortifications. The Grand Councils of the nations were held frequently, and with more deliberation than usual. They evidently saw the approaching hour when the Long Knife would disposess them of their desirable habitations; and anxiously concerned for futurity, determined utterly to extirpate the whites out of Kentucke. We were not intimidated by their movements, but frequently gave them proofs of our courage. About the first of August, I made an incursion into the Indian country, with a party of nineteen men, in order to surprise a small town up Sciotha, called Paint-CreekTown. We advanced within four miles thereof, where we met a party of thirty Indians, on their march against Boonsborough, intending to join the others from Chelicothe. A smart fight ensued betwixt us for some time: At length the savages gave way, and fled. We had no loss on our side: The enemy had one killed, and two wounded. We took from them three horses, and all their baggage; and being informed, by two of our number that went to their town, that the Indians had entirely evacuated it, we proceeded

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no further, and returned with all possible expedition to assist our garrison against the other party. We passed by them on the sixth day, and on the seventh, we arrived safe at Boonsborough. On the eighth, the Indian army arrived, being four hundred and forty-four in number, commanded by Capt. Duquesne, eleven other Frenchmen, and some of their own chiefs, and marched up within view of our fort, with British and French colours flying; and having sent a summons to me, in his Britannick Majesty’s name, to surrender the fort, I requested two days consideration, which was granted. It was now a critical period with us.— We were a small number in the garrison.— A powerful army before our walls, whose appearance proclaimed inevitable death, fearfully painted, and marking their footsteps with desolation. Death was preferable to captivity; and if taken by storm, we must inevitably be devoted to destruction. In this situation we concluded to maintain our garrison, if possible. We immediately proceeded to collect what we could of our horses, and other cattle, and bring them through the posterns into the fort: And in the evening of the ninth, I returned answer, that we were determined to defend our fort while a man was living. Now, said I to their commander, who stood attentively hearing my sentiments, We laugh at all your formidable preparations: But thank you for giving us notice and time to provide for our defence. Your efforts will not prevail; for our gates shall for ever deny you admittance. Whether this answer affected their courage, or not, I cannot tell; but, contrary to our expectations, they formed a scheme to deceive us, declaring it was their orders, from Governor Hamilton, to take us captives, and not to destroy us; but if nine of us would come out, and treat with them, they would immediately withdraw their forces from our walls, and return home peaceably. This sounded grateful in our ears; and we agreed to the proposal. We held the treaty within sixty yards of the garrison, on purpose to divert them from a breach of honour, as we could not avoid suspicions of the savages. In this situation the articles were formally agreed to, and signed; and the Indians told us it was customary with them, on such occasions, for two Indians to shake hands with every white-man in the treaty, as an evidence of entire friendship. We agreed to this also, but were soon convinced their policy was to take us prisoners. They immediately grappled us; but, although surrounded by hundreds of savages, we extricated ourselves from them, and escaped all safe into the garrison, except one that was wounded, through a heavy fire from their army. They immediately attacked us on every side, and a constant heavy fire ensued between us day and night for the space of nine days. In this time the enemy began to undermine our fort, which was situated sixty yards from Kentucke river. They began at the water-mark and proceeded in the bank some distance, which we understood by their making the water muddy with the clay; and we immediately proceeded to disappoint their design, by cutting a trench across their subterranean passage. The enemy discovering our counter-mine, by the clay we threw out of the fort, desisted from that stratagem: And experience now fully convincing them that neither their power nor policy could effect their purpose, on the twentieth day of August they raised the siege, and departed. During this dreadful siege, which threatened death in every form, we had two men

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killed, and four wounded, besides a number of cattle. We killed of the enemy thirtyseven, and wounded a great number. After they were gone, we picked up one hundred and twenty-five pounds weight of bullets, besides what stuck in the logs of our fort; which certainly is a great proof of their industry. Soon after this, I went into the settlement, and nothing worthy of a place in this account passed in my affairs for some time.8 During my absence from Kentucke, Col. Bowman carried on an expedition against the Shawanese, at Old Chelicothe, with one hundred and sixty men, in July, 1779. Here they arrived undiscovered, and a battle ensued, which lasted until ten o’clock, A.M. when Col. Bowman, finding he could not succeed at this time, retreated about thirty miles. The Indians, in the meantime, collecting all their forces, pursued and overtook him, when a smart fight continued near two hours, not to the advantage of Col. Bowman’s party. Col. Harrod proposed to mount a number of horse, and furiously to rush upon the savages, who at this time fought with remarkable fury.9 This desperate step had a happy effect, broke their line of battle, and the savages fled on all sides. In these two battles we had nine killed, and one wounded. The enemy’s loss uncertain, only two scalps being taken. On the twenty-second day of June, 1780, a large party of Indians and Canadians, about six hundred in number, commanded by Col. Bird, attacked Riddle’s and Martin’s stations, at the Forks of Licking River, with six pieces of artillery. They carried this expedition so secretly, that the unwary inhabitants did not discover them, until they fired upon the forts; and, not being prepared to oppose them, were obliged to surrender themselves miserable captives to barbarous savages, who immediately after tomahawked one man and two women, and loaded all the others with heavy baggage, forcing them along toward their towns, able or unable to march. Such as were weak and faint by the way, they tomahawked. The tender women, and helpless children, fell victims to their cruelty. This, and the savage treatment they received afterwards, is shocking to humanity, and too barbarous to relate. The hostile disposition of the savages, and their allies, caused General Clark, the commandant at the Falls of the Ohio, immediately to begin an expedition with his own regiment, and the armed force of the country, against Pecaway, the principal town of the Shawanese, on a branch of Great Miami, which he finished with great success, took seventeen scalps, and burnt the town to ashes, with the loss of seventeen men. About this time I returned to Kentucke with my family; and here, to avoid an enquiry into my conduct, the reader being before informed of my bringing my family to Kentucke, I am under the necessity of informing him that, during my captivity with the Indians, my wife, who despaired of ever seeing me again, expecting the Indians had put a period to my life, oppressed with the distresses of the country, and bereaved of me, her only happiness, had, before I returned, transported my family and goods, on horses, through the wilderness, amidst a multitude of dangers, to her father’s house, in North-Carolina. Shortly after the troubles at Boonsborough, I went to them, and lived peaceably there until this time. The history of my going home, and returning with my family,

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forms a series of difficulties, an account of which would swell a volume, and being foreign to my purpose, I shall purposely omit them. I settled my family in Boonsborough once more; and shortly after, on the sixth day of October, 1780, I went in company with my brother to the Blue Licks; and, on our return home, we were fired upon by a party of Indians. They shot him, and pursued me, by the scent of their dog, three miles; but I killed the dog, and escaped. The winter soon came on, and was very severe, which confined the Indians to their wigwams. The severity of this Winter caused great difficulties in Kentucke. The enemy had destroyed most of the corn, the Summer before. This necessary article was scarce, and dear; and the inhabitants lived chiefly on the flesh of buffaloes. The circumstances of many were very lamentable: However, being a hardy race of people, and accustomed to difficulties and necessities, they were wonderfully supported through all their sufferings, until the ensuing Fall, when we received abundance from the fertile soil. Towards Spring, we were frequently harassed by Indians; and, in May, 1782, a party assaulted Ashton’s station, killed one man, and took a Negro prisoner. Capt. Ashton, with twenty-five men, pursued, and overtook the savages, and a smart fight ensued, which lasted two hours; but they being superior in number, obliged Captain Ashton’s party to retreat, with the loss of eight killed, and four mortally wounded; their brave commander himself being numbered among the dead. The Indians continued their hostilities; and, about the tenth of August following, two boys were taken from Major Hoy’s station. This party was pursued by Capt. Holder and seventeen men, who were also defeated, with the loss of four men killed, and one wounded. Our affairs became more and more alarming. Several stations which had lately been erected in the country were continually infested with savages, stealing their horses and killing the men at every opportunity. In a field, near Lexington, an Indian shot a man, and running to scalp him, was himself shot from the fort, and fell dead upon his enemy. Every day we experienced recent mischiefs. The barbarous savage nations of Shawanese, Cherokees, Wyandots, Tawas, Delawares, and several others near Detroit, united in a war against us, and assembled their choicest warriors at old Chelicothe, to go on the expedition, in order to destroy us, and entirely depopulate the country. Their savage minds were inflamed to mischief by two abandoned men, Captains McKee and Girty. These led them to execute every diabolical scheme; and, on the fifteenth day of August, commanded a party of Indians and Canadians, of about five hundred in number, against Briant’s station, five miles from Lexington. Without demanding a surrender, they furiously assaulted the garrison, which was happily prepared to oppose them; and, after they had expended much ammunition in vain, and killed the cattle round the fort, not being likely to make themselves masters of this place, they raised the siege, and departed in the morning of the third day after they came, with the loss of about thirty killed, and the number of wounded uncertain.— Of the garrison four were killed, and three wounded. On the eighteenth day Col. Todd, Col. Trigg, Major Harland, and myself, speedily collected one hundred and seventy-six men, well armed, and pursued the savages.

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They had marched beyond the Blue Licks to a remarkable bend of the main fork of Licking River, about forty-three miles from Lexington, as it is particularly represented in the map, where we overtook them on the nineteenth day. The savages observing us, gave way; and we, being ignorant of their numbers, passed the river. When the enemy saw our proceedings, having greatly the advantage of us in situation, they formed the line of battle, represented in the map, from one bend of Licking to the other, about a mile from the Blue Licks. An exceeding fierce battle immediately began, for about fifteen minutes, when we, being over-powered by numbers, were obliged to retreat, with the loss of sixty-seven men; seven of whom were taken prisoners. The brave and much lamented Colonels Todd and Trigg, Major Harland and my second son, were among the dead. We were informed that the Indians, numbering their dead, found they had four killed more than we; and therefore, four of the prisoners they had taken, were, by general consent, ordered to be killed, in a most barbarous manner, by the young warriors, in order to train them up to cruelty; and then they proceeded to their towns. On our retreat we were met by Col. Logan, hastening to join us, with a number of well armed men: This powerful assistance we unfortunately wanted in the battle; for, notwithstanding the enemy’s superiority of numbers, they acknowledged that, if they had received one more fire from us, they should undoubtedly have given way. So valiantly did our small party fight, that, to the memory of those who unfortunately fell in the battle, enough of honour cannot be paid. Had Col. Logan and his party been with us, it is highly probable we should have given the savages a total defeat.10 I cannot reflect upon this dreadful scene, but sorrow fills my heart. A zeal for the defence of their country led these heroes to the scene of action, though with a few men to attack a powerful army of experienced warriors. When we gave way, they pursued us with the utmost eagerness, and in every quarter spread destruction. The river was difficult to cross, and many were killed in the flight, some just entering the river, some in the water, others after crossing in ascending the cliffs. Some escaped on horse-back, a few on foot; and, being dispersed every where, in a few hours, brought the melancholy news of this unfortunate battle to Lexington. Many widows were now made. The reader may guess what sorrow filled the hearts of the inhabitants, exceeding any thing that I am able to describe. Being reinforced, we returned to bury the dead, and found their bodies strewed every where, cut and mangled in a dreadful manner. This mournful scene exhibited a horror almost unparalleled: Some torn and eaten by wild beasts; those in the river eaten by fishes; all in such a putrified condition, that no one could be distinguished from another. As soon as General Clark, then at the Falls of the Ohio, who was ever our ready friend, and merits the love and gratitude of all his country-men, understood the circumstances of this unfortunate action, he ordered an expedition, with all possible haste, to pursue the savages, which was so expeditiously effected, that we overtook them within two miles of their towns, and probably might have obtained a great victory, had not two of their number met us about two hundred poles before we come up. These returned quick as lightening to their camp with the alarming news of a mighty army in view. The savages fled in the utmost disorder, evacuated their towns, and reluctantly left their territory to our mercy. We immediately took possession of Old Chelicothe without

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opposition, being deserted by its inhabitants. We continued our pursuit through five towns on the Miami rivers, Old Chelicothe, Pecaway, New Chelicothe, Will’s Towns, and Chelicothe, burnt them all to ashes, entirely destroyed their corn, and other fruits, and every where spread a scene of desolation in the country. In this expedition we took seven prisoners and five scalps, with the loss of only four men, two of whom were accidentally killed by our own army. This campaign in some measure damped the spirits of the Indians, and made them sensible of our superiority. Their connections were dissolved, their armies scattered, and a future invasion put entirely out of their power; yet they continued to practise mischief secretly upon the inhabitants, in the exposed parts of the country. In October following, a party made an excursion into that district called the Crab Orchard, and one of them, being advanced some distance before the others, boldly entered the house of a poor defenceless family, in which was only a Negro man, a woman and her children, terrified with the apprehensions of immediate death. The savage, perceiving their defenceless situation, without offering violence to the family attempted to captivate the Negro, who, happily proved an over-match for him, threw him on the ground, and, in the struggle, the mother of the children drew an ax from a corner of the cottage, and cut his head off, while her little daughter shut the door. The savages instantly appeared, and applied their tomahawks to the door. An old rusty gun-barrel, without a lock, lay in a corner, which the mother put through a small crevice, and the savages, perceiving it, fled. In the mean time, the alarm spread through the neighbourhood; the armed men collected immediately, and pursued the ravagers into the wilderness. Thus Providence, by the means of this Negro, saved the whole of the poor family from destruction. From that time, until the happy return of peace between the United States and Great-Britain, the Indians did us no mischief. Finding the great king beyond the water disappointed in his expectations, and conscious of the importance of the Long Knife, and their own wretchedness, some of the nations immediately desired peace; to which, at present, they seem universally disposed, and are sending ambassadors to General Clark, at the Falls of the Ohio, with the minutes of their Councils, a specimen of which, in the minutes of the Piankashaw Council, is subjoined.11 To conclude, I can now say that I have verified the saying of an old Indian who signed Col. Henderson’s deed. Taking me by the hand, at the delivery thereof, Brother, says he, we have given you a fine land, but I believe you will have much trouble in settling it. My footsteps have often been marked with blood, and therefore I can truly subscribe to its original name.12 Two darling sons, and a brother, have I lost by savage hands, which have also taken from me forty valuable horses, and abundance of cattle. Many dark and sleepless nights have I been a companion for owls, separated from the chearful society of men, scorched by the Summer’s sun, and pinched by the Winter’s cold, an instrument ordained to settle the wilderness. But now the scene is changed: Peace crowns the sylvan shade. What thanks, what ardent and ceaseless thanks are due to that all-superintending Providence which has turned a cruel war into peace, brought order out of confusion, made the fierce savages placid, and turned away their hostile weapons from our country! May

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the same Almighty Goodness banish the accursed monster, war, from all lands, with her hated associates, rapine and insatiable ambition. Let peace, descending from her native heaven, bid her olives spring amidst the joyful nations; and plenty, in league with commerce, scatter blessings from her copious hand. This account of my adventures will inform the reader of the most remarkable events of this country. I now live in peace and safety, enjoying the sweets of liberty, and the bounties of Providence, with my once fellow-sufferers, in this delightful country, which I have seen purchased with a vast expence of blood and treasure, delighting in the prospect of its being, in a short time, one of the most opulent and powerful states on the continent of North America; which, with the love and gratitude of my country-men, I esteem a sufficient reward for all my toil and dangers. Fayette County, Kentucke. DANIEL BOON

Chapter Three

COMMENTARIES (BY

THE

AND

ESSAYS

EDITOR)

The Mysterious Disappearance of James Harrod In 1774, almost a year before Daniel Boone established Boonesborough, James Harrod would found and lend his name to Kentucky’s first permanent settlement, Harrodsburgh, an act which literally and symbolically declared the Kentucky frontier open. No longer was this vast country the exclusive haunt of Shawnee and Cherokee hunting parties, nor was it any longer an unexplored playground for pioneer hunters like Daniel Boone and John Stewart. It was now a domain of settlement and though Harrod would have only a limited impact upon the settlement’s ultimate shape, the founding of Harrodsburgh was a strong gesture of what was to come. The settler invasion of Kentucky was beginning. Although Daniel Boone’s name is fundamentally associated with the opening of the Kentucky frontier, James Harrod’s role in the early settlement process was at least as important. Unlike Boone, Harrod never had a narrative of his early experiences published and, as such, his fame was much more localized than Boone’s, with Harrod never enjoying anything close to the international esteem in which his fellow frontiersman was held. Regardless, Harrod was held in high regard by his fellow pioneers and early settlers, his popularity evident in the many anecdotes told about his exploits and character by those who knew him. When, in 1792, Harrod disappeared seemingly without a trace, the collective imaginations of the frontier population ran rampant in an attempt to explain the loss of one of Kentucky’s earliest founding fathers. In spite of the many conflicting reports surrounding Harrod’s disappearance no one could offer a satisfactory account to explain his fate. To all intents and purposes, James Harrod had simply vanished. Disappearances on the frontier, and the search for explanations they inspired, were not unheard of and had been occurring in the Kentucky country long before either Harrodsburgh or Boonesborough had been founded. During Daniel Boone’s first expedition into Kentucky in 1769, for instance, John Stewart, Boone’s traveling companion and dear friend, disappeared amid circumstances not dissimilar to those surrounding Harrod. Like the furor that would surround Harrod’s disappearance, speculation amongst those who knew Stewart ran rampant following his disappearance and a number of explanations were offered by his acquaintances to explain his mysterious fate. To 46

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many the truth of Stewart’s fate seemed obvious: he had taken the expedition into the largely unexplored country as an opportunity to abandon his wife, family, and friends, by simply disappearing into the wilderness. To Boone, and the other early pioneers of the country, such an explanation bordered upon the ridiculous. Their own personal experiences in the wilderness instead suggested that Stewart had become the victim of some “unusual misfortune.”1 Indeed, in these pre-frontier years in Kentucky the wilderness posed many dangers, particularly to lone pioneers who had only their own resources to rely upon should disaster befall them. Injury, illness, or attack were all possible, and indeed probable, causes of Stewart’s disappearance and death. Stewart’s early companions understood these dangers well, as many had faced similar challenges alongside him prior to his disappearance. Regardless of what experience told Stewart’s companions, his disappearance, like that of James Harrod some twenty-three years later, would send collective imaginations into action. The mystery of John Stewart’s fate was not solved until some six years after his initial disappearance when his remains, identified by his powder horn, were found along with clear evidence indicating that he had been shot.2 Only with the discovery of these remains did speculation regarding Stewart’s disappearance finally get put to rest. For James Harrod, whose body was never discovered, speculation upon his fate would not only continue unceasingly, but would form the basis of a historical mystery that endures to this day. Among many of the early settlers Harrod was a popular character, marked out by his “thick black beard” and ability to speak the Delaware language. To those who had known him he “was a very lively, pleasant-hearted, friendly sort of a man” in addition to being a “first rate hunter and trapper, [who] understood the woods well, and was a good hand with the rifle.”3 Perhaps as a consequence of his popularity and of the leadership role he performed, his fellow settlers demanded an explanation for his sudden disappearance and, as such, his personal life was closely scrutinized in order to provide the answers the community so desperately sought. Like John Stewart over two decades before, Harrod’s disappearance, many believed, was not the result of some incident in the wilderness but an attempt by the man to separate himself from his wife and family. According to this explanation Harrod did not disappear so much as he deliberately abandoned his life in Kentucky and all those attached to it. Benjamin Snelling, “a sort of a preacher,” gave oral historian and Presbyterian minister John D. Shane a tantalizing glimpse of the type of rumor that sprang up concerning the Harrod household in the years following his disappearance. Snelling’s reports were a mixture of firsthand experience and observations, combined with larger public perceptions of the Harrod family that reflect one of the rumored explanations for the frontiersman’s disappearance. In one incident, Snelling explains how, apparently, during a church meeting Mrs. Ann Harrod, whom he described as “rather a handsome woman,” took a “young man’s hand between her two, & held it & talked to him (whispered) all the rest of that meeting.” The meeting in question was conducted by a Methodist preacher named Haw and lasted four days in total, of which Ann Harrod was supposed to have conducted herself inappropriately for the last “2 or 3 days.” According to Snelling, Harrod demonstrated remarkable tolerance towards this overt

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display of flirtation and was both “polite & attentive” to the young man “& never seemed to take any offence to his wife’s conduct.”4 Certainly, Snelling reported that Harrod made no public show of any frustrations he may or may not have had with his wife but he continued to make suggestive comments to his interviewer that hinted that this toleration was finite in character: “The last time I went to Colonel Harrod’s, I had gone, expecting to find him at home, but he was missing. I saw a red-haired young man, [who was] manager of the farm. Mrs. Harrod had a young child in her arms, it [was] red-headed too.” When Snelling made inquiries “as to whether he [Harrod] had not been heard from, [or] searched after,” he found that “my enquiries gave offence, & so I just rode up & bid farewell, never to go there again.”5 The implication in Snelling’s statement is obvious, but he never states categorically that Ann Harrod had an extramarital affair, or even if he believed this possibility to be true. He describes Ann Harrod as both “handsome” and flirtatious with other men. In his brief retelling of these rumors and observations to Shane, Snelling identifies at least two men in whom he strongly implies Mrs. Harrod had a romantic interest. The first is a man named Worley, “a teacher of [a] Latin school near Lexington, a Presbyterian”; this is the man with whom Mrs. Harrod was rumored to have held hands with during the last “2 or 3 days” of the Methodist meeting.6 The second, of course, was the manager of Harrod’s farm whom, it is implied, may have fathered an illegitimate child with Ann Harrod. As obvious as Snelling’s implications are, however, they are nothing more than rumors and offer only hints as to what may have become of James Harrod. It must be remembered that Snelling’s report is at best speculative and, at worst, gossip. Mrs. Harrod may have had a red-haired child, but that is not direct evidence that she had had an extramarital affair. Indeed, even Daniel Boone’s wife, Rebecca, was rumored to have had an affair and at least one of his children was rumored to have been fathered by one of his brothers. Evidently, rumor dogged many of the most important kin groups upon the frontier and played a significant role in how other settlers viewed and interpreted the relationships and personalities that defined individual family members. According to Josiah Collins it was during Boone’s initial exploration of Kentucky that Rebecca Boone had an affair with Daniel’s brother, Squire, a union which produced a child. Upon being told of the new addition to the family, Boone is reported to have dismissed his wife’s fears and comforted her, saying “one of the name is all the same.”7 Numerous variations of this rumor have been recorded, and the version Josiah Collins told John Shane is, at best, inaccurate. The date Collins gives, for example, is 1771, a year during which none of Boone’s children were born. That being said, he also described this period as the time when Boone first set about exploring Kentucky which would instead make the date 1769, a year which throws some suspicion onto the paternity of Daniel Morgan Boone. Over time this rumor was recorded by oral historians John Shane and Lyman Draper in numerous forms from numerous sources, however the details in each retelling varied significantly. In one version of the story it is Edward “Ned” Boone (as opposed to Squire) who was said to have fathered Daniel’s fourth child, Jemima, in 1762.8 The question, then, is whether or not all of these rumors are suggestive

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of an actual event; did Rebecca Boone have an extramarital affair and did that union produce a child? There are no easy answers to these questions, and all that can be said is that these rumors were present and appear to have haunted the Boones throughout, and beyond, their lifetimes. It is important to remember that rumors, particularly those reported many decades after the event, are all but impossible to verify or discredit, although most Boone biographers in recent years have edged towards concluding these tales as being examples of folklore.9 Is this evidence of the power of controversial rumor on the frontier? It must be remembered, after all, that following the publication of The Adventures, Daniel Boone became something of a frontier celebrity with an international reputation to his name. Rumors such as these, it could be argued, may represent little more than an early modern equivalent of tabloid reporting. Certainly, Boone and his family would have been likely targets for such storytelling and the later mythmaking process that would come to envelop them adds some credence to this idea. Whatever the truth of the matter, a definitive answer is not ever likely to be found. Likewise, the implication suggested by Benjamin Snelling to John Shane, that Ann Harrod had had an affair, can neither be confirmed nor denied, not least because Snelling simply could not confirm the accusation outright to his interviewer. Even if it was possible to verify such a rumor, it does not necessarily follow that this event would result in James Harrod’s disappearance. Like the rumors surrounding Rebecca Boone and her allegedly illegitimate child, those passing on these rumors to Shane in the nineteenth century very often had no way of knowing whether these stories were true or not. All they knew was that these rumors existed and that they may, or may not, have had some foundation in reality. The difficulty in dealing directly with rumor in sources is that, unless significant corroborative evidence can be produced, they are absolutely inconclusive and impossible to either deny or accept. Rumor-based stories can only be accepted as hints and possibilities and analyzed against all other possible explanations, but even then they cannot always be fully credited or discredited. They can only be accepted for what they are: rumors that may point to a historical possibility, or false accusations that have been perpetrated throughout the centuries. Regardless of the validity of Snelling’s stories they do suggest one possible explanation for Harrod’s disappearance. That is to say, it was a deliberate act designed so that Harrod could leave his wife for her indiscretions. It is certainly plausible, and there is a certain logic connecting the cause (Ann Harrod’s supposed infidelity) and the effect ( James Harrod’s disappearance) that is absent from the moralized story of Boone accepting the illegitimate child as his own, but that does not necessarily make it any more viable. Considering the nature of rumor and its propensity to conflict with itself, a more logical approach might be to ignore, at least temporarily, such pieces of evidence entirely and instead analyze the conditions and context in which Harrod’s disappearance occurred. By 1792 the threat of Native Americans striking deep into Kentucky was reduced but the outlying settlements were still extremely vulnerable to attack. Indeed, in the following year Morgan’s Station would be absolutely defeated by an attacking Native American force, devastating the local population. The threat of ambush by

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Native Americans, then, was a very real, if somewhat reduced, possibility by the time of Harrod’s disappearance. Such an attack would certainly explain Harrod’s apparent disappearance, but the fact that his body was never found is somewhat remarkable, if not unheard of. Being killed in the wilderness by Native Americans is certainly a logical possibility but it is also one that, curiously enough, many living in Kentucky at the time did not seriously consider. Beyond the apparent indiscretions of his wife, rumors concerning the fate of Harrod ran rampant. In a note among his collection of interviews, John Shane remembered being told by “some-one” that Harrod “was killed by his step-son,” while “Someone [else] has told me that [Jonathan] Swift murdered one of the men [i.e. Harrod or his companion].”10 The fact that Shane did not bother to record the names of his sources speaks volumes about how reliable he found them. But still the rumors persisted, some viable, others exaggerated beyond sense. One rumor, that Harrod had died while attempting to find Jonathan Swift’s legendary silver mine, ended up becoming so distorted that Swift, a man who may or may not have existed, became a suspect in Harrod’s murder in the above quotation. Nothing encapsulates the power of rumor on the frontier more than the story of Jonathan Swift and the silver mine he is said to have discovered in Kentucky some nine years before Daniel Boone’s first expedition into the country.11 A lack of any real evidence concerning this man or his mythical mine was not enough to discourage many early settlers from dreaming of its discovery, and rumors of his silver were serious business to the pioneers, some of whom exerted great resources in finding a mine that has never yet been discovered. For many settlers there was no question of rumor when it came to Swift’s mine; “Chiles,” William Barrow claimed, “has now a house put up somewhere — at the place of Swift’s mine.”12 Apparently, however, Chiles never saw fit to mine any silver. Somewhat fittingly, then, death or murder in pursuit of Swift’s mythical mine is another rumor that purports to explain Harrod’s disappearance. According to Sarah Graham, it was a man by the name of Smith who was known, for a fact, to have murdered Harrod. According to Graham, Harrod and Smith had had some difficulties with one another in the past but “the neighbours had them together, & Harrod was reconciled.” Unfortunately for Harrod, Smith continued to hold a grudge and finally gained satisfaction when he, Harrod, and a man named Stover went on a beaver trapping expedition. According to Graham, “It was Stover’s duty, this morning” to retrieve the traps. At some point Smith found Stover, who was still in the process of retrieving the group’s traps, and reported that “the Indians were about [and] he had heard a gun and that Harrod was killed.” When Graham told this story, she was not, as far as she was concerned, passing on rumor, but verifiable fact. According to Graham, “Harrod was found, it must have been 14 y[ea]rs after he was killed, in a salt-petre cave: with sedge grass around him. It had apparently been twisted as thick as a man’s wrist. It was supposed this was to carry him by. Sedge grass is very tough when green. It was strongly suspected this was not done by one person only: one would have to be at each end.” According to Graham it appears that, not only was Smith responsible for Harrod’s murder, but he had assistance in disposing of the body, possibly from the man named Stover, although Graham does give this man an alibi during the actual murder.

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Whatever the truth of the matter, Sarah Graham’s explanation had a well-rounded conclusion when Smith “was shot dead in the forehead,” appropriately enough, “at Harrodsburgh.” Although he had been shot in the head, Smith’s alleged death did not occur instantly. Instead, he first “stuck his thumb in the wound, crept off, and was found dead in the leave.” Of course, there is no significant evidence to prove Graham’s, or, for that matter, anyone else’s version of Harrod’s disappearance. The reality of the situation is that unsubstantiated rumor ran rampant following Harrod’s disappearance, with many individuals claiming to know the definitive truth of the matter. To Benjamin Snelling it appeared obvious that the extramarital affairs of Ann Harrod had probably driven James Harrod away from the country, while to Sarah Graham there was no question that Harrod had been murdered when trapping beaver with a man who secretly held a deep grudge against him. To various others Harrod’s disappearance occurred in pursuit of the unsubstantiated, near mythical silver mine of Jonathan Swift, or at the hands of his stepson. To put it simply, virtually every conceivable (and inconceivable) scenario regarding Harrod’s disappearance is represented in the many conflicting stories regarding his fate with some, like Sarah Graham’s, adding neat resolution to the whole affair. Of course, the trouble with this mystery is its absolute reliance upon unsubstantiated rumor and hearsay. Although the rumors themselves do not offer historians any clear answers to this mystery, they are valuable in that they do reveal something of how frontier society operated. The Kentucky frontier was home to a strong oral culture where information was passed through a complicated network of outposts and settlements, between travelers and farmers, soldiers and family members. It was this same network that ensured that news of a raid by Native Americans or the death of settlers passed far beyond the limits of the affected settlement’s stockade. For the most part, this system functioned well. Stories of attacks, deaths, injuries, and other anecdotes, were told by a wide spectrum of people and circulated throughout the network of forts and settlements that dotted the country. Stories were repeated by the original sources and numerous accounts or versions of the same incident would eventually come to be reported to men like Shane and Draper, whose interview transcripts illustrate how consistent and reliable this oral news network actually was. Occasionally, contradictory stories were reported, but this was not typically the case. When repeated stories appear in oral histories from this region they tend to vary only in their details rather than their substance. News, not rumor, was what was required to survive on such a dangerous frontier and, accordingly, news remained consistent as individuals quizzed every source they found about important incidents, checking exaggerations and removing falsehoods. It is the relative consistency of most stories and memories that makes the vast array of wildly conflicting Harrod myths so remarkable. But it is this same conflicting story set that demonstrates how little was actually known by the settlers regarding his disappearance. The fact that no one story came to be accepted by the settlers demonstrates how much of a mystery Harrod’s disappearance must have been to the frontier population. Although the rumors that circulated following Harrod’s disappearance offer few answers to help resolve this mystery, their existence demonstrates that among Harrod’s contemporaries, his disappearance was as much of a mystery then as it is to historians

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now. The truth of the matter is that there is simply no way to reasonably explain the disappearance of one of Kentucky’s most important early settlers. In the place of any real evidence there is only a vacuum that has since filled with a collection of conflicting reports and anecdotes that hint at wildly different and often vastly contradictory possibilities. In spite of the important role that Harrod played on the Kentucky frontier, the mystery surrounding his fate seems likely to remain just that.

Captivity When Daniel Boone, along with the twenty-six other salt boilers, was captured by the Shawnee in 1778 he entered into the complicated process of captivity and adoption that underpinned much of the cultural life of the Shawnee tribe. The capture of prisoners by tribes like the Shawnee was an integral part of the Native American cultural world and, particularly since the arrival of Euro-American settlers into North America, had become a key feature in maintaining tribal populations that suffered immensely from warfare, famine, and disease. The practice of adopting prisoners was not unique to either the Shawnee or the other Native American tribes of the Ohio but was an expansive tradition found throughout the Native American world that affected thousands of settlers throughout the colonial period. Far from being a remarkable occurrence, the process of captive-taking and adoption was one of the key points of interaction between settlers and Native Americans and, in spite of the practices’ potential to break down barriers between individual settlers and tribes, it was a significant part of the larger system of violent interactions that helped to perpetuate the frontier war in Kentucky. In Native American society the loss of tribe members could be negated by the taking of captives, traditionally from other tribes, who could either enter a family, often directly replacing deceased family members, or be ritualistically tortured in order to atone for the death of those same lost relatives or tribespersons.13 As the North American continent was settled by Europeans and later their descendents it became relatively common for settlers, or their slaves, to be taken to Native American towns and used by their captors to fulfil the same function as traditional tribal captives. Adoption allowed families to replace deceased family members; ritualized communal torture and execution allowed families and communities to avenge the deaths of their lost compatriots. Either way, the taking of captives fulfilled for their captors important communal, familial and spiritual needs. Captives in Native American society served a potential dual purpose then, on the one hand allowing tribes and families to maintain their numbers while the ritualized torture and execution of others served to satisfy any need for retribution among the tribe. Although the latter may seem brutal, it is worth remembering that when settlers believed an atrocity had been committed against them, their retribution was all too often unlimited. By ritualistically atoning for the death of a family member, either by replacement with a captive or executing said captive, Native American tribes could effectively manage their need for retribution and revenge. In Kentucky, and across the wider trans–Appalachian frontier, it seemed no amount of retribution could offset

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the desire of many settlers to absolutely defeat the Native American tribes whose lands they were invading. The treatment of Native American prisoners by the settlers could often be particularly brutal and, very often, settlers tended to kill Native Americans outright rather than take them prisoner in the first place.14 But to generalize too much upon the brutality of the settlers, which was certainly evident much of the time, can obscure the restraint they were also capable of demonstrating. When the Shawnee war chief Blue Jacket was captured during a failed raid, the settlers who captured him demonstrated their ability to be both relentless and restrained. “Blue Jacket ran straight into my arms,” John Hanks recalled of his capture, after “having thrown away his weapons.” Coming up behind the surrendering Shawnee chief, a settler named James Baize “who had formerly been a prisoner among the Indians, came up and hit him with the britch of his gun over the eye.” The conversation amongst Blue Jacket’s captors quickly turned to his fate, during which “Blue Jacket begged, [and] said he didn’t want to kill anybody; he [had] only wanted to steal horses.” Regardless, the men who captured him “all agreed he should be killed.”15 Quickly an Irishman by the name of Jim Wilson declared in his brogue, “By Jasus, I’ll kill him.”16 Regardless of the sentiment of the company, when it came to killing the unarmed prisoner, the actual act was far more difficult for the captors to perform than it had been to discuss. William Clinkenbeard “went off,” from where the execution was to take place: He “had wanted him killed, but didn’t want to see it done.”17 John Hanks approached one of the other men, John McIntyre, and complained that what they were about to do “looked like murder.” At this, McIntyre “turned round [and] said [to] Jim Wilson ‘don’t shoot him.’”18 Neither Wilson nor any other member of the group executed Blue Jacket, and upon his return to the group William Clinkenbeard could only “suppose [that] the Irishman’s heart failed him to kill a man in cold blood.” Instead, the settlers “gave the Indian whiskey,” which Blue Jacket, who had only narrowly escaped execution, noted was a “velly good turn.”19 This incident demonstrates quite clearly that settlers could and did restrain themselves, but it is worth noting that had Blue Jacket not escaped from that group several nights later, he could not have expected treatment remotely as positive as the adoption process of his own tribe. Blue Jacket’s captors demonstrated that they would not necessarily murder a Shawnee in cold blood, but they also demonstrated a desire, if not the will, to do so. In other instances captured Native Americans would not have fared so well, and in many cases potential captives would not have been taken prisoner in the first place. Quite the opposite was true of prisoners selected for adoption among Native American tribes such as the Shawnee and Cherokee. In many cases a captive would be given the name, position, responsibility, and often family, of the person he or she was to replace. Captives were not simply prisoners at this point, but instead they inherited the complete identity of those whom they were to replace. Adoption was a vastly complicated process that could involve heavy emotional investment from both the adopting family or tribe and the adoptees themselves.20 Adoption, then, was no incidental matter. For the Native Americans who practiced it, adoption could serve as a way of resurrecting a dearly lost family member or

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friend. For the adoptees their placement within a new family could result in the creation of a strong emotional bond, both to the family’s individual members and the tribe as a whole. Indeed, the emotional investment of the adoptees could be such that if they were placed in a position whereby they had to choose between their settler or Native American lives or families, they could face something of a crisis of identity. For adopted settlers, where did their allegiance lie? For many, there was no question: they were prisoners, and they worked throughout their captivity to return to settler society. But for others the process of adoption could be much more successful and their sense of identity placed under significant pressure when forced to choose between settler or Native American society. Daniel Boone’s captivity among the Shawnee is an interesting example of how complicated the adoption issue was on the frontier. On the one hand, many who were captives at the same time as Boone have noted the ease with which he appeared to have integrated into tribal life, apparently happy to be the adopted son of Chief Blackfish. For his part, Boone claimed consistently that his apparent comfort was something of a ruse that he engineered to gain the trust of his captors in order to facilitate a later escape, and many of his later actions certainly justify these statements.21 Perhaps the single most important act Boone committed during this entire period was to escape captivity upon discovering details of the impending siege of Boonesborough. Once free, Boone proceeded directly to the settlement to warn its inhabitants of the coming assault, advising that the stockade be finished and measures taken to ensure the defense of the settlement. Boone’s warning to the inhabitants of Boonesborough drew a line in the sand that clearly demonstrated which allegiance and loyalty was most important to him. Boone, first and foremost, was a settler and as complicated and reciprocal as his relationship with the Shawnee may have been, when he was faced with either aiding the tribe or the settlers, he ultimately chose the latter to the detriment of the former. Even still, there is ambiguity over Boone’s relationship with the Shawnee. Years later, when Blue Jacket was captured and threatened with execution, the Shawnee chief “pointed towards Maysville, and called ‘Boone! Boone!.’” It is perhaps an unfortunate coincidence that Blue Jacket’s captors, exhausted and “needing rest,” had “put him under [the] charge of Daniel Boone” on the night the chief eventually made his escape. As it turned out Blue Jacket was able to use “a knife happening to be sticking in the logs near him, [which] he worked around till he got it, & cut the rope with which he was bound, & cleared out.” Although Blue Jacket would go on to lead the Shawnee and other Ohio Valley Native Americans against the settlers for years to come, he did, according to a former captive who was present upon the chief ’s return, call “the young men together, & told them never to go there [Strode’s Station] any more to steal horses, for they [the settlers] wo’d be sure to catch them.”22 But suspicion over Boone’s relationship with the Shawnee was never as strong as it was around the time of the siege of Boonesborough, when his escape and warning to the settlement perhaps best demonstrated his loyalty to settler society. For many of Boone’s fellow settlers his escape and warning were not compelling enough pieces of evidence to demonstrate his absolute loyalty to his compatriots. To compound the general distrust that haunted Boone around this time, the arrival of a Shawnee army at the

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town brought with it an inevitable reunion between Boone and his adoptive father, Chief Blackfish. In spite of the fact that the Shawnee had come to destroy Boonesborough and take its population into captivity, both Boone and his adoptive father talked in a manner that was perceived as being overtly friendly and familial by a large portion of the town’s population. Indeed, some of those within Boonesborough’s stockade at the time believed Boone would certainly turn against them at this point. Only after the successful defense of Boonesborough could Boone’s reputation begin to be repaired, and even then questions would always hang over his relationship with the Shawnee. Late in life, when Boone was living in Missouri, his son Nathan reported that his father made a point of visiting the relatives of his former Shawnee captors.23 Even after all that had happened to Boone on the frontier, including the loss of “Two darling sons, and a brother ... by savage hands,”24 he continued to defy easy categorization. Ultimately, Boone sided with the settlers and it was in the context of settler society that he would continue to live his life, but in spite of that, clearly some lasting bond between Boone and his Shawnee family was formed during his captivity that would go on to at least partially define this man for the rest of life. If Boone’s post-captivity life seems somewhat contradictory, then the choices made by his fellow salt boiler John Holly following the end of his captivity are even more intriguing. Boone’s relationship with the Shawnee was always ambiguous, yet he ultimately sided with the other settlers when a life-or-death choice was demanded of him. When a similar set of circumstances faced John Holly, on the other hand, this settler instead made the polar opposite choice to Boone, siding with his adoptive tribe to the detriment of his fellow settlers. Taking part in a march against Native American towns north of the Ohio River, Holly advanced ahead of the settler army in order to forewarn a Shawnee village of the impending strike.25 In this instance, Holly chose the welfare of his adoptive tribe over the military victory for the settler forces. Perhaps Holly knew the brutality the settler forces would use against the tribe once they were set upon the villages. Almost certainly some noncombatants, mainly women and children, could be expected to suffer and die in such a conflict. Regardless of his motivation, Holly’s experience as a captive had obviously affected him on a deep, emotional level, and unlike the majority of settlers he acted not in the best interest of his native social group but in the best interests of their adversaries. Holly’s actions are particularly remarkable as adult men could prove difficult to assimilate into Native American society whereas women and children, particularly young children, tended to be assimilated with much greater degrees of success. Even when former child captives were returned to their families they often failed utterly to reintegrate back into settler society. As children, these captives could spend an important part of their formative years under Native American influence, making their assimilation, to a greater or lesser degree, complete. Upon their return to settler society, even the now-revealed circumstances of their capture and the presence of long lost family members were often not enough to break the bond between ex-captives and their adoptive family, tribe, or aboriginal way of life. Emotional and cultural attachment between ex-captives and their former captors was often a force that was too strong to be broken down by a reintroduction back into settler society or a reintegration back into original family units.26

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It is important to understand, however, that as positive an experience as captivity was for those who were happily adopted, the actual process that led to their initial capture was almost always a violent one. As such, even in cases where the captive integrated happily into Native American society, the process surrounding their capture typically left a stream of broken families and local populations in its wake. The interlinked and somewhat contradictory ordeals of the Davies and Hartgrove families are good examples of the conflicting experiences between different captives, and the devastated families they left behind. The destruction of the Davies family began when patriarch Samuel opened the door of their house one morning. Confronted by two hostile Cherokees, part of a much larger raiding party, “Davies sprang right through them, & ran over to Jim Davies’ Station, [which was] about 3 ⁄ 4 of a mile [away], in [nothing but] his shirt tail; the Indians in pursuit.” Davies successfully outran his pursuers, but by the time he had gathered reinforcements from the station and returned to his home, his attackers had already taken his wife and six children into captivity. Without delay, Davies and the reinforcements he had gathered from the neighboring fort set off in pursuit of the raiding party and their seven prisoners. Knowing the land well, the rescue party took a “near cut” that allowed them to intercept the retreating Cherokee party, engaging them in a partial ambush. Having not had time to form a complete ambuscade, however, Davies and the other rescuers were able to waylay the raiding party only from one side. With plenty of freedom to maneuver, the Cherokee party dropped back, out of the effective range of the settler’s weapons; none of the Cherokees were killed and the rescuers succeeded only in “wounding but one” of the raiders. In their retreat, the raiding party “threw down one of the children and killed it,” while another was tomahawked and killed outright. A third was scalped, but his injuries ultimately proved nonfatal, and after the raiding party had made its escape he “was taken back with the rest of the family, and lived.” The Davies family suffered an immense blow from this raid with the loss of two children and the partial mutilation of a third, not to forget the terrifying ordeal that the surviving family members had endured. Predictably, no member of the Davies family developed any type of close bond with their attackers. Indeed, the boy who had been scalped alive would play his own part in the botched pursuit of a raiding party that was responsible for the deaths of a number of the Hartgrove family, “about 7 years” after his own kidnapping ordeal. The pursuing party, of which the younger Davies was a member, had followed the raiding party to “Rock-Castle River; where the Indians were concealed in the Laurel.” Overeager for revenge, the young Davies literally leaped into a fire to gain his satisfaction. Unfortunately for Davies, the fire caused him significant injuries which resulted in his slow death over the course of several days. Davies finally expired the third day after the party returned to its home fort.27 Considering the experiences of the Davies family, it is perhaps all the more intriguing that a member of the Hartgroves, the family the younger Davies was attempting to avenge, would eventually reject settler society entirely in favor of life among Native Americans following his own, even bloodier, kidnapping ordeal. Sometime prior to the episode in which the young Davies survivor died by throw-

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ing himself into a fire, Israel Hartgrove suffered the loss of virtually his entire family. Stepping out to “capture his horse,” Israel “heard the crack of a gun” back at his cabin. Perhaps the very real danger of the frontier world is best underlined by Hartgrove’s next actions. Rather than returning to his cabin to investigate, he “hastened immediately to a neighbour’s house for assistance.” In truth, had Israel returned he could have offered little to no assistance without a weapon and, like Samuel Davies some years prior, he had little choice but to seek aid before attempting to help his family. Regardless, their fate had already been sealed, and by the time “the Company arrived, they found 5 of the family killed and laid out in the yard, one after another, in order ... lastly [was] the infant in the mother’s arms.” All, however, was not lost, as the attacking Native Americans had taken both “a negro boy, and one of Hartgrove’s children.” Although one of Hartgrove’s children yet lived he would not be returned to his father for “about 15 or 20 years” following his initial capture. In spite of the massive personal devastation Israel Hartgrove suffered it appears he never gave up hope for his son’s return, going so far as to visit “Detroit to see if he was living.” When Hartgrove finally had his son returned to him, now a man, the former captive appeared to those who knew very much like his captors. William Boyd would remember how he “went about shooting arrows,” something very much out of place amongst the settlers he was now living among. Evidently, the younger Hartgrove never assimilated back into settler society, in spite of the efforts of his father. After “3 months [he] went off,” returning to Native American society and the only life he felt comfortable living. Despite what must have been a significant disappointment for his father, Israel Hartgrove appears to have never lost interest in his estranged son, and made some effort to learn of his eventual fate, living among the Pottawattamie.28 The contrast between the son of Samuel Davies and the son of Israel Hartgrove is marked. The families both of these men belonged to were absolutely devastated by Native American raiding parties, and both men, as youths, endured the inherently violent ordeal of being kidnapped and witnessing the death of siblings or other family members. Where the experiences of these two men begin to diverge is in the lives they lived following this initial kidnapping ordeal. In the case of the younger Davies, whose captivity was brief and limited only to the violent aspects of being kidnapped, revenge would be an important motive that would later lead to an excruciating death. In contrast the younger Hartgrove would spend between fifteen and twenty years in captivity, not only coming to terms with his kidnapping experience but, in the process, becoming completely estranged from settler society. The case of the Hartgrove child is interesting because following his return to the settlers the circumstances surrounding his capture, marked as they were by the butchering of almost his entire family, surely must have been evident to him. Regardless, Hartgrove never reintegrated back into settler society in any meaningful way and a short while after his return he escaped back to his chosen life. Both the younger Davies and Hartgroves experienced similar kidnap ordeals but a positive captivity, or at least full assimilation, of the younger Hartgrove was mirrored in the emphasis the younger Davies would place upon revenge for the ordeal he and his family had suffered through. Both men shared similar kidnapping experiences, but the actions of Hartgrove underline how positive captivity could

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potentially be. Those of Davies serve as a potent reminder that the kidnapping ordeal, in isolation, could drive individual settlers and Native Americans apart, even as captivity brought others together. Perhaps the most interesting contrast is not between the sons of Samuel Davies and Israel Hartgrove, but between Israel Hartgrove and his estranged son. When the younger Hartgrove detached himself from settler society he actively demonstrated the relative strength of Native American adoption practices; not only did he return to his aboriginal life following the end of his captivity, but the process of adoption had long before overcome the ultra-violent process that had brought him to the position of being an adoptee. It is reasonable, then, to conclude that while living among Native Americans the younger Hartgrove was able to find a degree of happiness and contentment he could not find when he returned to the settlements. In spite of his own happiness, however, back among the settlers, his father had now entirely lost his original family and would only ever hear of his son through intermediaries. It is an intriguing reality, then, that the potential happiness and contentment that captivity and adoption could lead to for captives was very likely mirrored back in the settlements where survivors of these raids, such as the younger Davies or Hartgrove’s father, were left with shattered families and broken hearts. The case of the Hartgrove family encapsulates both the positive and negative experiences that could be had by the adoptee; men like the younger Hartgrove, Daniel Boone, and John Holly all demonstrated strong bonds towards their adoptive families and tribes, and all likely had far more positive experiences as prisoners or captives than any Native American would have had as a prisoner among the settlers. But the case of the Hartgrove family underlines the double edged nature of this positive prisoner experience. No matter how positive the captivity, for the relatives of the captive or survivors of these raids animosity, bitterness, and the loss of family members was typically the result. It is an appropriate coda to this example to note that while he was a prisoner among the Shawnee and apparently content, Daniel Boone’s wife, Rebecca, along with almost his entire family, left Kentucky believing he would die a captive. As much as captivity could be the cause of significant suffering among the settlers, even when it was positive for the captives themselves, there are other nuances to the experience that need to be considered. For many the captivity experience forced them into a position where they, perhaps for the first time, recognized the humanity of their enemy. Consistent guerrilla warfare for two decades in Kentucky had a devastating effect on how settlers tended to view their Native American neighbors, but the close contact that captivity necessitated could also create conditions where individual captives could develop real and meaningful relationships with a people they had, until that point, considered as nothing more than “savage.” When Ambrose White was taken prisoner he experienced both the positive and the brutal during his time in captivity. White’s journey to the Wyandot towns where he would later be adopted was something of a living horror. During the attack in which he was captured, he was shot in his arm, creating a wound that became “so offensive [smelling] that he had to take the wrist in the left hand, holding his arm, and keeping his [face] turned the other way.” At one point on the journey the wound had grown so bad that he “put his arm down

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on the log, and motioned for his guard to cut it off.” The act was not carried out and his guards told him simply, “You go along, if you don’t me kill you.” By the time the prisoners finally reached the Wyandot’s town, “White’s arm was full of maggots.” Immediately upon arrival, however, White’s captivity experience began to alter. The uncared-for wound upon his arm was treated with the application of roots and thereafter “healed in a short time.” White was adopted into a family, gaining in the process a number of new siblings for whom he would come to develop some strong emotional ties; in spite of this, he nevertheless set about planning his escape. As close as he may have been to his adoptive family, he had a wife and children waiting for him back at the settlements to whom he intended to return.29 White’s first feasible opportunity to escape came when he was out catching horses with his adoptive sister. By delaying, he was able to force his sister and himself to camp out in the wilderness alone. Guarded only by one person, White should have easily been able to escape; however, he could not allow any harm to befall his adoptive sister. During his time in captivity he had witnessed the particularly brutal execution of Colonel William Crawford, an act that would live on in infamy on the frontier for its brutality. Of course, Crawford was killed in retaliation for the massacre of over ninety pacifist Native Americans at Gnadenhutten,30 but such realities meant little to settlers compared to the death of one colonel. Regardless of how most settlers would view or treat those responsible for Crawford’s death, White would not allow his planned escape to bring harm to any member of his adoptive family. Indeed, “Natural affection forbade him to kill his sister, or even to tie her at some distance from the road, where the very success of his plan to keep her from giving information of him, wo’d be the cause of her death.” Unable to escape that night without causing injury or death to his adoptive sister, and in spite of all that he had seen among his captors, White abstained from his planned escape and remained in captivity to await a future opportunity that would facilitate his freedom without causing harm to any member of his new family. His wife and two children back in the settlements were forced to wait some time more before their patriarch returned to them.31 Captivity among Native Americans was an experience that varied immensely between cases. In some instances, captives became integral parts of their new Native American families, and in other cases captives were tortured to death as punishment for the atrocities committed by settlers. Within the bounds of a given village, or even over the course of a single captivity, it might have been entirely possible to represent a large portion of these varying experiences; captives who were tortured and killed, others who were happily adopted, others still who were fully assimilated into Native American rhythms of life, and those who constantly attempted to escape. No single experience can summarize the captivity process or the reaction of its victims. For some, captivity was a positive experience, and for others it was a horrific affair. Identities and loyalties could be strained, fractured, or broken by the captivity experience, and new ones formed in their stead. For some, such as Isaac Linn, returning to life in the settlements was achieved, at least at first, by marrying their Native American and settler traditions. In the attack that resulted in Linn’s captivity, his father, Thomas, was badly wounded: “The Indians broke in all the bones in his scalp so that you could see it (the brains)

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beat, just like a baby’s.” Miraculously, he survived, although he was rendered “stone blind” by the injuries. Perhaps, in the end, this was for the best as, following his son’s return, Isaac would “put on his Indian dress” in order to go out hunting, although his mother’s fears that he would return to his former captives appear to have never been realized.32 It is often tempting to think in very black and white terms when it comes to cultural wars as unrelenting as the Kentucky frontier war. To be sure, the process of warfare that dominated Kentucky for two decades created a general and intense anti–Native American sentiment among the frontier’s settler population, and many members of frontier society devoted themselves to defeating any and all Native American forces in the region. Captivity, however, often created circumstances and conditions that bucked this trend, albeit only for a portion of captives. Former captives who did not reach their kidnappers’ towns tended to have little sympathy for their captors, and for those left behind without information regarding the fate of their family members, retaliation, rather than accommodation, was the typical response. Even for those captives who reached their captors’ towns, a positive experience was not always to be found. Running the gauntlet and other forms of ritualized torture, and often death, could be enacted upon the prisoners by the community. For those adopted, the memory of their capture or pre-captivity life, was often a potent obstacle to their complete social assimilation. The result was that captives often attempted to escape, or at least fostered a strong desire to do so, in order to end their captivity experience. Even for those who accepted or prospered during their captivity, family members and communities back in the settlements, often without any indication of the fate of their lost family members, would respond to the kidnapping by engaging in further acts of violence against their Native American enemies, stimulating further raids and, ultimately, the taking of more prisoners. But in spite of the role captive-taking played in causing cycles of violent conflict to spiral and intensify, there were those, such as John Holly and, to a lesser extent, Daniel Boone, whose captivity experiences created lifelong bonds that spanned the frontier between the peoples who fought for control of Kentucky. Considering the losses Boone had received up to the point of his capture and the losses that would follow it, the creation of a meaningful bond between Boone and his captors, or between other men and women in his position and the people they were locked in a war against, is truly remarkable. However, the divergent experiences of men like Boone and Holly illustrate how even those who formed genuine, reciprocal relationships with their captors could fundamentally differ in the loyalties they chose to honor. Captivity could be a profoundly positive experience for some, but typically the processes that surrounded it meant that it was responsible for an escalation in the level of violence on the frontier. For individuals, the captivity experience could form important bonds that spanned the cultural divide, and be an immensely positive experience, but for settler society as a whole the practice of taking captives and particularly the assimilation of prisoners was a process that was both feared and reviled. Conversely, for Native Americans it was the settlers’ practice of specifically not taking captives on any significant scale that reviled this group. Among Native American tribes taking a large the number of living

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captives in raids was a significant accomplishment; among the settlers only Native Americans killed, and to a lesser extent wounded, were truly worth celebrating.

The Trial of Daniel Boone The siege of Boonesborough was the climatic conclusion of a series of events that had begun, not in Kentucky, but in the frontier settlement of Point Pleasant, in western Virginia. Here, towards the end of 1777, the Shawnee chief and peace broker Cornstalk was murdered by angry settlers in retaliation for a murder he was almost certainly not responsible for. Indeed, accommodation of the growing settler population upon the frontier was Cornstalk’s modus operandi, and, so his murder caused the already precarious relationship between the Shawnee and the settlers to almost completely break down. War, not accommodation, was now the sole Shawnee agenda.33 For the settlers, Cornstalk’s death was a retaliatory strike designed to right the wrongs they perceived had been committed against them. Their choice of target, however, had been a particularly poor one and the murder of one of the Shawnee’s most adamant brokers of accommodation was yet another atrocity against which the tribe would rally for revenge. For the Shawnee and their allies, the murder of Cornstalk was an unjustifiable act and Cornstalk’s more militant adversaries within the tribe quickly consolidated their positions and mobilized forces of retaliation. For the time being accommodation was no longer a viable option for the Shawnee, and wartime leaders, such as Blackfish, quickly rose to prominence. As was typical upon the frontier, acts of violence and atrocities spiraled out of control, one act of revenge requiring another in retribution. It was this chain of violence that dominated Kentucky throughout its frontier phase, and it was this chain that led the Shawnee to Boonesborough in 1778 to begin their final siege of this important settlement. For Daniel Boone, the circumstances leading up to the siege began a separate chain of events that would call into question both his character and his loyalty, culminating in a humiliating court-martial. His role in the surrender of his fellow settlers, his seeming comfort when he was with the Shawnee, and apparent collusion with the British were all identified as evidence of his treachery, something which would become a shame Boone would carry with him his whole life.34 It is important to note that there is no mention of Boone’s court-martial in The Adventures and precious few mentions of this incident appear in any surviving document. Boone may have returned to the town that bore his name warning of the coming army, but he did so only after having surrendered himself and twenty-six other men to the Shawnee without contest. Problematically, Boone had not been the first prisoner to escape his captivity; escapee Andrew Johnson had returned to Boonesborough with reports loaded with Boone’s apparent disloyalty and betrayal.35 Why did Boone order the salt boilers to surrender without offering resistance? Why did he appear so content among the Shawnee? And what of the reports that he had promised the British Boonesborough while he was at Detroit? After the siege, the question upon the lips of settlers within Boonesborough and across the breadth of the frontier was whether or not Daniel Boone was a traitor. Loyalty, it must always be remembered, is an idea, not an absolute. Circumstances

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and experiences can rarely be simplified to the bipolar demands made by this concept. Loyalty suggests only one of two possible actions on the part of the individual; to be loyal, or disloyal. However, even seemingly loyal actions leading to positive outcomes do not necessarily have the best intentions of the social group, in this case Boone’s fellow settlers, in mind. Likewise, the actions of an individual that have a disastrous outcome for the social group are not necessarily disloyal in their intention. The reality of Boone’s situation was that the outcome of the events in which he was ensnared dictated to a significant degree how he would be judged by his contemporaries. Indeed, it was quite possible for Boone to defend himself against accusations of treachery following the successful defense of Boonesborough, but had the settlement fallen it is almost impossible to imagine Boone being viewed as anything but a traitor. The truth of the matter, of course, is that the outcome of these events should not dictate Boone’s, or anyone else’s, guilt or innocence. Rather, it is the intention behind the original actions that must be unfurled. Unfortunately this is much easier to state than it is to carry out in practice. Without a doubt this is a complicated issue and no easy conclusions can be drawn, but it is also the very real situation in which Boone found himself following the defence of Boonesborough. Colonel Richard Calloway, according to trial witness Daniel Trabue,36 led the charge against Boone, heavily criticizing his actions both prior to and during the siege; ultimately, Calloway, along with Colonel Benjamin Logan, brought forward four charges against Boone that amounted to treason. The first of these was that after Boone was captured, he actively led his captors to find the salt boilers, in spite of there being no direct evidence that the Shawnee would have found, let alone taken prisoner, the remaining settlers. Because he led the Shawnee directly to the salt boilers and personally ordered his men to lay down their arms, Calloway accused Boone of surrendering his men without their consent, denying them the opportunity to otherwise successfully defend themselves or escape capture.37 The second charge that Calloway leveled at Boone was that he had agreed to surrender the inhabitants of Boonesborough to the British. Although not directly linked, this second charge echoes the sentiment of the first, reflecting the idea that Boone would use his position and influence to lead yet more settlers into the hands of their enemies, just as he had apparently done with the salt boilers. By having the inhabitants of Boonesborough surrender, the British and their Native American allies would secure an important and, theoretically, bloodless victory against the frontier population. The third charge concerned Boone’s actions following his return to Boonesborough when he led a small armed party of approximately twenty men from the settlement to attack the Native American towns on Paint Creek. Calloway’s charge was that this action significantly diluted the defensive capacity of the town when Boone himself had forewarned of a massive impending attack. In truth, Calloway’s concerns were justified as Boone’s party probably represented approximately thirty percent of the town’s fighting male population. Such a large reduction in the defensive capacity of the fort was a tactic that Colonel Calloway fundamentally disagreed with, and to compound this disagreement, Boone’s party was forced to return prematurely when it encountered a part of the advancing Shawnee force. For Calloway’s part, he observed Boone’s ill-fated

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raiding party return just ahead of the advancing Shawnee forces after having accomplished no conceivable goal, and having risked the settlement coming under attack with Boone’s men unable to rejoin the main defensive body. Interestingly, this charge also gives something of an insight into the divided opinion regarding Boone within the settlement in the period immediately before the siege. Although Calloway’s charges were serious, and a number of settlers were known to have openly distrusted Boone upon his return, he was still able to convince a significant proportion of the town’s defenders to accompany him on his failed Paint Creek expedition.38 Clearly, Boone had his supporters in the town, as well as his detractors. By following Boone on his proposed expedition, the men in question were not just offering vague moral support to him, but, in a very public way, they were declaring their trust in the man’s loyalty and in his continued ability as a military leader. Conversely, when Colonel Calloway brought forward his charges against Boone, he was demonstrating his distrust in the man, both in his motivation and in his ability as a military leader. Indeed, it appears that Colonel Calloway’s trust in Boone’s leadership abilities was one of the significant dividing factors between these two men. In spite of charging Boone with treason and turning to the British, it was Boone’s commission, rather than his life, that Calloway appears to have wanted broken. Evidently Calloway’s opinion of Boone was not positive, but considering the charges he brought against the man, the punishment he demanded was at the very least reasonable, if not moderate and considered.39 The final charge Calloway leveled at Boone regarded the ambush of the fort’s leaders outside of Boonesborough during attempts to negotiate a peace treaty with the attacking Shawnee forces. The implication is that Boone, in league with the British, used the treaty negotiations to facilitate the capture of the fort’s leaders. 40 Like the previous charge levelled at Boone, however, this accusation demonstrates an ambiguity of interpretation based upon an existing assumption of guilt. Whilst the first two charges illustrate a strong case against Boone, the latter charges act to collude and compound interpretations of guilt, rather than establish them. In the same way, Boone, in his defense, used this ambiguity of interpretation to compound interpretations of his innocence.41 When defending himself, Boone did not attempt to dispute the facts, but instead argued that they demonstrated his innocence rather than his guilt. Answering the first charge, Boone reported to the court that because the fort at Boonesborough was insufficiently prepared at the time of his capture to offer an effective defense against such a large Native American force he had no choice but to attempt to divert the attack. By giving his captors false intelligence relating to the state of the fort at Boonesborough and instead offering them the twenty-six salt boilers, Boone argued he was able to deflect a coming attack that surely would have resulted in the town’s destruction. His ultimate stratagem was not to betray the settlers at Boonesborough but to save them.42 No doubt timing played a crucial role in aiding Boone’s ruse. The Shawnee had launched their offensive in the winter, a most unusual ploy for this Native American force. Typically, the Shawnee, like most Native American tribes in the region, restricted

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their warfare, or at least the larger part of it, to the spring and summer. Winter tended to see the fewest raids against settlers; for the Shawnee to have launched such a significant assault in the winter, when game and other resources were at their scarcest, perhaps best underlines the collective anger that Cornstalk’s murder had generated within the tribe. Put simply, Cornstalk’s murder had enraged the tribe to such an extent that they were willing to march upon Boonesborough in spite of the difficulties winter raids posed. All things considered, the capture of twenty-seven armed men in a bloodless encounter, in addition to the apparent loyalty of a man named Boone who claimed he could help capture Boonesborough when a better climate and more warriors were available, was a significant coup for the advancing Shawnee at this time of year. In addition to this, it appears that Blackfish and the other Shawnee chiefs were at least partially convinced by Boone’s intelligence relating to the strength of the fort. Between the bumper parcel of prisoners and firearms captured, their new ally in Boone, and the loss of no one in combat, the Shawnee could consider this winter expedition a success, even if it fell short of its ultimate objective. For Boone, his rouse was also something of a success; in spite of his and the other salt boilers’ capture, the Shawnee turned their forces around and returned to their towns, buying Boonesborough a respite from the coming assault. Likewise, Boone’s apparent promises to the British at Detroit could be explained in terms of his larger plan to gain their trust and his continued freedom among the Shawnee. So long as Boone promised his allegiance, which he had already partially demonstrated with the surrender of the salt boilers, he would be free to later aid the settlers and the town. The remaining two charges were similarly interpreted by Boone as his attempts to manage an almost out of control situation. His Paint Creek expedition, although unsuccessful, represented his attempt to draw upon new intelligence he and the other escapees now had regarding the location of the Native American towns north of the Ohio River. By launching an attack upon Paint Creek, Boone was actively demonstrating the benefits of his capture, as well as providing a diversion for the soonto-advance Shawnee army. Likewise, the disastrous peace treaty outside of Boonesborough was not Boone’s attempt to lure the town’s leadership into an easy ambush but was, he argued, his attempt to end the siege before it began.43 Perhaps Boone’s most important piece of corroborative evidence to support these interpretations of events was the actions he took immediately prior to the Shawnee launching their second assault. His escape and subsequent appearance at Boonesborough, warning of a massive impending strike against the settlement, followed thereafter by a second prisoner, informing the town that the strike had been delayed due to Boone’s escape, 44 probably offered Boone his best defense. If he was a traitor the events surrounding his return would require significant explanation. Indeed, when an explanation was searched for it appears that the court found Boone’s answers more than a justification; not only was he found not guilty but he was promoted, much to the frustration of Colonels Calloway and Logan.45 But there remain outstanding issues and questions that Boone’s courtroom victory does not sufficiently address. If Boone was innocent, why were Colonels Calloway

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and Logan, and the many others they represent, so adamant he was guilty? There is, of course, the potential for personal differences and animosities to explain this, but the fact that Boone was prosecuted seems to cross a line that goes far beyond mere personality clashes. Most people in Boonesborough at the time would have had an opinion on this issue one way or the other, and to suppose that those who distrusted Boone did so out of personal animosity bucks the general popularity that Boone appeared to benefit from during these early years on the frontier. Indeed, popularity among acquaintances appears to have been something that Boone enjoyed throughout his entire life. Although it is certainly possible Boone and Calloway had an enduring animosity between them, it is much less likely that personal dislike played a significant role in the distrust Boone endured from other settlers in Boonesborough following his return. Even the relationship between Calloway and Boone was not two-dimensional in nature and it should not be forgotten that Boone and Calloway both hunted for their daughters when they were kidnapped two years prior to the siege. Among the rescuers was Richard Calloway’s nephew, Flanders Calloway, who would in short order become Boone’s son-in-law when he helped to rescue his future wife from captivity. Interpersonal disputes may have played some small role in Boone’s court-martial, but of much greater importance was the way Boone was perceived to have acted when he was a prisoner among the Shawnee. In a roundabout way, Calloway himself touched upon this with his second charge: open collusion with British officers. Although Calloway was not referring to Boone’s Shawnee captors, a slight rewording of the charge and he could have made at least as valid a case to suggest that Boone had colluded with his captors in much the same way as he was reported to have done with the British. Reports from escaped salt boilers, particularly Andrew Johnson, strongly suggested that Boone was more than content in his captivity. As discussed in the previous section, relationships between those in captivity and their captors could grow intensely close, to the point where captives identified much more with their captors than with their former compatriots. Many of Boone’s fellow prisoners felt this was what they had witnessed when Boone was among the Shawnee. To Boone’s detriment, this suspicious way of acting was witnessed firsthand by many of those at Boonesborough during the siege when he arranged to make a peace treaty with the attacking forces.46 Chief Blackfish addressed Boone not as an enemy commander, but as his adoptive son; and to Blackfish and the Shawnee, this is exactly what Boone was. Regardless, this familial exchange, combined with the Shawnee attempt to capture the town’s leaders, created an unflattering portrait of Boone that appears to have been the basis for this incident being turned into a charge during his court-martial. Boone’s relationship with his Shawnee captors, like that of many former captives, was intrinsically complicated and cannot be easily categorized. He was neither a White Indian, nor a settler; he was, to some extent, both. When Richard Calloway and others heard of and witnessed Boone’s relationship with their enemy firsthand, they did not see a man who prioritized his settler identity far above that of the identity he had constructed when he was among the Shawnee. They saw only a man who identified in some part, no matter how small, with the invading force that had come to destroy their

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settlement and, in the case of Calloway, the same group who had kidnapped two of his daughters. Perhaps the question Calloway asked himself but could not sufficiently answer was, How could Boone so openly and comfortably mingle with the very same people who kidnapped one of his children? Richard Calloway’s fears regarding Boone’s loyalty were not unfounded, only heavily based in his understanding of the world, and the wider relationship between settlers and their Native American adversaries. Looking back with an objective eye it is possible to understand that significant personal relationships can form across the frontier, but for many of those living in that world the very idea would have been both abhorrent and nonsensical. In all likelihood Calloway would not have been alone in equating this invading force with past attacks or atrocities. For many settlers the attacking force was not just an immediate threat, but one which represented the previous years of struggle they had endured since settling the Kentucky country. It mattered little to most that frontier settlers had committed a spectrum of atrocities against these people, only that these people had committed a spectrum of atrocities against them. For the settlers in Boonesborough at the time, hearing of and seeing Boone act in a familial manner with their enemy was an act of disloyalty that trumped Boone’s act of escaping the Shawnee to warn of the coming siege. From their perspective Boone had committed an act of treason against the community that could not be accepted. From Boone’s perspective he had done no such thing. Boone was not alone in his belief and he certainly had his supporters along with his detractors. His courtroom victory and subsequent promotion reaffirmed a loyalty he never believed he had breached but for which others would never forgive him. Ultimately, when Boone was faced with choosing between the Shawnee or the frontier settlers, he chose the latter where others had chosen the former. By categorically siding with the settlers, Boone demonstrated the strength of his settler identity and his loyalty to it. But just as Boone demonstrated the strength of his settler identity with these acts, decades later when he would visit the relatives of his former captors, he would demonstrate that his connection with the Shawnee was not as entirely superficial as he described it following his return to the fort.

Simon Girty and the Blue Licks Defeat Now they have taken these men of renown, And has drag’d them away to the Sandusky town; Where in their council condemn’d for to be, Burn’d at the stake by most cruel Girtee — A song lamenting Colonel William Crawford’s defeat and Simon Girty’s supposed role in his execution

The settling of Kentucky took the form of a particularly violent clash between settlers moving into the region and Native American groups who resisted further encroachments upon their territories with great zeal and, in many cases, effective military action. But for all of the resistance that was offered to this otherwise unchecked settler expansion, the flood of human traffic that deluged the trans–Appalachian west was simply

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too great for the already weakened tribes of the Ohio Valley to resist indefinitely. For every victory that Native American forces secured, dozens if not hundreds of new settlers effectively negated such advancements. Even in 1777 when the settler population of Kentucky, under massive strain from raids and Native American military action, reached its nadir, it was never entirely eradicated from the region. Instead, consistent migration into the country checked both wartime casualties and reverse migration away from this dangerous frontier. As the Revolutionary War began drawing to a close, settler expansion into Kentucky had long since passed the point where it could feasibly be reversed or controlled. Still, for more than a decade yet to come, Native American tribes continued to resist further settler expansion. Indeed, in 1782, a multi-tribal Native American force would cause the single greatest military defeat within Kentucky during the entire frontier war, at a place called the Blue Licks. Multi-tribal activity against settlers was nothing new and, even when military actions can be attributed to a single tribe, they very often had a subtle multi-tribal influence that may not be initially obvious. In the first years of Euro-American settlement in the Kentucky country, Native American resistance to the settlers could primary be attributed to the Shawnee and Cherokee tribes. The Shawnee in particular were active in their resistance to settler expansion in the region, making up the principal force that besieged Boonesborough and raided the other frontier outposts during these first two to three years of settlement. “Shawnee,” however, is a term that can only be applied loosely as relentless Euro-American expansion across the North American continent, combined with its harbingers, the rapid spread of disease and warfare, to decimated the demographic integrity of dozens of tribes. The Shawnee bore the scars of well over a century and half of settler expansion across North America and their villages and towns, far from being tribally distinct, were home to numerous linguistic and cultural groups. When historians discuss the Shawnee in this period they are not describing a linguistic or culturally homogeneous group, but a tribal system that had grown to accommodate small groups and individuals belonging to or descended from other tribes.47 Even raids and organized attacks by the Shawnee, then, were not unilateral in character. On the contrary, the multi-tribal nature of the Shawnee predicted the near pantribal resistance to settler expansion that would develop in the Ohio Valley during the Revolutionary War. Although Native American resistance to settler expansion would come to encompass most, if not all, tribes in the Ohio Valley, their efforts were not coordinated and they most certainly were not centralized. Instead, individual groups and chiefs led their own forces and, by and large, the common goal of the Ohio tribes did not translate into a consistent or organized alliance; such tactics were the hallmarks not of Native American, but of European politics and warfare. By the end of the Revolutionary War, the Shawnee no longer symbolically represented pan-tribal resistance to settler expansion but had become only one tribe among many fighting unchecked settler expansion. From the Cherokee in the south to the northern Wyandots, Miami, Pickaway, Mingo, Delaware, and, of course, Shawnee, hundreds of raids were launched against the settlers of Kentucky. What makes the military relationships, or common goals, between these tribes so remarkable is the complete

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transformation in how certain tribes interacted. In particular, the Shawnee and Cherokee saw their relationship transformed from traditional enemies to staunch supporters and allies. Indeed, it has been argued by historian Stephen Aron, for instance, that the alliance that developed between these two tribes was as revolutionary an incident as the War of Independence was to the former British colonies in North America.48 Clearly, then, the development of settler societies beyond the Appalachian Mountains had caused a seismic shift in the relationship between Native American tribes. Settler expansion was typically exponential in character and, with the exception of the nadir of 1777, the settler population of Kentucky continued to grow in spite of the military resistance offered by the numerous tribes who fought against this expansion. As the settler population continued to expand, so too did the military relationships between the differing Native American tribes and, aided by the British, countless raids were executed into Kentucky during the Revolutionary War. By 1782, as the Revolutionary War was winding down to confirm the victory of the colonies, settlers in Kentucky were about to face their most devastating defeat. In a Shawnee town notorious British agents such as Simon Girty called for a renewed pantribal strike against the Kentucky settlers. At this meeting were representatives of numerous tribes from throughout the Ohio Valley; the final force that assembled was made up of members of the Wyandot, Pickaway, Mingo, Shawnee, and various other tribes.49 Cumulatively this assembled mass of multi-tribal warriors probably represents the single largest force to have invaded the Kentucky country during the entire frontier war. It would also represent one of the greatest disasters to befall settlers during this period.50 Simon Girty, although not the architect of the Blue Licks defeat, certainly deserves some of the recognition for the success of this maneuver as it was agents like himself and Alexander McKee who were responsible for focusing the disparate resistance of different tribes into a cohesive whole for the occasion. Although sometimes neglected in history, the role of agents and translators among Native American tribes was a crucial one that often shaped the interactions between Euro-Americans and their tribal neighbors.51 Although only one of a number of such agents who facilitated interaction between the British and their Native American allies, Girty’s involvement with the Blue Licks defeat, coupled with his presence at the earlier execution of Colonel William Crawford, helped establish the basis of his future infamy and the general distrust he endured from many settlers. Born in 1741, Girty along with two of his brothers spent a number of years in captivity as children.52 Upon his return to settler society, Simon demonstrated a continued loyalty and preference towards Native American peoples and customs. After a short time fighting for the rebel colonies, Girty switched to the Loyalist cause, acting as a significant liaison between the British and the numerous Native American tribes now fighting the settlers. The reason for Girty’s switch is not entirely clear, although conflicting reports suggest he was “disaffected” by the rebel cause, and considering the stance that settlers took towards Native Americans this explanation certainly has some weight.53 Another reason attributed to Girty’s switch in sides is his disgruntlement at not being promoted within the rebel ranks, a disgruntlement that may have led directly to his decision to switch to the Loyalist cause. Whatever his motivation for switching sides during the war, Girty proved himself an able officer and expert negotiator among

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the Native American tribes of the Ohio, and the Battle of the Blue Licks can do nothing but attest to his skill. The victory he helped to secure against the settlers at the Blue Licks and the multi-tribal army he helped to form for this purpose are among the most important of Girty’s various achievements. To be sure, Girty occupies a notorious, if understudied, space in the history of the American frontier. Histories written from the nineteenth century onwards did much to vilify him but it is worth remembering that as disliked and distrusted as he was, those living on the frontier were often much more sensitive to the nuances of his character than many later histories would portray.54 He was colloquially known as “Simon Girty the Savage,”55 but settlers came to know, sometimes through firsthand experience, the subtleties of this man’s character and allegiances. Girty, according to one settler’s father, was “a keen, shrewd man.” Others would make a point of remembering his value prior to switching sides during the Revolutionary War.56 After Girty switched to the side of the British, contact between settlers and Girty typically took place when the former rebel would appear at the settlements, threatening destruction and demanding their surrender. Sarah Graham was present at a frontier outpost when Girty appeared, warning the settlers they had to “give up [their] prisoners of war, or ... be taken before the morning.” According to Graham, Girty’s threats were relatively common as he had a “habit of going round to the stations in this way, & warning them to surrender, but nobody ever did.”57 No doubt switching sides during the Revolutionary War and periodically demanding the surrender of settlements did little to boost Girty’s standing among most settlers, but he probably claimed his largest degree of his notoriety when he was reported to have been present at the burning of Colonel William Crawford.58 Crawford’s execution at the town of Sandusky was a retaliatory act for the massacre of pacifist Moravian Native Americans at the town of Gnadenhutten. The massacre of Gnadenhutten was one of the truly divisive acts of the frontier war, and the Native Americans of the Ohio Valley, enraged by such a grotesque act, tortured and slowly burned the captured Crawford to death. Of the eyewitness accounts that were published following Crawford’s death it is Girty’s apparent gloating and his refusal to honor Crawford’s request to quite literally put him out of his misery that formed much of the basis for his later infamy. In spite of the popular image such accounts created, stories told by the settlers themselves and recorded by John Shane tell of Girty’s attempts to buy Crawford’s freedom. Whatever the truth of the matter, the Native Americans at Sandusky made Crawford pay for the massacre at Gnadenhutten and Girty came to be known ultimately as the man who allowed the torture and slow execution to proceed unhindered. If anything his leadership role among the tribes would compound this perception. In contemporary song he was remembered not just as an observer but as an active leader in the execution: “Like young Diabolians they this act did pursue, And Girtee the head of this infernal crew.”59 This popular image of Girty took serious momentum in the 19th and early 20th centuries. During the frontier years in Kentucky, however, opinion of him could be much subtler. John Crawford, who was made a prisoner by Native Americans, met Girty during his captivity. Girty, Crawford would later relate, was “quite a pleasant man, when

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he took a liking.” Indeed, for Crawford it was Girty’s boast that “he had had so many wives after the Indian custom; almost in every nation” that made him such a “dirty dog.”60 Thomas Drennon reported to his sister-in-law how Girty “when he wo’d get drunk, wo’d cry, & go on, & say he was sure he wo’d go to hell — for he had killed 20 odd white men” and according to Drennon, Girty had at least attempted to offer “a [thousand] buck skins to save Crawford” at Sandusky.61 Clearly, Girty was not a popular man on the frontier, but neither was he viewed in strictly two-dimensional terms either. Like news, information on the character of men like Girty was transmitted through the network of frontier outposts and forts that dotted the country, with settlers eager to gain any intelligence they could on this figure who occasionally turned up to threaten them. As with Boone after his escape from the Shawnee, Girty’s character was closely examined and stories and anecdotes concerning him spread across the frontier. Like some of the stories surrounding Boone and his family, many of those surrounding Girty are not reliable, and some are purely rumor. But even then, the existence of rumor that painted an intricate and altogether human picture of Girty demonstrates how complex this character was perceived as being by his contemporaries. To Peter Houston, Girty may have been no more than “Simon Girty the Savage,” but to Thomas Drennon he was something of a tragic, tortured, and possibly pathetic character, haunted by the ghosts of the settlers he had killed. Girty was never described in particularly positive terms, but at the very least the settlers accepted the complexities of the man’s character. Although settlers may have allowed nuances and subtleties in how they remembered Girty’s character, they remembered the ambush he helped to execute at the Blue Licks almost universally with disdain. Other defeats would follow this battle, but most of those involved members of the Kentucky militia fighting north of the Ohio River, deep in the heartland of their enemies. It would certainly be wrong to suggest that settler forces did not suffer greater defeats in the years following the Blue Licks, but none again would be so great within the boundaries of the Kentucky country itself, and none would so steadfastly be remembered and mourned by the settlers. Daniel Boone, who lost yet another son in this battle, would be moved to tears when he later recalled the battle.62 The Battle of the Blue Licks, in spite of its name, was actually a series of events, rather than a single encounter, that culminated in an ambush of the Kentucky militia at the Lower Blue Licks, the place where Daniel Boone and the salt boilers were taken into Shawnee captivity in 1778. The series of events that led to the ambush began around the notoriously Loyalist settlement of Bryan’s Station.63 Political inclinations were often of little importance during the frontier war and the fact that the Bryans were well known for their support of the British Crown did not stop their station from becoming the bait that would draw out the Kentucky militia and lead them into an ambush. On August 15, a multi-tribal army arrived at Bryan’s Station, laying siege to the vulnerable settlement. The timing of the attack had been such that a number of settlers were caught outside of the fort, forcing those individuals to depart the battlefield in order to warn the neighboring settlements of the attack and to raise a relief force. The militia was on its way to the relief of the settlement, but unbeknownst to them

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the force that had attacked Bryan’s Station was only a fraction of the total tribal army that waited in ambuscade. By the time relief forces reached Bryan’s Station, the attacking Native Americans had already retreated from the field. All that remained was for the relief force to track this small army and annihilate it. Among the officers who led the militia to the relief of Bryan’s Station were Daniel Boone, Hugh McGary, John Todd and Stephen Trigg. Colonel Logan, with a much larger body of men, was a day or so behind the forces that rendezvoused at Bryan’s Station. Rather than await the arrival of this force, as Boone and McGary were reported to have counseled, the party of men now numbering a little over one hundred and eighty set out in pursuit of the raiding party, following a trail that appeared to Boone to have been left deliberately.64 To Boone, at least, it seemed reasonable to conclude that the settler forces were being led into an ambush.65 Regardless of this belief, when he attempted to counsel caution a second time it was Hugh McGary who “wanted to know, by Godly ... what we came there for?” Upon receiving his answer — to fight the invading Native American force — he replied simply, “Then let’s fight them. They that ain’t cowards follow me.”66 Apparently, neither Boone nor any of the other officers were “cowards” and all followed the lead that McGary had set. According to Nathan Boone, Daniel went to the front of the now advancing troops, leading the settler forces to battle. According to Peter Houston, who took part in the conflict, Boone and Todd fell in at the rear, allowing the near mutinous McGary, along with Silas Harlan, to lead the settlers to slaughter, and to take responsibility for the coming defeat. Whether Boone and Todd were at the front or rear of the company, the events that followed in the coming minutes were undeniably a catastrophe for the militia. Colonels Todd, Trigg, and Boone each took command of a wing, leading them across the river and into their enemy’s chosen battleground. After traveling approximately half a mile from the point of their last officer’s council, the settlers and Native American forces engaged one another amid a cloud of musket fire and confusion.67 Native American forces ahead of the advancing settlers helped to pin them into position, allowing the main body of the Native American force to surround the advancing settlers and begin attacking the length of their flank. Like most battles fought on the Kentucky frontier, the Battle of the Blue Licks was an exercise in la petite guerre, or guerrilla warfare, as individuals exploited the topography of the land upon which they fought. Attacking Native Americans appeared momentarily from behind cover, long enough to fire, before disappearing back into the foliage; unlike European pitched battles, individuals appeared and disappeared independently, utilizing the natural cover offered by the wilderness to their own advantage. Settlers were typically as skilled as their Native American opponents at this type of warfare, but in this battle the ambushing force had caught the advancing settlers in a relatively open position allowing them to inflict significant casualties upon the settlers while minimizing their own losses. The almost immediate loss of Colonels Trigg and Todd further exasperated an already desperate situation as, leaderless, their lines collapsed into chaos.68 Immediate casualties suffered by the settlers did not stop at the two colonels. The opening volleys took numerous other men in their wake, either killing them outright or injuring them so that they were forced to immediately fall back to Bryan’s Station,

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creating an almost instant state of retreat and confusion among much of the militia. Jacob Stevens remembered, “Early in the firing, George Corn was shot right in the mouth, taking away all the upper and lower teeth of his right jaw.” Stevens “saw him spit the ball in his right hand, and tho’t he was shot in the breast ... such was the quantity of blood.” Jim Hays, too, “received a shot in the collar bone,” forcing him also to immediately retreat.69 In short order the settler forces were thrown into absolute disarray. For Boone’s column, early advancement and apparent gains which appeared to result in Native American forces falling back were actually an attempt to draw the militia deeper into the ambuscade. After several minutes of fighting it became clear that the settlers had not only been completely out maneuvered by their adversaries but were also outnumbered more than two to one. After firing their weapons, Hugh McGary’s company, already cut to pieces, began a hasty retreat. Both muskets and rifles, the latter in particular, were slow to reload and McGary’s men likely had time only to fire a single round into their opponent’s line. As Trigg and Todd’s lines collapsed, Boone ordered the retreat of his force back across the river. Hand-to-hand combat quickly followed the discharging of weapons as the ambushing forces descended upon their targets, tomahawks in hand, applying everincreasing degrees of pressure upon the collapsing settler forces. 70 As Boone’s line fell back across the river, some of the surviving militiamen who still had loaded weapons fired them into the Native American forces who were butchering the remaining militiamen across the water, offering them some small relief from the onslaught.71 Even after recrossing the river, individual settlers were still endangered by the well-orchestrated ambush. After fording the river, Jacob Stevens “fell in with a man who had red leggings on,” with whom he attempted to make his escape back to Bryan’s Station. The pair moved together until Stevens’ “companion gave out.” Stevens “asked him what [he] should do. He said, ‘make your escape,’ and [then] stoop[ed,] snapping his gun.” The gun, like the one belonging to Stevens, “had gotten so wet” that it could no longer be fired. Stevens’ companion continued in vain, attempting to fire the weapon “till the Indians came up and took it out of his hands. It was supposed he was killed [the] next morning.”72 For the settlers, the Battle of the Blue Licks ended in both disaster and retreat as individuals, grabbing whichever horse they could, escaped from the battleground back to Bryan’s Station where Colonel Logan, with his much larger force, had now arrived to witness the return of the bedraggled survivors. The settler forces that had fought at the Blue Licks had been decimated with no less than seventy-seven reported dead, either killed in combat or afterwards as prisoners of war. In total, over forty percent of the setter forces that took part in the battle were wiped out, with many more suffering some form of injury. Among the casualties were Daniel Boone’s second son, Israel, Colonels Trigg and Todd, and Hugh McGary’s reputation. But more than this, the Battle of the Blue Licks came to represent among the settlers one their greatest defeats in the battle for Kentucky; certainly it was the greatest near-simultaneous loss of life within the country during the entire frontier period and as such it took on a significant symbolic value that far outweighed the actual cost of the conflict. As violent, dangerous, and deadly as the frontier war was, it was also marked by steady population expansion from 1778 onwards and, as the country

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developed and its interior became more secure, only particular regions could be considered a part of the frontier, or vulnerable to raids and attacks. The Battle of the Blue Licks was a comprehensive buck to this trend and underlined how vulnerable even relatively secure areas could be to carefully organized and planned attacks. The year 1782 may have seen the Revolutionary War winding down in the east, but it paradoxically represented the future of the west for more than another decade. Although settlement in Kentucky was now secure, raids and attacks from Native Americans opposed to further settler expansion would continue until the Battle of Fallen Timbers in 1794 and the subsequent peace at Greenville in 1795. For over a decade, the Battle of the Blue Licks would be an important social and cultural memory on the frontier, reminding settlers of the dangers they faced in the wilderness, and of the deadliness of their adversary. It was also a significant episode in the developing infamy that would come to characterize Simon Girty’s life, helping to personify him into the antithesis of the heroic and symbolic frontiersman Daniel Boone would come to represent. It is perhaps fitting then that these two men, both of whom would become symbols, fought upon differing sides in this landmark defeat. In many ways, the Battle of the Blue Licks cast a long shadow over the remainder of the frontier war, and many of the individuals who took part in the battle would continue to be haunted by its ghosts. For Daniel Boone, the loss of his second son, Israel, would be an episode he would thereafter remember with regret, sadness, and tears. For Simon Girty, history would remember his role in the battle with infamy and possibly even exaggeration rather than understanding, and for Hugh McGary, the defeat would visibly haunt him for years afterwards, so much so that when an elderly chief named Moluntha was sat down in front of him McGary would ask if he had been present at the battle. When “Moluntha said yes. McGary then replied ‘d —— n you, I will show you Blue Licks play,’ and just tomahawked him.”73 In all likelihood, Moluntha had simply not understood the question.

Chapter Four

THE PIANKASHAW COUNCIL In a Council, held with the Piankashaw Indians, by Thomas J. Dalton at Post St. Vincent’s, April 15, 17841 My Children, What I have often told you has now come to pass. This day I received news from my Great Chief, at the Falls of Ohio. Peace is made with the enemies of America. The White Flesh, the Americans, French, Spaniards, Dutch and English, this day smoke out of the peace-pipe. The tomahawk is buried, they are now friends. I am told the Shawanese, Delawares, Chicasaws, Cherokees, and all other Red Flesh, have taken the Long Knife by the hand. They have given up to them prisoners that were in their nations. My Children of Wabash. Open your ears, and let what I tell you sink deep in your hearts. You know me. Near twenty years I have been among you. The Long Knife is my nation. I know their hearts; peace they carry in one hand, and war in the other. I leave you to yourselves to judge. Consider, and now accept the one, or the other. We never beg peace of our enemies. If you love your women and children, receive the belt of wampum I present you. Return me my flesh you have in your villages, and the horses you stole from my people at Kentucke. Your corn-fields were never disturbed by the Long-Knife. Your women and children lived quiet in their houses, while your warriors were killing and robbing my people. All this you know is truth. This is the last time I shall speak to you. I have waited six moons to hear you speak, and to get my people from you. In then nights I shall leave the Wabash to see my Great Chief at the Falls of Ohio, where he will be glad to hear, from your own lips, what you have to say. Here is tobacco I give you: Smoke; and consider what I have said. — Then I delivered one belt of wampum and said, Piankashaw, speak, speak to the Americans. Then the Piankashaw Chief answered; My Great Father, the Long Knife, You have been many years among us. You have suffered by us. We still hope you have pity and compassion upon us, on our women and children; the day is clear. The sun shines on us; and the good news of peace appears in our faces. This day, my Father, this is the day of joy to the Wabash Indians. With one tongue we now speak. 74

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We accept your peace-belt. We return God thanks, you are the man that delivered us what we longed wished for, peace, with the White Flesh. My father, we have many times counselled before you knew us; and you know how some of us suffered before. We received the tomahawk from the English: Poverty forced us to it: We were attended by other nations: We are sorry for it. We this day collect the bones of our friends that were long ago were scattered upon the earth. We bury them in one grave. We thus plant the tree of peace, that God may spread branches; so that we can all be secured from bad weather. They smoke as brothers out of the peace pipe we now present you. Here, my father, is the pipe that gives us joy. Smoke out of it. Our warriors are glad you are the man we may present it to. You see, father, we have buried the tomahawk: We now make a great chain of friendship never to be broken; and now, as one people, smoke out of your pipe. My Father, we know God was angry with us for stealing your horses, and disturbing your people. He has sent us so much snow and cold weather, that God himself killed all your horses, with our own. We are now a poor people. God, we hope, will help us; and our Father, the Long Knife, will have pity and compassion on our women and children. Your flesh, my Father, is well that is among us; we shall collect them all together when they come in from hunting. Don’t be sorry, my Father, all the prisoners taken at Kentucke are alive and well; we love them, and so do our young women. Some of your people mend our guns, and others tell us they can make rum of the corn. Those are now the same as we. In one moon after this, we will go with them to their friends at Kentucke. Some of your people will now go with Costea, a Chief of our Nation, to see his Great Father, the Long Knife, at the Falls of Ohio. My Father, This being the day of joy to the Wabash Indians, we beg a little drop of your milk, to let our warriors see it came from your own breast. We were born and raised in the woods; we could never learn to make rum — God has made the White Flesh masters of the world; they make everything; and we all love rum ———— Then they delivered three strings of blue and white wampum, and the coronet of peace.

Present, in Council Muskito Capt. Beaver, Woods & Burning, Badtripes, Antia, Montour, Castia, Grand Court; With many other Chiefs, and War Captains, and the Principal Inhabitants of the Post of St. Vincent’s

Chapter Five

BOONE: A FAMILY HISTORY by Septimus Schull, Grandson of Daniel Boone

When Colonel Daniel Boone, with his associates, had mounted the most commanding position of Kentucky, and viewed the numerous hoards of Buffalos, Elk, & Deer, on the plains below, he observed to his comrades, to behold! (claiming the whole as his own,) at the same time exclaiming, we are rich as Boaz of old, having the cattle of a Thousand hills. On one of the pleasant Sunday events in May, a daughter of Colonel Boone, & 2 daughters of Colonel Calloway, crossed the Kentucky River in a canoe; landing on the north bank, & rambling up & down the bank in pursuit of wild flowers; which grew there spontaneously. Some Indians making prisoners of them, bore them off immediately. Boone, hearing their screams, knew what was the “event,” and made arrangements immediately for pursuit: but night closing in, soon made the attempt fruitless, until morning; when they renewed their pursuit. The followed the Indian trail, all day long; being enabled to do so, from the contrivances of the prisoners. They had broken bushes, and trailed down the wards, and to give more certainty to the pursuers, had torn in all strips of their under-dressing — which was red — and dropped them occasionally. The Indians discovering this, shook their tomahawks over their heads, and taking them by the top of their heads, and drawing a knife around their throats, they further threatened to scalp them if they did not desist from such a course. The Indians, apprehensive of being pursued, never made any fire at night, or stopped to cook anything to eat, until Tuesday morning: when, having killed a small deer, they made a fire, & stopped to roast some meat. All of the Indians being engaged in roasting and eating at the same time, (a very uncommon occurrence,) Boone and his party arrived undiscovered, and fired on and killed most of them at once. The balance fled, having the girls sitting on a log, at a small distance: who were soon joined by Boone & his party; and after eating of the roast venison, were taken back to Boonesborough without loss or molestation. Subsequently, the 3 girls that were prisoners, became the lawful wives of 3 of their respectable rescuers. Daniel Boone’s wife was a Bryan. He had 5 sons, and 4 daughters.1 76

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1. Israel — killed — coming out to this country, with 4 or 5 others, who retreated to Holston, 2. James — killed at the Battle of Blue Licks2 3. Daniel 4. Jesse 5. Nathan —[Daniel, Jesse, and Nathan all] went with the father to Missouri about 1799 or 1800. Were in Missouri under the Spanish Government 1. Susannah — moved to Missouri 2. Lavina — Mrs. Schull 3. Jemima — The one that was taken prisoner. Not been dead long. About 4 years. 4. Rebecca — married Flanders Calloway, & moved to Missouri The account in Flint’s Life of Boone, of Boone being taken, when in pursuit of the girls, is false. Also, his jumping a long stride by means of a grape vine, to avoid being trailed. Also, his conflict with a bear. 3 Calloway, Holder, and Henderson, who joined the parents in pursuit, each married one of the 3 girls. They, the Indians, had taken them on Sunday evening and had gotten them by Tuesday morning to Casseday’s Creek. Were breakfasting there. Holder, or Colonel Holder, married Eliza Calloway. Boone was taken, at the time he was making salt, at the ((lower)) Blue Licks. He surrendered his men, on condition that they sho’d not be made to run the gauntlet. They sacked their arms, and then the Indians made Boone run.4 He butted down the big–Indian and got through. The Indians came down on the Scioto, to make salt. Mouth of Cabin Creek, 6 miles above Lancaster. Got over about sunrise; and to the Fort next evening. About 10 days after that, the Fort was attacked. At Detroit, the other prisoners were exchanged: but the Indians had refused to part with Boone. The English gave him a horse and saddle; and told the Indians they must let no one take them from him. Boone made his escape from captivity, and got home, the very day of Squire Boone’s getting back from North Carolina. Edward and Daniel Boone, had gone down to the Blue Licks in pursuit of game — (Buffalo) which fatted earlier and better about the Blue Licks, where they co’d get salt, than elsewhere. They had loaded their horses, and were on their return, when they discovered some fresh Indian sign. This caused Daniel repeatedly to decline Ned’s proposition, to stop and unload their packs. At length they came to a spot on Grassy Lick where the indigenous blue grass sprang up pretty fresh — and here it was proposed that they sho’d stop, and let their horses graze; while Ed watched and Daniel went down the creek, designing to be back in time to go on. The lick was a short distance below, and Daniel tho’t to see if there was anything in it; expecting to be back by the time the horses were down grazing. As he went, he met, & shot a bear. A party of Indians had all this while been dogging the hunters; and were so close on them, that they saw them part; and then themselves also divided; those behind agreeing not to fire on Ned (the one in vine,) till they heard the others shoot Daniel who had turned off. Before this co’d be affected, Daniel had met and shot the bear; which those remaining taking as the signal, the Indians fired on Ned.5 Shot 7 bullits through him. Daniel fled, at

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once. The other party set a dog upon him, but he turned & shot the dog, and thus made his escape. The cane was very thick, so that the Indians co’d not see him 6 feet. When he shot the dog, they were within 20 steps of him. [They had] Followed its yelping. When it was killed, they soon lost him. Logan was 3 days behind at the Battle of Blue Licks. The Indians lost a great many. Counted, and made up the number of white men, to equal their loss in killed, by killing the prisoners. Counted their missing, and their scalps. James Hay, who states that he came to Boonesborough with grandfather’s family [illegible]. I enquired of him, concerning the time of the settlement of Boonesborough. The venerable old man drew his hand across his forehead, as if to concentrate all his recollection, and after some delay, said it been a long time — but the precise year I do not recollect. Says it was in the fall season that the family arrive tho’ not late, for, says he, “a snake bit me the day after we got there, and came near killing me.” Was in Boonesborough at the time of the siege. Daniel Boone. He went to Missouri in 1795, called by a proclamation of the Spanish government, offering him land — 400 acres, &c, on condition of settlement. He returned and went back again in 1798 — or 1799. Then the old man, and the balance of the family moved out: the said man, Daniel, removed from Greensburgh; the others of the family that were not with him, removed from Fayette, & met him at Louisville.

PART II

The John D. Shane Interviews John Dabney Shane My aim has been to get of them, what they themselves know. And what they may not know I will ever see another person. — John D. Shane

Born in 1812, John Dabney Shane is best known for spending approximately two decades of his life collecting interviews and oral histories from dozens of former pioneers in and around Kentucky. Although he created one of the single most important source collections relating to the social history of the trans–Appalachian frontier his failure to collate his findings into any kind of published history has resulted in Shane becoming a largely obscure figure, at least outside of the historians who draw upon his source collection. Regardless of his level of personal fame, or lack thereof, he nonetheless left historians a rich legacy that has been drawn upon from Frederick Jackson Turner in the late nineteenth century to an array of historians studying the history of the trans–Appalachian west in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Filled with unguided recollections, Shane’s notes describe, very often in unusual detail, the rhythm of everyday life on the frontier. From interpersonal relationships to personal and familial tragedies, Shane’s notes describe in close to the settler’s own words the memories they shared with him of the frontier. Perhaps the best and only way to understand Shane is to engage with his note collection as a whole as throughout it, scribbled in margins and alongside interviews, are thoughts and opinions that shed some light on his character and illuminate the meticulous methodologies the man employed. Seemingly key to Shane’s work was his determination to accurately reflect the language and exact wording employed by his interviewees with his own opinions clearly separated from the stories his subjects related. Not every interview was recorded with any specific attempt to take it down in near verbatim detail but for the most part Shane explains when (and why) this was not the case; when he sat down with George Trumbo, for instance, he noted how his subject “tried my patience with his dullness.” As a Presbyterian minister, Shane sometimes expressed his religious inclinations in the scribbled notes that accompanied some of his interviews and documents. In one instance Shane sat down to copy the journal of one Reverend David Barrow, whose commentary 79

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upon religion is abruptly halted when Shane, clearly disagreeing with the tract he was copying, began to debate in his own distinctive style with his long-dead subject. Once Shane’s argument had been fully made, his own commentary ended with the same double parenthesis with which it had begun and Barrow’s tale was allowed to continue, controversies and all. When he sat down to interview Benjamin Snelling, a Methodist preacher who clearly irritated Shane, he expressed his religious view succinctly when he noted incredulously of his subject, “[he] violates the Sabbath, & yet excuses himself, that [a] pious pilgrim is not to die by the way[side].” Regardless of these personal frustrations it was Shane’s failure to get Snelling “to be rid of his airs, or perfectly at himself ” that was his greatest cause of frustration. When Snelling did continue to bring up the subject of religion, much to his interviewer’s ire, Shane simply “changed the conversation.” Religion, after all, was not what Shane had come to discuss. Shane spent close to two decades compiling unique interviews and recording oral histories from former pioneers of the Kentucky and trans–Appalachian frontiers, collecting in the process a wide spectrum of source materials that shed significant light upon the everyday habits of his subjects. Photographed in the 1850s, Shane cut an impressive figure. However, within a few years, his health had failed and in 1864 Shane’s enterprising work, not to mention his life, came to a premature end. Although Shane never wrote the history he aspired to write he did create with his manuscript collection a very real and enduring legacy that stands, even now, as a monument to his life and work.

Josiah Collins Josiah Collins was born in Halifax County, Virginia, in 1754. An early settler of Kentucky, Collins arrived in the country in 1778, along with approximately eighty individuals, shortly after Daniel Boone and the salt boilers had been kidnapped by the Shawnee. His first port of call in the country was the fort town of Boonesborough where he stayed for two months. Although not present at the siege, Collins knew the town’s inhabitants well enough to collect much information on this episode which he would later pass on to John Shane, including reports that “there were but 60 men that bore arms” at the time of the assault. Shane recorded two extensive interviews with Collins when Collins was 84 years old, both of which are presented here. The first, as described in the introduction to this volume, has been edited into a clear chronological order while the second is presented largely as it appeared in Shane’s notes.

William Sudduth Born in Virginia in 1765 to John and Anne Sudduth, William Sudduth did not move out to Kentucky until 1783. By the time Sudduth and, later, his family arrived in Kentucky, John Filson was in the process of declaring in his forthcoming Present State ... of Kentucke that those settling the country could expect to do so in “peace and safety.” The falsity of Filson’s statement and prediction is perfectly captured in the case of William Sudduth, who became heavily involved in the frontier war virtually from his arrival until its end in 1794, fighting with, among others, General George R. Clark on his

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famous campaigns north of the Ohio River. Sudduth provided Shane first with an interview, as was typical, but later furnished him with a much longer, more detailed written account which Shane copied and then returned.

A Note on Editing Abbreviations have been expanded and punctuation added, subtracted, or corrected in deference to modern readers where such edits were deemed necessary. Throughout these interviews some phrases are contained within double parentheses, as in ((what name had it before it?)). Such phrases are typically Shane’s own thoughts, notes, or expansions to the relevant part of the original text. In the original documents a number of notes were written in the margins which related to the main text with wildly varying degrees of relevance. For the most part these additional notes, unless obviously key to the text, have accordingly been omitted.

Chapter Six

JOSIAH COLLINS’ FIRST INTERVIEW When we came to Boonesborough March 26th 1778, we found a poor, distressed, & naked, & starved people; daily surrounded by the savage, which made it so dangerous, the hunters were afraid to go out and get buffalo meat. About 80 of us in company had come in together. Colonel John Donaldson (General Jackson’s father in law.), and Colonel Dillard were of the company. In less than 2 weeks, one of our company, James Kelly, was killed & scalped by the Indians about a mile from the fort. The pressing necessity of our wants, compelled us to trespass on some fat hogs which ran about in the fort; to the great dissatisfaction of their owners (we had nothing to pay with) which we boiled and ate with bread or salt. After that, John Martin, a celebrated hunter, took some of our men, and bark canoes, & went up the Kentucky [River] and killed and laid in a quantity of buffalo meat, and bro’t it down. We then had to barbeque the meat to preserve it, as we had no salt. When that was exhausted, Lieutenant Hutchings shot down a large steer of Colonel Calloway’s, one morning, for the use of the soldiers (we were all soldiers; listed men for 3 months. Donaldson had come out as an officer, but gave up to Dillard). Colonel Calloway, exasperated, swore that if any man killed another head of his stock, that he wo’d shoot him. Captain Davy Guess, who lived in the fort, gave leave to go up Otter Creek, & hunt up his hogs, & bring them in for provision. I was one of 6 men that went out. We killed and bro’t in 5 fine ones, and likewise ate them, as we had done all the other meat, without bread or salt. In this way we lived, getting little by little (of provisions) out of the woods, until the 1st of June when orders came from General Clark, to march to the Falls of Ohio, to join him, with some troops from Pittsburgh & to proceed on to Kaskaskia, Illinois. I did not go further than the Falls but returned with Colonel Bowman at Harrodsborough. Part of our company mutinied, & went in with Colonel Donaldson and Mrs. Boone before we were ordered to march to the Falls. Somewhere about the 1st of May, Mrs. Daniel Boone, supposing her husband dead, returned with her family from Boonesborough to Carolina in company with Colonel Donaldson, thro’ the wilderness. A little before I left Boonesborough a party from that place, went in pursuit of a party of Indians that had stolen horses & gone down towards the Ohio. They (the whites) got in between two parties of Indians as they discovered by the fire of a gun behind them. They then stopped, tied their horses, & formed a half moon, till the other party came up. The surprise wo’d have been complete, 82

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but Ephriam Drake fired too soon, and the Indians, having dismounted, fled. Boone afterwards asked Blackfish, who was one of them, why he didn’t fight. He replied, slapping his hand, very fast; slapping his hand to show the firing was too soon together: too much. Captain John Montgomery, from Boonesborough, was one of the officers, and he went on the expedition. Colonel Bowman, & a small party, of which I was one, returned to Harrodsburgh. Elisha Collins — my brother — if living, is in Alabama Silas Harlan — afterwards Major & killed at Blue Licks Battle James Yearby — was killed after his return & Isaac Harris — killed by the Indians: since that were all outpost men Our provisions (on our return), was still buffalo meat (with bread or salt) when we co’d get it. It being, from the Indians, frequently seen walking about the fort, very dangerous to get it. So on until roasting ears. We then made them & beans the principal part of our provisioning, until hard corn co’d be grounded on the hand mill, for bread. The emigrants from the east were as numerous, the winter 1778–1779, that they soon consumed what corn they had. The same sort of living was had, the next summer, at Lexington, April 17th 1779, & so on with buffalo meat only, with bread or salt. The corn raised being consumed in 1779–80— as before, the summer of 1780 was also passed on Buffalo meat, as before. Hitherto, the women co’dn’t get along. About 10 or 12 months after the corn of 1780 came in, that is in 1781 (the women began to breed pretty fast), about 30 armed men were frequently dispatched to McConnell’s Station for (a midwife) the celebrated Mrs. Harper. After the summer of 1780, the settlers had so increased, that the people generally had bread aplenty by grinding it in handmills. Boone’s Filson [statement] was written by Humphrey Marshall. Boone lived at that time at the cross-plains, 10 miles from Lexington. General Caliamers and I had a conversation about some statements, & he said Humphrey Marshall was to blame about that, & that he ought not to have written it. It was always understood that Humphrey Marshall wrote Boone’s statement as published by Filson.1 Colonel Daniel Boone did not exceed 5ft 10 inches, very well set, well made man, to that. Hair, reddish sandy. Complexion, fair. High forehead, hollow eyed, middling long nose, and that bowed over a little. Wide mouth and a good set of teeth. Of a remarkable pleasant temper, nothing appeared to ruffle his mind, or make him uneasy, & of a pleasant countenance. I never understood that Boone run the gauntlet [when he was a prisoner], neither do I think that he did. Andrew Johnson was the very 1st person that made his escape. A small man, came in, in June following. Bartlett Leary, another, came in the next spring. I was a great deal with these 2 men; hunted with them, and Andrew Johnson told me a great deal about how they treated them and I never heard anything of their running the gauntlet. Understood that the English gentleman gave Boone some clothes, and that after he had left Detroit, Captain Blackfish told Boone he tho’t they wo’d fit him best. Don’t know this, however, nor the affair with the horse. I understood in those days, from others, not from himself, that something like Schull’s statement common. Rode — hung his saddle up on this side of the river, & came along on foot. William Hancock was the companion that was escaped after Boone and bro’t advice

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Figure 7 — A map of the area surrounding Boonesborough (map by the editor; based upon a sketch by John D. Shane and Josiah Collins, Draper Manuscripts, Wisconsin Historical Society).

to Boonesborough that the expedition was put off 3 weeks (believe he is now living in Maysville). Squire Boone was the one that was wounded at the time of the making of the treaty at Boonesborough. The bullet took him across the back of the ((omission))2 without materially hurting him. As he went into the fort gate. I was well acquainted with a number that were in Boonesborough at the time of the siege. Jacob Stearns was one that went out to the treaty. An Indian grabbed him by the arm. He got away from him, and another Indian now before him, in the way of the fort. The 2nd he knocked down, & jumped over him, & so made his escape. Blackfish came to the top of a hill, opposite Boonesborough & called to see Boone. Boone and William Bailey Smith (Major) went out. Blackfish said to Boone “Well Boone, howdy” “Howdy Blackfish.”3 “Well Boone, what made you run away from me?” “Why because I wanted to see my wife and children.” “Well you needn’t have run away if you’d asked me, I’d let you come. Well Boone, I have come to take your fort. If you will surrender I will take you all to Chillicothe, and you shall be treated well. If not I will put all the other prisoners to death, & reserve the young squaws for wives.” Boone said he wo’d return to the fort, & council with his warriors. Blackfish came again to see what determination they had come to. Boone told him he had determined to defend the fort to the last. The same day they sent a Negro with a flag, for leave to kill some of his beavers; which was of course granted. He next sent the flag back, with peoples to make a treaty the next day, & said they wo’d go home: which was all agreed to by Boone. The negro returned the 3rd time, the same day, with the message that Blackfish and some of the warriors wanted to see Boone’s squaws. Boone returned [the] answer that Boonesborough’s squaws were very much afraid of the Indians (the men at the port holes wo’d call to the negro not to come any more, or they wo’d shoot him. Didn’t want him to make any discoveries). The treaty was commenced the next day in a lick, where there was a salt spring & a fresh spring, that came out near together, about

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60 yards from the fort. The chiefs of the Indians & Boone and his chiefs went to meet them together, all unarmed. The Indians came out, 2 to 1. Boone & 8 other with him, & of the chiefs (or Indians) 18. After they had signed the treaty, Blackfish said it was a custom with the Shawnees when they made a treaty, for two of them to take a white man’s hand, to shake hands strong, and to make a strong & fine peace. This stratagem to captivate the whites had foreseen by Boone, & according to his directions, as soon as the Indians commenced to grapple & endeavour to secure the white men, a party in the fort, poured a full and heavy fire on them in the lump, which drove the Indians back to the lines, & gave opportunity for the whites to escape into the fort. This was in 1778. London, a negro man belonging to Colonel Henderson, who had made a place under the cill, to shoot out, was shot and killed — the Indians noticing the firing from that place [they] shot and killed him. David Bondreen [Brundin], a white man, was killed by a shot through a port hole. Fanny Calloway’s statement, as made to me, of the capture of the 3 young ladies; Susannah4 Boone, who married William Hays, Fanny Calloway, and —[blank space]5 ( Jemima Boone, married Flanders Calloway) they got into the canoe, and were pleasuring in the water, and got down below the fort. The Indians seeing them, had gathered flowers, such as they tho’t wo’d please them, & stuck them in the bank near the water to decoy them to land — it did so. They ran the canoe to shore, & got out to gather the flowers. The Indians closed in upon them & made them prisoners telling them that if they hallooed, they wo’d tomahawk them instantly. On that they started to the Shawnee towns. Didn’t go far from the place of captivity, till they found a horse, which they caught & put the 3 gals on, & when they wo’d cross a branch or anything steep they had to go up they wo’d all slip off. Being bare back the Indians wo’d laugh heartily, & put them up again. The 2nd day, Boone and his party overtook them on Little Flat Creek, in [what is] now Bath. The Indians had killed meat & stopped to cook & eat; & had 8 or 9 miles from Sharpsburgh, near the road for Owingsville to the upper Blue Lick. Built a fire and was roasting meat, the 3 girls were sitting, looking on at the Indians spitting up their meat. One in particular was a big Indian called Big Jimmy was spitting up meat on the side opposite them. Fanny looked at him to see how he fixed his meat. She saw the blood burst out of his chest, before she heard the gun. Other guns were fired & killed another Indian. There were 18 white men. The girls immediately [got up] and ran to them. Andrew Johnson, a very small man, was taken prisoner at the lower Blue Licks, with Colonel Boone in Feb. 1778 & escaped about the 1st of June following, from Chillicothe, and came to Harrodsburgh. Previous to his escape the Indians wo’d set up a mark, & try him if he co’d shoot. In order to deceive them he wo’d miss the tree. They concluded from his size, that he hadn’t his full growth therefore hadn’t learned to shoot. They wo’d call him by his Indian name: “Peguolly, which way [to] Kentucky?” He wo’d point a different course. They wo’d look at each other an laugh thinking him a mere infant. His adoptive father came to Kentucky to steal horses, and in his [adoptive] father’s absence, he and his Indian brothers had a fight. He, proving too strong, put the family all in fear of him. When his father returned the 1st that was told him

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was that Peguolly had fought his brothers — his father gave him a great reprimand for fighting his brothers in his absence, & threatened to sell him for his bad behaviour. That night was to be a great war dance, the warriors having returned home. His father, to punish him, told him to go to bed with the children — he sho’dn’t go to the dance. Peguolly went to his bed as ordered, but some time after, rose and went out to the dance. His father told him to take a dance, go home and not come back. He did so, took his fathers gun, tomahawk, knife, powder and lead, blanket coat, &c, & escaped, rafted the Ohio, & came to safe to Harrodsburgh. [He] Staid there about 2 weeks, took 4 men with him, went back on an expedition to Chillicothe, and about 10 miles on this side, they heard bells open late in the evening near them. They searched themselves till some time in the night, caught the Indian horses & tied them, then crept up near the Indian camp, fired in on them and killed 2. Captain Blackfish being one of the Indian party, cried out “huy! huy! Shawanese, we all Shawnees,” but as Peguolly’s company kept up the fire Blackfish & his men made their escape, went into Chillicothe, & told Boone the circumstances & he suspected it was some other tribe of Indians that had come on them to war, raised what Indian men he co’d & returned back to the camp, found 2 Indians dead & the horses gone. Returned home and told home and told Boone he co’d not tell who had done it. About that time an Indian got wounded at Boonesborough & the Indians packed him along until they got across the Ohio River, to get a horse to take him home, & in the presence, Peguolly passed by and he knew him. When the Indians returned to take him home, he told them he had seen Peguolly & some more of the Long Knife, with horses, pass by. They returned and told Boone Peguolly was a little man, but a great rogue. Further, after Peguolly had escaped from Chillicothe, they hunted 3 days for his track without success & grieved therefore very much saying Peguolly poor little fool, co’dn’t shoot and didn’t know the way to Kentucky, and he wo’d die in the woods. His father, alas, very much regretted that he had given the reprimand for he knew that was what had started him. Indians say “Boone! Think Peguolly found the way to Kentucky?” Boone “I don’t know.” Peguolly means Little Shut His Eyes. Early one morning in October (1778), a party of Indians came to Harrodsburgh. Jacob Chapman, Samuel Finley, and Mark Noble, had gone out to the cornfield to gather corn and beans. The Indians killed Jacob Chapman, taking his scalp & guns, but leaving a spear sticking in his breast. The other 2 escaped into the fort. They [the Indians] fired on the fort before leaving, to prevent any ones coming to the relief of Chapman. On the 15th of October I was one of 16 men that left Harrodsburgh under the command of Captain James Harrod, and proceeded to the Falls of Ohio. We there got a keel boat, went down the Ohio, & up the Mississippi to the salt works on the Spanish side, bo’t a quantity of salt, & returned some time in December. Rest of us, myself being one, remained at the falls until February following (1779). Then went up to Boonesborough for which part the salt was designated. From there went to Harrodsburgh. I continued at Harrodsburgh till the 15th of April, 1779 when I joined with 24 others, viz —

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1. Myself 2. Robert Patterson, Since Col. died at Dayton, Ohio. 3. Francis McConnell, died in Fayette 4. William McConnell, died in Fayette 5. Lailel. Johnson, near the mount of Hickman, if alive 6. William Davis, in Woodford, if alive 7. George Gray, in Woodford, if alive 8. David Mitchell, died in the Ohio 9. William Mitchell 10. John Morrison, died in Fayette, on Hickman since Major. Morrison said he leaded & shot 13 times at the Pickaway battle in 1780, & was shot in the ear. A brave man 11. William McCracken 12. Samuel Mays 13. James McIlvaine 14. John Story 15. James Wasson 16. Jacob Light 17. Elishe Beths, killed in Bowman’s Campaign in 1779 in a battle at Chillicothe 18. Koswell Stevens, John Hagan & he were killed by the Indians between the L. & Kentucky River. They were going from Lexington Fort to Harrodsburgh in 1779. The Indians killed Stevens, & Hagan made his escape 19. Nicholas Bradstone, dead in Natches. 20. James McBride, Indians killed him, between Georgetown and Cincinnati 21. Elisha Collins, in Alabama 22. William Hayden 23. Benjamin Hayden, down at the mouth of the Kentucky [River] on the Ohio 24. David Vance, 5 miles from Lexington 25. James January All from Harrodsburgh, and went on to Lexington, that now is, and built a black house; Commencing the same the 17th of April, 1779. Josiah Collins cutting the first tree, a burr oak about 2 feet across at the butt (was the head of the Spring). The log to put under the lower side of the black house, observing at the same time, in the most unsuspecting simplicity, that when there was a town built there, & he an old man, he co’d say he had fallen the 1st tree cut on the spot. We cleared & put under fence about 30 acres of land, that season; and planted it in corn. In the latter part of May 1779, 264 volunteers under the command of Colonel John Bowman left Lexington block house, on an expedition against the Shawnees, at old Chillicothe. Captain Logan (General Logan), Captain Holder (Colonel Holder) were captains under him. Bowman at that time had the command of all the Kentucky soldiers. [He] Weighed 230 or 40 weight; was tall & large. We crossed the Ohio River at the mouth of the Licking, where Covington & Cincinnati now stand, and there proceeded to what is called Old Chillicothe. Black-Fish was then their chief. We left the

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Ohio, on Friday morning, and reached Chillicothe a little before day on Sunday morning. The troops were divided on the right and left wings to surround the town. Capt. Holder (I was with Holder) commanded the right. Capt. Logan the left. The design was to surround the town about twilight. An Indian man came running out of town, with a gun on his shoulder, as tho’ he was going out hunting. One of our party, Hugh Ross,6 shot that Indian down. The crack of the gun alarmed the Indian town (I was close to Ross when he shot the Indian). The Indians immediately came out of their huts, and gave us battle. They then attempted to make their escape from the other side of the towns but met with Captain Logan, who gave them a heavy fire, which compelled the Indians to retreat to the centre of the town, where they had some log cabins in which they took shelter. They then kept up a constant and severe fire, from each (either) side of those cabins, for the space of 4 houses. They next sent out a Negro woman to inform us that these were an [hundred] warriors in town, & that they had sent a runner to Pickaway, for an [hundred] more. Colonel Bowman and his officers tho’t it most desirable to move from the town to the woods, as the town stood in an open plain. This they accordingly did. They then proceeded on homeward, leaving 7 dead on the ground. About one o’clock the Indians passed and overtook us, in the woods. Colonel Bowman formed his men into a circle round, and defended the baggage and plunder. The Indians came up and attacked us covertly, behind trees. There wo’d be intervals, perhaps of an hour, in which we wo’d hear no Indian. Then they wo’d commence firing again, & so continued till the sun was about an hour and an half high, in the evening. There was not, after that, an Indian to be seen or heard, until about sunset, when Colonel Bowman formed his men to march from the ground. The Indians then again renewed a severe attack. We then rushed on them, and drove them off the ground, without the loss of a man (But I ran over a dead Indian I know). We, after that, neither saw nor heard of them anymore. We lost one man in the woods, and gained one scalp. Total lost on our part, 9 killed and 4 wounded. A young man, a prisoner then, told me in 1783, at the falls of the Ohio, that about 40 were killed, and died of their wounds, on the part of the Indians. He was then living at the Old Chillicothe town. Was exchanged in 1783, for some Squaw prisoners that we took in 1782. Blackfish among the Indians who died of their wounds. John Denton, was wounded. We bro’t him along but he died. Got 2 scalps, the one Ross killed, and the one I ran over. Murdock was killed in the woods, and his brother killed the Indian that I ran over. He stayed out & watched (after his brother had been killed) and killed an Indian, & then runs in. This after the line of march had been formed. We then came on to the Ohio, and crossed at the mouth of the Little Miami bringing with us 163 head of horses, besides some other plunder, gotten from a trader’s store, which was broken up, &c. Got one squaw’s gown, in which were 1100 silver broaches. After we had crossed the Ohio, right on the river bank, on this side, the plunder was divided equally among officers and soldiers, according to the agreement under which we had volunteered. We were 2 days there, before we got it fixed.7 We came on then to Lexington Block-House again, and from that, each went to his own home. My brother and myself got a small mare, a yearling colt, and a 3 year old mare. But this amounted to £15 more than our share, which we never paid in the world.8 I swapped the yearling

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colt for one that we had gotten from Indians which they had taken from Captain Hart (from North Carolina) at Boonesborough (Gov. Shelby married his daughter any how) the year before. I took him onto Virginia, and bro’t him back and sold him at Bryant’s Station in the Summer [of ] 1780, to a Tory named Lambert, who heard that Cornwallis had taken Charlestown & wanted to go back (to Carolina) again. Bargain, a cow, & 2 pots, & a skillet. The horse kicked and nearly lamed Lambert, which furnished a great joke. Samuel McMullen rode one of the mares, so that she fell, and I had to kill her. The other mare, that fall, the Indians stole back again. I once traded another horse, for 3 good cows, 2 ewes, 2 old feather beds, a sow, & 5 pigs, and a hand- mill. From the 17th of April 1779 to about the 1st of November 1784, I was in Lexington. From august 1779 to April 1780, absent to Virginia, & that was all the time, for any time together. In the latter part of July, I went to Halifax County Virginia, & returned about the 1st of April 1780. On my return, I found a number of emigrants, and a strong fort; which things had transpired during my absence. Timothy Peyton, Joe Farrow, Thornton Farrow, Matthew Walker — young men, had arrived from Virginia, & joined up, when I left for Halifax in July. Riddle’s Station & Martin’s Station were both settled the same spring with Lexington but not until after Lexington was begun. Isaac Riddles (his wife [was] Bowman’s sister) & John, & most of their company went from Logan’s Station and [the] vicinity, and some from Harrodsborough, but none from Boonesborough. The Fall of 1779 was the 1st of Todd’s Station. Broke up, & came into Lexington in 1780. Bryant’s Station was also settled that spring after Lexington. The Bryants came from North Carolina to Boonesborough and from there went and built Bryant’s Station in 1779. I went from Lexington as one of a guard, to guard Justin Craig, Faulkner, Justin Long, & others and their families, from what is now called the Burnt Station. They being too weak, they were afraid to remain, & went to Bryant’s Station. The Indians afterwards burned it down which gave it its name ((what name had it before it?)). In the year 1780, three Dutch [Germanic] families settled in Grant’s Station, and the Indians were so severe, they killed the old man, Mitchell, & the 2 Stuckers, and their widows had to remove with their families to Bryant’s Station. I was on guard there 2 weeks, after Blue Lick defeat, lived on roasting ears, and slept on the ground in the middle of the fort. In the summer of the year 1780, or 1781, James Beasley went out from Bryant’s Station to hunt. Had been sick, but recovered, yet was not fully restored in strength. Was taken prisoner, & carried out to the Shawnee towns. In a few days he made his escape, rafted the Ohio River, and got near to Bryant’s Station. Not knowing where he was, he gave out and sat down by the side of a tree, to die with weakness, hunger, & faintness. After resting awhile, he concluded he might as well die in another place; he’d move a little farther, & went on. In travelling but a short distance, he came to a plain path that led into Bryant’s Station. After we had finished the Block-House at Lexington, about 3 weeks, or a month, we joined with Major Morrison to build a cabin near the Block-House for his family, & he went on and bro’t his wife and children. She was all the woman that was there till that fall; and that fall a large number of emigrants came in and built (from the back

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parts of Virginia & Pennsylvania) a large fort. In the summer of 1780, I was sent [as an] express from Colonel Todd to Colonel Bowman, on the other side of the Kentucky river and with me was sent Thornton Farrow. The express was something respecting the raising of the troops for the contemplated expedition under General Clark. We came to the Kentucky River, late in the evening. We there met Colonel Boone, & old Peter Schull (his son in law, Joe’s father), who had just crossed in the canoe. We lodged that night in company with them, near the bank of the river. The next morning we crossed the river, Farrow paddling, & I leading the horses, (and) holding them up as they swam across. We tied the canoe and proceeded on, and delivered the express to Colonel Bowman who despatched us in a very short time, & we returned back to the river. We found the canoe had been taken to the other side, and there was only the one in which we co’d get over. We then proceeded (at Farrow’s proposal) down to the mouth of Shawnee run; where Farrow had thought we co’d ford. I knew that we co’d not, for the river was full but tho’t we might as well be going down, as doing nothing or staying there. We hitched our horses, and Farrow walked on down some distance ahead of me, in the path leading to this river. Here we heard a noise, something like the noise of a young Elk, & Farrow beckoned with his hand for me to come to him; he told me that he had seen an Indian on the river bank. We then retired to our horses & made the best speed we co’d to McGary’s Fort, I laughing and sporting, tho not aloud, at the idea of Farrow seeing an Indian. As we went on we stopped and shook down some mulberries; and also at a spring 400 yards from McGary’s Fort, but in the woods — where we lay down on our bellies & drank, & then went in, agreeing, after we got in, to say nothing about our seeing an Indian — tho’t it mere supposition. The Indians however had pursued us, and a man named Hinton, who went to drink at the same spring, had 6 balls shot into him by the Indians. There was a muster then going on at Harrosburgh. I mounted my horse, & started for there on my way. I met McGary on his return from the muster, who wo’dn’t believe that any Indian had dared to cross on that side of the river, but told me to proceed and bring what men I co’d get. He himself went on home, & went out to where the 6 guns had fired. I told him, near the fort, and [he] bro’t in Hinton, who had been killed. I rode to Harrodsburgh & got 50 or 60 men to scour the woods. Next morning I hobbled my horses about 300 yards from the fort near the road leading to Harrodsburgh with an open bell on. Shortly after McGary mounted his horse, & rode off to Harrodsburgh, and near where the mare had been turned out in the road, near where she was feeding, a pair of shoes was laid, in the road. McGary dismounted and picked up the shoes. Just then, at the same time, an Indian steeped from behind the tree, and flashed his gun at him: & he got on his horse, & went on to Harrodsburgh and returned with a reinforcement of a few men to scour the woods (my company (again) had returned). I have reason to believe the Indians left the wood, as we co’d see no more of them. I remained there 2 days, till Monday evening when I left and crossed the Kentucky River. Tuesday morning I went on to Lexington. When I got to Lexington they had made a draft of the militia, but I had not had been included. This was the expedition of George R. Clark, to the Pickaway towns in 1780. The expedition went out and joined General Clark with the Illinois regiment, at the mouth of Licking [River]. Then went on to the towns, met with a number of Indians who gave

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them battle, with a loss to the Indians of 17 scalps, and 17 men to General Clark & thus it ended.9 Moses McIlvaine (from his own mouth). In the Summer 1779, Moses McIlvaine came from Bedford County, Virginia to Boonesborough. Was formerly acquainted with Colonel Calloway. Calloway, in order to accommodate his old friend, crossed the river at Harrodsburgh, in company with him & others, and went down some distance to the north side of the Kentucky [River], to show him the beauties of the country. On their return home, in the narrows between the cliff & the river, they met a party of Indians. The Indians fired, & at the report of the guns, McIlvain’s horse scared and threw him. They immediately made him prisoner, while the rest escaped unhurt. They took him on to Old Chillicothe, where the Shawnees then resided. There they made him run the gauntlet, and whipped him severely. At the out-come, a squaw struck him above the eyebrow with a war club and cut a desperate gash. Some white man then living among the Indians was kind enough to sew it up, & the wound healed. They then marched him on to Detroit, and sold him to the British. After living there some time, he became acquainted with a Sandusky Indian & told him he was very much troubled in his mind. The Indian asked him the reason. He replied that he had a wife and children in Virginia, that he never expected to see any more. Indian say, “how much you give me steal you [and] take you to Fort Pitt?” He answered £100. Indian: “I [do] it then.” But the Indian told him it must be sometime hence. He co’d know when it wo’d be safe. The Indian wo’d be gone several days from Detroit, & when he wo’d return, McIlvaine, if he had any little thing, wo’d make him a present to keep the Indian in with him & told him a certain night, sometime hence he must escape, but not to start until after the people had gone to bed, and asleep in town. He did as told, & took a path he had been told to take, & that in time he wo’d find him. He came to the Indian with 2 horses. They both mounted and started to Fort Pitt. On that night they came to a camp of Indians lying asleep, with their feet nearly in the path. The pilot left the path, & turned around, & McIlvaine followed, till break of day. The Indian then tied the horses and takes McIlvaine into a desperate thicket sort of a swamp, and tells him to lie down there, he believed the woods were full of Indians. He wo’d go out and see. Staid there all that day & night without any fire or smoke, in that miserable place, exposed to the gnats and mosquitoes, for fear that Indians wo’d see him. The next day the pilot returned with some meat for him to eat, & told him that he conversed with many Indians, they were going to besiege Riddle’s Station in Kentucky. He then left McIlvaine and returned the next day with more provisions, and tells McIlvaine , you may go now the Indians are all passed by. They went on & he had collected 2 more horses — had 4 horses each led one to Fort Pitt, and when he got there, the commissary, or store keeper, gave the Indian about £20 worth of goods to pay him for his troubles. McIlvaine told him if he wo’d go home with him, he wo’d still give him the £100, and if he wo’d stay with him, he wo’d give maintain him, a gentleman, [all] his lifetime. The Indian declined, and said he was afraid the white man wo’d kill him. When McIlvaine parted from the Indian to go home, & shook hands with him, the Indian shed tears & cried, and so they parted and McIlvaine got home.10 Colonel Todd and Silas Harlan both lived in Harrodsburgh Fort, & rode 20 miles

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to Logan’s Fort, to court the same girl, Ben Brigg’s sister. The old man, their father, told me, that he tho’t Colonel Todd was the best chance. They were both fine looking men, but Todd was a fine shot as, and had gotten to be 1st Clark in Kentucky Counrty.11 I need[ed] to stay in his family [home], & slept in the house, in Lexington, when he wo’d go on to Virginia, this in 1783, I think. I and one John Martin, & she [Todd’s wife] had Betty Thompson, whom John Martin was courting and I wo’d go up a loft & sleep and he wo’d come up &c. Levi Todd was married in the Spring 1779 while I was living at Harrodsburgh, and he bro’t her there. The Clark’s office was there. The court was held at Logan’s Fort, but the Clark lived at Harrodsburgh. The first court, in the fall of 1778. One William Poage got killed going to court from Harrodsburgh to Logan’s Fort, by the Indians. Colonel John Todd was a lawyer, & he had the management of the court, for the rest of the men were ignorant. Colonel Hugh McGary, & Captain James Harrod, were magistrates, both living at Harrodsburgh. The only clerk qualified was Levi Todd. John Todd & Levi Todd’s father & mother, both came from Ireland. Robert McKliffe’s wife, daughter of John Todd [who was] killed at Blue Licks battle, was born in the winter of 1781. In the summer that he was killed, I was at the house, and was sitting on the floor. John Todd told his wife not to give her any sweet milk, but to feed it altogether on buttermilk, that was the most healthy. Robert Todd married his cousin, the parson’s daughter. Their father was poor but their uncle John was rich, and gave them their education. Old parson Todd preached the first summer was ever preached in Lexington Fort.12 None of the Todds lived to be old men, they all seemed healthy, too. I think in the winter 1780–1, or 82. I am not quite positive, but I think it was. I am sure, I know he was the 1st preacher, because I was at the beginning of the place, and had lived there all along and never heard a man before Todd. He preached in the middle of the fort, out of doors, in the middle of the street. The people stood round, or bro’t stools out of their cabins. He didn’t preach there anymore. Don’t think he staid long. Daughter wasn’t married to Robert Todd then. John McKinney’s school house was outside of the fort, a small distance, by a spring that ran out of the bank. He had gone in early in the morning, & sat down by his desk, to do some writing, before school sho’d take in. He looked round, and saw a wildcat sitting in the door, & picked up a rule to throw at it. As he turned the cat sprung into his arms, and seized him with its teeth in the breast. He had had his hand wounded in the Battle of the Point in 1774, and wore over it a leather glove, & this he thrust under to get it off, and some came in to his help, alarmed by his screams. The cat was killed with little injury to himself. When Old Colonel Sudduth came to Lexington in the fall of 1783, I had raised a crop of corn, & employed him to in the fall to gather the crop, at 50 cents a day. We laughed about it the last time we met. He said that was the first money he ever made in Kentucky. On the 1st of March, 1781, a party of Indians appeared at Francis McConnell’s Station and wounded a man — James Wiley which alarmed Lexington & returned them to repairing the fort. That same day Alexander McConnell and myself were sent express from Lexington to Cross-plains — to Colonel Boone (he lived there) & returned that

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night. In our absence the Indians killed John Wymore (an old Dutchman), within 300 yards of the fort. And Henry McDaniel killed an Indian. That is the only Indian that was ever killed at Lexington. Lexington was a greater resort of men, than any other place in the whole country & they were always shooting off guns & so the Indians were afraid. There was never any other white man killed there at the fort.13 In June, 1781, Alexander McConnell (some sort of Irishman, & swore pretty hard), an expert woodsman, & a great hunter, killed a buck about a mile from McConnell’s Station (which was about a mile below Lexington on the same drain) hung it up, and returned home for a horse to bring it in on. On returning back to the Buck, 6 Indians had waylaid his path; as he passed they fired on him, hit the horse but missed the man; the horse w[ent] about a hundred yards, fell and caught McConnell’s leg, under his side. The Indians in close pursuit came up and took him before he co’d release his leg. He immediately told the Indians he was glad they had caught him, for he had wanted for a long time to live with them, but didn’t know how to get to them. [He] Harried, the Indians to run all night, the next day, all night again, & the next day till the afternoon — under the apprehension that the whites might much against his wishes, pursue & retake him. He was a very strong man, and he nearly run them down. He told the Indians, now says he, “let’s kill meat, & eat, they won’t pursue after us this far.” It was after dark before they got thro’ eating their meat. His object was to make them over weary & them eating meat wo’d make them oversleep their selves. They tied his feet with a buffalo tug and his arms thro behind his back & laid him between 4 Indians. 1 on each side and 2 on the opposite side of the fire. When he found that the Indians were sound asleep, he rose up. One had happened to drop his knife near the feet, when he had finished eating and lain down. McConnell got this same knife, & with it cut the cords that bound his feet and arms. From that he arose up and went to the guns that were sitting by a tree. Thinking to take his own gun, & make his escape but concluded that [the other settlers] wo’dn’t forgive him if he went away without killing some of them. He cocked 2 Indians guns and laid them on the ground. 2 more & held in his hands —fired and killed 2 of them — that alarmed the sleeping Indians. He jerked up a 3rd gun, and hit one, who fell over into the fire. The other 3 escaped much frightened. He said he caught up the 4th gun, & fired the way they went but didn’t know whether he hit them, or not. The 5th day he returned home in the evening, with his own gun, an Indian blanket coat, & a pipe tomahawk. We followed him ((said he heard a d — d14 rattling among the bushes, he didn’t know whether any was killed or not)) the next day, 70 or 80 of us, [went out] on horseback but we concluded he had gotten too far ahead of us, & quit it. McConnell was a stout, able-bodied, hardy man. I was mighty well acquainted before he was taken.

Battle of the Blue Licks The attack on Bryant’s Station was the 17th day of August 1782. That day came two men in haste to Lexington (Nick Tomlin one?) saying that the Indians had fired on a man near the fort that morning at Bryant’s Station. In consequence, Colonel Levi Todd paraded what men he co’d from McConnell’s Station & Lexington to go on to

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Bryant’s Station, to their relief. A number of men being called off to go on to Holder’s defeat, on Fleming break, in Fleming County, but few men were left in either of the forts. An express was also hastened on to those who had gone to Fleming, with directions to return and join him between Lexington & Bryant’s Station, which they accordingly did. The company then proceeded onto Bryant’s Station, some on horse back, & some on foot. Colonel Todd instructed Captain McConnell to ride around the cornfield to the fort, while the footmen sho’d go thro this field, under Colonel Todd. When McConnell got into the lane, the Indians were silent, and were roasting beef in the cane brake & bushes — but discovered McConnell when in the lane, and discharged a heavy fire at his company, which caused Colonel Todd to turn out of the field into the road behind the horsemen. Captain McConnell got into the fort, with [a] man on [a] horse being hurt. Major Netherland had come on with a party from the Cross Plains, and had fallen in behind McConnell, but was driven back, with one man killed, and 2 wounded. Colonel Todd and his party took shelter behind Trees, until Netherland’s horse (all his party horse) passed them on their retreat. Todd and his party had then to leave the ground, on foot (I was one of them), in the best manner they co’d. The Indians come shooting and hallooing in a frightful manner. I and Ephraim January, took thro’ a cane brake, and thus made our escape. We had run about one mile thro the cane, & crossed the road that led from Lexington to Bryant’s Station. Stopped then in about 60 yards to rest. Immediately 2 guns fired at the road near where we crossed it, & killed James McConnell, one of our party, as he was making his escape (we lost only James McConnell of the footmen). That evening we got into the fort at Lexington. Then Colonel Levi Todd sent an express to Colonel Justin Todd, who was at Colonel Trigg’s on the South side of the Kentucky River. Colonels Trigg & Todd together with Major McGary & Harlan raised a number of men, and came on to Lexington, the next day in the evening, being Saturday (Friday, it was, we had the combat). Sunday morning they proceeded to Bryant’s Station, where they met a small party (Colonel Boone, with) from the Cross-Plains, Boonesborough, McGary’s and Strode’s forts, and so proceeded on to the lower Blue Licks, on Licking River and on Monday morning crossed Licking River and attacked the Indians about a mile from the Lick, and was repulsed with the loss of upwards of 64 men, killed and taken prisoner (Col. Todd said I had been at the battle on Friday and he wo’d take such as had not been in it). About one o’clock Colonel Logan arrived at Lexington (where I had been left to take care of the garrison) with 400 men. I happened to be out at the spring at the time, and related to him (being acquainted with him) the circumstances. He blamed very much Colonel Trigg & Todd for not giving him notice — his information having been received by a traveller, who passed up that way. That’s what he told me. He inquired of one. He passed on, and met Mr. Pittman, come out of the battle, who reported the defeat. He then returned to the stations and forts, and gave positive orders for none to leave those places till he co’d get all the strength from the south-side of the Kentucky [River], together, to pursue the Indians. It was so long before they co’d be collected, that it was the next Sunday before they co’d get to the battleground. It was then thought too late to pursue — we buried the dead as well as we co’d, & returned home. I was with them to bury the dead.

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General Clark who commanded the Illinois regiment at the falls of Ohio, gave orders to raise all able bodied men to [be] ready at Bryant’s Station & Lexington to march against the Shawnees by the 1st of November 1782. Which was done. The men crossed the Ohio at the mouth of Licking, where Cincinnati & Cougton now are, & went to within 4 or 5 miles of the Indian towns undiscovered. A small party of horse, under Major Wells, in front, made a discovery of 2 Indians who made their escape. The whole army, consisting of nearly 1200, was then hurried on to a trot. Major Wells pursued into the towns, & took 8 prisoners. The Indian warriors, being at that ((time)) few in number, evacuated the town without the firing of a gun. The town taken possession of, was Chillicothe, on the Big-Miami. Major McGary immediately marched in with 500 men to McKee’s town. The Indian agent. The Indians there, had gotten information before we got in. A white man ( John Holly, who had been taken from Boonesborough, 4 or 5 years before) & a little negro boy, & plundered & destroyed the town. Major Morrison & Hugh Martin, being a little out, met with Mrs. McHall, a white woman prisoner, riding on a horse, with a bag of Taughsemenonne (roasts dried in a kettle so that they can get it off of the cobs, put it in water, boil it, as good as roasting ears) under her & 2 squaws walking. The ladies (we may call them) were frightened at the sight of the white men. She rode off. Morrison shot and crossed the horse, & she was thrown & Morrison took her, & bro’t her back on the horse with the company. Martin pursued and caught one of the squaws & the other one escaped into the swamp. The next day 80 of us were sent on horseback to the town where Mrs McHall had been resided. The Indians before we had got there, had evacuated, and taken from the towns everything but a few bags of Taughsemenonne. In our absence from the army, the Indians appeared on the opposite side of the river from the town, & shook their tomahawks. The next day, Captain McCracken, one of the horsemen, turned out his horse (his horse loose) to browse, & he went outside of the lines. He pursued his horse in the evening to hunt him up. He himself had gotten outside of the lines, and called to a sentinel to know if he had seen anything of a black horse pass out by him. A man behind some large fallen timber cried “here, come, here’s your horse.” McCracken travelled quick, & wheeled quick to run from him, and the man fired and struck him in the arm. It was supposed the bullet was poisoned. The arm mortified, and we buried him the 5th day at now Cincinnati. Bro’t 8 squaws home to the falls of the Ohio. In September, 1784, I was employed at 5 ⁄ 6 a day, as a hunter, by Ben Grayson, a surveyor. We proceeded on to where Maysville now stands where we found Edward Waller, with a party of men, building a cabin. We joined in and helped him, & I furnished them with 2 buffalo & [il] bear [ill] the time. They agreed to help him build, and he wo’d help us survey. He had the logs cut, & some of them hauled, when we got there. No families yet. About the time we finished the cabin, 5 men from Wheeling were surprised by the Indians, left their canoe, & come to us. These [men] gave us information that showed us the Indians were very plenty in the woods near Maysville. Grayson, on that account, concluded to return without making the survey. This was the first building raised at Maysville. That fall, people went out, & settled, and built more.

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In 1785, I settled a new place, about 3 miles from Versailles: between Frankfort & Lexington, and used from there to go to Rankin’s Meeting House. It was built before I left Lexington. John McKinney, the teacher, lived in Lexington at that time (there Rankin Viz. at Lexington). McKinney had known him, Rankin, in Augusta County (Virgina) & I knew McKinney. McKinney went out with Rankin to McConnell’s Station to make him acquainted with that people. The Station was chiefly Presbyterian. I knew but one man that lived there, that wa’n’t Presbyterian. He was William Dickinson, brother to Archie Dickinson. He, Adam Rankin, was making up a congregation then. The winter of 1783, the Stinsons, Major John Crittendew, Colonel Thomas Marshall, Alex Dunlop, Mrs. Martin, & Moses McIlvaine, made a settlement in that neighbourhood. In McConnell’s Station were 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

William John Samuel & Thomas Stinson John Wallace Francis McConnell William McConnell Mr. James Wiley William Dickinson Old Mr. Campbell Joshua Wallace

These were persons with families. The others, before these last, except the Stinsons, (were) never lived in a fort in this country. Adam Rankin came when the Stinsons were in the fort, and they went out in the winter of 1783. Archibald Dickinson, Allen Campbell, James Glen, Jus. Kersey, & myself, went out from Elkhorn, about 10 miles from where Colonel R.M. Johnson now lives, in May 1786, onto Drennon’s Lick. Crossing the Kentucky [River] about 3 miles above, at a ford, where the buffalo road crosses to the Lick. Got some lead (& silver) ore that Dickinson knew of, had found at that place; returned back about 2 miles on the North side of the river, to what is called the clay dick on the buffalo road. Dickinson proposed to me to camp at that lick. I told him I had never given the Indians an opportunity of taking advantage of me. He then told me he co’d take us a mile to where the devil co’dn’t find us. He took us thro’ oaky woods where there were much leaves, & our horses made a plain trail, to the head of a deep hollow, and down that, where he proposed to camp. We sent Allen Campbell to the top of the hill to watch the trail for an hour, to see if any savages came on. He returned in about 20 minutes with word that the Indians were at the top of the hill. We mounted our horses, then, & put [out]; the moon being about 4 days after the change. At the setting of the moon it became so dark, & the woods were so thick, we were obliged to stop and hold our bridles till day. At break of day, we mounted & made the best speed possible to Colonel Johnson on Elkhorn. The Indians pursued, came into the neighbourhood of Johnson, & killed a man, & returned on the same route.

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General Wilkinson, John May, & John Craig, 3 wealthy men, agreed with this Dickinson, that they wo’d buy the land, sending to Virginia giving him a right in 1 ⁄ 4 part of the land, & 1 ⁄ 4 part of the profits of silver for telling of it. They sent on to Virginia and bo’t a thousand acres. After this the 3 gave Dickinson 900 acres of first rate land (200 each), & £50 cash, for his part, he to be excluded from the company & then [they] went on to work the mine. They got one man killed, & Jerry Hays taken prisoner, by Captain Blue Jacket, a Shawnee chief, & others. He was taken in fall of 1788. This mine was from the salt water, in Drennon’s Lick, 100 yards. The Lick was 400 yards from the mouth of the creek where it emptied into the Kentucky River. Hays was called Little Horse — weighed about 160 [and] was an Irishman. Mrs. Blue Jacket gave 20 gallons of rum for him. Hays was taken on a Sunday morning, in October 1786. 3 men only were at the fort at Drennon’s Lick. One had gotten up very early, & gone out to hunt. A Mr. Monroe, & Jerry Hays were yet in bed. Monroe told Hays if he wo’d get up & bring a bucket of water, he, Monroe, wo’d make up some bread, & they wo’d have some breakfast. Hays acceded, & went out, & saw Captain Blue Jacket coming in at the fort gate. Hays slammed it to, but Blue Jacket thrust it open before he co’d get it fastened, and they then took him prisoner, & tied him to a big oak to shoot him, but Blue Jacket interrupted and said he wanted him to carry a big kettle home that he had found there. Monroe was killed trying to escape out of the top of the house. And the 3rd man coming back, and seeing the little fort on fire, made his way back into the settlements. I met Hays back in Lexington in 1787, when I had bro’t my father’s family from Virgina to Lexington. There was a man after that called James Drennon that I had understood had been a prisoner of the Shawnees but I never knew him —&c.

Chapter Seven

JOSIAH COLLINS’ SECOND INTERVIEW It was while Boone was in Kentucky, 2 years, alone, and had sent back Squire Boone, his brother, after horses & more ammunition, that his wife got in that way. When he went home in 1771, there was a child in the cradle.1 When he came, & she met him, she cried for shame I suppose. Daniel wanted to know what she cried for. She pointed to the cradle. He knew it co’dn’t be his, for he hadn’t seen her for 2 years. “Oh well,” says he, “whose is it?” “Why it’s [your] brother Squires.” “Oh well,” says he, “one of the name is all the same,” & so hushed her up.2 Daniel Boone’s wife was a Bryant. She was a sister of Mr Bryant, the 1st settler of Bryant’s Station. When Mr. Daniel Boone went in, in 1778, Squire Boone, & his family, were all here at Boonesborough. She then left him, she said because she tho’t the Indians wo’d kill him. He wo’d never get back. In that case she wanted to be with her father and family. When Hays came to Boone for his daughter, Boone told him it wo’dn’t suit, she wo’d [omission] him. Hays wavered all apprehensions, and they were married. The thing was Kariged — Hays came & complained to Boone. Boone replied, “didn’t I tell you she wo’d [omission]3 you. Trot father, trot mother, how co’d you expect a pacing colt.” ((When I expressed to Mr. Collins my surprise at Boone’s injustice to himself in this remark, he reminded me that Boone was raised in the backwoods of Carolina — that those there times were very different from these — and that such things there were not what they now wo’d be)). Susan when I saw her at Boonesborough, was a clever, pretty, well behaved woman. There were stories that were in circulation [to the contrary], & not anything I saw ((and yet Mr. Collins wo’dn’t deny but he believed them true)). Daniel Boone was a backwoods man, a hunter, & a warrior; and these were the points in which his years shows to advantage. Yet he was a remarkably pleasant, good-natured, mannerly man, for his education; as much so as anyone I ever saw. He had another daughter in Kentucky, that married Philip Go; Rebecca Go. They lived in Kentucky. Old Mrs. French’s name was Keziah Calloway; married James French, a very decent, respectable man. The salt works were about 3 miles west of Kaskaskias; across on the west side of 98

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the Mississippi. They were boiling salt there, in leaden as well as iron kettles. This was the only time any one ever went to that place from Kentucky for salt, that I ever knew of. This too, was the 1st salt had in Kentucky. They had not had any before, & Bullit’s & Mann’s Licks were not opened, [in] Boone’s till in 1780, or 1781, and Mann’s after that. Captain (that was afterwards Colonel) James Harrod, was our commander. He bo’t salt, & paid for it in continental ((I think he said continental)) money. 1) 2) 3) 4) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9) 10) 11) 12) 13) 14) 15) 16)

Captain James Harrod Alexander Douglass William Williams James Pruett Samuel Douglass John Philips Roswell Stevens Jos. Millican Edward Hammond Wilson Mattox John Shelp Josiah Collins William Manifre John Isaacs Samuel Dennis forgotten

We had lost so many of our horses in Kentucky, we concluded to buy at Kaskaskias. Alexander Douglass and William Williams went out with their horses over land, by the Outpost. Major Helsus was the commander at the Outpost, at the time. The very night they got there Gov. Hamilton came along, with a parcel of French, & 25 British soldiers, from Detroit, and took [the] Outpost, and Douglass and Williams with it. Williams got on his horse in the fort. The fort gate was open, & he just dashed out, & kept on. Never stopped till he got to where Clark was, at Kaskaskias, to whom he gave the information. Clark then set off, with his men, on foot, & retook it, by means of the French soldiers being cowardly, and throwing down their arms. Gov. Hamilton, and the judge,4 & 25 British soldiers were then sent on to the falls: and from there by Harrodsburgh, on thro to Virginia. Gov. Hamilton, I understood, was a native of Pennsylvania.5 Colonel Harrod, I understood, had been at the French town, 12 years before this. He co’d talk French as fast as any of them.6 Had thus been living in W. with the French, before any settlement had ever been made in Kentucky. In this way7 it was [that] Harrod came to know any thing of the Salt-Lick. Can’t say there was a great deal of salt making there then. We staid there upwards of 3 weeks before we co’d get any salt. Harrod had also lived among the Delawares. Co’d talk their language. As we came down the Ohio, we stopped & went on the bank and discovered a couple of Delawares, & some squaws, at a camp, a little piece back from the river. Harrod took some Taffa (rum) in his hand, but kept it behind him, so that that Indians sho’d not see it, and went on to talk with them. The Indians held their heads down, & pretended not to

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understand English at all. Harrod said these men are Delawares. [He] Gave them the Taffa, and they soon were [abe] to talk English freely. Harrod asked them what their names were and then told them their father was his father.8 They then said Captain Harrod my brother & appeared very proud, as Indians are of any relationship to the whites. Before this parleying ended, Harrod got one of these Indians to consent to go with him, to be a guide to his men in taking the horses they intended getting across by land, from Kaskaskias, by [the] Outpost, and so thro the woods to the Falls. The Indian was drunk when he was taken in, and lay in the boat without knowing how far he was going, till they got away below the mouth of Cumberland: perhaps had gone 50 or 60 miles when he woke up. He then wanted Harrod to set him on shore — he wanted to go home. Harrod reminded him of his engagement. He cared nothing for this, unless perhaps Harrod co’d be induced to provide him [with] a great deal more. At length Harrod changed his mind, & proposed to set him on shore. The Indian then wanted to know how far they had come —& was in turn, for not leaving. Harrod intimated they had come 5 or 6 miles, promised him some goods in trade for his furs, in case he sho’d go out & hunt till he returned, & so at length got the Indian on shore. When we returned we saw nothing of them ((they heard the Indian sing somewhere again, on the top of the bank, & one of them cautioned the boys to keep still — they didn’t wish the Indian to know [where] they were. This a little lower down I suppose)). Let on the Taffa was all gone, to get him to go more readily. Going up the Mississippi. Harrod introduced the cobbing sport. The offender was to be held over, with his fundament protruded, &to receive a slap from every person on board —1st person who didn’t pull off his coat or roundabout was to have a cobbing. Then his vest. Then his shirt, britches, &c till he got them stark naked, rowing up the Mississippi. Harrod was a very lively, pleasant-hearted, friendly sort of a man. Put fire to Joe William’s ((berlsely red)) head: burnt up Billy Mennifer’s britches, & was always playing some pranks on the men — which passed off in perfect good humour. When we got to St. Louis, Harrod bo’t a stallion, kept him stabled, & bed, & ran [illegible] nearly every day, while he staid there. He attended to his horse, & put Bill Williams, who was a very small man, on him, as his only rider. The French wo’d catch their horses, fresh from the savage, & sometimes put the heaviest man they had on him: a man that might be 40 or 50 lbs heavier than Williams. Harrod always won. Harrod had a dark skin, with a thick black beard, was a first rate hunter and trapper, understood the woods well, and was a good hand with the rifle.9 After we had started up the Ohio, on our return we met 2 Frenchmen. The first we met told us that 400 Cherokees were waiting for us at the mouth of the Cumberland intending to kill us. These Frenchmen were going, in their canoes from Outpost, to the Kaskaskias. After we had gone a piece still farther up the Ohio we met the 2nd Frenchman, in the same way, who confirmed the threat of the 1st statement, viz., that the Cherokee were there. Cumberland was called the Shawnee River; & the Tennessee, the Cherokee River. When we got up opposite the turn Harrod had the oars wrapped round with rages (or goods of some kind) so that they sho’d make no noise in the water, and then we rowed all night, till we got way above there: keeping on the northern shore, and so escaped. Mr Collins told of seeing a squaw of some other tribe, on the bank, after this, and

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of their going up & talking with her. Her husband was out on a hunt. They told her of the Cherokees being reported to be below, and the thing appeared to make her as uneasy as it had us. Said, when her husband came home, they wo’d remove their camp. An Indian is as much in hazard, meeting with one of another tribe, as he wo’d be from meeting with a white enemy.10 Batters was a French 1 ⁄ 2 breed, and head of a little band of Kaskaskias, about there ([the] River). Some anecdotes were related of him.11 12 Indians came from over the other side of the river, from now Missouri, came by Batters’, on their way to Wayne’s battle. They endeavoured to induce him to go along, and one of them represented how he had killed the whites in Harmer’s campaign, till his arm was sore, & gotten abundance of booty. Batters declined going. On their return, the party stopped again with Batters. 8 out of the 12 had been killed, and one that had thus spoken, had been shot in the arm. Batters told him he had fo’t this time till his arm was indeed sore.12 Batters went in to Virginia at this time that Patrick Henry was Governor, and was spectator when Patrick Henry fled, as the British captured the Virginia Capitol. He laughed and made rade fun of it. Had gone in by Harrodsburgh. [He] said the great Captain called for his horse and fled. That was the very time he wo’d stand by his men, & head them. Patrick Henry’s leaving the capitol alone, or in the way he did, seemed a great disgrace to the mind of Batters. There was a family of white people, at this time, living at Kaskaskias. But their name Mr Collins had forgotten. The horse I bo’t was a grey mare; for which I gave $60— continental money. There was no objection to it — quite current. I went to the Frenchman to get a horse. He told me he had a plenty, but that they were then all out on the range; that he wo’d have a couple that he knew wo’d suit me, bro’t in. Accordingly, in the course of a couple of days, the horses came. When we had concluded the purchase — he said I must treat. I told him, “Oh no,” as I had paid him the money, he must treat. So we went into the house, & there sat his lady —& he produced his bottle & poured out the wine. We each took a glass, & touching them together drank it off. They were nice, mannerly, well behaved people, at Kaskaskias. Went to mass on Sunday, & from there to fiddling and dancing, billiards, and horse racing. After they had all left the church a while, I went in with one of our soldiers (at his request?). When we got in, there was a young lady that had still continued “standing on her knees,” from after the congregation had left, till this time. We said nothing to her, & when she left, she tipped her finger in the holy water & with it crossed her forehead & breast. They traded from about the falls a little (but very little tho’ for we won no clothing made of goods in these times. Used to pick up the nettles that had fallen & rotted, as they lay & make linen of them) with the French who had some stores at the Outpost. The French came down the Wabash, & then up to the falls, & traded. Mostly in what they called Taffa (rum) which was bro’t up to them from New Orleans. The hunters, too, slipped off and traded some little there.13 Andy Johnson, from Harrodsburgh, went there and got some clothes for his sweetheart, a widow & her 2 children. Squire Boone came from Boonesborough, by Harrodsburgh, on his way to Louisville, with a lot of cattle he was taking there to market, & stopped in at the widow White’s (Betty White, an Irish woman, her husband had been killed by the Indians before I

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came out here) and engaged boarding. He then stepped out & went into a Dutch widow woman’s. The Irish widow went into the Dutch widow’s house, and there saw her down. Squire Boone sprang up [and] lashed out at the back window or door, and went into the fort and staid there all night. The 2 widows quarrelled and Andy’s wo’dn’t have him, because he was little & the big Dutch woman said she co’d whip them both. Andy cried about it. And the men of the fort got around, & persuaded her to change [her mind] again, and they were married. When Gov. Roseblock was taken by Clark at Kaskaskias, a young squaw that he had raised, was taken with him. This squaw afterwards fell into Squire Boone’s hands, and he went with them, her & 2 negro wenches, round to Natches, & from there afterwards to Missouri, leaving his wife & family in Kentucky. They afterwards got to him, however, in Missouri. Yet this was the man that was in [the] Virginia Legislature. Bartlett Searey, was taken, when Daniel Boone was taken, as they were making salt at the Lower Blue Licks, and was with the Indians that accompanied Gov. Hamilton. On the return of the Indians, they were all riding, while he alone was on foot. Coming to a slash, in the way, they just rode thro’, & left him to walk around. As soon as he got out of sight, he took to his scrapers, & so got in safe, by the Falls, & on to Harrodsburgh. Colonel Boone, of those taken at this time, came in & reported the design of the Indians to attack Boonesborough. William Hancock, another of those taken in the Lower Blue Licks surrender, came in, a week or two after Boone, & reported they [had] laid off the siege for 3 weeks, on account of Boone getting away. The report or reports were known throughout the stations. Colonel Bowman, at that time commanding at Harrodsburgh, offered a $100 to any man that wo’d go as a spy to see if the Indians were there, and Bowman co’dn’t get a man to undertake it. It was 60 miles between the 2 places, the way they wo’d have to go. The whites got in between 2 parties of Indians, as they discovered by the firing of a gun behind them. Ephraim Drake killed the Indian. He ought to have let them come a little further before he shot. They dismounted, (the horses they rode were those they had stolen) and fled the party before they never came up to. Got their horses from this, & returned. It was likely the 2 parties knew nothing of each other. The fore ones might not have been Indians or they might have come over together, separated into different parties, and never gotten together yet. Major McGary had a tame elk, caught when a fawn, & kept to the age of 3 or 4 years. I happened one morning to get up & go out before any other person. The elk was in mischief in the garden. The woods were about 200 yards from the fort. I scared the elk out of the garden, & he ran off into the woods. He then instantly returned back, and appeared to be surprised. Thomas Denton, father of this John Denton, before spoken of, (then) coming out, I told him of the circumstances and immediately after, some crows came in, appearing to be frightened. Silas Harlan took about 12 men, & went to see if he co’d discover Indians. He returned and said they found no sign. After that, Sam Davis (that afterwards was of our company [that went] after salt) went out and got some beans & corn, & came in. Job Chapman’s wife waged him to go, & get her some. Chapman said he was afraid, & didn’t want to go. Samuel Finley, & Mark Noble,

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went out with him. There was no fencing between the different lots of corn and when they came to where the corn was, on to his ground, Chapman told Finley & Noble to pick there till he wo’d go & see where the line was between him & Dennis, he didn’t wish to get off of his own ground. The Indians lay behind the husks, that Dennis had husked off till Chapman came along, and then fired. When they fired, others, of the Indians, fired from out of the woods on the fort, to prevent the men from running out of it, to the relief of those in the corn, & then they all made their escape. That day was court at Logan’s Fort, & a great many of the men had gone up there. Swift, it was said the Indians blindfolded him, & wo’dn’t let him see, anywhere he was about, or as he approached the cave.

Settling of Lexington We got to Lexington place, about the 16th at night: and that night, 5 of our horses ran away. The next day George Gray, and myself, went out after them. We walked all day, & tried to get back to camp, but co’dn’t do it. The 2nd day it was the same. At night we made us a good fire, & lodged in a cane brake. The 3rd morning, we waked up, about break of day, and heard the horses bell very near, close by. We got up, & went, & there were our horses. We now mistook some of the brands of Hickman, for the branch since called Town Fork, on which the camp was, and followed on down till we came to a camp fire, with some meat hanging up at the camp, and 2 horses hobbled. Finding where we were, & leaving we co’d not succeed in finding the camp, we now struck over for Boonesborough, a good course, and getting there, turned our horses out on the north side of the river for range till morning, & went over the river in a canoe, & staid that night in the fort. In the morning, Benoni Swearingen, & Michael Beddinger, told me it was their camp & meat I had seen. They came home in the night, & had gotten over the river long after we did. There were 4 men at Boonesborough from North Carolina (Luilla White, the only name I can recollect) who insisted we sho’d wait for them one day, & they wo’d go down with us, & settle with us in our new design. The next morning they declined going down; which was a great disappointment. We had waited a day, and had to give Reuben Searcy a $ as he was acquainted with the woods about there, to go & hunt up our horses. The old woodsmen about Boonesborough directed us to find the camp. In truth they knew just where we were camped, and every big spring through the country; and just the place where this was. I told them which way the spring was from Todd’s cabin, and they knew where the cabin was. In truth there was a little path worn from Boonesborough to the cabin. Had no chinking or chimney to it. Suppose he, John Todd, built it probably in 1776. There were improvements, of poles built up into the square pen, in various parts of the country. But this cabin had a roof, and was the only cabin I knew of, in all that region. Searcy bro’t in our horses about 12 o’clock, & by night (I got them over there) we got to the camp. When we got back, on the 5th day, they had gotten the block house pretty well up; and then they slept in it, and then they cleared land, & planted corn. There were 23 men to do the work; they began it (the block house) immediately, & did the work speedily. Nothing else to do but to fall right

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Figure 8 — A map of early Lexington (map by the editor; based upon a sketch by John D. Shane and Josiah Collins, Draper Manuscripts, Wisconsin Historical Society).

to work. John Morrison’s house was built, & there they sent his family. John Morrison’s, I think John Hagan’s, & the block-house, were all that were put up before I went to Virginia. They tho’t the Indians had gotten us, when we lost the 5 days, but they were mistaken — the Indians had no business with us. On my return from Virginia there were 15 or 16 farms, besides a number of single men, at Lexington. 1. Josiah Collins 2. John Hiblick’s — nearly opposite to where the spring was 3. David Mitchell’s — where the block house was, before it was removed and changed to a cabin 4. John Morrison’s 5. Joe Turner’s 6. Alex McLean’s 7. James Morrow’s 8. William Martin, father of John Martin whose name I have often mentioned to you 9. John Wymore’s 10. Nicholas Brabstone’s 11. Old Mr. Thompson’s 12. William McDaniel’s 13. Samuel Kelly’s 14. Widow Thompson’s, Betty’s mother — that Mrs Todd sent for, when I spoke to John Masters & myself being there. It was no match. 15. Widow Kirtner’s 16. Widow McDaniel’s 17. Levi Todd’s. When he went to.

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William Henderson’s Captain William (Tanner) McConnell’s James Masterson’s Patrick Owens’ (Paddy O.) Thomas Darnall’s Major John Moseby’s, about 60 yards from the Fort.

About as well as I co’d place them at this distance of time. John Denton never lived at Lexington: Never built any [improvements] at Lexington. Major John Moseby, was the 1st man that built a hewed log house out of the fort. Had no family; and I used to go & sleep with him of nights. Had a cousin named Benjamin Netherlands —(afterwards of the Cross-Plains) both gentlemen. They built this house outside of the fort for their better accommodation. Were purchasers of land. This was the 1st house outside.14 Levi Todd came and put a station on south east about 6 miles: south or south west from Lexington, in the Winter of 1779–1780. In the summer of 1780, the Indians became so bad, they had to leave. They raised corn, and had a good deal of a garden; all before they left. The corn was so that it made itself, without any more work, before they left. It got ripe, & the buffalos got of it. Levi Todd came to Lexington, all the others that were [at] his station, recrossed the Kentucky River. Martin Dickerson (whose family was in Virginia), Dreky D. & James Boone, went there & lived high on that garden, & killed buffalo the next fall. One Mr. Lowry, that had been living at Todd’s Station with his family, & had to leave at this time with the rest, bro’t 2 of his daughters that he had no possible means of taking along with him over the river & went to all the cabins in the Lexington fort. Tried to get someone to let them remain in their cabin with them, till he sho’d go over to McMurtey’s Station & prepare to take them over; and co’d get no one to consent to let them do so. I saw him standing there, not knowing what to do; & crying.15 I inquired of him, his trouble. He said he co’dn’t take his daughters over, and he co’dn’t get them into any house in Lexington. I made him an offer of the cabin that I & my brother occupied, told him there were beds, & we wo’d use the buffalo skins on the floor, there was a cow (for which we had all traded, at B’s Station)16 which they co’d milk, & we were both hunters, & wo’d keep them supplied with meat, and that if it pleased him to accept such fare — we pledged him his daughters wo’d be well protected & unharmed in his absence. Was gone for about a month, to McMurtey’s Station about a mile from the river before he came for them. After that, wherever we crossed the river we were invited to stop at his Station, and the women were quick to set something before us to eat.

Warfare on the Frontier There was a stranger that appeared in the fort one morning, had been hunting down the other side of Lexington & stopped in at the fort. I accosted him as a stranger, that perhaps he was hungry, & invited him to partake of breakfast. I had a handmill

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by this time. He gladly accepted. His name was Stafford. Had a canoe on the Kentucky River. I always passed over free after that, when I had occasion to go. In September 1778, James Yearby, & Joshua Cartwright, both of Harrodsburgh, went to hunt buffalo, in about a mile from the fort, going out, the Indians killed Yearby & Cartwright made his escape into the fort. I was in the fort when Cartwright came in which was not till the next night. Never saw a man so scared in my life. He quit his mare, & had kept about till the 2nd night, and then came & called at the gate, in the night. If the sentinels in the bastend had seen him, they wo’d have hailed him. The next spring we got his mare in Chillicothe which showed it was Shawnee. We didn’t get Yearby’s there, suppose it was away somewhere else. Yearby had a family in Virginia. McGary, & a parcel of us went out and hunted for Yearby when Cartwright came in. But we never co’d find him, tho’ we tried at it a good deal. Cartwright said when the guns went off, Yearby cried out “Lord have mercy!” William Cradlebaugh, a man belonging to Boonesborough, had gone out across the river to hunt. He discovered so much Indian sign, he turned back. A party of men of us, went out to see if we co’d discover, or find, the Indians. William Kelly, & James Kelly, were 2 or 3 brothers that with their father had come out to Kentucky, and were at Boonesborough at this time. Their horses were out on Otter Creek, & being afraid these Indians might get them, while we were gone (I was one) in pursuit of the Indians over the river, they went to get their horses. They found their horses and James Kelly rode one of the horses, & kept the bell on it open, he going before, that the others might be drawn more easily to follow. There was space of open country for about a mile from the fort. They rode down Otter Creek & when they got into this open place, the Indians fired and shot James Kelly. William turned his horse & galloping off apiece as hard as he co’d, jumped down & hid in the cane. This was just at dusk. Our party had returned immediately before, & as soon as the firing was heard, John Martin (this same spoken of before) an old resident of Boonesborough, headed a fresh small party, and went out. It got dark, & they never went as far as the place. The next morning they went out again, & found James, his bowels ripped open. William had gotten in before this, that is, that we went out very easily in the morning. Had hid all night in the cane, & heard the Indians singing & dancing round his brother. We blamed the men, & they blamed themselves. It was the only time, & they ought to have gone up to the Indians. Kelly had, I think, 4 horses. These the Indians got. These old Dutch fellows were such fools, they co’dn’t take care of themselves.17 Tho’t if they didn’t go out and work, they wo’d starve to death, & never tho’t of danger. Mick Stucker said damn — the Indians, they had killed his father, and now he sho’d have the corn to work all by himself. Most all of the old Dutchmen got killed, in those days. James Stucker was one of the smartest warriors of those times. It was said he co’d track the Indians in the night. Lived down by Colonel Johnson’s, & when the Indians stole horses down about there, they tho’t they co’dn’t do anything without he [being] along. John Shelp (that was of our salt party) was killed when out on hunting tour. Shelp was a fool of the Dutch fort. Met with him once, [on] the other side of Harrodsburgh, towards the Green River country. David Glenn, & William Stuart, of Harrodsburgh, had a cabin about 50 or 40 miles from Harrodsburgh, where they had been

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out the winter before to kill bear meat. They hang it up in this cabin, prepared for the purpose, & dried and smoked it. This was in August following. William Stuart, Wilson Mattox, Robert Pruett, & myself were packing up the bear bacon. Had gone down after it and were on our way back, and were travelling in the night. The last 8 or 10 miles from Harrodsburgh — intending for safety to go all the way that night — and choosing the night time to come to the fort in. As we came along, within 8 or 10 miles of the fort, we discovered a campfire. The party was stopped, and one scout as a spy, who discovered it to be a white man. When we came up it was John Shelp, laying with his campfire, right in the path. Said he wasn’t afraid. Wo’dn’t die till his time came. This in 1778. Isaac Fearis, and Nathan Fearis, had made a camp on Russell’s Creek, in the Green River Country, and taken their families there. In the spring [of ] 1788, James Kearsey, a young man they had hired, was with them, and made his escape with the women and children, & told me of this. One of the women went out one morning, & discovered the Indians. She returned and gave notice. The Indians (Cherokees), closed in on them. The family & this young man, Kearsey with them, got away. He bro’t them on to the neighbourhood of the Crab-Orchard. The Fearis’s were brave men, and stood their ground till the Indians killed them. James Smith, a Baptist preacher, settled Smith’s Station [in the] winter of 79–80. A Baptist preacher at that very time. Smith was a volunteer in Bowman’s Campaign to Chillicothe. Stood up like a brave soldier, and encouraged the men well. Wo’d have made a good officer. He was however interested some, for he had lived on the Clinch, and lost horses. All who were along and had lost horses & gotten them back, the horses they got back, if they were along, were not put in the divide. Smith got some horses he had lost from off of Clinch. In the fall 1781, David Hunter, a decent young man, was going from McConnell’s [Station] to Lexington, a distance of about a mile walking, and was shot with 5 bullets & his scalp taken by the Indians. They escaped before we co’d get to them. I was one of the men that ran with my gun to see. He as a little the nearer to Lexington. He ought to have taken the woods, & remembered the Indians walked the public roads. J. & James McBride were of those that helped to carry him in. James Wiley, a man of family, [was] wounded at McConnell’s Station somewhere I believe about the shoulder. Slight wound. The men rushed out of the fort, & Captain William McConnell, not the tanner, but Buck Elk, shot & bloodied an Indian. Saw where the blood was dropped. Henry McDaniel & old John Wymore, were on the back side of the field, cutting timber to repair the fort with. In consequence of this alarm at McConnell’s Station. James Wasson was hauling the timber on what he called “truck wheels”—first made of truck — the section of a log, opened in the centre for an axle. Just 2 wheels. Cart, draws it with 2 horses, & riding one of them. Wasson had just started in with a load. McDaniel, pointing to another tree, said they wo’d cut that one next, & said to Wymore to begin while he sho’d go on top of the hill, to see if there were any Indians about. When McDaniel got to the top of the hill, he saw the Indians coming, & gave the alarm for Wymore to rush. Wymore dropped his axe & ran, but McDaniel being young

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& active, overtook the old man, & passed him. He co’d have gotten in, & did not need for himself to have stopped. But when the Indians shot Wymore, 3 Indians ran to scalp him. McDaniel jumped behind a large cherry [tree], raised his gun, & shot one of them — took him right across the eyebrow. An excellent place to brain pan him, & laid him down by the side of Wymore. The others put off as soon as they got the scalp, leaving the dead Indian [where he] lay. I saw him there the next morning. The men (a number [of them were] armed) ran right out, but the Indians were gone immediately in[to] the cane. Wasson saw the men running, but wasn’t stopping to get off, put whip to his horses, & got in with his load. I had this from Henry McDaniel’s own mouth. Wymore had 2 little boys at that time, George & Martin. Was it one of these, that gave me the information? In June, 1780, a party went out to hunt buffalo on North Elkhorn. The company was (from Bryant’s Station) parted. James Hagan taking one part, & William Bryant (that settled Bryant’s Station) another. After they had separated, Hagan & his men fell in with a party of Indians. Hagan’s Company fled as fast as possible, & the Indians pursued (being on horseback). Hagan crossed North Elkhorn, went about 100 yards, lit, & shot the 1st Indian that crossed the creek & then mounted his horse & ran again. When he got to Bryant’s Station, I was there to get a plough-share sharpened at the Smith’s shop. He came riding in with his hat off. Raised a party out of Bryant’s Station that same evening, & went back. The same Indians fell in with William Bryant’s party, wounded him, of which, after he had come in to Bryant’s Station, he died. George Bryant, a nephew (William’s brother Morgan’s son), killed an Indian and an Indian killed one Tomblin. An express came to Lexington, & the next morning about 70 of us turned out to scour the woods. We found the battle ground and the dead Indian. Tomblin wasn’t there. The Indians had been whipped. Holder and Logan had a contest [for] which sho’d have the right wing. Both, I believe, had raised men. Perhaps Logan was the older man, but Holder got it because he had the oldest commission.18 That Indian Ross hit was wounded in the shoulder. He fell, & raised as much of a squall as he co’d, & the Indians came out. Blackfish was wounded in our first firing. Robert Kirkman & myself were going to shoot at some of those Indians that 1st came out. McGary cursed us, told us not to. They were white men. Presently a ball came whistling by. “D — n19 it,” says he, “that was an Indian.” It wasn’t quite light, & I suppose he was in that way deceived. We co’d have shot the Indians. We were behind 2 prongs of a Black-Oak. We then got up nearer the town, behind a log. I said I believe I wo’d see if I co’dn’t shoot into one of those portholes. My brother told me not to; that Tom South had just been shot in the head by lifting it above the log. Hugh Ross then called out for Captain William Harrod to send him more men. There were but 12 left. Harrod said for them to retreat, they were going to leave that place, for they were going home. I believe Holder was a coward, what caused him to leave. We never went any further round than we had done, when the firing commenced. Holder and all his company but 12 of us, had left that side. They retreated, & then we retreated & with them joined Logan in the prairie. Had a run to get from our log to where Holder had gone to. One of the Indians tho’t, I knew, he had shot me. I fell down & waited until the others of

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the 12 yet behind had passed, & then I watched my opportunity & ran too. We left 7 men laying there, at that place we retreated from, dead, for the Indians to do what they pleased with. They were never picked up. In that prairie, John Martin shot the big stallion. John Porter, one of the 3 wounded men sent to the falls, had gotten wounded in the attack; was put on an Indian horse, on which had been put a new saddle, gotten out of the trader’s house, at that town. After we had left the towns, Ned Bulger & I think Jacob Varesnetre, were left behind as spies to watch the trail, & see if the Indians came on. These came in, saying the Indians were coming full speed. Porter expected the men wo’d be formed in a straight line, & went on the backside; but Colonel Bowman formed his men into a circle, marching the wings around in the opposite direction; on the inside. The Indians discovered Porter outside of the circle, got between him & the line & set on the chase. He saw them, & they saw him, & pursued him 2 or 3 times. At night he stopped & held the bridle. Sunday night we had travelled all night. Monday, Porter fell on our trail. Monday night we camped, & Tuesday morning he came to camp, just as we were going to leave. We had tho’t the Indians had gotten him. In the Summer of 1778, Sam Estill, rode Captain Hast’s old black horse (the same I sold to Lambert). He had been out hunting, and loaded it with buffalo meat, & was coming down the Otter Creek to Boonesborough. The Indians came on him, & he left his horse and hid in the cane. They took his horse, meat, wallet, & all. He co’d see them from where he sat. They found a twist of tobacco in his wallet. They were greatly delighted. They didn’t know he was so nigh, but he saw them sporting over his tobacco. They had seen him, & hunted about for him, but co’dn’t find him. This same horse we got again in Bowman’s Campaign. The Tories at Bryant’s Station tho’t the King was like[ly] to take the country, & they wanted to go back, as they did, to fight for him. The Indians had stolen all their horses, & they gave notice that they wanted to buy, and traded off their little household goods. I wo’dn’t have sold the 1st horse (the Hart horse to Lambert), but I was afraid the Indians wo’d get him, and I had no way to keep him up, & I tho’t I might well have something for it as nothing. Not long after the 1st sale (as they were hurrying to go), some of us were down at Bryant’s Station again, trading horses. The women (who will speak their mind), not knowing that we were the same, said we Lexington folks had come & traded Mr. Lambert a horse that kicked, & had kicked him on his thigh, and all but crippled him. The horse had grown ill-natured. They didn’t like it and I sho’d have minded it, hadn’t they been Tories. This time it was [lucky], that I made that trade for so much. A very good trade. George Bryant, that we spoke of, was a good Indian fighter — but went in at this time, and joined the Tories, and took a commission of a Tory Captain & was killed at the battle of the King’s Mountain. About this same time, I sold a mare of my brother’s to John Poor, another Tory of Bryant’s Station who was also of those that settled [at Bryan[t]s Station]. The fall [of ] 1779, while I was away, the Indians came to Lexington and stole horses. I had left with my brother a grey mare & a filly that I had bro’t from the Indians. These Indians came and stole these back again. Old Colonel Tom Marshall, came to the west, between the battle of the Blue Licks, & the campaign, and was not to open

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his land office till after the campaign returned. Lived at 1st in Lexington Fort, & opened the office there, in a cabin in the fort. Next moved the office into Woodford, where Dr. Louis now lives.

Clark’s Campaign of 1782 Clark’s Campaign, November 1782. Boone’s statement, has a number of towns named. To this Mr. Collins answers — we destroyed Old Chillicothe & Pickaway, 2 years before in the Summer of 1780, about July. I wasn’t in that campaign but had 3 brothers & 2 brothers in law, there. The Indians themselves destroyed Old Chillicothe, when they saw Clark coming, & retreated to Pickaway, where Clark came up with, and defeated them, & then burnt the town. They there had gathered, & there gave Clark battle. The Indians didn’t build Chillicothe there anymore but went some distance from there, & built a new town, on the west or south west slope of the Big-Miami, which they called Chillicothe. The Pickaway family united with them, & never built their own town anymore. These Shawnees whose town was burnt in 1780, Old Chillicothe, had come from the Chillicothe of Scioto. When they had built a town (that which was burnt) they called it Chillicothe too. The Shawnees, wherever they removed & built a town, they called it Chillicothe. This Captain Will (of whom we shall speak), had William Hancock prisoner. Captain Will asked him what his name was. He said it was William Hancock. Captain Will said William Hancock too much. Will was enough. His name was Will. “My name’s Will.” Captain Will had Hancock’s grey mare. One day she came up. Hancock went to look at her. Captain Will saw it, & came out & asked him what he was doing at that mare for. Why says Hancock she’s mine. “You lie,” says Captain Will, “she’s mine.” “Why you stole her” says Hancock “from me at Boonesborough.” “All the men & all the horses, says Captain Will, at Boonesborough belong to me.” This Captain Will was a chief— Captain means Chief.20 McHall was taken, I think, in the Summer of 1780 in Martin’s or Riddle’s Station. He & wife & 7 children. All afterwards got back safe to Kentucky. We got Mrs McHall at this time. The 2nd night after we left Lexington, a gun went off accidentally, and wounded one of our company. The third day, my Captain (William McConnell) solicited me & Hugh Thompson, to ride out & try to kill some meat. That night we lay out. The next morning we pursued on & came to the camp ground from behind. As we passed in, we came to a French grave at the camp. We were told that when they had stopped in the evening, several hunters had run out to kill game. One man had killed a deer, and was stooping down & getting it, when John Vardermain took him for an Indian, & shot & killed him. They bro’t him in, & buried him. So that there was one killed & one wounded before we got to the mouth of Licking. We there waited a day or so, till the regulars, & some militia, came up in boats from the Falls. While we were at now Cincinnati, we threw up a little sort of breast work, & put up sort of a little cabin, for Captain Adams to stay in, & take care of the invalids & wounded. Cabin right opposite the mouth of Licking.21 McCracken was buried with the honors of war, right by

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the cabin; and a log heap burnt over it to conceal the place. McCracken had been out with us on the 1779 expedition. Major Wales, & his company of horse, killed 2, when we came to the towns. Across the river, for a small distance, was a level bottom where the Indians attended their corn. The prairie then extended considerably up the hill. The camp was drawn up in the form of a hollow square, right on the bank of the river. The mess on the lower side (down the river) next to the river, was the right where the yard of an Indian cabin had been. The first night, the Indians came [to] the opposite bank of the river in the night, & fired on that mess, & wounded a man. They then fell back, & talked from off the top of that hill. John Sovereign, that had formerly been a prisoner of the Shawnee, & understood their language well, talked for Clark. This was over night. In the morning they returned & fired again before day, but did no injury.22 They fell back and talked again, as they had done before. Clark now put up a squaw. She told them she was a prisoner, and wanted them to come & make peace, or the whites wo’d come and take them off to their towns. To the 1st (when proposed to make peace) he [the Native American Chief ] was mad, & co’dn’t make peace with them — too mad at that time. As to [the] prisoner[s], he said let them do it, & he wo’d follow & take them back again. The 2nd day an old grey headed squaw came in, said she wanted to stay, & for Clark to let her daughter go & [to allow the daughter to] hunt [for] her children, that they were lost in the woods, that she wanted her daughter to find them & represented them as so high, so high. Clark told her she might go — but that wo’dn‘t satisfy her — she wanted her daughter to go. When Clark burnt the town, he had her cabin left; & told her there was her cabin, [so] she might stay in it. But she reflected, & said she wo’d rather go along with her daughter & so kept with Clark. She made the 8th prisoner. We had taken but 7. On the 3rd day, a company of 5 horsemen appeared on the hill, to decoy a pursuit. The Indians (as the prisoners afterwards reported) were collected on the island in the river above the town, & were to attack us. A company crossed the river near the town, & pursued the Indians right facing of them: killed 3 out of the 5, and got all 5 horses. The other 23 Indians left their horses & got into a swamp. 3rd day, in the evening, McCracken was wounded. The 3rd night (and the last we staid there) I was one of the guard —& stood on the 1st watch. When I had gotten thro’ & returned to the guard fire, I requested leave to sleep a little, as I wo’d have to go on duty again before day (my time wo’d come around). The officer readily assented, I laid down on some little strips of bark, & he laid down another patch on the top, to keep the rain off. While I slept, the Indians came to the back of the camp, and fired on the guard, a tolerably heavy fire. I woke and the bark flew off very quick, & I [went] to my arms. The guard was reinforced immediately. No harm had been done. A very heavy shower came on, & the Indians fired no more. Clark was good for one thing — he always kept his men together when in an Indian country. ((Speaking of information on other points connected with the expedition, he said)) I was only at the town where Major Morrison went to, besides Clark ((and a private

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co’dn’t know everything)). Clark cut out a new road to go home in. Was cunning enough not to go back the way we came. It was afterwards reported by those then prisoners that the Indians had encamped on Will’s Creek (by Captain Will’s town), by where Clark had passed coming out, expecting he wo’d return, as he had come. On one side of this creek there was a slash of 30 yards width. The Indians were to be in ambuscade on either side of the road. A common was placed on the top of a hill to give the signal, soon as we sho’d rise from the bank, the Indians were to pour a heavy fire from the thick bushes, & then to rush upon us. After waiting 2 or 3 days for Clark, the Indians got impatient, & sent 20 Indians as spies, to see what he was doing, why he didn’t come along. When they got to the town, they found he had gone, & kept his trail, & the night before we crossed the Ohio, they stole 20 of our horses. There came to the falls an Irishman named Sherlock, that had formerly been a prisoner among the Indians. General Clark had gone into Virginia & left Major Wales, as commander in chief at the Falls. Sherlock agreed to go out to the Shawnees, & take a letter, for $100. A squaw prisoner was sent along with him. When Sherlock arrived, the Indians treated him rather with contempt, & put both him & the squaw in prison. Sherlock said they might believe the squaw. No, said they, she had been among the white people, & they were afraid she had gotten to be as big rogues as they were. They wo’d keep them in prison, & take the letter to McKee the Indian trader, & if it didn’t read right, they wo’d put them both to death. About this time her brother came along, & seeping in at a crack discovered that the squaw was his sister & broke down the door, declaring that Sherlock sho’d go with them to McKee’s, & his sister go free. When they got to the towns, McKee said the great captain of Kentucky wanted to make peace with them. They were then satisfied. They were afraid of another thrashing, that their corn wo’d be burnt again. It had been all destroyed so the fall before, they were near starving. Had suffered mightily. They sent 8 chiefs to the Falls with Sherlock. Said there were 4 more that had gone to Detroit (always have 12 chiefs to every tribe, like the tribes of Israel). These co’d only say there sho’d be no more war. Peace was accordingly made. This was about in July, 1783. It lasted about 2 years (these circumstances respecting Sherlock, were related to me by himself when he came in). [Major] Wales proposed that they sho’d give up all the prisoners on both sides. The Indians were willing to exchange, but not to give up more. They said that the whites wo’dn’t take prisoners. They always killed them. Wales said that they knew that, that they skulked about so, they co’dn’t take them, they were obliged to kill them. The Indians replied they knew that, but that Wales had not an equal number of prisoners to exchange, & they wo’dn’t exchange with them, for no more than Wales had of their men. Cajah Calloway, Nathaniel Bullock, & Hoy’s son & it maybe Jimmy Calloway, and another young man, & others, were gotten at this treaty. They bro’t in 8 of theirs — for these 8 squaws we had taken. A party of Indians had come to the southside of Kentucky, & taken Hoy’s son, & young Dick Calloway prisoners. Colonel Holder & Captain Fleming raised a number of men, don’t know how many, and there on Fleming Creek were defeated. Captain John Fleming was wounded & John Clemens was killed. Holder was defeated. Waller had cut logs, & got them mostly hauled. Waller was a surveyor too, and

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agreed to go up & help Grayson, if Grayson wo’d 1st help him to finish his cabin. These men from Wheeling had left their cause & gone ashore for game & when they came back again, they found the Indians were at their canoe, and they put off immediately down to Limestone, as it was then called. I had engaged to supply Grayson with game — as the hunter to the party. Had killed a bear & buffalo cow before we got to Limestone, and killed another cow after we got there. When the men from Wheeling came, Waller was then afraid to go & urged the danger as his sufficient excuse. A word passed between him and Grayson, & the latter then gave the survey. He honourably paid me the 5/s in money, after we came home, altho’ we didn’t get the surveys made. This was in September fall —1784. John Waller, brother of this Edward Waller, at Millersburgh. In the winter of 1785, small salt works had been erected at Drennon’s Lick, & Archie Dickinson was employed to hunt for the salt makers. Jacob Doolan, a shrewd, observing old hunter, from Madison came about there, got some of the ore, and as he was loitering about, showed it to Dickinson. When asked where he got it Doolan intimated it was on the waters of Red River. Dickinson secretly suspected it was there about the Lick, & that the answer was only a blind. In the spring the Station was small, they were doing but little, and they broke up for fear of Indians. Very shortly after, where Dickinson was living with his brother, William Dickinson, in Woodford, a man came to the house for a chusk. A party of men were camped out in the road, or edge of the field. Dickinson asked who they were, & where they were going. From the conversation he found that they were going [to] Drennon’s Lick, & that Jacob Doolan was of that number. Next morning Dickinson caught up his little bay mare, & hasted on in the same direction; but finding himself before the party, turned aside, & stopped for the night at the Clay Lick. Next day he camped in the woods till they had passed back, and then went over & found where they had dug for fresh ore — and got [some] for himself. He had shown some that Doolan had given to him to the company and had been asked where it was but co’d not tell. He now showed them what he had further gotten, & said he now knew where it was. Where? Was the inquiry. But draw up your writings & make me safe, & I will tell you, Doolan replied. They drew the writings, & one of the company knew who was owner of the land, and they eagerly dispatched a man on horseback to Virginia to recruit. It had been located, & the owner lived in Virginia. The company were now wanting Doolan to go to the place and get more of the ore. The season was far in the spring & Doolan being afraid, refused to go. The company becoming distrustful, & beginning to complain, Doolan got us to go along with him (doubtful he wo’d have gotten ore from some other place — that he was false. Doolan got us to go with him, to get to the ore, to satisfy them that it was actually there). Doolan said he tho’t he wo’d be sure, & that they might not make anything out of it, & on their application, he sold them his interest as specified.

The Death of Edward “Ned” Boone and Captain Guess’ Little Girl “In a field near Lexington” Boone’s narr[ative]— this was Wymore. It was not “from the Fort. 6th of October 1780.” Boone’s narrative — He went from the Cross-Plains. I

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went with him [Daniel Boone] then to bury his brother Edward & pursue the Indians. Suppose the date [in Boone’s narrative] is correct. They had taken 4 horses. Each was riding, & each led a horse. The buffalo were all gone from about where they were living then, & they had taken pack-horses, & gone down to the Upper Blue Licks where there were always buffalo to kill & gut. Arriving at the Lick Daniel shot a buffalo, on this side of the river & set Ned to [begin] butchering it, while he sho’d go over [to] where he saw there were more, & kill another. When he got across the river he found fresh moccasin sign, & immediately returned, not waiting to kill any. Returning to his brother, they put a 1 ⁄ 2 of the buffalo on each horses, that they were leading, & so came back on the trace 15 miles towards Strode’s Station. Here they stopped, unloaded their horses, & let them feed. Ned waited to watch, & take care of them, while Daniel tho’t to find some more buffalo. The had stopped at a deer lick, which Daniel had tho’t to find more buffalo, but finding none there he tho’t he wo’d take a little round, & leave his brother Ned to take care of the horses & the meat (the round was from, & not to the Deer Lick).23 He soon met a young like bear. As soon as he shot, he heard another gun at the Lick, where he had left Ned. Immediately the Indians behind him, shot at him, but missed him. He jumped over the creek into a cane-brake, & was followed by the scent of a dog, yelping, till he continued again to get his gun loaded, & there he turned round & shot him & so made his escape. When the Indians came up with the dog, they raised the yell & stopped. They got 2 horses & meat & Ned Boone’s scalp. William Poage was killed about the month of August 1778. Was in company with some other men. Got mortally wounded. Got home, but died. Had a family in Harrodsburgh. Widow Poage married a McGirty. Coburn & his son in law were going from Logan’s Fort to Harrodsburgh with bags of corn. At the hanging fork of Dick’s River the Indians killed them, & took their horses & corn. Spilled a good deal of the corn, as I passing afterwards saw. This was before I had gotten to Harrodsburgh, had never been there. Was yet at Boonesborough. Early in the Spring. May probably. Harrod married the widow. “May 1782” Boone’s narrative — March “Man.” Captain Guess’ little girl, & took Captain Estill’s negro man & 2 horses. “Ashton.” Estill’s or Ashton’s Station 17 miles from Boonesborough, about a S. E. course. Captain Estill was on the Kentucky River, building a canoe, to have it ready to cross in pursuit of the Indians at any time when they sho’d do mischief.24 The Shawnees. They always went that way. As soon as the thing happened Mrs. Estill sent out word of it to Estill on the river. He had the 25 men with him, building the canoe. They searched, & found where the Indians had crossed the river, & pursued, and on the Hinkston, he overtook them, & battle ensued, in which he was killed & so on. Shortly after that, I was at Estill’s Station, & talked with the negro. When the action began, he quit the Indians & escaped to the whites, & so got away. He told me he had gone out with a slide & 2 horses, in the morning to draw in some firewood. Had gone & gotten a load & was on his return. The trace slipped off, & he got down to put it on again. As he was stooping, in the act of fixing it on, an Indian came and slapped him on the back. The negro looked up, & the Indians said “How d’y do?” The negro saw Captain Guess’ little girl, & called her to run,

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the Indians were there. She had started to follow him, as children love to do, & was outside a piece. They shot and killed her. The negro said the Indians felt of his leg. Said (he was a stout, able bodied negro) wo’d bring £100. Told that they were Wyandots. That they were (or had) sworn to do as much mischief as they co’d, & [would] never to give up, as long as there was a man alive. Mr. Collins told several anecdotes of the Davies — 3 brothers, James, Joshua, & Samuel. The Indians taking one of their families, of a suit between 2 men before hi[ill]in the field — in which they both were sworn to a statement which was contradictory, & he made the one that owed pay 1 ⁄ 2, & the other that claimed, lose 1 ⁄ 2. The one swore to the account, the other against it. He had appointed days for trying cases — they came on the wrong day. Of Parson Rice, & an baptism. Ran gold astray, wo’dn’t he mark the lamb. I [Shane] supplied Mr. Collins with my razor. It was heavier than his, & being accustomed to shave without glass, (never shaved with one), he cut himself. Said he hadn’t “understood the humour of my razor.”

Chapter Eight

WILLIAM SUDDUTH’S INTERVIEW I came to Lexington, from Fanquire county, October 28th, 1783. [I] Remained about a week. Then went to Louisville; through a wilderness till we got within 7 miles of the place. Then settled & spent that winter in [what is] now Clarke, at Strode’s Station from 11th December to 1st of June following. From there, then went to Maysville, in Company with Thomas Williams, Jeremiah Wilson, & Thomas Wilson. In June. There was then no settlers at [what is] now Maysville. There had been a station established at Blue Licks, for the purpose of making salt, the year I wintered at Strode’s Station. We lay at Limestone, 10 days, making a canoe to go up the river in. We had just finished, when a large canoe came up from the Falls with 12 men. They had been down to Louisville, trading in peltries, furs, &c, & were on their way back to or about Wheeling. We took passage with them. At that time there was not a family living in the bounds of [what is] now Mason County. I went to my father’s, and returned with him March, 1785. When we arrived at now Maysville, we found a good smart cabin. Some person, in the mean time, had built a cabin and covered it. My father went into it, and occupied it. A brother Benjamin, 6 or 7 years old, died there. Also, during my absence, between June 1784 and March 1785, Kenton’s & Lee’s & Wood’s Stations, had formed the 1st settlement of Mason Co. My father and myself came up to Strode’s Station, and got horses to bring up the family. We arrived at Hood’s Station 21 ⁄ 2 miles east of Strode’s Station. April 5th —1785. This had also been settled during my absence. The remainder of that year, we were left uninterrupted by the Indians. In March 1786, they came up and stole our horses. The first horses they stole, we pursued, & didn’t overtake them. In about 3 weeks, they came again, and we pursued & didn’t overtake them. In about 3 weeks, they came again, and we pursued, killed 2 of the Indians, and retook our horses. In 1786, was out under General Logan. Was drafted under General Clark, but viz. in a frontier station, Hood’s 21 ⁄ 2 miles east of Strode’s, was not taken. In 1786, [during] this campaign, an elderly white woman was bro’t in with the prisoners, who co’dn’t speak a word of English; & her skin was very white. In March 1782, the Indians attacked Strode’s Station. Had killed 2 men and wounded one or two. Also took some negroes. In the winter of 1783, when I was at Strode’s Station, there were 50 men in it. It was well stockaded, had bast ends at the corner, &c. The 2 Clinkenbeards, Jones of 116

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Flemming & myself, are all that is left of that 50. William Clinkenbeards lives 3 miles on the road from Winchester to Paris, was at the Station at the time of the siege. Of Isaac, his brother, the same. 4 or 5 miles farther from Winchester, in the edge of Bourbon. They were at the settling of Strode’s Station in ’79, in Clark’s campaign of 1791, and with Sudduth, under Logan, in 1786. In October 1785, 3 men went out hunting from Strode’s Station. 2 of them were killed the first night, as they lay camped. A man by the name of Baker, built the first cabin where Brimer now lives, in the hollow, back of the Court House — at Winchester. Held several courts at Strode’s Station before it (the court) went to Winchester. Winchester was opened (cleared) in 1793. Court House was put up of round logs, unstopped. Cost, about $401— there was an open crack behind the judge’s bench. I set my hat there, one day; and while I was on the bench, it was stolen. In 1786, Paris was established. In 1783 there was but one hewed log, shingle roofed house, in Lexington or Louisville and no one was living at Paris, Washington, or Millersburg. There were some soldiers at Louisville, and the officers had a little square shingled roof house. A Mr. James, & a Mr. Hayden lived to the right, about 2 miles on the way to Lexington. We went there that night and forted. In September 1788, I meandered the river down, and there was a good deal of timber there hewed, but no building that we saw. In the fall, 1790, Colonel Hardin’s defeat, under Harmer, my brother was killed. In 1790, the Indians were very bad in the upper part of the state. Baker’s Station, where Judge French now lives, was attacked. One man killed, and another wounded. A few days after, 1st of July, 1790, they wounded two, at Morgan’s Station. I went out at that time with a company to attack them. They afterwards killed Mr. Reynolds, between Morgan’s Station and the Iron-works; to the right hand of the road from Mount Sterling, to the Olympian Springs. About 2 miles, to the right, where the road crosses slate for Slate Iron Works, where the road crosses the Slate Creek. In October 1792, 2 men went out to catch their horses at the Slate Iron-Works. Robert Johnston, one of them, was killed, at once, the other attempted to escape, and came to Slate, which he crossed on a tree that had fallen down; as he evaded, the Indians shot him, & he fell into the water. A day or two after, I went there. It was a very low time of water and the creek was tinged for 50 yards; water low and standing. 1st of April, 1793, Morgan’s Station was taken. Established about 1788. I raised a company of 17 men, 15 horses, & 2 foot, and went 40 miles that day, in pursuit. The Indians finding they were pursued, killed all their prisoners but 3 — viz. 5 or 7 — 2 that had theirs skulls broken, and had been left for dead by the Indians, were taken back. Mrs. Craig died and Miss McCraft recovered. But they were scalped and both had their skulls broken. This tomahawking was about 20 miles from the Station. Miss Cassandra Allington, a young woman, was taken, and carried off & transferred, till she got among the Cherokees where she compelled to marry a Cherokee, & had 2 children by him. She then got to come and see her friends, and never wo’d return tho’ he came after her. Think she now lives in Morgan County. Benjamin McCraft, a boy [of ] about 13; Mrs Young and her infant; were the rest and all that were preserved. Mrs McCraft was an elderly lady, & co’dn’t travel over 7 or 8 miles. They killed her. Almer Baker was killed at the Station. One man escaped with all his family — and several others escaped.

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The Indians found the gates open, and everything out of order and just rushed in, about 10 o’clock in the A.M. and took it by storm. Had often been at the Station before and done mischief; but had never made an attack upon it. In 1794, Cincinnati was half the size at Owingsville. There were 3 brothers of the Girtys, Simon, James, and George. Simon was a very talented man, & wo’d not have joined the Indians had he received a commission as he wanted. General Kenton was not with General Wayne at the battle of the falling timber in 1794. He wo’dn’t serve. Captain Baker, who had been appointed his lieutenant was promoted to Kenton’s place and I to Baker’s. Kenton was not on that campaign at all. This appointed a correction of McClung[’s history]. Boone co’d write a good strong farmer’s hand. Was Deputy surveyor to Colonel Thomas Marshall in 82, 3, 4, 5. And deputy under me in ’97. Made several surveys. Came to my house and staid all night, several nights, and made out his plots; so that I know that he did it himself. Surveyed 100,000 acres of land. Boone was in Logan’s campaign of 1786. Had his family in a little cabin, just below Maysville. There was then but a 1 ⁄ 2 dozen families in Maysville. John Ashby was with Hancock Taylor, and was one of the 3 that went down in Canoe to New Orleans When he came round to Charleston he heard that brave Captain Jack Ashby, & his party, were all ambushed by the Indians. Some man read it there, in the tavern, in a newspaper. Ashby gave it the lie. The reader asked him how he knew. “Why,” say he, “because I am the man.” His nephew, Benjamin Ashby, surveyed what he supposed was 200,000 acres (must have been double that), in the very core of this country, in 1775. The Revolutionary War broke out before they got their title completed. It was for, and called, the Ohio Company Survey. Landed in Kentucky, at Limestone, about the 1st of May, 1775, and got through in October during which time, he never shaved. Went from there on to Boonesborough. But some surveys which Ashby made for himself, & others, & Marshall, & they entered, adjoining the Ohio Company’s survey, were held. Mrs. Wilson came out in April, 1784. Mrs. Wilson, in 1785, was a woman grown when I was 19. Thompson’s survey, of a similar kind (with Ashby’s), made in Lincoln, & so on, all fell on the same principle, with Ashby’s. No Thompson that ever came to this country, that I know of. Marshall wrote under the signatures of Corilarers. Inness under one of his own. Marshall at length provoked him so, that Inness came out under his own name. Marshall said he had had a good deal to do with rogues & knaves, & at last it had come to this — that he had a contest with Harry Inness. Littell wrote the Festoons of Faney, a novel, & Doctor Andrew Hood of Winchester, had a copy. [He] loaned it to me, [and] I furnished him with a number of the acts of Virginia. Littell was very studious, and very eccentric in his ways. He informed me he was 1st educated for a clergyman. He didn’t like that, & studied medicine, & practiced in Mount Sterling awhile. Dick Greenup, and the owl’s head. [John] Filson, I think, was at Strode’s Station while I was there. Was making out a map and surveying some of the Ohio, at the time. Understood that he measured the Ohio, from Pittsburgh to the Falls. John Bailey, Universalist, member of convention of 1790? Major Thomas Speed, in Bardstown, saw in Marshall’s office, as early as 1785. General Lee Washington, Mason County, can give the best information in regard to the settlement of that country. Mr.

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Morrison, moved out, the fall that I came to Kentucky, on to Hickman. Jones Hoy, taken at Hoy’s Station. Josiah Collin’s, on the Sharpsburgh road, 7 miles out. Oswald Townsley, lives near road, Madison county, early settler. Jesse Hodges, who came out in 1775, lives 7 miles out from Boonesborough, down the river, the other side. A very intelligent man.

Chapter Nine

A SKETCH OF THE LIFE WILLIAM SUDDUTH

OF

I was born in the county of Fanquire, in the state of Virginia, on the 20th of November, 1765. I was the son of John and Anne Sudduth, who were respectable, but not wealthy. My opportunity to get an education was small. I went to school about 5 months in my tenth year, in 1775. I learned to read a little, & had no chance to go to school again, until I was in my eighteenth year. I then went about 5 months as I co’d be spared out of the crop. In my 17th year, I went 10 days to learn surveying. My parents were desirous to educate me, but the revolutionary war prevented it as there were no schools in our neighbourhood during that period. On the 4th of September 1783, I started to Kentucky in company with Charles Morgan, Thomas Brown, & their families. Nothing material occurred. We arrived at the mouth of Redstone Creek, about the 20th of the month, where the families took water & descended the Monongahela to Pittsburgh, and down the Ohio. Thomas Brown, myself, & others, took the horses across to Wheeling, where we arrived some days before the boat, and proceeded down the river about the 1st [of ] October. We had on board 4 families & 20 horses. On the 7th it was concluded to put out 15 horses and 5 men to take the horses by land, and if the boat got ahead of us, at night, they were to tarry until we came up, & take us in. After travelling about 2 or 3 miles we came to Middle Island Creek. The back water compelled us to ascend it 2 or 3 miles before we co’d cross, and when we returned to the river, the boat had passed, unseen, by us and the next sight we had seen of her was at Louisville. We proceeded down the margin of the river, to the mouth of the Little Kenhawa — a distance of 40 miles — we then supposed the boat was behind us, and lay by a day & a half. The next morning we concluded to cross the river. I was the only person in [the] company but what co’d swim. We made a small raft to carry over our guns and baggage, which was to be towed over by ropes: the men swimming before it. I was to swim a horse across the river, about 150 yards wide, very deep back water. I had not gotten more than 20 feet from the shore, until the horse sunk; and as it raised, I got on its back. It proceeded, and shortly sunk again. As it arose the 2nd time, we separated, and the men on the bank came to my rescue & got me out. The horse was very near drowning, and was half an hour beating about in the back water, before it got to shore. 120

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It was then concluded I sho’d hold to the back part of the raft by my hands, and they wo’d draw me over by which means I got across. We then proceeded down, and found a canoe drifted to shore, which we took possession of, & put one hand on board, by which means we crossed the mouth of the Great Kenhawa, we found a note stuck up on a tree, stating that agreeable to consultation with Caleb Masterson, one of our company, the horses were to be taken by land and that the danger of Indians was so great, that the boat’s crew tho’t it was imprudent to wait for us. We were then 140 miles below where we were put on shore, and the boat 5 days ahead of us. Masterson denied he had made any such agreement. Where we were 1st put on the shore, game was very plenty, and we shot away nearly all our ammunition, before we were apprised of our situation. We now concluded to kill but one turkey a day in October, for 5 men; and that roasted, without bread or salt. We continued to travel on in this manner, on a turkey a day, for 11 days. We then came to where there were bear & buffalo which we killed and barbequed; & by that means, saved our ammunition and lived plentiful; but without bread or salt. We saw a great deal of Indian sign, & were entirely careless, but were not interrupted. We travelled down the Ohio until we came until we came near the mouth of Cabin Creek. We then concluded to leave the river, & strike out into the country, & try to find some of the forts in Kentucky. We fell into a Buffalo road that led us to the Lower Blue Licks. We then met with some hunters, which was a pleasing sight to us. We then pursued the buffalo road towards Lexington and on the morning of the 28th of October, got to Bryant’s Station, which was the 1st settlement we had seen after leaving Wheeling. We proceeded from thence to Lexington. We remained there, 4 or 5 days, & recruited ourselves a little. Charles Morgan, by this time, had come up from Louisville. 9 of the 15 horses we left the boat with had given out on the journey: my own, for one. He was brought in by some surveyors, & I got him again. Charles Morgan procured some men & horses & went to Louisville, to move the families up (from McConnell’s Station) one mile below Lexington. From thence there was no person living until we arrived within 7 miles of Louisville. Charles Morgan removed his family and settled at McGee’s Station in present county of Clark. I remained with him about 3 weeks, & left him, & went to Strode’s Station, on the 11th of December. After remaining there some time I commenced teaching school. Nothing material occurred during the winter. In March, I went with Ralph Morgan & others, who made a number of surveys of Slate, Mill Creek, and Little Slate. The Indians began to steal horses about the 18th of April & continued doing so until sometime in May, without being followed. By this time Major Hood had settled at the Station & encouraged the men to pursue them. Towards the last of May, the Indians stole 4 or 5 horses. The men pursued them. They crossed Hinks Station, at crossway, went up Flemming’s branch, near where Shaysburg now stands, & over into the head of Bald Eagle, & down the same, to near the mouth, then turned over the ridge, onto Flat Creek & encamped. We encamped about 2 miles in their rear, & next morning about sunrise, we came to the horses. They were feeding up the bottom meeting of us. Some of the men in front raised the yell, & apprised the Indians of our approach, &

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enabled them to make their mistake. Captain McIntire fired at them as they ran, but did no execution. We recovered the horses, & returned. Shortly after, I set out from Strode’s Station, about the 1st of June 1784, for my return home. I went on foot to Maysville, in company with Jeremiah Wilson, & Thomas Williams. We encamped in the bottom where Maysville now stands, 10 days, and made us a canoe to ascend the river to Wheeling. At that time, I believe, there was no person [who] lived on the Ohio, from near Wheeling to Louisville. In the course of the winter or Spring, 1784, a few persons settled & built a small stockade fort at the lower Blue Licks, for the purpose of making salt. At the time we passed the Licks, there was a widow woman & family encamped a small distance below the Lick, who had the smallpox, and were not admitted into the fort. While we lay at the river, the Indians came & destroyed them. About the time we were ready to start up the river, a canoe arrived from Louisville, on its way to Wheeling. We got on board of her. She was the largest canoe I have ever seen. The men on board numbered eighteen. We worked 8 oars. The weather was very hot & the labour especially hard. We went about 30 miles a day up stream. We got to Grave Creek, a small distance below Wheeling, in 11 days & a half, and there quit the canoe. We saw some Indians but received no interruption from them. I then started on foot with my gun, blanket & some clothes, and travelled about 200 miles to my father’s [home] which I reached on the 10th day of July, 1784 having been about from home 10 months & 6 days. I then remained in Virginia until the 1st week in November when my father started to Kentucky, with a large family. We proceeded on very well, until we got to the Alleghany Mountains, and the weather set in cold, & the road became so bad we had to sell our wagon & resort to pack horses. With great difficulty we arrived at Cheat River, a branch of the Monongahela, the snow about 8 or 10 inches deep. We there purchased a boat, and in launching, stove her. We then turned in and built a boat, which detained us until the last of February and started down the river on the 28th of the month. Went about 2 miles and stove the boat. We had then to lay by until the river fell, & then repaired the boat, & pursued the journey down the river to the mouth of Limestone, now Maysville, where we arrived, about the 20th of March. We were 20 days on our voyage, with very bad weather. During my absence from Kentucky there was a cabin raised in Maysville which was neither chinked, daubed, nor had a fire place in it. In this the family took shelter, until my father and myself went to Strode’s Station & procured some assistance to remove the family into the country. The next day after our return to Maysville, my brother Benjamin died, aged about 3 years. We then proceeded with the family & arrived at Hood’s Station, on the 5th of April, 1785 making 5 months from the time we commenced our journey to Kentucky. We had then a house to build, & ground to clear to raise corn. And all the meat we used to procure by hunting, as there was none to purchase. I hunted for the family, and generally kept plenty, from the 1st of April, to the end of the year. I had killed 60 buffalo, besides deer, bear, elk, & turkey. The Indians gave us no interruption this year. We believe they did not happen to find us out, & we were in the midst of a strong cane brake and the hunting trace from Strode’s Station passed about a mile & a half below, and continued crossing Stoner’s Fork to

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Grassy Lick. I hunted often by myself, and camped but alone. In December, 1785, I surveyed the land where Carlisle now stands & made several surveys in the neighbourhood of Cane-Ridge, then left the chain-men, & returned home. We saw no Indian sign. The next day a party of Indians fired on some hunters on the same trace I had travelled the evening before, when I had no gun with me. In October, 1785, Joshua Bennett, Matthias Spar, & Michael Cassidy, started with the intention to kill buffalo at the upper Blue Licks, & take the meat to the lower licks & exchange it for salt. They encamped the first night a Paint Lick Creek. The Indians came on them & killed Bennett & Spar, & wounded Cassidy. In the month of March 1786, Miss Hood & one of my sisters went out to a sugarcamp, about 200 yards from the fort, & amused themselves with swinging to a grape vine, till nearly dark, the horses feeding around them. That night the Indians caught nearly every horse belonging to the place. Several broke loose with their halters [still] on. One they took 4 or 5 miles & stabbed it in several places & turned loose. And [they] took 4 valuable ones off with them. We tried to raise a company to follow them, but failed. Major Hood, David Hughes, Joseph Blackburn, & myself pursued them nearly to the head of the clear-fork of the salt lick creek but co’d not overtake them. From all appearance there were 4 Indians. In April, there came in a party of 3 Indians, about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and took 2 mares belonging Major Hood which we had been working, & turned into the cane at 12 o’clock. I was out hunting, & returned about day-light down. No efforts had been made to raise men to pursue. I immediately started out, & by 10 o’clock next morning we had 17 men, & pursued them. We overtook them on Salt-Lick Creek, just about the mouth of the clear fork. They had killed a buffalo, & were busily engaged in cooking & making moquesons [moccasins] of the raw hide. We discovered each other at a distance of about 150 yards apart. We pursued them, and in about a 1 ⁄ 4 and half 1 ⁄ 4 of a mile we came up with them. John Donaldson shot one of them down. I was on a fine horse, & was within 10 steps of the other, when the horsemen were informed that some Indians were making their escape to the hills. I had no doubt that several of the footmen saw the Indians I was in pursuit of. The horsemen turned to the hills, but found no Indians. The one we left, dropped between 2 logs, unperceived by the footmen. As the horsemen were returning, the Indian moved position, and was there discovered by the footmen & started to run. William McMullen shot at him as he ran, & broke his thigh, & he was killed by David Hughes. The other Indian, we supposed, was with the horses in a cane brake. When we overtook them, we got their horses, their guns, &c, and returned home without gaining any injury. In the month of May, 1786, the Indians stole 2 horses from Strode’s Station. They were pursued by 16 men. They crossed Licking at the mouth of Flat Creek, we pursued them over to Foxes Creek. There they were reinforced by 7 more Indians, making their number 9. They appeared as if they wished to be pursued. They had 2 swords, & in passing thro the open woods, wo’d strike into the saplings & strip the bark down to the ground, so that we co’d see their blazes for a hundreds yards ahead. They crossed the head branches of the north-fork of Licking, & across the ridge to the head of Salt Lick Creek, that runs into the Ohio. We pursued them down the creek some distance

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before we overtook them. They had stopped at an old encampment, & struck fire, & were just beginning to kindle it. We always kept some footmen in advance of the horses, for the purpose of making less noise than the horses made. When the Indians discovered the footmen, they raised the yell, & fired on them without effect. The horse came, & the Indians fled. We got sight of but 2 of them. The others dashed into a thick spier wood thicket. The other 2 took up an open ridge. We pursued and killed them both. The one of them was a young man, & was killed by James Strode and David Hughes. The other was a large man, about 40 years of age, carried a sword, but no gun. He was killed by John McIntire, & John Donaldson; they both fired at the same instant, & both shot him thro.’ We then pursued the horses about 3 miles, & got them. We then returned to the camp, & found nine pack[s], one gun, from the 1st Indian killed, one pistol, & 2 swords. The Indians had in their bundles, women’s and children’s clothes of different sizes, which no doubt they had taken from persons they had murdered. The Indian killed that had no gun, had 59 silver broaches platted in his hair, & a large silver plate on his breast & superior dress to common Indians. We then returned home without injury. In July I went out on Slate & Lulbegrud to make a number of surveys.1 After having been out sometime, we concluded to lie by on Sunday & rest. On Monday morning we proceeded with a line that took us to the head of Slate, & came to an encampment where 15 or 20 Indians had been encamped the day before. Had we continued on the day before, we scarcely co’d have missed falling in with them. We quit our work, & returned home. The Indians did a great deal of mischief about this time. In the latter part of August, or 1st of September, Major Hood and myself were both drafted to go on a campaign under General George R. Clark. We were the frontier fort, & but 5 men strong. We both refused to go. After Clark had started, Colonel Logan raised about 350 men, to go to the towns of the heads of the Big-Miami. I went also as a volunteer. We crossed the river where Maysville now is, and proceeded to the towns. The night before we reached the towns, one of the men deserted and appraised the Indians of our approach. We started about midnight, & arrived at the 1st towns; Elliott’s Town & marched back, about 12 o’clock the next day. The Indians had not dispersed, & we charged on them without any line of battle being formed, and I think in 20 minutes after we 1st saw the town, no one captain had 20 of his own men with him. The Indians ran in every direction to endeavour to make their escape. We took upwards of 30 prisoners. All but 3 were women and children. And killed a few warriors. We took 3 men. The Shawnee King, an old man by the name of Molontha, was taken and bro’t to where the prisoners were collected, and instantly knocked in the head by Major Hugh McGary.2 A young warrior was taken & put under guard, & murdered by some of McGary’s party, the next evening. And a French trader was taken, & bro’t in. After the prisoners were secured, there was a call for volunteers to go & take the Wapotomica town, at a distance of 4 miles from camp. I got possession of a little Indian mare by giving up my own horse to the person who had caught it, in case I did not return it. It was fresh, & ran pretty fast. I then volunteered to go. The town stood in the edge of a beautiful prairie. When we discovered it, a Mr Henry Hall, formerly of Harrison County, & myself laid whip, & went through the town to the edge of the

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woods; where we saw some baskets of paw-paws thrown. We turned and went back thro’ the town, & met the army some distance before they reached the town. The smoke from their cabins was ascending very lively. After the army reached the town, there was one of our men killed in the edge of town. After we had plundered the town, & set it on fire, Colonel Edwards pointed to 2 or 3 cabins that were some distance from the town, & said he wished some of the young men wo’d go & set them on fire. I dashed off on the Indian pony, & either 2 or 3 men followed. The sun was then about down, & the army in motion to return to camp. We went, struck fire, & set the houses on fire. The army was entirely out of sight by this time. I struck across the plain to fall in with it, but there were 2 roads came into town on the same side. I, in the hurry of entering the town, had not noticed the one coming in to the right. I struck it, & pursued several miles. We saw several Indians on the rising ground. Appeared to be well mounted; but they did not attempt to pursue us. We followed the road until we came to a large creek, that I knew we had not crossed as we had went from camp. The men who were with me were much alarmed; nor did I feel safe myself. I struck into the woods, and at 9 o’clock arrived at the camp. The sentinels were double manned, & there was a good deal of shooting in the course of the night, & some of our own men were badly wounded. Next day I was on guard, & there was a detachment ordered out. I swapped tours with a man that was ordered out & got his horse to ride: my own was much jaded. We went to Blue-Jacket’s town, which was evacuated. We got some cattle, some hogs, & a number of poultry. At this town lived Colonel [Alexander] McKee, an Indian trader.3 He had fled, & removed his goods. We burnt his house, trunks & such articles as we co’d not remove; [we] also [destroyed] the town, & destroyed the corn. There was a swamp adjacent to the town. Some Indians on horseback, appeared on the opposite side of the swamp. The men pursued them. Almost every horse mired, & threw their riders. The Indians retreated without firing on us. We then proceeded to destroy another town in the same neighbourhood, & returned to camp. The army commenced its return home, about sun-down. We lost 3 or 4 men killed, & had 6 or 8 wounded: some severely. We marched until midnight, & then had to cook our supplies. Some of my mess mates were on guard. After I had prepared their suppers, I went & stood in their places until they came and ate. It was then nearly day. I had not, for 3 nights, slept excluding about 3 hours, & gone thro’ severe fatigue. The next night I was on guard. I suffered much for want of sleep. We then continued our march to Maysville. Colonel Daniel Boone & Simon Kenton were on this campaign. A few days before we arrived at the Indian towns, 400 of the Indian warriors had marched to the south to aid the Wabash Indians to fight General G. R. Clarke’s army. How lucky we were! If they had been at home, we must have met with defeat and destruction. As we were on our march out, while encamped about Washington & Maysville, the Indians went to Lee’s Station, where General Henry Lee now lives, and either killed or captured some negroes from Maysville. We all returned home from our quarter without the loss of a man. The Indians were very troublesome on all the frontiers this year. The winter 1786–1787 I spend generally in the woods surveying. In the month of March, I surveyed

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Licking Bottoms & the adjoining lands from Slate to Salt Lick. The Indians were plenty, but we escaped them. We were very careful concealing ourselves at night, & lying without fire. The supplies were driven in several times while we continued our work. We returned home, & shortly after, we raised a few men & explored the country as far as the Mouth of Beaver, on licking, but found no Indians. Shortly after our return, the Indians came to Hood’s Station, & killed my brother Ezekiel Sudduth — I was then in Madison County. A party of men followed them, as they had taken several horses, to the mouth of Indian Creek. The river was very high, & none of the men had ever crossed on a raft. They gave up the pursuit. I had crossed Licking 7 times on a raft that winter, but unfortunately was from home when the men started. Hood’s Station then broke up. My father moved into the interior. Major Hood was allowed a guard, raised a crop, & removed his family back in June, & collected some other families to live at the Station. On the 2nd of September I started out to make a number of surveys. On the 3rd I made a survey, near where Mount Sterling now stands. It began to rain in the afternoon. Some hunters, the winter before, had built a half faced camp, on the branch that passes through Mount Stirling, and about where there was afterwards a tan yard. A plain hunting trace led up the bottom, passing by the little mountains. Just before we came to the Mountain, we discovered a fresh trail in the weeds. The men went on to the 1 ⁄ 2 faced camp to stayed all night. I seated myself on the small Mountain to watch the back track. John Wade returned to me, & assured me it was Indians we had seen on the trail of. That they had been chewing the green cornstalks which had come up volunteer, and that he set his foot in the mud where they crossed the branch, & that their tracks looked as fresh as his did. He then tarried with me until dark. We then went to camp and I proposed if we staid there, that we sho’d keep guard. 5 of us in company — everyone opposed me. I then informed them that I wo’d not stay there to be butchered, that I wo’d take my blanket, & go into the cane, & lie by myself without fire. They then agreed they wo’d stand guard, sooner than leave the camp, as we were wet, & it looked very rain-like. There were but 2 ways the Indians co’d approach us. One was the hunter’s trace, that led by the camp; or to come up the branch. The weeds and cane were very high & thick. The trace crossed the branch about 10 steps from the camp. As soon as it was dark, I placed a sentinel at the point where the trace crossed the branch, & let him stay about 2 hours. I then directed John Wade to go & relieve him, & to go out openly in an opposite direction, until he got out of the light of the fire, & then take a circuit to where the sentinel was placed, relieve him, & to direct him to return to camp in the same manner, that if the Indians were in view that they might suppose it to be the same man. When the man returned he said he believed there was a raccoon, or something in the branch: that he had heard it several times. Wade had not sat half an hour, before he called out, “here they are,” & ran into camp. We snatched up what we co’d & ran about 30 yards; got out of the light of the fire, & stopped. We had left one gun, my surveying instruments, papers, & several other things. We ran back, one at a time, until we got all our plunder, & then [omission] & went a small distance farther into the cane, & weeds, & staid all night.

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The Indians attempted to cetch the horses three times & they run up to where we were setting, the last time about daybreak and stood there. We remained at our station until about sunrise. We then took a circle around and discovered as the Indians found they could not rout us, nor get the horses, they went off. We then discovered that when Wade and myself were on top of the Little Mountain they were standing on the edge of the creek not more than one hundred yards from us watching us. When the Indian approached Wade the night before he was about eight feet from him as he raised up the bank. It was very dark and his bulk appeared between him and the clouds. Wade cocked his gun and the lock made a noise and the Indian slipped down the bank and disappeared. As he ascended the bank he had stuck his toes in and made many tracks, as he retreated, he made but one, from the top to the bottom. The camp was about 8 feet wide and 10 feet deep, covered over with puncheons and built up on three sides with logs. The attack must have been made at the open end of the camp on five of us by seven Indians & no doubt they would have taken us when asleep. The next day they fired on John Halley, John Wilkinson & others who had started a grove of cattle to Virginia. It was then [that] their number was ascertained. We returned home, raised some men and were joined by some men from Bush’s settlement and pursued them up Tripplets Creek. The Indians had no horses & appeared to push on as fast as they could. We quit the pursuit and returned home. The Indians did no more mischief in our quarter that year. In March 1788 I went out and did some surveying on Slate and when I had finished I sent the chainmen home & John Wade and myself concluded to kill some buffalo & trap for beaver. We went to the Mud Lick and killed some buffalo and the next day went over to Salt Lick & Licking, searched for beaver sign & in the afternoon set out traps in Salt Lick Creek and went up a branch that headed in the mountains to encamp. The branch forked in the mountain, we concluded to camp on the left hand fork. I remained at the forks of the branch to watch the back track. Wade proceeded on about a mile with the horses and encamped. I remained until dark and then went to camp. I had heard some uncommon noise up the other fork in the course of the evening. When I came to camp Wade asked me what I had shot at. I answered that I had not fired my gun or heard a gun. He then said he supposed it was an old tree that had fallen & appeared entirely composed. We cut poles and stretched a blanket, as it was raining, cooked our supper and set down to eat. Wade said he would not deceive me; that if I was killed he should never forgive himself and stated: That about the time he stopped, there passed by him a gang of deer & went up the side of the mountain & were shot at so near him that he looked, expecting to see the smoke of the gun, but did not. That when he turned out the horses they fed in that direction, were affrighted, & came back several times in the same manner; that he concluded, after he found that I had not heard the gun, that he would not inform me as he knew I would not stay there. I immediately caught my horse and we packed up and moved off some distance, tied up our horses and lay without fire. It cleared up in the night & our cloaths being wet from the rain in the evening were frozen before day. As soon as it was light we went to our traps, had a beaver & went in a clear open piece of ground, made a fire, cooked our breakfast, dried our

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cloaths and started home. We collected our buffalo hides and about a half mile below where Mount Sterling now stands we came to a large Indian camp where they had chopped into a Sugar Tree & stuck a painted arrow towards the settlements. It appeared they had left the camp about twenty four hours before we came to it. We then turned into the cane, hung our hides and made the best way home. When we got home we received word that the day before the Indians had attacked Elijah Croshwait’s Station, about two miles east of where Winchester now stands and about four miles from Hood’s Station where I then lived. The Indians were so troublesome that I concluded to move my family to the interior. Accordingly on the 5th of April I removed near McGee’s Station, rented ground and raised crops in 1788 & 1789. In August I was drafted and went on Elkhorn near where Georgetown now stands for two weeks. In October I was taken sick and was confined for 6 or 7 months, during which time my father and brother John died. The next summer, 1789 the Indians did mischief near Georgetown. A call was made for me, & myself & others volunteered and went as far as Lexington. We there met Colonel Todd and others who had been down where the mischief had been one, who advised us to return, that a party had pursued and were so far ahead that we could not overtake them and [so] we returned home. The men who followed them crossed the Ohio river & had [an] engagement with them. Two men were killed, Samuel and Moses Grant, they were brothers and their mother was sister [to] Colonel Daniel Boone. Sometime in this year, 1789, the Indians stole some horses from Strode’s Station, were followed to Cabin creek, the horses were retaken and one Indian, Chief Blue Jacket was taken prisoner. They took him to Maysville, from thence to Robert Sconces, five or six miles below Paris where they staid all night and fixed a log chain around one leg & kept guard over him. Sometime before day the sentinel went to sleep, the Indian got the chain off, opened the door, where the men were asleep and cleared himself. Some years afterwards, James Caldwell met with him in Missouri; the Indian was fond of talking about it; he had forgot the name of Captain McIntire and called him McAnalta. He said Captain McAnalta was a very smart man, but if he had Captain McAnalta prisoner he could tie him so that he could not get away. The Indians continued to be very troublesome on the frontiers. In November or December I removed back to Hood’s Station. By this time Enoch Smith had settled near Mount Sterling. The Ironworks on Slate were begun, Morgan’s Station on Slate, & John Baker’s Station where Judge French now lives, were settled which drew the attention of the Indians from our neighbourhood. In the month of June 1790 I went out to make a number of surveys on Salt & Licking. I went to the Ironworks on Saturday evening & remained there until Monday morning. The men at the Ironworks took almost the whole of our powder. We proceeded on our work without missing it until we were near the mouth of Tripplet’s Creek. We continued on until we finished near the head of the north fork of Tripplet. We started home with one load of powder, that in my gun. When we got to Mud Lick there was a buffalo in the Lick. I shot it and wounded it & pursued it in hopes it would fall. I saw an Indian shift his position behind a tree; I continued to run, took a circuit and came back to the men. We immediately moved off slowly till we were out of sight

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of the lick; we then ran the greater part of the way until we crossed Slate, & continued our journey home. The next day after we got home, which was about the 30th of June 1790. Samuel Dickerson & Isaac Baker went to a deer lick. Dickerson was killed and Baker severely wounded. Major Hood and all the men in our station, myself excepted, went to their relief. On the next day about sundown there came an express from Morgan’s Station stating that John Wade and Reuben Coffer were wounded, had got into the cabin and were surrounded by the Indians. The express passed on. I was the only man at home; the women would not agree that I should leave them that night. I kept my horse ready and started at daylight the next morning. I met Major Hood coming home, he turned back. We went to Baker’s Station, there were twenty or thirty men collected there and we could get but one man to go with us to relieve the wounded men & he belonged to our station. We went to Captain Enoch Smiths’ and he went with us. We passed through the woods. We kept at a distance of about ten steps apart in order that we might not fall into an ambuscade. When we came to the cornfield we formed abreast and charged up to the cabin, but the Indians had retreated. In the course of the day we were reinforced, made a litter, and brought the wounded men to Mount Sterling that night & got them home the next day. The day following we went out and moved the families from Smith’s Settlement to where they and some other families remained during the summer. The Indians continued [to be] very troublesome during that summer. They killed several men about the ironworks that year. Notwithstanding they were so bad, an elderly man by the name of George Naylor took three or four packhorses without a guard, packed provisions to the ironworks from Strode’s Station, passing about once a week & was not interrupted or saw an Indian. In 1791 the Indians were very troublesome on the frontiers. In the month of March in that year I went to Washington in Mason county to make some surveys on the Ohio about thirty of forty miles below Washington. The Indians were so troublesome it was with great difficulty that I could procure chainmen. I had to pay them double wages. I left my horse at Washington and we went on foot and surveyed twenty-four thousand acres. The night after we finished our work we encamped in a thicket & some time in the night there were twelve guns fired near us, which no doubt were Indians as it was a custom with them to discharge their guns in the night in wet weather. We started before light & pushed for home & escaped safe to Washington. I then returned home by myself & had to lay out one night. During my absence from home my old woods companion John Wade was killed on Licking. Shortly after my return there was a parcel of men going out in search of Swift’s silver mine. I availed myself an opportunity to make some surveys on Red River. We were encamped, fourteen of us in number, when late at night one of the men discovered an Indian sneaking up to camp and gave alarm. We ran out of camp until we got out of the light of the fire and stood our ground. The Indians did not advance and the next day we returned home without any damage. On the 21st of June I was appointed a Captain and in July an expedition was planned to go against the Indians on the head of the Miami. I was called on raise a company, which I did. We rendezvoused at Maysville, crossed the river there and proceeded

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on to the towns destroyed by Logan in 1786. Some distance before we came to the Old Towns, some Indians were discovered ahead, [and] we pursued them and they ran into the high grass, we marched in Indian file. I commanded the company next to the one in front, and as soon as the Indians were discovered I turned out of line and pushed forward. When I came to the head of the line they had arrived at the place where the Indians had hid in the grass. The officers were consulting what was to be done. A charge was agreed on and we rushed into the grass. We found one [of ] them; he raised his gun to his face. There was a youth by the name of Wells came into contact with him and although about fifteen years old he had the presence of mind to fire without raising his gun to his face. The Indian might have killed him as they were not much more than the length of their guns apart. We then proceeded on and the next day about ten o’clock there was a halt made and a number of men refused to go any further. We then beat up for volunteers to go a few miles further. Kenton, Stockton, myself and others to about the number of fifty, went on and left the main army. We went about four or five miles, saw some Indian sign and where two or three had turned in the road and run back. We concluded there was none but [a] scattering [of ] Indians in the vicinity & returned to the main body of men. Some years later there was a man named Ruddle that was with the Indians at the time. He said there was a body of 800 Indians had collected, chose their ground and an ambuscade in such a manner as to drive us into a swamp where horses could not pass & they were to let us pass their rear, attack us in front and then close on our rear & drive us into the swamp. We were only three hundred strong when altogether. We then commenced our march home and next day two or three Indians were discovered on horseback. They were pursued and Captain Samuel Cartwight wounded one of them in the leg and knocked a piece of bone out which was picked up and brought into camp which was two or three inches long, but they escaped. About where the Indian was killed there was a number of Indian camps, we discovered on our return, [that] had been occupied as we went out. It is possible they might have [been] embodied as stated by Ruddle. We continued our march home without anything occurring, had none killed or wounded. This expedition was commanded by Colonel John Edwards of Bourbon county. The Indians were not troublesome in our neighbourhood for the balance of the year. The next winter they killed several hunters on the waters of Licking. In March following, 1792 I built a cabin about two miles east of Hood’s Station and on the 19th of the same month I removed my family and settled there. About that time some men by the name of Shull settled on the head of Stoner, Benjamin Ely, Elias Myner, Jacob Smith and Tomas Arnett settled as my neighbours in the same year. The Indians did mischief within seven miles of me that spring & were very troublesome about the ironworks & on the frontier generally. In October I went up the South Fork of the Kentucky near the Goose Creek salt work & made several surveys and returned without interruption. Shortly after my return I went out onto Slate & Licking to make a number of surveys. A day or two before we got to the salt works the Indians had killed two men, one they shot down below the furnace dam in the bottom, he was by the name of Johnson; the other ran to Slate a little below where the road crosses below

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the dam & attempted to cross on a log. The Indian pursued and shot him. He fell into the creek, the water was low & when we got there the blood had settled in the water & it was nearly as red as blood for a considerable distance. He was by the name of Yates. I there hired two more men and went on & commenced surveying. Our line crossed Licking. We heard after we had gone some distance Owls hollowing or something resembling them which alarmed us, but we continued on & finished our survey. We returned that evening to the river with the intention of going up to the mouth of Triplett’s Creek to make a survey. Then about sunset Lucas Hood concluded to watch the back track and remained there until after dark and when we came up with the party, Major Hood informed me they had stopped sooner than they intended; that here was a parcel of Indians camped just above them. We had a high mountain on the right hand and the river on the left. We concluded to remain [in] the dark where we were until the moon rose which would be about ten o’clock and then ascend the mountain, which we did. When we got about half way up this mountain we smelt the smoke from their fire, very strong. We ascended to the top of the mountain & descended a small distance on the other side, tied up our horses & stayed all night. After light Major Hood, Lucas Hood, John Hamilton, William Cassidy and myself concluded we would return over the mountain & see if the Indians were following us. We left Samuel Naylor with the horses to keep them from making any noise & as soon as we turned the top of the mountain we heard the Indians pursuing us; as the leaves had fallen from the trees & were dry they made considerable noise. We immediately concealed ourselves intending to let them come very near before we fired on them. There was a good deal of under brush. They were within about sixty steps of us. I saw one of them put out his arm and turn brush out of the way. At that instant Naylor, who had been left with the horses, became afraid and left the horses and came to us & the horses began to bark the dogwoods they were tied to & made so much noise that the Indians halted for a short time and opened to the right and left to surround us. We immediately ran to our horses, they were [al]ready saddled & packed up, we started and pushed as hard as we could. They pursued us about two miles. We happened to strike the river where there was a good ford and crossed over. We had gone but a short distance when they came to the river & raised the yell and pursued us no farther. We had good reason to believe there were twelve or fifteen Indians as the night before they fired about that number of guns at midnight. We then returned to the ironworks, crossed Slate and made a survey where Owingsville now stands and returned home. Shortly afterwards I went down into the lower part of Harrison county, then a wilderness, surveyed some large tracts of land and returned home without interruption. In the spring 1793 the Indians stole a great many horses & on the 1st day of April they took Morgan’s Station, killed one or two men and made several prisoners.4 Word came to Mount Sterling but they were not pursued until [the] next morning, Captain Enoch Smith raised some men and pursued. I did not get word until 8 or 9 o’clock the next day. I started on foot to my nearest neighbour. I there got a horse and alarmed the neighbours and by 10 o’clock had seventeen men raised and pursued. We pursued them onto Beaver near where the ironworks were afterwards built, about forty miles & got within two miles of the party that got word the day before. The Indians killed

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the greater part of their prisoners and badly wounded some others. We then dispatched some men to take the wounded home & the balance continued the pursuit, but the Indians scattered, were hard to track and we discontinued the pursuit near the head of Triplett’s Creek & returned home. The Indians took off William Young, Miss Becraft, Miss Ellington & one or two others & took them to their towns. Some men were given up at the treaty of Greenville in 1795. Miss Ellington was transferred to the Cherokees & got in several years afterwards. Sometime in May, Captain Stevens raised a company and went in search of Indians who had stolen horses & pursued them above the narrows of Red River where they had many horses collected. He came to where the paths led from different directions & was within a half mile of their main camp. The sign was so abundant that he thought it prudent to retreat. Shortly after his return we raised three companies, one from Montgomery, commanded by Captain Downing, one from Bush’s settlement, commanded by Captain Billy Bush and one commanded by myself. We rendezvoused at the Lulbegrud Old Fields and gave command to Colonel James McMillan. We then proceeded to where Stevens had retreated. The Indians were alarmed by Stevens and had gone off with their horses. They had peeled a number of trees, cut out canebrakes and made a large camp & enjoyed themselves I suppose very well. We then divided the men and each company returned home by a different route but discerned no fresh Indian sign. In collecting the horses they had got them from different parts. There was a man by the name of Fulton [who] brought thirteen horses to winter, the winter before on Stoner. They were taken home and ran away. I had a very fine mare in the cane that went off with them & that evening they passed the outside settlement and were pursued by two brothers by the name of Frazier & H. Kincaid. One of the Fraziers had caught my mare and the other two were driving the horses after him when the men in the rear discovered two or three Indians and gave the alarm. Frazier jumped off of my mare & the Indians got the whole of them, fourteen in number. There was a man in the same neighbourhood [who] had a stud horse taken out of the stable close to his house. Some years afterwards John Morgan & Harry Martin moved out to the Miamis. The Indians frequently came amongst them in a friendly manner. A chief by the name of Blackfish, who was of the party on Red River informed him that he and one other Indian took the stud horse out of the stable; said that when they went to the stable there was a large dog lying at the door, they made friends with him & found the bridle hanging up at the stable door. One of the Indians took both guns and stood at the door of the house, where John Crawford the owner of the horse and his family were asleep until they bridled the horse and led him out. They then both mounted him and rode twenty miles that night. He stated that he took that horse to Detroit and sold him for a keg of rum & lay drunk on it until it like to have killed him. He also stated they got seventy horses that trip on Red River. In the spring of 1794 I raised a company of men and marched with them up Red River above the narrows and crossed onto the waters of Licking & returned home without discovering any Indians. In August 1793 I started to the mouth of North Fork of the Kentucky but found the Indians so plenty we returned without doing any surveying.

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In June 1794 there was a call for volunteers to join the army under General Wayne. I raised a company and got information from General Charles Scott that no supernumery Company would be received; I then dismissed my men. When the board of Officers met to appoint the officers Simon Kenton was appointed Captain of a company of spies and Joshua Baker was appointed Lieutenant of spies. I then recruited the greater part of the company. We started from home on the 16th day of July and marched to Georgetown where we fell in with some other troops and proceeded on to Cincinnati. There we took charge of some cannon & other military stores and were under the command of Generals Scott and Todd. We lay there several days waiting for the stores & while I was lying there I got a fall from my horse that so disable me that I was not able for some days to mount or dismount with my gun in my hand but shortly recovered and we proceeded on our march passing Forts Hamilton and Jefferson and arrived at Greenville, the headquarters of which General Wayne who had advanced the main army a day or two before our arrival. We were here detained two days waiting on stores. We then proceeded to Fort recovery, twenty-four miles [from] where St. Clair had been defeated in November 1791. We encamped on the battleground which was literally covered with the bones of men who had fallen in that battle. The next day we pursued our march twenty-four miles and overtook the main army at a small fort on the St. Marys; it was called Fort Adams. The army then advanced to the confluence of the Auglase & Miami in the vicinity of the main Indian settlements. As we advanced the Indians retreated leaving their villages, [and all the] corn and all [that] they could not carry away with them [became] prey to the army. The army here halted and built Fort Defiance, now called Fort Winchester. While at this place General Wayne sent a few men, commanded by Captain William Wells (he was massacred at Chicigua during the last war) and Captain Paschal Hickman who burnt at Razin, was of the party. They pursued the retreating Indians to the rapids about forty miles and late in the afternoon captured an Indian man and woman and put them in [the] charge of some of their party, and Captain Wells, who had lived with the Indians from childhood, until shortly before Wayne’s campaign went boldly to the Indian encampment and asked for something to eat. The Indians suspected them, seized their guns and each party fired; Wells was wounded in the writes & a man by the name of McClellan was wounded in the shoulder. They retreated to their horses, travelled all night and brought in their prisoners about 8 or 9 o’clock the next day. General Wayne retained the prisoners a few days and then sent the man back with a man named Christopher Millar to offer the Indians peace which was refused; this was the last overture of peace made by General Wayne until after the battle of the 20th of August. Captain John Arnold’s company and Captain Joshua Baker’s company were formed into a detachment of spies and placed under the command of Major William Price of Jessamine County. The next day after the Indian prisoner was sent back [and] General Wayne commenced his march for the rapids of the Miami of the Lakes, fortifying his encampment every night. The orders to the spies were to leave the encampment before sunrise and to take a distance of from five to twelve miles in front of the army and not to join the army in the evening until it was encamped and fortified. On the 18th the army arrived in Rodedebaugh at the head of the rapids and there halted and erected a

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small fort called Fort Deposit in order to leave the sick & some men who had been wounded. On the 19th the spies were ordered in advance as usual & had advanced some seven miles. The men were separated into as many divisions as there were officers to command and these small divisions marched about one hundred yards apart keeping the front even. They marched in this manner as a safe guard to our small party. The space of ground we occupied was so great, we could not all fall into an ambuscade at once. We were marching along in this manner, Major Price about one hundred yards to my right. I happened to look in that direction & saw him & that flank of the detachment in full retreat. I immediately ordered a retreat of my line and the flank to my left followed my motion. We continued our retreat about a mile. We discovered Todd’s brigade sent out to cover our retreat in case we were attacked and over powered. We continued our retreat to camp. Major Price and the men on the right discovered an ambuscade which caused them to retreat. In the afternoon, General Wayne directed Major Price to take Baker and Arnold’s companies of spies, amounting to about one hundred and fifty men to take a circuit so as to strike the river below the British Garrison and to come up the river to the encampment of the American army which route would have enclosed the Indian army and the British garrison said to be 300 strong. Major Price remonstrated and informed the General he could not perform the service as it would require a march of at least twenty miles. The order was then countermanded and we were ordered down on the lines as we returned we saw a horse in the bushes with a blanket coat lying across the saddle. I dismounted and caught the horse. He was very bloody. The Indians had shot a man on him and taken him prisoner. We then returned to camp. That night the sentinels were double manned to guard against a night attack and orders were given to the sentinels to fire on anyone seen outside the lines without hailing & there were several men who got outside the lines wounded. The next morning orders were for the detachment of spies to march by sunrise, but we were prevented by a thunderstorm coming on. It cleared off about eight o’clock and we proceeded on until we came within about a half-mile of where the Indians had caused us to retreat the day before. The detachment got water & stript off all unnecessary clothing. It was usual with us to guard against surprise, to keep two men in front of each line about one hundred yards. We generally called them out in rotation as they stood on the list. I observed to the men not to dispute about who was next on duty that this was the day to gain honour and nearly half my line turned out. I recalled them all, except two, Thomas Moore and William Steele. They moved on briskly and had not advanced more than one hundred yards when they fell into an ambuscade and were both shot down. We advanced briskly until we came within twenty yards of the Indians and received their full fire. Moore was not dead and was taken up and put on a horse until he died. Major Price then ordered a retreat and led it about sixty steps. The course we took led us along the front of the Indian line and they fired on us with a tremendous roar at a very short distance. We passed that body of Indians and saw another party advancing upon us, headed by several horsemen. Major Price then ordered us to halt and fight them. At that instant some of the horsemen fired upon us at about forty steps distance. Major Price then returned their fire which caused them to pause. I then fired at one of the horsemen

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who instantly fell from his horse. Lucas Hood and Harry Martin were one on each side of me with their guns cocked and up to their faces to shoot, but he fell so quick as to save their fire. We then received a very heavy fire from the footmen. The Major then ordered a retreat to the main army which was briskly advancing to support us. We had retreated some distance when a man called out to me by name that we were leaving a wounded man. I looked back and saw a man running after us and the Indians in full pursuit after him. They were about seventy yards behind him and the wounded man was about half way between the lines. I immediately stopped my horse and called to the men who would go back with me. Major Price was close by me; he neither said go or stay. I turned back and five men went with me. When we met the wounded man the Indians were thirty to thirty-five steps from him. They immediately dropped in the weeds & bushes & commenced a heavy fire on us. I turned my horse round and the wounded man tried twice to jump behind me and failed. I then turned the side of my horse to him & put out my foot for him to get up in that manner in which he failed also. William Richie from Mason & Harvey Martin from Clarke lit from their horses and lifted the man up behind me during which time the Indians kept up an incessant fire at us about thirty or thirty-five steps distance. I could see into the muzzle of many of their guns when they would raise them to fire on us. The bark of the trees flew into our faces just as they had put the man up behind me, and the man to my right he slipped off, the Indians shot my horse. The ball passed between the thigh of the man behind me and my own and cut the hind part of the pad of my saddle. The men that were with me then left me and the horse became unmanageable; he reared up three times and would not move out of the place. The Indians by this time advanced with their tomahawks drawn, very close to me and I believe if my horse had have seen the Indians horses he would have run to them, but fortunately he [had] seen the horses of the men who had left me and followed them. I gave him the spur and pushed on, the blood gushing out of the wound, his mouth and nose very fast. He ran about one hundred and fifty yards and stopped. I leaped off him & left the man, who informed me afterwards that the horse fell immediately after I left him. We had got far enough in advance of the Indians for the wounded man to save himself. When I left my horse I ran on after my party & they halted for me. I got up behind one of them and soon met the front of the army coming up to our support. I then loaded my gun. A man by the name of White dismounted and gave me his horse. He had heard me receive orders that morning to turn the right flank of the Indians and said I could not perform the service on foot. I immediately mounted the horse and turned towards the front of the Indians. I collected about thirty or thirty-five of the spies, part belonging to each company. I shaped my course in front of the Indian line and passed between them and our army, as they approached each other, until they came so close to each other that a company of regulars on our extreme right had to open to the right and left to let us pass. As we passed, the fire of both armies closed after us; the Indians were passing on endeavouring to turn our right wing. I continued on in the same direction within gunshot of them and several times halted to fire on them, but they continued to try and outflank us. I at last pushed on until I had passed their left & wheeled around their extreme point of their left wing. They then raised a shrill

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hallow which was answered in the same manner back along their line that ended the battle in less than two minutes. The firing ceased and the Indians retreated. It is stated by some that the Indians were pursued but it was not the case. The army remained some time on the battleground and then encamped near the British garrison of about three hundred men commanded by Major Campbell. That evening and the following two days the men destroyed the corn that stood near the garrison, burnt the hay and gardens and every outhouse, among the rest [was] the house of Colonel McKee, an Indian trader. The next day after the battle the spies were sent down the river in the direction that the Indians had retreated. In many places, for several yards in width they had tread down the weeds like a log rolled over them. We discovered no Indians and returned to camp. Our loss in battle was about one hundred killed and wounded. We had five killed in our company, but none wounded that survived the first night. It was reported that the Americans got forty-two scalps. It was supposed from appearances that many more were killed and taken off or threw into a pond near where we fought. The second day after the battle we were marched into a thicket within gunshot of the garrison and halted. There General Wayne and his guard went up to within a few rods of the fort wall and examined it. There were several flags passed each day between General Wayne and Major Campbell. We then commenced our return home by way of Fort Defiance by easy marches, fortifying the encampment every night. The first morning after we commenced our march to Fort Defiance it was discovered, as soon as the army had left the encampment, the Indians were in the camp. The next morning Major Price’s detachment of spies were ordered to march sometime before the army moved out and to take a circuit and to enclose the encampment which they did and they found several Indians in the camp. They killed one and took a horse from them after which there were no more Indians seen. The army proceeded on to Fort Defiance and remained there about two weeks, strengthened the works, left a garrison there, marched up the Miami of the Lakes to where Fort Wayne was built, where we arrive on the 16th of September and proceeded to erect the fort. The volunteers remained there until about the 14th of October without anything material happening. We were about six weeks on half allowance. On the 14th of October we started home, marched about ten miles and encamped. General Scott sent that evening for Captain Joshua Baker and requested him to select thirty or thirty-five men whose horses were in the best condition and proceeded to Fort Recovery and from thence to Greenville to have provisions ready for the men when they arrived. Captain Baker excused himself. General Scott then sent for me. I waited on him and then received the following order. Camp on St. Marys, 18th October 1794 Sir: You will take a light party of spies and proceed to Recovery today in order to have the provisions ready to issue the moment my command arrives, say ab’t one thousand rations. You will go tomorrow to Greenville & there have in readiness when the command arrives two thousand rations & wait my arrival. You will be particular in stopping every volunteer that may be passing Greenville or take their names in order to return them [as] deserters. I am, Sir, Your ob’t serv’nt

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Charles Scott, M, General To Captain Sudduth On the evening I selected thirty-five men and the next day went on to Fort Recovery, delivered my orders to the commander of the garrison, and proceeded on and camped that night in the woods. The next morning we proceeded on to Greenville and delivered my orders to Major Bull, who commanded at Greenville, on the P.M of the 16th. We there awaited the arrival of General Scott with the army. Captain Edmund Butler of the regulars was proceeding on with the volunteers to muster & discharge them at Cincinnati. He proposed to me that I wo’d select some of the spies, & guard his family to Cincinnati: he [would then allow me to] muster first. I acceded to his proposal. The army moved on by easy march to Cincinnati, when I arrived there on the evening of the 21st of October, I met with Captain Joshua Barbee. He mentioned to me he understood I expected to be 1st mustered. I replied that I had Captain Butler’s promise to that effect. He then asked me if I had my muster roll ready. I informed him I had not. He then said he co’d not wait until I had made it out the next day & produced his [which was] readymade out. It was a large printed sheet with the necessary blanks. It was the 1st I had ever seen. I asked him where he had obtained it. He said he always was prepared with them. I left him & went out to Captain Butler: stated the case, and enquired of him where I co’d get a blank. He asked me if I had a blank if I co’d be ready. I replied I co’d. He immediately left me and sent me 2 blanks. I sat up until about midnight, and filled one for Captain Baker’s company of spies, and also one for Captain Arnold’s company. The next morning early I again met with Captain Barbee, & observed that it was a great hardship that I must wait until he was mustered, as I had guarded Captain Butler’s family, with the promise of being the 1st mustered. He answered he co’d not help that. He wo’d not be detained. I then drew from my pocket my muster roll, & showed it to him. He there had to take his lot with the other Captains; I was mustered on Monday morning and Captain Barbee was not mustered until the Thursday following. After I was mustered I procured [a] boat, & by night crossed my men & horses over the Ohio & went about 2 miles to Bank Lick. We started next morning before day, & resumed our journey. Camped in the woods that night. The next day we arrived at Paris: [we] were the 1st troops who reached there. And the next day got home, it being the 26th of October. I left home on the 16th of July, being absent about 108 days, & slept but 3 nights in the time in a house. So ended my Indian warfare. There was one occurrence I omitted. In the month of March, 1788, one of my sisters was staying with us. She went out to milk a cow after dark. She laid down a pair of bars, and went outside of a cot that enclosed Hood’s Station, & discovered an Indian come thro’ a piece of cleared ground, & go to a fence that led to where she was standing, & then squatted down in this corner of the fence. It alarmed her. She ran into the house & threw herself on a bed, & appeared much alarmed. I asked her what was the matter. She answered: nothing. I immediately went out to the fort gate, without my gun. I saw an Indian raise up & advance towards me, within 60 yards —& squat in the corner of the fence. I ran in and apprised the men in the fort. We immediately rushed out and set the dogs on [him] but the Indian, I suppose, must have seen me. He had

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run into the cane. The moon gave light. It was a wet time. The next morning we went out, & saw his tracks where he came to the fence, advanced towards me, & ran back into the cane. Our number were 3 men, & 3 boys. We went in, shut the gates, went to bed, & slept soundly, without placing out a single sentinel. What wo’d the people do in those days if such eminent dangers threatened them. It shows how well the people of those perilous times were prepared to bear such alarms. November 25th, 1840. I am this day 75 years of age. William Sudduth I here give you a relation of my old companion, & fellow woodsman, John Wade. In September 1789, he was on some of the head branches of Little-Slate, hunting Ginseng. He had sore eyes, & had the brim of his hat drawn over his eyes; was going down a branch. As he made a short turn with the branch he heard guns rattle, looked & saw a number of Indians encamped, & taking up their guns to fire on him. As he turned his mare to retreat, they fired on him in mass, at about 30 steps distance. They grazed his mare on the rump, shot a ball into the pommel of his saddle, another passed thro’ the brass box of his gun, another cut his stock off, about 1 ⁄ 2 way up from the guard to the muzzle; he had taken his hunting shirt off his shoulders, & tied the sleeves around him. They made 9 bullet holes in his clothes, & shot off the point of his knife in the scabbard, & drew no blood from him nor his mare. He then ran his mare to the Little Slate Licks, where he discovered 2 mulattos with their guns. They had run away from General Kennedy of Madison County. He took them to be Indians & continued his race until he crossed Slate Creek. This circumstance he informed me of, a few days afterwards, & showed me his shattered clothes, gun, & saddle. In July, 1790, John Wade & Jeremiah Power, served as spies at the slate Iron Works. On the 1st of July, they discovered a considerable trail of Indians, making towards Morgan’s Station. They returned to the Iron Works, & raised a few men, & went in pursuit of them. When the Indians got near the station, the land was poor & barren; the men lost their tracks. Wade, that year, raised some corn at the station, as it was called. No one lived there. There was only one small cabin at the place. Wade had some provisions there, & invited the men to stop & get something to eat. After refreshing themselves, they started to go to the Iron-Works. There was a path led thro’ the field in that direction & the men scattered, picking up flints, which were plenty, & the Indians had placed themselves where the path entered the woods, & suffered the man to approach very near. When they fired on them they wounded Reuben Cofer in the wrist — shot Wade in the hunch but did not burry the bullet, but cut a large gash. When they shot him near the same place, [the bullet] entered the cavity of the body, & came out near the backbone. There was an Indian lay very near, & Wade endeavoured to shoot. He co’d raise the butt of his gun to his face, but had not strength to raise the muzzle. They then proposed to retreat to the cabin. As Wade turned round, he was shot at. The ball entered the pack on his back, & knocked him flat on his face: cut 28 holes in his blanket but did not enter his body. They made good their retreat to the cabin, where we relieved them the next day, as stated in the above narrative. In the fall, Wade took some hands to gather in his corn; set them to work, & went a hunting to get them some meat. The Indians fell in with him, & run him, until it caused his wounds to break out, & several pieces of bone came out.5

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In March, 1791, he went out on Licking to hunt & trap for beaver, and the Indians killed him at a pond now called Wade’s pond. So died as brave a man that I knew: but he lacked caution. David Serency & John Relly were so near when he was killed as to hear the guns. They went to the place, & Serency informed me Wade & his mare lay close together, and both of them [had been] shot in the head. The Indians had left, & they buried him. It is stated in McClung’s history of the life of Colonel Daniel Boone, that the Colonel co’d neither read nor write. It is not so. Colonel Boone returned as a deputy surveyor under Colonel Thomas Marshall, & returned many surveys, as the records of Fayette County will show. In 1797 I was appointed surveyor of Clark County. Colonel Boone took a deputation under me & made several surveys. He made out his plats in my office, without any assistance. He wrote in what wo’d be called a common farmer’s hand. Given under my hand, the 25th of November, 1840. William Sudduth, late surveyor of Clark County.

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PART III

Crossing the Dividing Line Doctor John Knight Like many individuals whose names are known to historians, John Knight largely owes his enduring reputation to the narrative he produced following a period of captivity among Native Americans. Unlike many men and women in a similar position, however, Knight’s narrative would not only add to the public lexicon of the “savage” perception of Native Americans but would form the basis of how two important figures of the trans–Appalachian frontier would later be remembered. For Colonel William Crawford, Knight’s narrative served as a memorial, describing in great detail how this military commander met his brutal end when he was executed by Wyandots at the town of Sandusky. For Simon Girty, Knight’s narrative would act as a different sort of memorial; Girty did not lose his life, but the publication of Knight’s narrative would certainly go a long way towards destroying his reputation. If John Filson’s Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon laid the foundation for Boone’s enduring fame and reputation, then it was John Knight’s captivity narrative that laid the cornerstone of Simon Girty’s future infamy. Knight’s narrative was published by Hugh Henry Brackenrige along with another account of Crawford’s defeat from fellow survivor John Slover. Brackenrige’s motivation for publishing Knight’s and Slover’s narratives was made explicit in the preamble of his volume when he declared his hope that these accounts would “induce our governments to take some effectual steps to chastise and repress [the Native American population].” In Brackenrige, Knight had found a sympathetic listener and patron whose own prejudices and world views neatly complemented his own. Indeed, Brackenrige was anything but a passive party in the construction of his pamphlet, and John Slover, who was himself illiterate, relied entirely upon his patron to record his account of events. Throughout Slover’s narrative Brackenrige provided his own commentaries and editorials in the footnotes, a practice that is notable only by its absence in Knight’s account. Because of this absence of obvious editorial commentary Brackenrige’s influence into Knight’s narrative can only be found in the main body of the document. Separating Knight from Brackenrige, however, is a near impossible task, and any attempt to distinguish one man’s opinions or influences absolutely from the other would be a purely speculative endeavor. Rather, what can be said is that both men shared a broadly similar view of the Wyandots responsible for 141

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Crawford’s death and neither appears to have fostered any sympathy for the atrocities committed by settlers that led to these executions in the first place. For his part, Brackenrige demonstrates this perspective explicitly in a footnote contained in John Slover’s narrative which describes the massacre at Gnadenhutten merely as an “excuse”1 employed by the British and their Native American allies to justify Crawford’s apparently brutal execution. Similarly, Brackenrige in another of his editorial notes declared to his readers that Simon Girty and those like him were men “whom the Devil has long since marked for his own property.”2 Throughout Slover’s narrative Brackenrige leaves little doubt as to his personal opinion on the matters described therein. In Knight’s narrative, however, his editorial influences are not stated in such an explicit manner and as such this document, like virtually all captivity narratives, must be seen as a compromise between author, perspective, experience, and editor. As true as this may be, Knight never denied the content of the published work and it is no incidental matter that when he was asked to elaborate upon his tale he replied simply, “You have read it all —[it is] all I can tell you [of the matter].”3 There can be no doubt Brackenrige had some influence upon the final shape of Knight’s narrative, but for Knight’s part the final product appears to have met his own expectations. The final narrative, then, was the product of the interplay between Knight’s experience and perspective, and the dynamic between himself and Brackenrige. Each man had an agenda when work began on this narrative and whilst Brackenrige’s motives are explicit and obvious, Knight’s unstated and often ignored intentions are certainly the most intriguing. Of particular relevance when Knight’s motivation is considered is the unflattering portrait he paints of Simon Girty and the Wyandots in general. Following the publication of Knight’s narrative Girty, in particular, would see his reputation warped beyond recognition, resulting in him eventually being recast in American folk history as the quintessential frontier villain.4 Even during his own lifetime evidence of such a distorted characterization of this complicated man could be found in song, verse, and story. The question of Knight’s motivation, then, is all the more important. Put simply, revenge and retribution, common themes of the frontier war, were at the heart of Knight’s portrayal of Girty and of Crawford’s execution. When Knight wrote his narrative he was not simply relaying his ordeal to a wider audience but was coming to terms with the events he had witnessed and taken part in. Crawford’s expedition was a disaster that resulted not only in the colonel’s death but in the near death of Knight himself and the unexplained disappearance of numerous other individuals. During his time in captivity Knight lived in a world turned upon its head, where the “savage” wielded by far the greatest degree of power and Knight’s “great captain” was utterly unable to prevent his own dire fate. In this world of captivity Knight was appalled to witness other white men apparently standing idly by as Crawford was slowly roasted alive. Whether or not Girty actually “laughed heartily ... at the horrid scene”5 is beside the point; as far as Knight was concerned, this is how Girty deserved to be presented to the world and remembered. Whether through inaction or apparent glee, Knight focused upon Girty in particular as an object of hate and derision, not just for his readership, but for himself. Following his escape from captivity and his planned execution it is perhaps not surprising, then, that Knight would gravitate towards a man like Brackenrige, himself looking

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for a “good end” 6 to the frontier war, in order to bring his tale to the widest possible audience. His time in captivity had evidently been an ordeal, and for Knight certain individuals deserved to be held accountable for what he had endured and witnessed. Of course the Wyandot and larger Native American communities were easy but predictable culprits and, although Brackenrige found them largely suitable for the task of vilification, Knight instead looked to Simon Girty as a figure upon which he could personify the horrors of his experiences. Although seemingly a small point, it is important to remember that Knight was no passive witness to the horrors of others but was himself as much a victim as was Crawford. Knight’s narrative is more than a simple tale of captivity or the sum of its author and publisher’s prejudices. It is the enduring record of an individual significantly affected by his experiences as a prisoner of war. The specific events or episodes within this narrative are certainly susceptible to exaggeration, but that exaggeration served an end that satisfied Knight, and that is one of the most important conclusions that can be drawn regarding either this document or its author.

John Slover As with Doctor John Knight, very little is known concerning the life of John Slover outside the events described in his narrative. Born around 1753, Slover was first taken into captivity during the Seven Years War, circa 1761, by members of the Miami tribe. In addition to young John, most of Slover’s family was also taken into captivity although most returned to settler society long before any opportunity arose for John to do so. John’s father, Abraham Slover, was killed by the same party that captured the rest of the Slover family shortly after he discovered their absence. Following six years of captivity among the Miami, Slover, now aged fourteen, passed through several hands until he finally found a new home among the Shawnee, with whom he would reside for a further six years. In 1773, aged twenty, Slover finally returned to settler society. During his time among the Miami and Shawnee, Slover had learned to speak the Shawnee, Miami, and Delaware languages, although virtually nothing else is known of this first captivity other than his “Indian name”: Mannuchcothee. Following his return to settler society, Slover served as a member of the Continental Army during the early stages of the Revolutionary War before marrying and starting a family of his own. In 1782, he joined Crawford’s ill-fated campaign and, like Doctor Knight, found himself as a survivor of the expedition and, once again, in captivity. Unlike his previous experience as a captive, however, Slover’s fate was not to be a positive one, in spite of being adopted into a Native American family. After some apparent indecision by his captors concerning his ultimate fate Slover was finally sentenced to be burned alive. Following his escape from his captors and his return to settler society, Slover was approached by Hugh Henry Brackenrige, who would go on to transcribe his narrative, publishing it along with that of Doctor John Knight. Unlike Doctor Knight, Slover was not a literate man and, as such, he required Brackenrige to transcribe his narrative on his behalf. Clearly edited to emphasize Slover’s complete reassimilation into settler society following his first captivity, the resulting narrative gives only a glimpse of its subject’s perspective on Native American life, although

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some important elements appear in the document nonetheless. Of particular relevance is a section that illustrates the frustration and tension generated within numerous tribes by the settlers’ general failure to take prisoners of war. A comparison of Slover and Knight’s narratives also reveals some important findings that deserve consideration. The first of these are Brackenrige’s footnotes, which accompany Slover’s account and explicitly detail the editor’s anti–Native American prejudices, a key factor in allowing readers to critically engage with these two documents. The second is a tendency in Slover’s narrative to focus upon the particular details of communal torture and execution that echo the presentation of Colonel Crawford’s death within Knight’s narrative, suggesting that this morbid focus was the result not of the narratives’ authors, but of their editor. Like Doctor Knight’s narrative, Slover’s account of his captivity is a compromise between the story he wished to tell and that which Brackenrige wished to hear but, if anything, the reliance of the former upon the latter to transcribe his account worked to compound these editorial issues. Quite clearly Brackenrige has taken some liberties in how Slover’s narrative was presented to the public. Of particular importance is a complete lack of any real identification between Slover and his former captors. Although it is conceded that Slover returned to settler society only reluctantly, this narrative is written very much from the perspective of an outsider looking in at Native American cultural practices, and only hints and glimpses of Slover’s understanding of tribal life are able to escape the pages. Little is known of Slover’s life post-narrative, but it appears that, following his escape from captivity, he returned to Kentucky where he continued to live with his wife and family until his eventual death. Slover was survived by an unknown number of children.7

John Tanner Born around 1780, John Tanner spent by far the largest part of his life living among Native Americans following his kidnapping from Kentucky in 1789. Prior to his captivity, Tanner was one of numerous children who, along with his father, John Tanner Senior, stepmother, and an unknown number of slaves, formed the larger Tanner family unit. Like many families from this period, the Tanners were highly mobile and moved numerous times across the breadth of the frontier, from the Kentucky River to the northern most part of the Kentucky country itself, where the Ohio and Great Miami Rivers meet. It was from this last location that Tanner would be taken from his family to begin a new life among Native Americans that would last approximately thirty years. Living for so long among his captors necessarily altered how Tanner perceived the world around him. Even when he came to recount his experiences to Edwin James, the medical doctor who recorded his narrative, he looked back at events from his early childhood through the lens of a lifetime of tribal experience. For Tanner it was a particularly harsh beating from his father that led him to wish he could “go and live among the Indians”; perhaps this is not unusual in itself but it was the making of this wish that Tanner would forever hold accountable for his life as a captive. Similarly, as he recounted the major events of his life he would assign significant importance to the power of dreams and their ability to predict the future and connect individuals to the wider world around

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them. For Tanner, one of his most important companions was not a living, breathing person but a young man who inhabited his dreams and occasionally came to offer him counsel. What is important about Tanner’s narrative is that his perspective was captured by his editor, Edwin James, in a way that sets it apart from most captivity narratives produced during the eighteenth century. When Hugh Henry Brackenrige compiled Doctor John Knight and John Slover’s narratives for publication the fact that the latter individual had experienced an “early and long captivity amongst the Indians”8 is borne out only in a few key phrases and never in the tone of the final document. Whatever impact Slover’s early and long captivity had upon how he perceived the world is lost in his narrative, and the perspective of the final document is, like Doctor Knight’s account, that of an outsider looking in at an alien society. When Edwin James recorded John Tanner’s narrative he produced a final document that is much more, although not absolutely, indicative of how John Tanner now perceived the world. Tanner’s narrative certainly contains elements where he is an outsider but very often this perspective concerns settler, not Native American, society. Like Doctor Knight’s narrative, Tanner’s account is far from objective and is most certainly not complete. Throughout Tanner’s narrative the voice of his editor, Edwin James, simply cannot be ignored. In particular it appears to have been James’ want to continually suggest that it was always Tanner’s wish to eventually return to settler society. In spite of his apparent comfort Tanner, it is suggested, never fully integrated with his kidnappers even when he appeared to be most comfortable in his situation. Families, wives, and children were, James suggests, never any real cause for Tanner to fully abandon his dream of returning to his true family in Kentucky. Similarly, James also appears to emphasize the charity and good spirit of settlers towards Tanner while placing emphasis on some of the more unusual or taboo actions of individual Native Americans. In spite of this there remains inherent in the final document a significant reflection of the disdain many settlers held regarding Native Americans, and much of the worst treatment Tanner receives as a result of this prejudice survives intact. Perhaps some of the most important aspects of Tanner’s narrative are not the interactions that occurred between Native Americans and settlers but those that occurred between individual Native Americans and different tribes. In particular warfare between the Ojibway and the Sioux was a prominent feature of both Tanner’s life and his subsequent narrative, while other occurrences, such as the impact of a Shawnee prophet upon Tanner’s tribe, are equally important episodes. Where Edwin James excelled was in reflecting Tanner’s perspective when these occurrences took place. In these sections, at least, Tanner is no outsider attempting to interpret events but a fully integrated member of the society experiencing them. It is this perspective which is, by and large, reflected in the final document. Perhaps one of the most valuable aspects of Tanner’s narrative is the fact that it spans the frontier and reflects the similarly tragic experiences of both the settlers and their Native American adversaries. Just as the document reflects the tears of Tanner’s family following his return, it also describes the heartbreak among Native Americans who had also lost loved ones through the frontier war. Indeed, as Tanner was being transported to

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his new life the Shawnee disdain for all settlers is palpable in how they react to him. These reactions, however, were borne not out of any unjustified hatred but of bitter experience and loss. Similarly, when Tanner attempted to cross the frontier once again the disdain and distrust he endured from most settlers was also, at least in part, borne out of similar experiences and perceptions.

Chapter Ten

THE NARRATIVE OF DOCTOR JOHN KNIGHT 1

ABOUT the latter end of the month of March or the beginning of April, of the present year [1781], the western Indians began to make incursions upon the frontiers of Ohio and Washington, Youghagany and Westmoreland counties, which has been their constant practice ever since the commencement of the present war between the United States and Great Britain. In consequence of these predatory invasions, the principal officers of the above mentioned counties, namely: Colonels Williamson and Marshall, tried every method in their power to set on foot an expedition against the Wyandot towns, which set on foot an expedition against the Wyandot towns, which they could effect no other way than by giving all possible encouragement to volunteers. The plan Proposed was as follows: Every man furnishing himself with a Horse, a gun, and one month’s provisions, should be exempt from two tours of militia duty. Likewise, that every one who had been Plundered by the Indians, should, if the plunder could be found at their towns, have it again, proving it to be his property, and all horses lost on the expedition by unavoidable accident were to be replaced by horses taken in the enemy’s country. The time appointed for the rendezvous, or general meeting of the volunteers, was fixed to be on the 20th of May, and the place, the old Mingo town, on the west side of the river Ohio, about forty miles below Fort Pitt, by land; and I think about 75 by water. Col. Crawford was solicited by the general voice of these western counties and districts to command the expedition. He accordingly set out as a volunteer, and came to Fort Pitt two days before the time appointed for the assembling of the men. As there was no surgeon yet appointed to go with the expedition, Col. Crawford begged the favour of Gen. Irvine to permit me to accompany him, (my consent having been previously asked,) to which the General agreed, provided Col. Gibson did not object. Having obtained permission of the colonel I left Fort Pitt on Tuesday, May 1st, and the next day about one in the afternoon, arrived at the Mingo bottom. The volunteers had not all crossed the river until Friday morning, the 24th, they then distributed themselves into eighteen companies, choosing their captains by vote. There were 147

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chosen, also, one col. commandant, four field and one brigadier Major. There were four hundred and sixty five that voted. We began our march on Saturday, May 25th, making almost a due West course, and on the fourth day reach the old Moravian town, upon the river Muskingum, about 60 miles from the river Ohio. Some of the men having lost their horses on the night preceding, returned home. Tuesday the 28th in the evening, Major Brenton and Captain Bean went some distance from camp to reconnoitre: having gone about one quarter of a mile they saw two Indians, upon whom they fired, and then retreated to camp. This was the first place in which we were discovered, as we understood afterwards. On Thursday the 4th of June, which was the eleventh day of our march, about one o’clock we came to the spot where the town of Sandusky formerly stood: the inhabitants had moved 18 miles lower down the creek nearer the lower Sandusky; but as neither our guides or any who were with us had known any thing of their removal, we began to conjecture there were no Indian towns nearer than the lower Sandusky, which was at least forty miles distant. However, after refreshing our horses we advanced on search of some of their settlements, but had scarcely got the distance of three or four miles from the old town when a number of our men expressed their desire to return, some of them alleging that they had only five days provisions; upon which the field officers and captains, determined, in council, to proceed that afternoon and no longer. Previous to the calling of this council, a small party of light horse had been sent forward to reconnoitre. I shall here remark, by the way, that there are a great many extensive plains in that country: The woods in general grow very thin, and free from brush and underwood; so that light horsemen may advance a considerable distance before an army without being much exposed to the enemy. Just as the council decided, an express returned from the above mentioned party of light horse with intelligence “that they had been about three miles in front, and had seen a large body of Indians running towards them.”— In a short time we saw the rest of the light horse, who joined us, and having gone one mile further met a number of Indians who had partly got possession of a piece of woods before us, whilst we were in the plains, but our men alighting from their horses and rushing into the woods soon obliged them to abandon that place. The enemy being by this time reinforced flanked to the right, and part of them coming in our rear quickly made the action more serious. The firing continued very warm on both sides from four o’clock until the dusk of the evening, each party maintaining their ground. Next morning, about six o’clock, their guns were discharged, at the distance of two or three hundred yards, which continued till day, doing little or no execution on either side. The field officers then assembled and agreed, as the enemy were every moment increasing and we had already a number of wounded, to retreat that night. The whole body was to form into three lines, keeping the wounded in the centre. We had four killed and twenty three wounded, of the latter, seven very dangerously, on which account as many biers were got ready to carry them: most of the rest were slightly wounded and

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none so bad but they could ride on horseback. After dark the officers went on the out posts and brought in all the men as expeditiously as they could. Just as the troops were about to form several guns were fired by the enemy, upon which some of our men spoke out and said, our intention was discovered by the Indians who were firing alarm guns. Upon which some in front hurried off and the rest immediately followed, leaving the seven men that were dangerously wounded, some of whom however got off on horseback, by means of some good friends, who waited for, and assisted them. We had not got a quarter of a mile from the field of action when I heard col. Crawford calling for his son, John Crawford, his son in law, major Harrison, major Rose and William Crawford, his nephews, upon which I came up and told him I believed they were on before us — He asked was that the doctor? I told him it was — He then replied, they were not in front, and begged of me not to leave him — I promised him I would not. We then waited, and continued calling for these men till the troops had passed us. The colonel told me his horse had almost given out, that he could not keep up with the troops, and wished some of his best friends to remain with him: he then exclaimed against the militia for riding off in such an irregular manner, and leaving some of the wounded behind, contrary to his orders. Presently there came two men riding after us, one of them an old man, the other a lad: we enquired if they had seen any of the above persons? They answered they had not. By this time there was a very hot firing before us, and as we judged, near where our main body must have been. Our course was then nearly south-west, but changing it, we went north about two miles, the two men remaining in company with us. Judging ourselves to be now out of the enemy’s lines, we took a due east course, taking care to keep at the distance of fifteen or twenty yards apart, and directing ourselves by the North star. The old man often lagged behind, and when this was the case, never failed to call for us to halt for him. When we were near the Sandusky Creek he fell one hundred yards behind, and bawled out, as usual, for us to halt. While we were preparing to reprimand him for making a noise, I heard an Indian halloo, as I thought, one hundred and fifty yards from the man and partly behind him; after this we did not hear the man call again neither did he ever come up to us any more. It was now past midnight, and about daybreak col. Crawford’s and the young man’s horses gave out, and they left them. We pursued our journey eastward, and about two o’clock fell in with Capt. Biggs who had carried lieut. Ashley from the field of action, who had been dangerously wounded. We then went on about the space of an hour, when a heavy rain coming on we concluded it was best to encamp, as we were encumbered with the wounded officer. We then barked four or five trees, made an encampment and a fire and remained there all that night. Next morning we again prosecuted our journey, and having gone about three miles found a deer which had been recently killed. The meat was sliced from the bones and bundled up in the skin with a tomahawk lying by it. We carried all with us and in advancing about one mile further espied the smoke of a fire. We then gave the wounded officer into the charge of the young man, desiring him to stay behind whilst the colonel, the captain and myself walked up as cautiously as we could toward the fire.

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When we came to it, we concluded from several circumstances, some of our people had encamped there the preceding night. We then went about roasting the venison, and when just about to march observed one of our men coming upon our tracks. He seemed at first very shy, but having called to him he came up and told us he was the person who had killed the deer, but upon hearing us come up, was afraid of Indians, hid it in a thicket and made off. Upon this we gave him some bread and roasted venison, proceeded all together on our journey and about two o’clock came upon the paths by which we had gone out. Capt. Biggs and myself did not think it safe to keep the road, but the colonel said the Indians would not follow the troops farther than the plains, which we were then considerably past. As the wounded officer rode Capt. Biggs’ horse I lent the captain mine; the colonel and myself went about one hundred yards in front, the captain and the wounded officer in the centre, and the two young men behind. After we had travelled about one mile and a half, several Indians started up within fifteen or twenty steps of the colonel and me. As we at first discovered only three I immediately got behind a large black oak, made ready my piece and raised it up to take sight, when the colonel called to me twice not to fire; upon that one of the Indians ran up to the Colonel and took him by the hand. The colonel then told me to put down my gun, which I did. At that instant one of them came up to me whom I had formerly seen very often, called me doctor and took me by the hand. They were Delaware Indians of the Wingenim tribe. Captain Biggs fired amongst them but did no execution. They then told us, to call these people and make them come there, else they would go and kill them, which the colonel did, but they four got off and escaped for that time. The colonel and I were then taken to the Indian camp, which was about half a mile from the place we were captivated. On Sunday evening five Delawares who had posted themselves at some distance further on the road brought back to the camp, where we lay, captain Biggs’ and lieutenant Ashley’s scalps, with an Indian scalp which captain Biggs had taken in the field of action: they also brought in Biggs’ horse and mine, they told us the other two men got away from them. Monday morning the tenth of June we were paraded to march to Sandusky, about thirty-three miles distant: they had eleven prisoners of us and four scalps, the Indians being seventeen in number. Col. Crawford was very desirous to see a certain Simon Girty, who lived with the Indians, and was on this account permitted to go to town the same night, with two warriors to guard him, having orders at the same time to pass by the place where the col. had turned out his horse, that they might if possible, find him.2 The rest of us were taken as far as the old town which was within eight miles of the new. Tuesday morning, the eleventh, col. Crawford was brought out to us on purpose to be marched in with the other prisoners. I asked the colonel if he had seen Mr. Girty? He told me he had, and that Girty had promised to do every thing in his power for him, but that the Indians were very much enraged against the prisoners: particularly captain Pipe one of the chiefs; he likewise told me that Girty had informed him that his son-in-law col. Harrison and his nephew William Crawford, were made prisoners by the Shawanese, but had been pardoned. This captain Pipe had come from the towns about an hour before col. Crawford, and had painted all the prisoner’s faces black.

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As he was painting me he told me I should go to the Shawanese towns and see my friends. When the colonel arrived he painted him black also, told him he was glad to see him, and that he would have him shaved when he came to see his friends at the Wyandot town. When we marched the col. and I were kept back between Pipe and Wyngenim, the two Delaware chiefs, the other nine prisoners were sent forward with another party of Indians. As we went along we saw four of the prisoners lying by the path tomahawked and scalped some of them were at the distance of half a mile from each other. When we arrived within half a mile of the place where the colonel was executed, we overtook the five prisoners that remained alive: the Indians had caused them to sit down on the ground, as they did also the colonel and me at some distance from them. I was there given in charge to an Indian fellow to be taken to the Shawanese towns. In the place where we were now made to sit down there was a number of squaws and boys who fell on the five prisoners and tomahawk’d them. There was a certain John McKinly, amongst the prisoners, formerly an officer in the 13th Virginia regiment, whose head an old squaw cut off, and the Indians kicked it about upon the ground. The young Indian fellows came often where the col. and I were, and dashed the scalps in our faces. We were then conducted along toward the place where the colonel was afterwards executed: when we came within about half a mile of it, Simon Girty met us, with several Indians on horseback: he spoke to the colonel, but a I was about one hundred and fifty yards behind [and] could not hear hat passed between them. Almost every Indian we met struck us either with sticks or their fists. Girty waited till I was brought up and asked, was that the doctor?— I told him, yes, and went toward him reaching out my hand, but he bid me begone and called me a damn’d rascal, upon which the fellows who had me in charge pulled me along. Girty rode up after me and told me I was to go to the Shawanese towns. When we went to the fire the colonel was stripped naked, ordered to sit down by the fire and then they beat him with sticks and their fists. Presently after I was treated in the same manner. They then tied a rope to the foot of a post about fifteen feet high, bound the colonel’s hands behind his back and fastened the rope to the ligature between his wrists. The rope was long enough for him to sit down or walk round the post once or twice and return the same way. The colonel then called to Girty and asked if they intended to burn him?— Girty answered, yes. The colonel said he would take it all patiently. Upon this captain Pipe, a Delaware chief, made a speech to the Indians, viz. about thirty or forty men, sixty or seventy squaws and boys. When the speech was finished they all yelled a hideous and hearty assent to what had been said. The Indian men then took up their guns and shot powder into the colonel’s body, from his feet as far up as his neck. I think not less than seventy loads were discharged upon his naked body. They then crowded about him, and to the best of my observation, cut off his ears: when the throng had dispersed a little I saw the blood running from both sides of his head in consequence thereof. The fire was about six or seven yards from the post to which the colonel was tied: it was made of small hickory poles, burnt quite through in the middle, each end of the poles remaining about six feet in length. Three or four Indians by turns would take

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up, individually, one of these burning pieces of wood and apply it to his naked body, already burnt black with the powder. These tormentors presented themselves on every side of him, so that which ever way he ran round the post they met him with burning faggots and poles. Some of the squaws took broad boards upon which they would carry a quantity of burning coals and hot embers and throw on him, so that in a short time he had nothing but coals of fire and hot ashes to walk upon. In the midst of these extreme tortures, he called to Simon Girty and begged of him to shoot him: but Girty making no answer he called to him again. Girty then, by way of derision, told the colonel he had no gun, at the same time turning about to an Indian who was behind him, laughed heartily, and by all his gestures seemed delighted at the horrid scene. Girty then came up to me and bade me prepare for death. He said, however, I was not to die at that place, but to be burnt at the Shawanese towns. He swore by G—d I need not expect to escape death, but should suffer it in all its extremities. He then observed that some prisoners had given him to understand that if our people had had him they would not hurt him; for his part, he said, he did not believe it, but desired to know my opinion of the matter; but being at that time in great anguish and distress for the torments the colonel was suffering before my eyes, as well as the expectation of undergoing the same fate in two days, I made little or no answer. He expressed a great deal of ill will for col. Gibson, and said he was one of his greatest enemies, and more to the same purpose, to all which I paid very little attention. Col. Crawford at this period of his sufferings besought the Almighty to have mercy on his soul, spoke very low, and bore his torments with the most manly fortitude. He continued in all the extremities of pain for an hour and three-quarters or two hours longer, as near as I can judge, when at last, being almost spent, he lay down on his belly: they then scalped him and repeatedly threw the scalp in my face, telling me “that was my great captain.”— An old squaw (whose appearance [in] every way answered the ideas people entertain of the Devil) got a board, took a parcel of coals and ashes and laid them on his back and head after he had been scalped: he then raised himself upon his feet and began to walk round the post: they next put a burning stick to him as usual, but he seemed more insensible of pain than before. The Indian fellow who had me in charge, now took me away to Capt. Pipe’s house, about three-quarters of a mile from the place of the colonel’s execution. I was bound all night and thus, prevented from seeing the last of the horrid spectacle. Next morning, being June 12th, the Indian untied me, painted me black, and we set off for the Shawanese town, which he told me was somewhat less than forty miles from that place. We soon came to the spot where the colonel had been burnt, as it was partly in our way; I saw his bones lying amongst the remains of the fire, almost burnt to ashes, I suppose after he was dead they had laid his body on the fire. The Indian told me, that was my Big Captain and gave the scalp halloo. He was on horseback and drove me before him. I pretended to this Indian I was ignorant of the death I was to die at the Shawanese towns, affected as cheerful a countenance as possible and asked him if we were not to live together as brothers in one house when we should get to the town? He seemed well

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pleased, and said yes. He then asked me if I could make a wigwam?— I told him, I could — he then seemed more friendly — We went that day as near as I can judge about 25 miles, the course partly Southwest — The Indian told me we should next day come to the town, the sun being in such a direction, pointing nearly South. At night, when we went to rest, I attempted very often to unty myself, but the Indian was extremely vigilant and scarce ever shut his eyes that night. About daybreak he got up and untied me: he next began to mend up the fire, and as the gnats were troublesome I asked him if I should make a smoke behind him?— he said yes. I then took the end of a dogwood fork which had been burnt down to about 18 inches long; it was the longest stick I could find, yet too small for the purpose I had in view; then I picked up another smaller stick and taking a coal of fire between them went behind him; then turning suddenly about, I struck him on the head with all the force I was master of; which so stunned him that he fell forward with both his hands into the fire, but seeing him recover and get up, I seized his gun while he ran off howling in a most fearful manner — I followed him with a determination to shoot him down, but pulling back the cock of the gun with too great violence, I believe I broke the main spring. I pursued him, however, about thirty yards still endeavouring to fire the gun, but could not; then going back to the fire I took his blanket, a pair of new mokkisons, his hoppes, powder horn, bullet bag, (together with the gun) and marched off, directing my course toward the five o’clock mark; about half an hour before sunset I came to the plains which I think are about sixteen miles wide. I laid me down in a thicket till dark, and then by the assistance of the north star made my way through them and got into the woods before morning. I proceeded on the next day and about noon crossed the paths by which our troops had gone out: these paths are nearly east and west, but I went due north all that afternoon with a view to avoid the enemy. In the evening I began to be very faint, and no wonder; I had been six days prisoner; the last two days of which I had eat nothing and but very little the first three or four: there were wild gooseberries in abundance in the woods, but being unripe, required mastication, which at that time I was not able to perform on account of a blow received from an Indian on the jaw with the back of a tomahawk: there was a weed that grew plentifully in that place, the juice of which I knew to be grateful and nourishing; I gathered a bundle of the same, took up my lodging under a large spreading beech tree and having sucked plentifully of the juice, went to sleep. Next day, I made a due east course which I generally kept the rest of my journey. I often imagined my gun was only wood bound and tried every method I could devise to unscrew the lock but never could effect it having no knife nor any thing fitting for the purpose; I had now the satisfaction to find my jaw began to mend and in four or five days could chew any vegetable proper for nourishment, but finding my gun only a useless burden, left it in the wilderness. I had no apparatus for making fire to sleep by, so that I could get but little rest for the gnats and musketoes; there are likewise a great many swamps in the beech ridge, which occasioned me very often to lie wet: this ridge, through which I travelled is about 20 miles broad, the ground in general very level and rich, free from shrubs and brush: there are, however, very few springs, yet wells might easily be dug in all parts of the ridge; the timber on it is very lofty, but it is no easy matter to make a straight

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course through the same, the moss growing as high upon the south side of the trees as on the north. There are a great many white oaks, ash and hickory trees that grow among the beech timber; there are likewise some places on the ridge, perhaps for three or four continued miles where there is little or no beech, and in such spots, black, white oak, ash and hickory abound. Sugar trees grow there also to a very great bulk: the soil is remarkably good, the ground a little ascending and descending with some small rivulets and a few springs. When I got out of the beech ridge and nearer the river Muskingum the lands were more broken but equally rich with those before mentioned, and abounding with brooks and springs of water; there are also several small creeks that empty into that river, the bed of which is more than a mile wide in many places: the woods consist of white and black oaks, walnut, hickory and sugar tree in the greatest abundance. In all parts of the country through which I came the game was very plenty, that is to say, deer, turkies and pheasants. I likewise saw a great many vestiges of bears and some elks. I crossed the river Muskingum about three or four miles below Fort Lawrence, and crossing all paths aimed for the Ohio river. All this time my food was gooseberries, young nettles, the juice of herbs, a few service berries, and some May apples, likewise, two young blackbirds and a terrapin, which I devoured raw. When my food sat heavy on my stomach, I used to eat a little wild ginger which put all to rights. I came upon the Ohio river about five miles below fort McIntosh, in the evening of the 21st day after I had made my escape, and on the twenty second, about seven o’clock in the morning, being the fourth day of July, arrived safe, though very much fatigued, at the Fort.

Chapter Eleven

THE NARRATIVE

OF JOHN

SLOVER

Having in the last war been a prisoner amongst the Indians many years, and so being well acquainted with the country west of the Ohio, I was employed as a guide in the expedition under col. William Crawford against the Indian towns on or near the river Sandusky. It will be unnecessary for me to relate what is so well known, the circumstances and unfortunate events of that expedition; it will be sufficient to observe, that having on Tuesday the fourth of June, fought the enemy near Sandusky, we lay that night in our camp, and the next day fired on each other at the distance of three hundred yards, doing little or no execution. In the evening of that day it was proposed by Col. Crawford, as I have since been informed, to draw off with order; but at the moment of our retreat the Indians (who had probably perceived that we were about to retreat) firing alarm guns, our men broke and rode off in confusion, treading down those who were on foot, and leaving the wounded men who supplicated to be taken with them. I was with some others on the rear of our troops feeding our horses in the glade, when our men began to break: The main body of our people had passed by me a considerable distance before I was ready to set out. I overtook them before they crossed the glade, and was advanced almost in front. The company in which I was had separated from me, and had endeavoured to pass a morass: for coming up I found their horses had stuck fast in the morass, and endeavouring to pass, mine also in a short time stuck fast. I ought to have said, the company of five or six men with which I had been immediately connected, and who were some distance to the right of the main body, had separated from me, &c. I try’d a long time to disengage my horse, until I could hear the enemy just behind me, and on each side, but in vain. Here then I was obliged to leave him. The morass was so unstable that I was to the middle in it, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I got across it, but which having at length done, I came up with the six men who had left their, horses in the same manner I had done; two of these, my companions, having lost their guns. We travelled that night, making our course towards Detroit, with a view to shun the enemy, who we conceived to have taken the paths by which the main body of our people had retreated. Just before day we got into a second deep morass, and were under the necessity of delaying until it was light to see our way through it. The whole of this day we travelled towards the Shawanese towns, with a view of throwing ourselves still 155

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farther out of the search of the enemy. About ten o’clock this day we sat down to eat a little, having tasted nothing from Tuesday, the day of our engagement, until this time which was on Thursday; and now the only thing we had to eat was a scrap of pork to each. We had sat down by a warrior’s path which we had not suspected, when eight or nine warriors appeared. Running off hastily we left our baggage and provisions, but were not discovered by the party; for skulking sometime in the grass and bushes, we returned to the place and recovered our baggage. The warriors had hallooed as they passed, and were answered by others on our flanks. In our journey through the glades, or wide extended dry meadows, about twelve o’clock this day, we discovered a party of Indians in front, but skulking in the grass and bushes were not perceived by them. In these glades we were in great danger, as we could be seen at a great distance. In the afternoon of this day there fell a heavy rain, and then travelling on we saw a party of the enemy about two hundred yards before us, but hiding ourselves in the bushes we had again the good fortune not to be discovered. This night we got out of the glades, having in the night crossed the paths by which we had advanced to Sandusky. It was our design to leave all these paths to the right and to come in by the Tuscarawas. We would have made a much greater progress, had it not been for two of our companions who were lame; the one having his foot burnt, the other with a swelling in his knee of a rheumatic nature. On this day, which was the second after the retreat, one of our company, the person affected with the rheumatic swelling, was left behind some distance in a swamp. Waiting for him some time we saw him coining within one hundred yards, as I sat on the body of an old tree mending my moccasins, but taking my eye from him, I saw him no more. He had not observed our tracks, but had gone a different way. We whistled on our chargers, and afterwards hallooed for him, but in vain. Nevertheless he was fortunate in missing us, for he afterwards came safe into Wheeling.1 We travelled on until night, and were on the waters of the Muskingum from the middle of this day. Having caught a fawn this day, we made fire in the evening and had a repast, having in the meantime eat nothing but the small bit of pork I mentioned before. We set off at break of day. About nine o’clock the third day we fell in with a party of the enemy about 12 miles from the Tuscarawas, which is about 135 miles from Fort Pitt. They had come upon our tracks or had been on our flanks and discovered us, and then having got before, had wav laid us, and fired before we perceived them. At the first fire one of my companions fell before me and another just behind me; these two had guns: there were six men in company, and four guns, two of these rendered useless by reason of the wet when coming through the swamp the first night ; we had tried to discharge them but could not. When the Indians fired I ran to a tree, but an Indian presenting himself fifteen yards before me, directed me to deliver myself up and I should not be hurt. My gun was in good order, but apprehending the enemy behind might discharge their pieces at me, I did not risk firing, which I had afterwards reason to regret when I found what was to be my fate, and that the Indian who was before me and presented his gun was one of those who had just before fired. Two of my companions were taken with me in the same manner, the Indians assuring us we should not be hurt. But one in company, James Paul, who hid a gun in order, made his escape and has since come

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into Wheeling. One of these Indians knew me, and was of the party by whom I was taken in the last war. He came up and spoke to me calling me by my Indian name, Mannuchcothee, and upbraiding me for coining to war against them. I will take a moment here to relate some particulars of my first captivity and my life since. I was taken from New River in Virginia by the Miamese, a nation called by us Picts, amongst whom I lived six years, afterwards being sold to a Delaware and by him put into the hands of a trader. I was carried amongst the Shawanese, with whom I continued six years; so that my whole time amongst these nations was twelve years, that is, from the eighth to the twentieth year of my age. At the treaty of Fort Pitt, in the fall preceding what is called Dunmore’s War, which if I am right, was in the year 1773, I came in with the Shawanese nation to the treaty, and meeting with some of my relations at that place, was by them solicited to relinquish the life of a savage, which I did with some reluctance, this manner of life having become natural to me, inasmuch as I had scarcely known any other. I enlisted as a soldier in the continental army at the commencement of the present war, and served fifteen months. Having been properly discharged I have since married, have a family and am in communion with the church. To return: The party by whom we were made prisoners had taken some horses, and left them at the glades we had passed the day before. They had followed on our tracks from these glades; on our return to which we found the horses and rode. We were carried to Wachatomakak, a town of the Mingoes and Shawanese. I think it was on the third day we reached the town, which when we were approaching, the Indians in whose custody we were, began to look sour, having been kind to us before and given us a little meat and flour to eat, which they had found or taken from some of our men on their retreat. This town is small and we were told was about two miles distant from the main town to which they intended to carry us. The inhabitants from this town came out with clubs and tomahawks, struck, beat and abused us greatly. One of my two companions they seized, and having stripped him naked, blacked him with coal and water: This was the sign of being burnt; the man seemed to surmise it, and shed tears. He asked me the meaning of his being blacked; but I was forbid by the enemy in their own language, to tell him what was intended. In English, which they spoke easily, having been often at Fort Pitt; they assured him he was not to be hurt. I know of no reason for making him the first object of their cruelty unless it was that he was the oldest. A warrior had been sent to the great town to acquaint them with our coming and prepare them for the frolic; for on our coming to it, the inhabitants came out with guns, clubs and tomahawks. We were told that we had to run to the council house, about three hundred yards. The man that was blacked was about twenty yards before us in running the gauntlet. They made him their principal object, men, women and children beating him, and those who had guns firing loads of powder on him as he ran naked, putting the muzzles of the guns to his body, shouting, hallooing and beating their drums in the meantime. The unhappy man had reached the door of the council house, beat and wounded in a manner shocking to the sight; for having arrived before him we had it in our power to view the spectacle: it was indeed the most horrid that can be conceived. They had

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cut him with their tomahawks, shot his body black, burnt it into holes with loads of powder blown into him; a large wadding had made a wound in his shoulder whence the blood gushed. Agreeable to the declaration of the enemy, when he first set out he had reason to think himself secure when he had reached the door of the council house. This seemed to be his hope, for coming up with great struggling and endeavors, he laid hold of the door but was pulled back and drawn away by them; finding they intended no mercy, but putting him to death, he attempted several times to snatch or lay hold of some of their tomahawks, but being weak could not effect it. We saw him borne off, and they were a long time beating, wounding and pursuing and killing him. That same evening I saw the dead body of this man close by the council house. It was mangled cruelly, and the blood mingled with the powder was rendered black. The same evening I saw him after he had been cut to pieces, and his limbs and head about two hundred yards on the outside of the town put on poles. That evening also I saw the bodies of three others in the same black and mangled condition: these I was told had been put to death the same day, and just before we had reached the town. Their bodies as they lay were black, bloody, burnt with powder. Two of these were Harrison2 and young Crawford.3 I knew the visage of Col. Harrison, and I saw his clothing and that of young Crawford at the town. They brought horses to me and asked if I knew them. I said they were Harrison and Crawford’s; they said they were. The third of these men I did not know, but believe to have been Col. M. Cleland, the third in command on the expedition. The next day the bodies of these men were dragged to the outside of the town and their carcases being given to the dogs, their limbs and heads were stuck upon poles. My surviving companion shortly after we had reached the council house was sent to another town, and I presume, he was hurt or executed in the same manner. In the evening the men assembled in the council house; this is a large building about fifty yards in length, and about twenty-five yards wide, and about sixteen feet in height, built of split poles covered with bark ; their first object was to examine me, which they could do in their own language, inasmuch as I could speak the Miame, Shawanese and Delaware languages, which I had learned during my early captivity in the last war; I found I had not forgotten these languages, especially the two former, as well as my native tongue. They began with interrogating me, concerning the situation of our country, what were our provisions? Our numbers? The state of the war between us and Britain ? I informed them Cornwallis had been taken, which next day, when Mathew Elliot with James Girty4 came, he affirmed to be a lie, and the Indians seemed to give full credit to his declaration. Hitherto I had been treated with some appearance of kindness, but now the enemy began to alter their behavior towards me. Girty had informed them, that when he asked me how I liked to live there, I had said that I intended to take the first opportunity to take a scalp and run off It was, to be sure, very probable that if I had such intention, I would communicate it to him. Another man came to me and told me a story of his having lived on the south branch of Potomac in Virginia, and having three brothers there, he pretended

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he wanted to get away, but I suspected his design; nevertheless he reported that I had consented to go. In the mean time I was not tied, and could have escaped, but having nothing to put on my feet, I waited some time longer to provide for this. I was invited every night to the war dance, which they usually continued until almost day. I could not comply with their desire, believing these things to be the service of the devil. The council lasted fifteen days; fifty to one hundred warriors being usually in council, and sometimes more. Every warrior is admitted to these councils; but only the chiefs or head warriors have the privilege of speaking. The head warriors are accounted such from the number of scalps and prisoners they have taken. The third day McKee5 was in council, and afterwards was generally present. He spoke little, and did not ask any questions or speak to me at all. He lives about two miles out of town, has a house built of square logs with a shingle roof; he was dressed in gold laced clothes. I had seen him at the former town through which I passed. I think it was on the last day of the council, save one, that a speech came from Detroit, brought by a warrior who had been counselling with the commanding officer at that place. The speech had been long expected, and was in answer to one sometime before sent from the town to Detroit. It was in a belt of Wampum, and began with addressing them, “My children,” and inquiring why they continue to take prisoners? Provisions are scarce; when prisoners are brought in we are obliged to maintain them, and still some of them are running away and carrying tidings of our affairs. When any of your people fall into the hands of the rebels, they show no mercy; why then should you take prisoners? Take no more prisoners, my children, of any sort; man, woman or child.” Two days after, a party of every nation that was near being collected, it was determined on to take no more prisoners of any sort They had held a large council, and the determination was, that if it were possible they could find a child of a span or three inches long, they would show no mercy to it. At the conclusion of the council it was agreed upon by all the tribes present, viz.: the Tawaws, Chippawaws, the Wiondots [Wyandots], the Mingoes, the Delawares, the Shawanese, Munses, and a part of the Cherokees, that should any of the nations who were not present take any prisoners, these would rise against them, take away the prisoners and put them to death. In the course of these deliberations I understood what was said perfectly. They laid plans against our settlements of Kentucky, the Falls, and towards Wheeling. These it will be unnecessary necessary for me to mention in this narrative, more especially as the Indians finding me to have escaped, and knowing that I would not fail to communicate these designs, will be led to alter their resolutions. There was one council held at which I was not present: The warriors had sent for me as usual, but the squaw with whom I lived would not suffer me to go, but hid me under a large quantity of skins. It may have been from an unwillingness that I should hear in council the determination with respect to me, that I should be burnt. About this time, twelve men were brought in from Kentucky, three of whom were burnt on this day; the remainder were distributed to other towns, and all, as the Indians informed me, were burnt. This was after the speech came from Detroit. On the day after, I saw an Indian who had just come into town, and who said

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that the prisoners he was bringing to be burnt, and who he said was a doctor, had made his escape from him. I knew this must have been Dr. Knight, who went as surgeon of the expedition. The Indian had a wound four inches long in his head, which he acknowledged the doctor had given him; he was cut to the skull. His story was that he had untied the doctor, being asked by him to do so, the doctor promising that he would not go away; that while he was employed in kindling the fire the doctor snatched up the gun had come behind and struck him: that he then made a stroke at the doctor with his knife, which he laid hold of, and his fingers were out almost off, the knife being drawn through his hand; that he gave the doctor two stabs, one in the belly, the other in the back; said the doctor was a great, big, tall, strong man. Being now adopted in an Indian family, and having some confidence for my safety, I took the liberty to contradict this, and said that I knew the doctor, who was a weak, little man. The other warriors laughed immoderately, and did not seem to credit him.6 At this time I was told that Col. Crawford was burnt, and they greatly exulted over it The day after the council I have mentioned, about forty warriors, accompanied by George Girty, came early in the morning round the house where I was. The squaws gave me up, I was sitting before the door of the house; they put a rope round my neck, tied my arms behind my back, stripped me naked, and blacked me in the usual manner. George Girty, as soon as I was tied, damned me, and said that I now should get what I had deserved many years. I was led away to a town distant about five miles, to which a messenger had been despatched to desire them to prepare to receive me. Arriving at this town, I was beaten with clubs and the pipe ends of their tomahawks, and was kept for some time tied to a tree before a house door. In the meanwhile the inhabitants set out to another town about two miles distant, where I was to be burnt, and where I arrived about three o’clock in the afternoon. Here also was a council house, part of it covered and part of it without a roof. In the part of it where no cover was, but only sides built up, there stood a post about sixteen feet in height, and in the middle of the house around the post, there were three piles of wood built about three feet high and four feet from the post. Being brought to the post my arms were tied behind me, and the thong or cord with which they were bound was fastened to the post; a rope also was put about my neck, and tied to the post about four feet above my head. During the time they were tying me, Piles of wood were kindled and began to flame. Death by burning, which appeared to be now my fate, I had resolved to sustain with patience. The divine grace of God had made it less alarming to me; for on my way this day I had been greatly exercised in regard to my latter end. I knew myself to have been a regular member of the church, and to have sought repentance for my sins; but though I had often heard of the faith of assurance, had known nothing of it; but early this day, instantaneously by a change wrought upon me sudden and perceivable as lightning, an assurance of my peace made with God, sprung up in mind. The following words were the subject of my meditation —“In peace thou shalt see God. Fear not those who can kill the body. In peace shalt thou depart.” I was on this occasion by a confidence in mind not to be resisted, fully assured of my salvation: This being the case I was willing, satisfied and glad to die.

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I was tied to the post, as I have already said, and the flame was now kindled. The day was clear, not a cloud to be seen. If there were clouds low in the horizon, the sides of the house prevented me from seeing them, but I heard no thunder, or observed any sign of approaching rain; just as the fire of one pile began to blaze, the wind rose, from the time they began to kindle the fire and to tie me to the post, until the wind began to blow, was about fifteen minutes. The wind blew a hurricane, and the rain followed in less than three minutes. The rain fell violent; and the fire, though it began to blaze considerably, was instantly extinguished. The rain lasted about a quarter of an hour. When it was over the savages stood amazed, and were a long time silent. At last one said, we will let him alone till morning, and take a whole day’s frolic in burning him. The sun at this time was about three hours high. It was agreed upon, and the rope about my neck was untied, and making me sit down, they began to dance round me. They continued dancing in this manner until eleven o’clock at night; in the mean time, beating, kicking and wounding me with their tomahawks and clubs.7 At last one of the warriors, the Half Moon, asked me if I was sleepy? I answered, yes, The head warrior then chose out three warriors to take care of me. I was taken to a block house; my arms were tied until the cord was hid in the flesh, they were tied in two places, round the wrist and above the elbows. A rope was fastened about my neck and tied to a beam of the house, but permitting me to lie down on a board. The three warriors were constantly harassing and troubling me, saying, “How will you like to eat fire tomorrow — you will kill no more Indians now.” I was in expectation of their going to sleep, when at length, about an hour before daybreak, two laid down, the third smoked a pipe, talked to me and asked the same painful questions. About half an hour after, he also laid down; I heard him begin to snore. Instantly I went to work, and as my arms were perfectly dead with the cord, I laid myself down upon my right arm which was behind my back, and keeping it fast with my fingers, which had still some life and strength, I slipped the cord from my left arm over my elbow and my wrist. One of the warriors now got up and stirred the fire: I was apprehensive that I should be examined, and thought it was over with me; but my hopes revived when now he lay down again. I then attempted to unloose the rope about my neck; tried to gnaw it, but it was in vain, as it was as thick as my thumb and as hard as iron, being made of a buffalo hide: I wrought with it a long time, gave it out, and could see no relief. At this time I saw daybreak and heard the cock crow. I made a second attempt, almost without hope, pulling the rope by putting my fingers between my neck and it, and to my great surprise it came easily untied. It was a noose with two or three knots tied over it. I slept [slipped] over the warriors as they lay, and having got out of the house, looked back to see if there was any disturbance. I then ran through the town into a corn field; in my way I saw a squaw with four or five children lying asleep under a tree. Going in a different way into the field, I untied my arm, which was greatly swollen and turned black. Having observed a number of horses in the glade as I ran through it, I went back to catch one, and on my way found a piece of an old rug or quilt hanging on a fence, which I took with me. Having caught the horse, the rope with which I had been tied served for a halter, I rode off: the horse was strong and swift, and the woods being open and the country level, about ten o’clock that day I crossed the Scioto river

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at a place, by computation, fifty full miles from the town. I had rode about twentyfive miles on this side of the Scioto by three o’clock in the afternoon, when the horse began to fail, and could no longer go on a trot. I instantly left him, and on foot, ran about twenty miles farther that day, making in the whole the distance of near one hundred miles. In the evening I heard hallooing behind me, and for this reason did not halt until about ten o’clock at night, when I sat down, was extremely sick and vomited; but when the moon rose, which might have been about two hours after, I went on and travelled until day. During the night I had a path, but in the morning judged it prudent to forsake the path and take a ridge for the distance of fifteen miles, in a line at right angles to my course, putting back as I went along, with a stick, the weeds which I had bent, lest I should be tracked by the enemy. I lay the next night on the waters of Muskingum; the nettles had been troublesome to me after my crossing the Scioto, having nothing to defend myself but the piece of a rug which I had found and which while I rode I used under me by way of a saddle; the briars and thorns were now painful to, and prevented me from travelling in the night until the moon appeared. In the meantime I was prevented from sleeping by the mosquitoes, for even in the day I was under the necessity of travelling with a handfull of bushes to brush them from my body. The second night I reached Cushakim; next day came to Newcomer’s town, where I got about seven raspberries, which were the first thing I ate from the morning on which the Indians had taken me to burn me until this time, which was now about three o’clock the fourth day. I felt hunger very little, but was extremely weak; I swam Muskingum river at Oldcomer’s town, the river being two hundred yards wide; having reached the bank, I sat down, looked back and thought I had a start of the Indians if any should pursue. That evening I travelled about five miles; next day came to Stillwater, a small river, in a branch of which I got two small crawfish to eat. Next night I lay within five miles of Wheeling, but had not slept a wink during this whole time, being rendered impossible by the mosquitoes, which it was my constant employment to brush away. Next day came to Wheeling, and saw a man on the island in the Ohio opposite to that post, and calling to him and asking for particular persons who had been on the expedition, and telling him I was Slover, at length, with great difficulty, he was persuaded to come over and bring me across in his canoe.8

Chapter Twelve

TO LIVE AMONG THE INDIANS: THE NARRATIVE OF JOHN TANNER The earliest event of my life, which I distinctly remember, is the death of my mother. This happened when I was two years old, and many of the attending circumstances made so deep an impression, that they are still fresh in my memory. I cannot recollect the name of the settlement at which we lived, but I have since learned it was on the Kentucky river, at a considerable distance from the Ohio. My father, whose name was John Tanner, was an emigrant from Virginia, and had been a clergyman.1 He lived long after I was taken by the Indians, having died only three months after the great earthquake, which destroyed a part of New Madrid, and was felt throughout the country on the Ohio [1811–1812]. Soon after my mother’s death, my father removed to a place called Elk Horn. At this place was a cavern — I used to visit it with my brother. We took two candles; one we lighted on entering, and went on till it was burned down; we then lighted the other, and began to return, and we would reach the mouth of the cavern before it was quite burned out. This settlement at Elk Horn was occasionally visited by hostile parties of Shawneese Indians, who killed some white people, and sometimes killed or drove away cattle and horses. In one instance, my uncle, my father’s brother, went with a few men at night, and fired upon a camp of these Indians; he killed one, whose scalp he brought home; all the rest jumped into the river and escaped. In the course of our residence at this place, an event occurred, to the influence of which I attributed many of the disasters of my subsequent life. My father, when about to start one morning to a village at some distance, gave, as it appeared, a strict charge to my sisters, Agatha and Lucy, to send me to school; but this they neglected to do until afternoon, and then, as the weather was rainy and unpleasant, I insisted on remaining at home. When my father returned at night, and found that I had been at home all day, he sent me for a parcel of small canes, and flogged me much more severely than I could suppose the offence merited. I was displeased with my sisters for attributing all the blame to me, when they had neglected even to tell me to go to school in the forenoon. From that time, my father’s house was less like home to me, and I often thought and said, “I wish I could go and live among the Indians.” 163

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I cannot tell how long we remained at Elk Horn; when we moved, we travelled two days with horses and wagons, and came to the Ohio, where my father bought three flat boats; the sides of these boats had bullet holes in them, and there was blood on them, which I understood was that of people who had been killed by the Indians. In one of these boats we put the horses and cattle — in another, beds, furniture, and other property, and in the third were some negroes. The cattle boat and the family boat were lashed together; the third, with the negroes, followed behind. We descended the Ohio, and in two or three days came to Cincinnati; here the cattle boat sunk in the middle of the river. When my father saw it sinking, he jumped on board, and cut loose all the cattle, and they swam ashore on the Kentucky side, and were saved. The people from Cincinnati came out in boats to assist us, but father told them the rattle were all safe. In one day we went from Cincinnati to the mouth of the Big Miami, opposite which we were to settle. Here was some cleared land, and one or two log cabins, but they had been deserted on account of the Indians. My father rebuilt the cabins, and enclosed them with a strong picket. It was early in the spring when we arrived at the mouth of the Big Miami, and we were soon engaged in preparing a field to plant corn. I think it was not more than ten days after our arrival, when my father told us in the morning, that from the actions of the horses, be perceived there were Indians lurking about in the woods, and hi; said to me, “John, you must not go out of the house today.” After giving strict charge to my step mother to let none of the little children go out, he went to the field, with the negroes, and my elder brother, to drop corn. Three little children, beside myself, were left in the house with my step mother. To prevent me from going out, my step mother required me to take care of the little child, then not more than a few months old; but as I soon became impatient of confinement, I began to pinch my little brother, to make him cry. My mother perceiving his uneasiness, told me to take him in my arms and walk about the house; I did so, but continued to pinch him. My mother at length took him from me to give him suck. I watched my opportunity, and escaped into the yard; thence through a small door in the large gate of the wall into the open field. There was a walnut tree at some distance from the house, and near the side of the field, where I had been in the habit of finding some of the last year’s nuts. To gain this tree without being seen by my father, and those in the field, I had to use some precaution. I remember perfectly well having seen my father, as I skulked towards the tree; he stood in the middle of the field, with his gun in his hand, to watch for Indians, while the others were dropping corn. As I came near the tree, I thought to myself, “I wish I could see these Indians.” I had partly filled with nuts a straw hat which I wore, when I heard a crackling noise behind me; I looked round, and saw the Indians; almost at the same instant, I was seized by both hands, and dragged off betwixt two. One of them took my straw hat, emptied the nuts on the ground, and put it on my head. The Indians who seized me were an old man and a young one; these were, as I learned subsequently, Manito-o-geezhik, and his son Kish-kau-ko. Since I returned from Red River, I have been at Detroit while Kish-kau-ko was in prison there; I have also been in Kentucky, and have learned several particulars relative to my capture, which

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were unknown to me at the time. It appears that the wife of Manito-o-geezhik had recently lost by death her youngest son — that she had complained to her husband, that unless he should bring back her son, she could not live. This was an intimation to bring her a captive whom she might adopt in the place of the son she had lost. Manito-ogeezhik, associating with him his son, and two other men of his band, living at Lake Huron, had proceeded eastward with this sole design. On the upper part of Lake Erie, they had been joined by three other young men, the relations of Manito-o-geezhik, and had proceeded on, now seven in number, to the settlements on the Ohio. They had arrived the night previous to my capture at the mouth of the Big Miami, had crossed the. Ohio, and concealed themselves within sight of my father’s house. Several times in the course of the morning, old Manito-o-geezhik had been compelled to repress the ardour of his young men, who becoming impatient at seeing no opportunity to steal a boy, were anxious to fire upon the people dropping corn in the field. It must have been about noon when they saw me coming from the house to the walnut tree, which was probably very near the place where one or more of them were concealed. It was but a few minutes after I left the house, when my father, coming from the field, perceived my absence. My step mother had not yet noticed that I had gone out. My elder brother ran immediately to the walnut tree, which he knew I was fond of visiting, and seeing the nuts which the Indian had emptied out of my hat, he immediately understood that I had been made captive. Search was instantly made for me, but to no purpose. My father’s distress, when he found I was indeed taken away by the Indians, was, I am told, very great. After I saw myself firmly seized by both wrists by the two Indians, I was not conscious of anything that passed for a considerable time. I must have fainted, as I did not cry out, and I can remember nothing that happened to me, until they threw me over a large log, which must have been at a considerable distance from the house. The old man I did not now see; I was dragged along between Kish-kau-ko and a very short thick man. I had probably made some resistance, or done something to irritate this last, for he took me a little to one side, and drawing his tomahawk, motioned to me to look up. This I plainly understood, from the expression of his face, and his manner, to be a direction for me to look up for the last time, as he was about to kill me. I did as he directed, but Kish-kau-ko caught his hand as the tomahawk was descending, and prevented him from burying it in my brains. Loud talking ensued between the two. Kish-kau-ko presently raised a yell; the old man and the four others answered it by a similar yell, and came running up. I have since understood that Kish-kau-ko complained to his father, that the short man had made an attempt to kill his little brother, as he called me. The old chief, after reproving him, took me by one hand, and Kishkau-ko by the other, and dragged me betwixt them; the man who had threatened to kill me, and who was now an object of terror, being kept at some distance. I could perceive, as I retarded them somewhat in their retreat, that they were apprehensive of being overtaken; some of them were always at some distance from us. It was about one mile from my father’s house to the place where they threw me into a hickory bark canoe, which was concealed under the bushes, on the bank of the river. Into this they all seven jumped, and immediately crossed the Ohio, landing at

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the mouth of the Big Miami, and on the south side of that river. Here they abandoned their canoe, and stuck their paddles in the ground, so that they could be seen from the river. At a little distance in the woods, they had some blankets and provisions concealed; they offered me some dry venison and bear’s grease, but I could not eat. My father’s house was plainly to be seen from the place where we stood; they pointed at it, looked at me, and laughed, but I have never known what they said. After they had eaten a little, they began to ascend the Miami, dragging me along as before. The shoes I had on when at home, they took off, as they seemed to think I could run better without them. Although I perceived I was closely watched, all hope of escape ‘did not immediately forsake me. As they hurried me along, I endeavoured, without their knowledge, to take notice of such objects as would serve as landmarks on my way back. I tried also, where I passed long grass, or soft ground, to leave my tracks. I hoped to be able to escape after they should have fallen asleep at night. When night came, they lay down, placing me between the old man and Kish-kau-ko, so close together, that the same blanket covered all three. I was so fatigued that I fell asleep immediately, and did not wake until sunrise next morning, when the Indians were up and ready to proceed on their journey. Thus we journeyed for about four days, the Indians hurrying me on, and I continuing to hope that I might escape, but still every night completely overpowered by sleep. As my feet were bare, they were often wounded, and at length much swollen. The old man perceiving my situation, examined my feet one day, and after removing a great many thorns and splinters from them, gave me a pair of moccasins, which afforded me some relief. Most commonly, I travelled between the old man and Kish-kau-ko, and they often made me run until my strength was quite exhausted. For several days I could eat little or nothing. It was, I think, four days after we left the Ohio that we came to a considerable river, running, as I suppose, into the Miami. This river was wide, and so deep, that .I could not wade across it; the old man took me on his shoulders and carried me over; the water was nearly up to his arm pits. As he carried me across, I thought I should never be able to pass this river alone, and gave over all hope of immediate escape. When he put me down on the other side, I immediately ran up the bank, and a short distance into the woods, when a turkey flew up a few steps before me. The nest she had left contained a number of eggs; these I put in the bosom of my shirt, and returned towards the river. When the Indians saw me they laughed, and immediately took the eggs from me, and kindling a fire, put them in a small kettle to boil. I was then Very hungry, and as I sat watching the kettle, I saw the old man come running from the direction of the ford where we had crossed; he immediately caught up the kettle, threw the eggs and the water on the fire, at the same time saying something in a hurried and low tone to the young men. I inferred we were pursued, and have since understood that such was the case; it is probable some of my friends were at that time on the opposite side of the river searching for me. The Indians hastily gathered up the eggs and dispersed themselves in the woods, two of them still urging me forward to the utmost of my strength. It was a day or two after this that we met a party of twenty or thirty Indians, on

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their way towards the settlements. Old Manito-o-geezhik had much to say to them; subsequently I learned that they were a War party of Shawneese; that they received information from our party, of the whites who were in pursuit of us about the forks of the Miami; that they went in pursuit of them, and that a severe skirmish happened between them, in which numbers were killed on both sides. Our journey through the woods was tedious and painful: it might have been ten days after we met the war party, when we arrived at the Maumee river. As soon as we came near the river, the Indians were suddenly scattered about the woods examining the trees, yelling and answering each other. They soon selected a hickory tree, which was cut down, and the bark stripped off, to make a canoe. In this canoe we all embarked, and descended till we came to a large Shawnee village, at the mouth of a river which enters the Maumee. As we were landing in this village, great numbers of the Indians came about us, and one young woman came crying directly towards me, and struck me on the head. Some of her friends had been killed by the whites. Many of these Shawneese showed a disposition to kill me, but Kish-kau-ko and the old man interposed, and prevented them. I could perceive that I was often the subject of conversation, but could not as yet understand what was said. Old Manito-o-geezhik could speak a few words of English, which he used occasionally, to direct me to bring water, make a fire, or perform other tasks, whirl; he now began to require of me. We remained two days at the Shawnee village, and then proceeded on our journey in the canoe. It was not very far from the village that we came to a trading house, where were three or four men who could speak English; they talked much with me, and said they wished to have purchased me from the Indians, that I might return to my friends; but as the old man would not consent to part with me, the traders told me I must be content to go with the Indians, and to become the old man’s son, in place of one he had lost, promising at the same time that after ten days they would come to the village and release me. They treated me kindly while we staid, and gave me plenty to eat, which the Indians had neglected to do. When I found I was compelled to leave this house with the Indians, I began to cry, for the first time since I had been taken. I consoled myself, however, with their promise that in ten days they would come for me. Soon after leaving this trading house, we came to the lake; we did not stop at night to encamp, but soon after dark the Indians raised a yell, which was answered from some lights on shore, and presently a canoe came off to us, in which three of our party left us. I have little recollection of anything that passed from this time until we arrived at Detroit. At first we paddled up in the middle of the river until we came opposite the centre of the town; then we ran in near the shore, where I saw a white woman, with whom the Indians held a little conversation, but I could not understand what was said. I also saw several white men standing and walking on shore, and heard them talk, but could not understand them; it is likely they spoke French. After talking a few minutes with the woman, the Indians pushed off, and ran up a good distance above the town. It was about the middle of the day when we landed in the woods, and drew up the canoe. They presently found a large hollow log, open at one end, into which they put their blankets, their little kettle, and some other articles; they then made me crawl

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into it, after which they closed up the end at which I had entered. I heard them for a few minutes on the outside, then all was still, and remained so for a long time. If I had not long since relinquished all hope of making my escape, I soon found it would be in vain for me to attempt to release myself from my confinement. After remaining many hours in this situation, I heard them removing the logs with which they had fastened me in, and on coming out, although it was very late in the night, or probably near morning, I could perceive that they had brought three horses. One of these was a large iron-gray mare, the others were two small bay horses. On one of these they placed me, on the others their baggage, and sometimes one, sometimes another of the Indians riding, we travelled rapidly, and in about three days reached Sau-ge-nong, the village to which old Manito-o-geezhik belonged. This village or settlement consisted of several scattered houses. Two of the Indians left us soon after we entered it; Kish-kau-ko and his father only remained, and instead of proceeding immediately home, they left their horses and borrowed a canoe, in which we at last arrived at the old man’s house. This was a hut or cabin built of logs, like some of those in Kentucky. As soon as we landed, the old woman came down to us to the shore, and after Manito-o-geezhik had said, a few words to her, she commenced crying, at the same time hugging and kissing me, and thus she led me to the house. Next day they took me to the place where the old woman’s son had been buried. The grave was enclosed with pickets, in the manner of the Indians, and on each side of it was a smooth open place. Here they all took their seats; the family and friends of Manito-o-geezhik on the one side, and strangers on the other. The friends of the family had come provided with presents; mukkuks of sugar, sacks of corn, beads, strouding, tobacco, and the like. They had not been long assembled, when my party began to dance, dragging me with them about the grave. Their dance was lively and cheerful, after the manner of the scalp dance. From time to time as they danced, they presented me something of the articles they had brought, but as I came round in the dancing to the party on the opposite side of the grave, whatever they had given me was snatched from me: thus they continued great part of the day, until the presents were exhausted, when they returned home.2 It must have been early in the spring when we arrived at Sau-ge-nong, for I can remember that at this time the leaves were small, and the Indians were about planting their corn. They managed to make me assist at their labours, partly by signs, and partly by the few words of English old Manito-o-geezhik could speak. After planting, they all left the village, and went out to hunt and dry meat. When they came to their hunting grounds, they chose a place where many deer resorted, and here they began to build a long screen like a fence; this they made of green boughs and small trees. When they had built a part of it, they showed me how to remove the leaves and dry brush from that side of it to which the Indians were to come to shoot the deer. In this labour I was sometimes assisted by the squaws and children, but at other times I was left alone. It now began to be warm weather, and it happened one day that having been left alone, as I was tired and thirsty, I fell asleep. I cannot tell how long I slept, but when I began to awake, I thought I heard someone crying a great way off. Then I tried to raise up my head, but could not. Being now more awake, I saw my Indian mother and

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sister standing by me, and perceived that my face and head were wet. The old woman and her daughter were crying bitterly, but it was some time before I perceived that my head was badly cut and bruised. It appears that after I had fallen asleep, Manito-ogeezhik, passing that way, had perceived me, had tomahawked me, and thrown me in the bushes; and that when he came to his camp he had said to his wife, “old woman, the boy I brought you is good for nothing; I have killed him, and you will find him in such a place.” The old woman and her daughter having found me, discovered still some signs of life, and had stood over me a long time, crying, and pouring cold water on my head, when I waked. In a few days I recovered in some measure from this hurt, and was again set to work at the screen, but I was more careful not to fall asleep; I endeavoured to assist them at their labours, and to comply in all instances with their directions, but I was notwithstanding treated with great harshness, particularly by the old man, and his two sons She-mung and Kwo-tash-e. While we remained at the hunting camp, one of them put a bridle in my hand, and pointing in a certain direction, motioned me to go. I went accordingly, supposing he wished me to bring a horse; I went and caught the first I could find, and in this way I learned to discharge such services as they required of me. When we returned from hunting, I carried on my back a large pack of dried meat all the way to the village; but though I was almost starved, I dared not touch a morsel of it. My Indian mother, who seemed to have some compassion for me, would sometimes steal a little food, and hide it for me until the old man was gone away, and then give it me. After we returned to the village, the young men, whenever the weather was pleasant, were engaged in spearing fish, and they used to take me to steer the canoe. As I did not know how to do this very well, they commonly turned upon me, beat me, and often knocked me down with the pole of the spear. By one or the other of them I was beaten almost every day. Other Indians, not of our family, would sometimes seem to pity me, and when they could without being observed by the old man, they would sometimes give me food, and take notice of me. After the corn was gathered in the fall, and disposed of in the San-je-wan-nun, or Ca-ches, where they hide it for the winter, they went to hunt on the Sau-ge-nong river. I was here, as I had always been when among them, much distressed with hunger. As I was often with them in the woods, I saw them eating something, and I endeavoured to discover what it was, but they carefully concealed it from me. It was some time before I accidentally found some beach-nuts, and though I knew not what they were, I was tempted to taste them, and finding them very good, I showed them to the Indians, when they laughed, and let me know these were what they had all along been eating. After the snow had fallen, I was compelled to follow the hunters, and oftentimes to drag home to the lodge a whole deer, though it was with the greatest difficulty I could do so. At night I had always to lie between the fire and the door of the lodge, and when any one passed out or came in, they commonly gave me a kick; and whenever they went to drink, they made a practice to throw some water on me. The old man constantly treated me with much cruelty, but his ill humour showed itself more on some occasions than others. One morning, he got up, put on his moccasins, and went out;

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but presently returning, he caught me by the hair of my head, dragged me out, rubbed my face for a long time in a mass of recent excrement, as one would do the nose of a cat, then tossed me by the hair into a snow bank. After this I was afraid to go into the lodge; but at length my mother came out and gave me some water to wash. We were now about to move our camp, and I was as usual made to carry a large pack; but as I had not been able to wash my face clean, when I came among other Indians they perceived the smell, and asked me the cause. By the aid of signs, and some few words I could now speak, I made them comprehend how I had been treated. Some of them appeared to pity me, assisted me to wash myself, and gave me something to eat. Often when the old man would begin to beat me, my mother, who generally treated me with kindness, would throw her arms about me, and he would beat us both together. Towards the end of winter, we moved again to the sugar grounds. At this time, Kish-kau-ko, who was a young man of about twenty years of age, joined with him four other young men, and went on a war-party. The old man, also, as soon as the sugar was finished, returned to the village, collected a few men, and made his preparations to start. I had now been a year among them, and could understand a little of their language. The old man, when about to start, said to me, “now I am going to kill your father and your brother, and all your relations.” Kish-kau-ko returned first, but was badly wounded. He said he had been with his party to the Ohio river; that they had, after watching for some time, fired upon a small boat that was going down, and killed one man, the rest jumping into the water. He [Kish-kau-ko] had wounded himself in his thigh with his own spear, as he was pursuing them. They brought home the scalp of the man they had killed. Old Manito-o-geezhik returned a few days afterwards, bringing an old white hat, which I knew, from a mark in the crown, to be that of my brother. He said he had killed all [of ] my father’s family, the negroes, and the horses, and had brought me my brother’s hat, that I might see he spoke the truth. I now believed that my friends had all been cut off, and was, on that account, the less anxious to return. This, it appears, had been precisely the object the old man wished to accomplish, by telling me the story, of which but a small part was true. When I came to see Kish-kau-ko, after I returned from Red River, I asked him immediately, “Is it true, that your father has killed all my relations?” He told me it was not; that Manito-o-geezhik, the year after I was taken, at the same season of the year, returned to the same field where he had found me; that, as on the preceding year, he had watched my father and his people planting corn, from morning till noon; that then they all went into the house, except my brother, who was then nineteen years of age: he remained ploughing with a span of horses, having the lines about his neck, when the Indians rushed upon him; the horses started to run; my brother was entangled in the lines, and thrown down, when the Indians caught him. The horses they killed with their bows and arrows, and took my brother away into the woods. They crossed the Ohio before night, and had proceeded a good distance, in their way up the Miami. At night they left my brother securely bound, as they thought, to a tree. His hands and arms were tied behind him, and there were cords around his breast and neck; but having bitten off some of the cords, he was able to get a pen-knife that was in his pocket, with which he cut himself loose, and immediately run towards

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the Ohio, at which he arrived, and which he crossed by swimming, and reached his father’s house about sunrise in the morning. The Indians were roused by the noise he made, and pursued him into the woods; but as the night was very dark, they were not able to overtake him. His hat had been left at the camp, and this they brought, to make me believe they had killed him. Thus I remained for two years in this family, and gradually came to have less and less hope of escape, though I did not forget what the English traders on the Maumee had said, and I wished they might remember and come for me. The men were often drunk, and whenever they were so, they sought to kill me. In these cases, I learned to run and hide myself in the woods, and I dared not return before their drunken frolick was over. During the two years that I remained at Sau-genong, I was constantly suffering from hunger; and though strangers, or those not belonging to the family, sometimes fed me, I had never enough to eat. The old woman they called Ne-keek-wos-ke-cheem e-kwa —“the Otter woman,” the otter being her totem — treated me with kindness, as did her daughters, as well as Kish-kau-ko and Be-naissa, the bird, the youngest son, of about my own age. Kish-kau-ko and his father, and the two brothers, Kwo-ta-she and She-mung, were blood-thirsty and cruel, and those who remain of this family, continue, to this time, troublesome to the whites. Be-naissa, who came to see me when I was at Detroit, and who always treated me kindly, was a better man, but he is since dead. While I remained with them at Sau-ge-nong, I saw white men but once. Then a small boat passed, and the Indians took me out to it in a canoe, rightly supposing that my wretched appearance would excite the compassion of the traders, or whatever white men they were. These gave me bread, apples, and other presents, all which, except one apple, the Indians took from me. By this family I was named Shaw-shaw-wa ne-ba-se, (the Falcon,) which name I retained while I remained among the Indians. I had been about two years at Sau-ge-nong, when a great council was called by the British agents at Mackinac. This council was attended by the Sioux, the Winnebagoes, the Menomonees, and many remote tribes, as well as by the Ojibbeways, Ottawwaws, &c. When old Manito-o-geezhik returned from this council, I soon learned that he had met there his kinswoman, Net-no-kwa, who, notwithstanding her sex, was then regarded as principal chief of the Ottawwaws. This woman had lost her son, of about my age, by death; and having heard of me, she wished to purchase me to supply his place. My old Indian mother, the Otter woman, when she heard of this, protested vehemently against it. I heard her say, “My son has been dead once, and has been restored to me; I cannot lose him again.” But these remonstrances had little influence, when Net-no-kwa arrived with considerable whiskey, and other presents. She brought to the lodge first a ten gallon keg of whiskey, blankets, tobacco, and other articles of great value. She was perfectly acquainted with the dispositions of those with whom she had to negotiate. Objections were made to the exchange until the contents of the keg had circulated for some time; then an additional keg, and a few more presents, completed the bargain, and I was transferred to Net-no-kwa. This woman, who was then advanced in years, was of a more pleasing aspect than my former mother. She took me by the hand, after she had completed the negotiation with my former pos-

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sessors, and led me to her own lodge, which stood near. Here I soon found I was to be treated more indulgently than I had been. She gave me plenty of food, put good clothes upon me, and told me to go and play with her own sons. We remained but a short time at Sau-ge-nong. She would not stop with me at Mackinac, which we passed in the night, but ran along to Point St. Ignace, where she hired some Indians to take care of me, while she returned to Mackinac by herself, or with one or two of her young men. After finishing her business at Mackinac, she returned, and continuing on our journey, we arrived in a few days at Shab-a-wy-wy-a-gun. The corn was ripe when we reached that place, and after stopping a little while, we went three days up the river, to the place where they intended to pass the winter. We then left our canoes, and travelling over land, camped three times before we came to the place where we set up our lodges for the winter. The husband of Net-no-kwa was an Ojibbeway, of Red River, called Taw-ga-weninne, the hunter. He was seventeen years younger than Net-no-kwa and had turned off a former wife on being married to her. Taw-ga-we-ninne was always indulgent and kind to me, treating me like an equal, rather than as a dependant. When speaking to me, he always called me his son. Indeed, he himself was but of secondary importance in the family, as everything belonged to Net-no-kwa, and she had the direction in all affairs of any moment. She imposed on me, for the first year, some tasks. She made me cut wood, bring home game, bring water, and perform other services not commonly required of the boys of my age; but she treated me invariably with so much kindness, that I was far more happy and content, than I had been in the family of Manito-ogeezhik. She sometimes whipped me, as she did her own children; but I was not so severely and frequently beaten as I had been before.

Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa When I was something more than twenty-one years of age, I moved, with Wame-gon-a-biew, and many other families of Indians, to the Wild Rice. While we were engaged in collecting and preparing the grain, many among us were seized with a violent sickness. It commenced with cough and hoarseness, and sometimes bleeding from the mouth or nose. In a short time many died, and none were able to hunt. Although I did not escape entirely, my attack appeared at first less violent than that of most others. There had been for several days, no meat in the encampment; some of the children had not been sick, and some of those who had been sick, now began to recover, and needed some food. There was but one man beside myself, as capable of exertion as I was; and he, like myself, was recovering. We were wholly unable to walk, and could scarce mount our horses when they were brought to us by the children. Had we been able to walk, we coughed so loudly and so incessantly, that we could never have approached near enough to any game to kill it by still hunting. In this emergency, we rode into the plains, and were fortunate enough to overtake and kill a bear. Of the flesh of this animal, we could not eat a mouthful, but we took it home, and distributed to every lodge an equal portion. Still I continued to get better, and was

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among the first to regain my health, as I supposed. In a few days I went out to hunt elk; and in killing two of them in the space of two or three hours, I became somewhat excited and fatigued. I cut up the meat, and as is usual, took home a load on my back, when I returned. I ate heartily of some which they cooked for me, then lay down and slept; but before the middle of the night, I was waked by a dreadful pain in my ears. It appeared to me that something was eating into my ears, and I called Wa-me-gon-abiew to look, but he could see nothing. The pain became more and more excruciating for two days; at the end of which time I became insensible. When my consciousness returned, which was, as I learned afterwards, at the end of two days, I found myself sitting outside the lodge. I saw the Indians on all sides of me, drinking, some trader having come among them. Some were quarrelling, particularly a groupe amongst which I distinguished Wa-me-gon-a-biew, and saw him stab a horse with his knife. Then I immediately became insensible, and remained so probably for some days, as I was unconscious of everything that passed, until the band were nearly ready to move from the place where we had been living. My strength was not entirely gone, and when I came to my right mind, I could walk about. I reflected much on all that had passed since I had been among the Indians. I had in the main been contented since residing in the family of Net-no-kwa; but this sickness I looked upon as the commencement of misfortune, which was to follow me through life. My hearing was gone, for abscesses had formed and discharged in each ear, and I could now hear but very imperfectly. I sat down in the lodge, and could see the faces of men, and their lips moving, but knew not what they said. I took my gun and went to hunt; but the animals discovered me before I could see them, and if by accident I saw a moose or an elk, and endeavoured to get near him, I found that my cunning and my success had deserted me. I soon imagined that the very animals knew that I had become like an old and useless man. Under the influence of these painful feelings, I resolved to destroy myself, as the only means of escaping the certain misery which I saw before me. When they were ready to move, Net-no-kwa had my horse brought to the door of the lodge, and asked me if I was able to get on and ride to the place where they intended to encamp. I told her I was, and requesting that my gun might be left with me, said I would follow the party at a little distance. I took the rein of my horse’s bridle in my hand, and sitting down, watched the people, as group after group passed me and disappeared. When the last old woman, and her heavy load of pukkwi mats, sunk behind the little swell of the prairie that bounded my prospect, I felt much relieved. I cast loose the reins of the bridle, and suffered my horse to feed at large. I then cocked my gun, and resting the butt of it on the ground, I put the muzzle to my throat, and proceeded with the ramrod, which I had drawn for the purpose, to discharge it. I knew that the lock was in good order; also, that the piece had been well loaded but a day or two before; but I now found that the charge had been drawn. My powder horn and ball pouch always contained more or less ammunition; but on examination, I found them empty. My knife also, which I commonly carried appended to the strap of my shot pouch, was gone. Finding myself baffled in the attempt to take my own life, I seized my gun with both hands by the muzzle, and threw it from me with

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my utmost strength; then mounted my horse, who, contrary to his usual custom, and to what I had expected from him, had remained near me after being released. I soon overtook the party, for being probably aware of my intentions, Wa-me-gon-a-biew and Net-no-kwa had gone but far enough to conceal themselves from my view, and had then sat down to wait. It is probable, that in my insane ravings, I had talked of my intention to destroy myself, and on this account, they had been careful to deprive me of the most ordinary and direct means of effecting my purpose. Suicide is not very unfrequent among the Indians, and is effected in various ways; shooting, hanging, drowning, poisoning, &c. The causes, also, which urge to the desperate act, are various. Some years previous to the time I now speak of, I was with Netno-kwa, at Mackinac, when I knew a very promising and highly respected young man of the Ottawwaws, who shot himself in the Indian burying ground. He had, for the first time, drank to intoxication; and in the alienation of mind produced by the liquor had torn off his own clothes, and behaved with so much violence, that his two sisters, to prevent him from injuring himself or others, tied his hands and feet, and laid him down in the lodge. Next morning, he awoke sober, and being untied, went to his sister’s lodge, which was near the burying ground, borrowed a gun, under pretence of going to shoot pigeons, and went into the burying ground and shot himself. It is probable, that when he awoke and found himself tied, he thought he had done something very improper in his drunkenness, and to relieve himself from the pressure of shame and mortification, had ended his days by violence. Misfortunes and losses of various kinds, sometimes the death of friends, and possibly, in some instances, disappointment in affairs of love, may be considered the causes which produce suicide among the Indians. I reproached Wa-me-gon-a-biew for his conduct towards me, in unloading my gun, and taking away my ammunition, though it was probably done by the old woman. After I recovered my health more perfectly, I began to feel ashamed of this attempt, but my friends were so considerate as never to mention it to me. Though my health soon became good, I did not recover my hearing, and it was several months before I could hunt as well as I had been able to do previous to my sickness; but I was not among those who suffered most severely by this terrible complaint. Of the Indians who survived, some were permanently deaf, others injured in their intellects, and some, in the fury occasioned by the disease, dashed themselves against trees and rocks, breaking their arms, or otherwise maiming themselves. Most of those who survived, had copious discharges from the ears, or in the earlier stages had bled profusely from the nose. This disease was entirely new to the Indians, and they attempted to use few or no remedies for it. ~ Late in the spring, when we were nearly ready to leave Ke-nu-kau-ne-she-waybo-ant, an old man, called O-zhusk-koo-koon (the muskrat’s liver,) a chief of the Metai, came to my lodge, bringing a young woman, his grand-daughter, together with the girl’s parents. This was a handsome young girl, not more than fifteen years old; but Net-no-kwa did not think favourably of her. She said to me, “My son, these people will not cease to trouble you, if you remain here; and as the girl is by no means fit to become your wife; I advise you to take your gun and go away. Make a hunting camp

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at some distance, and do not return till they have time to see that you are decidedly disinclined to the match.” I did so, and O-zhusk-koo-koon apparently relinquished the hope of marrying me to his grand-daughter. Soon after I returned, I was standing by our lodge one evening, when I saw a good looking young woman walking about and smoking. She noticed me from time to time, and at last came up and asked me to smoke with her. I answered, that I never smoked. “You do not wish to touch my pipe; for that reason you will not smoke with me.” I took her pipe and smoked a little, though I had not been in the habit of smoking before. She remained some time, and talked with me, and I began to be pleased with her. After this we saw each other often, and I became gradually attached to her. I mention this because it was to this woman that I was afterwards married, and because the commencement of our acquaintance was not after the usual manner of the Indians. Among them, it most commonly happens, even when a young man marries a woman of his own band, he has previously had no personal acquaintance with her. They have seen each other in the village; he has perhaps looked at her in passing, but it is probable they have never spoken together. The match is agreed on by the old people, and when their intention is made known to the young couple, they commonly find, in themselves, no objection to the arrangement, as they know, should it prove disagreeable mutually, or to either party, it can at any time be broken off. My conversations with Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa, (the red sky of the morning,) for such was the name of the woman who offered me her pipe, was soon noised about the village. Hearing it and inferring, probably, that like other young men of my age, I was thinking of taking a wife, old O-zhusk-koo-koon came one day to our lodge, leading by the hand another of his numerous grand-daughters. “This,” said he, to Net-no-kwa, “is the handsomest and the best of all my descendants; I come to offer her to your son.” So saying, he left her in the lodge and went away. This young woman was one Netno-kwa had always treated with unusual kindness, and she was considered one of the most desirable in the band. The old woman was now somewhat embarrassed; but at length she found an opportunity to say to me, “My son, this girl which O-zhusk-kookoon offers you, is handsome, and she is good; but you must not marry her, for she has that about her which will, in less than a year, bring her to her grave. It is necessary that you should have a woman who is strong and free of any disease. Let us, therefore, make this young woman a handsome present, for she deserves well at our hands, and send her back to her father.” She accordingly gave her goods to a considerable amount, and she went home. Less than a year afterwards, according to the old woman’s prediction, she died. In the mean time, Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa and myself were becoming more and more intimate. It is probable Net-no-kwa did not disapprove of the course I was now about to take, as, though I said nothing to her on the subject, she could not have been ignorant of what I was doing. That she was not I found, when after spending, for the first time, a considerable part of the night with my mistress, I crept into the lodge at a late hour, and went to sleep. A smart rapping on my naked feet waked me at the first appearance of dawn, on the following morning. “Up,” said the old woman, who stood by me, with a stick in her hand, “up, young man, you who are about to take for yourself a

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wife, up, and start after game. It will raise you more in the estimation of the woman you would marry, to see you bring home a load of meat early in the morning, than to see you dressed ever so gaily, standing about the village after the hunters are all gone out.” I could make her no answer, but, putting on my moccasins, took my gun and went out. Returning before noon, with as heavy a load of fat moose meat as I could carry, I threw it down before Net-no-kwa, and with a harsh tone of voice said to her, “here, old woman, is what you called for in the morning.” She was much pleased, and commended me for my exertion. I now became satisfied that she was not displeased on account of my affair with Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa, and it gave me no small pleasure to think that my conduct met her approbation. There are many of the Indians who throw away and neglect their old people; but though Net-no-kwa was now decrepit and infirm, I felt the strongest regard for her, and continued to do so while she lived. I now redoubled my diligence in hunting, and commonly came home with meat in the early part of the day, at least before night. I then dressed myself as handsomely as I could, and walked about the village, sometimes blowing the Pe-be-gwun, or flute. For some time Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa pretended she was not willing to marry me, and it was not, perhaps, until she perceived some abatement of ardour on my part, that she laid this affected coyness entirely aside. For my own part, I found that my anxiety to take a wife home to my lodge, was rapidly becoming less and less. I made several efforts to break off the intercourse, and visit her no more; but a lingering inclination was too strong for me. When she perceived my growing indifference, she sometimes reproached me, and sometimes sought to move me by tears and entreaties; but I said nothing to the old woman about bringing her home, and became daily more and more unwilling to acknowledge her publicly as my wife. About this time, I had occasion to go to the trading-house on Red River, and I started in company with a half breed, belonging to that establishment, who was mounted on a fleet horse. The distance we had to travel has since been called, by the English settlers, seventy miles. We rode and went on foot by turns, and the one who was on foot kept hold of the horse’s tail, and ran. We passed over the whole distance in one day. In returning, I was by myself, and without a horse, and I made an effort, intending, if possible, to accomplish the same journey in one day; but darkness, and excessive fatigue, compelled me to stop when I was within about ten miles of home. When I arrived at our lodge, on the following day, I saw Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa sitting in my place. As I stopped at the door of the lodge, and hesitated to enter, she hung down her head; but Net-no-kwa greeted me in a tone somewhat harsher than was common for her to use to me. “Will you turn back from the door of the lodge, and put this young woman to shame, who is in all respects better than you are. This affair has been of your seeking, and not of mine or hers. You have followed her about the village heretofore; now you would turn from her, and make her appear like one who has attempted to thrust herself in your way.” I was, in part, conscious of the justness of Net-no-kwa’s reproaches, and in part prompted by inclination; I went in and sat down by the side of Mis-kwa-bun-o-kwa, and thus we became man and wife. Old Net-nokwa had, while I was absent at Red River, without my knowledge or consent, made her bargain with the parents of the young woman, and brought her home, rightly supposing

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that it would be no difficult matter to reconcile me to the measure. In most of the marriages which happen between young persons, the parties most interested have less to do than in this case. The amount of presents which the parents of a woman expect to receive in exchange for her, diminishes in proportion to the number of husbands she may have had.

The Fire Must Never Go Out It was while I was living at Great Wood River, that news came of a great man among the Shawneese, who had been favoured by a revelation of the mind and will of the Great Spirit. I was hunting in the prairie, at a great distance from my lodge, when I saw a stranger approaching; at first, I was apprehensive of an enemy, but, as he drew nearer, his dress showed him to be an Ojibbeway; but when he came up, there was something very strange and peculiar in his manner. He signified to me, that I must go home, but gave no explanation of the cause. He refused to look at me, or enter into any kind of conversation. I thought he must be crazy, but nevertheless accompanied him to my lodge. When we had smoked, he remained a long time silent, but, at last, began to tell me he had come with a message from the prophet of the Shawneese. “Henceforth,” said he, “the fire must never be suffered to go out in your lodge. Summer and winter, day and night, in the storm, or when it is calm, you must remember that the life in your body, and the fire in your lodge, are the same, and of the same date. If you suffer your fire to be extinguished, at that moment your life will be at its end. You must not suffer a dog to live; you must never strike either a man, a woman, a child, or a dog. The prophet himself is coming to shake hands with you; but I have come before, that you may know what is the will of the Great Spirit, communicated to us by him, and to inform you that the preservation of your life, for a single moment, depends on your entire obedience. From this time forward, we are neither to be drunk, to steal, to lie, or to go against our enemies. While we yield an entire obedience to these commands of the Great Spirit, the Sioux, even if they come to our country, will not be able to see us: we shall be protected and made happy.” I listened to all he had to say, but told him, in answer, that I could not believe we should all die, in case our fire went out; in many instances, also, it would be difficult to avoid punishing our children; our dogs were useful in aiding us to hunt and take animals, so that I could not believe the Great Spirit had any wish to take them from us. He continued talking to us until late at night; then he lay down to sleep in my lodge. I happened to wake first in the morning, and perceiving the fire had gone out, I called him to get up, and see how many of us were living, and how many dead. He was prepared for the ridicule I attempted to throw upon his doctrine, and told me that I had not yet shaken hands with the prophet. His visit had been to prepare me for this important event, and to make me aware of the obligations and risks I should incur, by entering into the engagement implied in taking in my hand the message of the prophet. I did not rest entirely easy in my unbelief. The Indians, generally, received the doctrine of this man with great humility and

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fear. Distress and anxiety was visible in every countenance. Many killed their dogs, and endeavoured to practice obedience to all the commands of this new preacher, who still remained among us. But, as was usual with me, in any emergency of this kind, I went to the traders, firmly believing, that if the Deity had any communications to make to men, they would be given, in the first instance, to white men. The traders ridiculed and despised the idea of a new revelation of the Divine will, and the thought that it should be given to a poor Shawnee. Thus was I confirmed in my infidelity. Nevertheless, I did not openly avow my unbelief to the Indians, only I refused to kill my dogs, and showed no great degree of anxiety to comply with his other requirements. As long as I remained among the Indians, I made it my business to conform, as far as appeared consistent with my immediate convenience and comfort, with all their customs. Many of their ideas I have adopted; but I always found among them opinions which I could not hold. The Ojibbeway whom I have mentioned, remained some time among the Indians, in my neighbourhood, and gained the attention of the principal men so effectually, that a time was appointed, and a lodge prepared, for the solemn and public espousing of the doctrines of the prophet. When the people, and I among them, were brought into the long lodge, prepared for this solemnity, we saw something carefully concealed under a blanket, in figure and dimensions bearing some resemblance to the form of a man. This was accompanied by two young men, who, it was understood, attended constantly upon it, made its bed at night, as for a man, and slept near it. But while we remained, no one went near it, or raised the blanket which was spread over its unknown contents. Four strings of mouldy and discoloured beans, were all the remaining visible insignia of this important mission. After a long harangue, in which the prominent features of the new revelation were stated and urged upon the attention of all, the four strings of beans, which we were told were made of the flesh itself of the prophet, were carried, with much solemnity, to each man in the lodge, and he was expected to take hold of each string at the top, and draw them gently through his hand. This was called shaking hands with the prophet, and was considered as solemnly engaging to obey his injunctions, and accept his mission as from the Supreme. All the Indians who touched the beans, had previously killed their dogs; they gave up their medicine bags, and showed a disposition to comply with all that should be required of them. We had now been for some time assembled in considerable numbers; much agitation and terror had prevailed among us, and now famine began to be felt. The faces of men wore an aspect of unusual gloominess; the active became indolent, and the spirits of the bravest seemed to be subdued. I started to hunt with my dogs, which I had constantly refused to kill, or suffer to be killed. By their assistance, I found and killed a bear. On returning home, I said to some of the Indians, “Has not the Great Spirit given us our dogs to aid us in procuring what is needful for the support of our life, and can you believe he wishes now to deprive us of their services? The prophet, we are told, has forbid us to suffer our fire to be extinguished in our lodges, and when we travel or hunt, he will not allow us to use a flint and steel, and we are told he requires that no man should give fire to another. Can it please the Great Spirit that we should lie in our

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hunting camps without fire; or is it more agreeable to him that we should make fire by rubbing together two sticks, than with a flint and a piece of steel?” But they would not listen to me, and the serious enthusiasm which prevailed among them so far affected me, that I threw away my flint and steel, laid aside my medicine bag, and, in many particulars, complied with the new doctrines; but I would not kill my dogs. I soon learned to kindle a fire by rubbing some dry cedar, which I was careful to carry always about me; but the discontinuance of the use of flint and steel subjected many of the Indians to much inconvenience and suffering. The influence of the Shawnee prophet was very sensibly and painfully felt by the remotest Ojibbeways of whom I had any knowledge; but it was not the common impression among them, that his doctrines had any tendency to unite them in the accomplishment of any human purpose. For two or three years drunkenness was much less frequent than formerly; war was less thought of, and the entire aspect of affairs among them, was somewhat changed by the influence of one man. But gradually the impression was obliterated, medicine bags, flints, and steels, were resumed; dogs were raised, women and children were beaten as before, and the Shawnee prophet was despised. At this day he is looked upon by the Indians as an impostor and a bad man. After the excitement of this affair had somewhat subsided, and the messengers had left us to visit remoter bands, I went with a large party of Indians to some of the upper branches of Red River, to hunt beaver. I know not whether it was that we were emboldened by the promise of the prophet, that we should be invisible to the Sioux, but we went much nearer than we had formerly ventured to their country. It was here, in a border region, where both they and ourselves had been afraid to hunt, that we now found beaver in the greatest abundance; here, without the aid of my gun, I took one hundred large beavers in a single month, by trapping merely. My family was now ten in number, six of whom were orphan children, and although there was no one but myself to hunt or trap, I was able, for some time, to supply all their wants. At length, beaver began to grow scarce, and I was compelled to shoot an elk. My family had been so long unaccustomed to hear guns, that at the sound of mine they left the lodge and fled to the woods, believing the Sioux had fired upon me. I was compelled to carry my traps to a greater distance, and to visit them only in the middle of the day. My gun was constantly in my hand; if I had occasion to do anything, I held my gun in one hand and laboured with the other. I slept a little by day, but during the night, and every night, I watched around my lodge. Being again out of meat, I went to the woods to hunt moose, and in one day killed four. I butchered and cut them open without laying down my gun. As I was cleaning the last, I heard a gun not more than two hundred yards from me. I knew that I had advanced nearer to the frontier of the Sioux than any Ojibbeway, and I did not believe there were any of the latter tribe living near me. I therefore believed this must be the gun of a Sioux, and immediately called out to him, as I supposed he must have heard my firing; but no answer was returned. I watched about me more anxiously than before, and at the approach of night stole toward home as silently and as cautiously as I could. On the following day, I ventured to examine in the direction of the place where I had heard the gun, and found the tracks, which proved to be those of an Ojibbeway,

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who had fired upon a bear which he was pursuing, probably with too much eagerness to hear me call. Soon after this, I found many tracks, and ascertained that I was not far distant from a place where the Ojibbeways had built and fortified a camp. Three times I received messages from the chiefs of the band living in this camp, stating that my situation was too exposed and dangerous, and urging me to come in. I disliked to live in a crowded place, and it was not until I discovered the tracks of some Sioux, that had been reconnoitering my camp, that I determined to fly into this work. The night before my departure, was one, at my lodge, of terror and alarm, greater even than is commonly felt among the Indians. I had mentioned the tracks that I had seen, and I did not doubt that a party of the Sioux were in my immediate neighbourhood, and would fall upon me before morning. More than half the night had passed, and not one of us had slept, when we heard a sudden rushing without, and our dogs came running in in evident alarm. I told my children that the time was come for us all to die together. I placed myself in the front part of my lodge, and raising the door a little, put out the muzzle of my gun, and sat in momentary expectation of the approach of the enemy. Footsteps were distinctly audible; but the night being dark, I could as yet see nothing. At length a little black object, not larger in appearance than a man’s head, came slowly and directly towards my lodge. Here again I experienced how much fear influences the power of sight; for this little object, as it came near, seemed at one instant to shoot up to the height of a man, and at the next, to be no larger than it really was. When I was entirely convinced that it was nothing but a small animal, I stepped out, and finding it to be a porcupine, killed it with a tomahawk; the remainder of the night was spent in the same manner as the beginning. Early next morning, I fled to the fortified camp. On my arrival, the chiefs councilled, and sent two young men to look after the property left in my lodge; but as I knew the Sioux were lurking in that direction, and that, should the young men be killed, or injured, their friends would consider me the cause of their misfortune, I went before them, but by a circuitous route, determining that if anything happened, I would be present, and have a part in it. I found my lodge safe, and we experienced no molestation in removing my baggage to the fort.

You Have No Brothers of Your Own There was ... a man called Waw-bebe-nai-sa, (White Bird,) with whom I had formerly been somewhat acquainted, and whose jealousy and ill will against me, seemed to be excited and irritated by my success in hunting. It was on account of this man, and because I wished to avoid all ostentation, that I now forbore to make a feast in my own lodge, as would have been proper for me to have done on this occasion. Nevertheless, one of the young men who had been with me, made a feast, and I, after reserving sufficient food to allay the pressing hunger of my own children, sent the remainder to the families about me. The young man who made the feast, called, among others, Waw-bebe-nais-sa, the man I have mentioned. In the course of the evening, he said, as I understood, much to prejudice me in the opinion of the Indians; accusing me of

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pride, insolence, and of having in various ways done mischief among them. But I remained in my own lodge, and at present took no notice of this, farther than to contradict his unfair statements. Next morning, long before the dawn, the women started for the remains of the two buffaloe I had killed; and several of the men, most of them having obtained from me some instruction about the part to be aimed at, again went in pursuit of the herds, and this day several of them killed. We soon had plenty of meat, and all that were sick and near death recovered, except one woman, who having gone mad with hunger, remained in a state of derangement for more than a month. The principal man of this band was called O-poih-gun, (the pipe.) He, with three lodges, remained with me, the others scattered here and there in pursuit of the buffaloe. One of the men who remained back with me, was Waw-bebe-nais-sa, and another his son-in-law. I killed great numbers of fat buffaloe, and the choice parts of forty of them I had dried. We had suffered so much from hunger, that I wished to secure my family against a return of it. I also still had it in contemplation to make my way to the States, when I knew it would be necessary for me to leave them for some time, without any one to hunt for them. I made twenty large sacks of pemmican; ten kegs of ten gallons each, which I procured from the Indians, I filled with tallow, and preserved, besides, a considerable number of tongues, &c. It was not immediately that I discovered Waw-bebe-nais-sa’s design in remaining near my camp, which was solely to annoy and molest me. I had such large quantities of meat to carry, when we came finally to move, that I was compelled to return with my dogs four times, to carry forward to my camping place, one load after another. One day he contrived to meet me alone, at the place where I deposited my loads, and I had no sooner stopped, than he thrust both his hands into my long hair, which then hung down on both sides of my head. “This,” said he, “ is the head of your road, look down and see the place where the wolves and the carrion birds shall pick your bones. “I asked him why he offered me this violence.” You are a stranger,” said he, “and have no right among us; but you set youself up for the best hunter, and would make us treat you as a great man. For my own part, I have long been weary of your insolence, and I am determined you shall not live another day.” Finding that remonstrance was likely to have no effect upon him, but that he was proceeding to beat my head against a poplar tree that stood there, by a sudden exertion of strength, I threw him upon the ground, and disengaged my head at the expense of part of my hair. But in the struggle, he caught three of the fingers of my right hand between his teeth. Having sunk his strong teeth quite to the bones of my fingers, I could not draw them out of his mouth, but with my left hand aimed a blow at one of his eyes; his jaws flew open, and he leapt instantly to his feet. My tomahawk was lying near me, and his eye happening to fall upon it, he caught it in his hand, and aimed so hearty a blow at my head, that as I eluded it, his own violence brought him to the ground. I jumped upon him, wrenched the tomahawk from his hand, and threw it as far as I could, while I continued to hold him fast to the ground. I was much enraged at his unprovoked and violent attack upon me; nevertheless I would not kill him, but seeing there a piece of a stout lodge pole, I caught it in my hands, and told him to get

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up. When he did so, I commenced beating him; and as he fled immediately, I followed, and continued to beat him while he ran two or three hundred yards. When I returned to my load, his son-in-law and two other young men belonging to him, having heard his cries, had come up. One of them said angrily to me, “what is this you have done?” and immediately the three rushed upon me, and I being already overcome with fatigue, they threw me upon the ground. At this time Waw-bebe-naissa had returned, and he caught me by a black silk handkerchief that I wore about my neck, strangled, kicked, and beat me, and thrust me down in the snow. I remember hearing one of them say, “he is dead,” and as I knew I could not hope, while I was down, to make resistance against four, I endeavoured to encourage this opinion. When they took their hands off me, and stood at a little distance, I sprang upon my feet, and seized a lodge pole, probably very contrary to their expectations. Whether through surprise or fear I know not, they all fled, and seeing this, I pursued Waw-bebenais-sa, and gave him another severe beating with my pole. For this time they left me, and I returned once more to hang up the meat I had brought. But Waw-bebe-nais-sa and his people returned to the lodges, where my dogs, which my wife had taken back, were lying, much fatigued, before the door. He drew his knife, and stabbed one of them. My wife hearing the noise, ran out, but he threatened to kill her also. Next day, as Waw-bebe-nais-sa was much bruised and sore, and his face in particular very badly swollen, I thought [it] probable he would remain in his lodge; and apprehending danger to my wife, if she should be left alone in the lodge, I sent her to carry forward meat, and remained myself at home. But I was much fatigued, and being alone in my lodge, about the middle of the day I fell asleep. Suspecting, or perhaps knowing this, Waw-bebe-nais-sa crept slyly in with his knife in his hand, and was almost near enough to strike me, when I awoke and sprang up. As I was not unarmed, he started back and fled, but I did not pursue him. He still continued to threaten and molest me. Whenever he met me in the path, he would not turn aside, though he was unloaded, and I might have a heavy burthen on my back. His eye was for many days so swollen that he could not see out of it, and his whole appearance very ludicrous, he being at best but an awkward and homely man. Once, after an unsuccessful attempt to stab me, he went home, and in the impatience of his baffled rage, made the squaw’s gesture of contempt towards my lodge, which exposed him to the ridicule, even of his own friends among the Indians. His persecutions were, however, troublesome to me, and I endeavoured to avoid him. One day I had preceded the party, and as we were travelling in a beaten path, which I knew they would follow, I turned a little out of it, to place my camp where “I should not necessarily be in the way of seeing him. But when he came to the fork of my road, with his little son twelve years old, I heard him say to the lad, “stop here while I go and — kill this white man.” He then threw down his load, and though his son entreated him not to do anything, he came up within about fifty yards of me, drew his gun from its case, cocked it, and pointed it at me. Having held it in this position sometime, and seeing he did not excite my fears, he began to approach me, jumping from side to side, and yelling in the manner of warriors when they approach each other in battle. He continued pointing his gun at me, and threatening me so loudly, that I

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was at last irritated, and caught up my own gun. The little boy ran up, and throwing his arms about me, entreated me to spare his father, though he was a fool. I then threw down my gun, seized the old man, and took his from him. I reproached him for his obstinate perseverance in such foolish practices. “I have,” said I, “put myself so often in your power, that you ought by this time to know you have not courage to kill me. You are not a man; you have not the heart even of a squaw, nor the courage of a dog. Now for the first time I speak to you. I wish you to know that I am tired of your foolishness, and that if you trouble me any more hereafter, it will be at the hazard of your own life.” He then left me, and with all the others, except my own family, went on in advance. Next day I followed, drawing a loaded sled myself, and driving my dogs, with their loads, before me. As we approached a thicket of bushes, I cautioned my daughter Martha, that Waw-bebe-nais-sa might probably be lying in ambush somewhere among them. Presently I saw her leap several feet from the ground, then she came running towards me, with her hands raised, and crying, “my father ! my father!” I seized my gun and sprang forward, examined every place for concealment, passed the lodge poles, and the almost extinguished fires of their last encampment, and returned without having discovered anything. When I inquired of my daughter what had occasioned her alarm, she said she had “ smelt fire.” So great was the terror and apprehension with which her mind was agitated, on account of the annoyances Waw-bebe-nais-sa had given us. I was so glad to be released from the persecutions of this troublesome man, that I now resolved to stop at Rush Lake, and remain there by myself, as I thought it was the intention of Waw-bebe-nais-sa and the other Indians, to proceed immediately to the Lake of the Woods. So I selected a place where I intended to establish my camp for the remainder of the winter. Here I left my children to take care of the lodge, and my wife and myself returned to bring up loads of meat. On coming home at night, the children told us, their grandmother had in our absence been to see them, and had left word, that her daughter must come on the following day to see her; and that there were, in that place, three or four lodges of our friends encamped together. I readily gave my consent to this arrangement, and as my mother-in-law had left a message particularly for me, I consented to accompany her, saying that we could bring up the remainder of the meat after we should return. But that night I dreamed, and the same young man whom I had repeatedly seen in the preparations for my medicine hunts, came down as usual through the hole in the top of my lodge, and stood directly before me. “You must not go,” said he, “to the place you propose to visit tomorrow; but if you persist, and will disregard my admonition, you shall see what will happen to you there. Look there,” said he, pointing in the opposite direction, and I saw She-gwaw-koo-sink, Me-zhuk-ko-naun, and others of my friends coming. Then pointing upwards, he told me to look, and I saw a small hawk with a banded tail, flying about over my head. He said no more, but turned and went out at the door of my lodge. I awoke much troubled in my mind, and could sleep no more. In the morning, I told my wife I could not go with her. “What is the reason,” said she, “you cannot accompany me, as you promised yesterday?” I told her my

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dream, but she accused me of fear, and as she continued her solicitations, I finally consented to go. In the morning, I told my children that their uncle and other Indians would come to the lodge that day. That they must tell them, if I returned at all, it would be by noon: if I did not come then, they might conclude I was dead. I then started with my wife, but I had not gone two hundred yards, when I looked up and saw the same small hawk that had appeared to me in my dream. I knew that this was sent to forewarn me of evil, and again I told my wife I could not go. But though I turned back to go towards my own lodge, she again reproached me with fear, and pretended to ridicule my apprehensions. I knew, also, the strong prejudice that existed against me in the family of my mother-in-law, and the tendency of my refusing, in this case, to visit her, would be to confirm, and make them stronger. I therefore, though contrary to my better judgment, consented to go on. When I arrived at the lodge of my mother-in-law, I left my gun at the door, went in, and took a seat between two of the sisters of my wife, who were the wives of one man. They had young children, and I was playing with two of these, with my head down, when I heard a loud and sudden noise, and immediately lost my senses. I saw no one, and I remembered nothing, till I began to revive; then I found several women holding my hands and arms, and I saw the expression of terror and alarm in the faces of all about me. I could not comprehend my situation, and knew nothing of what had happened, until I heard on the outside of the lodge, a loud and insulting voice, which I knew to be that of Waw-bebe-nais-sa. I now began to feel something like warm water on my face, and putting my hand to my head, I laid my fingers on my naked skull. I at length broke away from the women who held me, and pursued after Waw-bebenais-sa; but I could not overtake him, as the Indians assisted him in keeping out of my way. Towards night I returned to my lodge, though very severely wounded, and, as I believed, with the bones of my skull broken. A very little blood had run down upon my face when I was first wounded, but for a considerable time afterwards none flowed, and though I heard strange noises in my head, I did not faint or fall down until I reached my own lodge. My gun Waw-bebe-nais-sa had taken from the door of the lodge of my mother-in-law, and I had to return without it. At my lodge, I found She-gwaw-koo-sink, Me-zhuk-ko-naun, and Nah-gaunesh-kaw-waw, a son-in-law of Wa-ge-tote, more commonly called Oto-pun-ne-be. The moment I took She-gwaw-koo-sink by the hand, the blood spouted in a stream from my head. “What is the matter my son ?” said he. “I have been at play with another man, and the water of the Be-gwi-o-mus-ko having made us drunk, we have played rather roughly.” I wished to treat the matter lightly, but as I immediately fainted away, they saw the extent of the wound I had received. Oto-pun-ne-be had formerly been an acquaintance of mine, and had always shown a friendly disposition towards me. He now seemed much affected at my misfortune, and of his own accord, undertook to punish Waw-bebe-nais-sa for his unjust violence. This man, to whom I was often under obligation for the kindnesses he bestowed upon me, has since experienced the fate which overtakes so many of all characters and descriptions of people among the Ojibbeways of that country: he has perished of hunger.

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When I had entered the lodge of my mother-in-law, I had omitted to pull off the hood of my thick moose-skin capote, and it was this which prevented me from noticing the entrance of Waw-bebe-nais-sa into the lodge, or seeing, or hearing his approach towards me. It is probable also, that had not my head been thus covered, the blow, had it been made, would have proved instantly fatal to me, as the force of it must have been somewhat broken by this thick covering of leather. But as it was, the skull was fractured, and there is still a large ridge upon that part of it where the edge of the tomahawk fell. It was very long before I recovered from this wound, though the immediate confinement which followed it, did not last so long as I had feared it must. Waw-bebe-nais-sa fled immediately to our village at Me-naw-zhe-tau-naung; and the remainder of the people, having never hunted in the prairie before, now became panic struck, at the idea that the Sioux would fall upon their trail and pursue them. I was too weak to travel, and moreover I knew well we were in no danger from the Sioux; but my mother-in-law found much fault because I was not willing to start with the Indians. I knew that my mother-in-law, and I had reason to suppose that my wife, had been willing to aid Waw-bebe-nais-sa in his attempt on my life, and I therefore told them both to leave me if they wished. They went accordingly, and took all my children with them. The only person who did not desert me at this time, was Oto-punne-be, as he was called from his bear totem, with his cousin, a lad of fourteen years old. These two remained and performed for me those offices of attention and kindness which my situation required, while those who should have been my friends abandoned me to my fate. After the fourth day, I became much worse, and was unable to sit up, and almost to move, until the tenth day, when I began to recover. After I had gained a little strength, we left the lodges as they had been abandoned by the Indians in their fright, all standing, some of them filled with meat, and other valuable property, and started together for the village. Our trader lived at some distance from the village, and when we arrived at the place where the roads forked, I agreed with Oto-pun-ne-be that I would meet him at an appointed place, on the day which he named, as that on which he would return from the village. I went accordingly to the trader’s, and he to the Indian’s camp. We met again at the time and place agreed on, when he related to me, that he went to the village, entered the lodge of one of the principal chiefs, and sat down. He had not been long there, when Waw-bebenais-sa came in and sat down opposite him. After regarding each other for some time, Waw-bebe-nais-sa said to him, “You, Oto-pun-ne-be, have never been in our village before, and I am not ignorant of the occasion which has brought you so far to see us. You have no brothers of your own, the Long Knives3 having killed all of them; and you are now so foolish as to call the man whom I beat the other day your brother.” “It is not true,” said Oto-pun-ne-be, “that the Long Knives have killed any brother of mine; but if they had, I would not suffer you to fall upon my friend, who is as one of us, and abuse and injure him, as you have done, without cause or provocation. It is true, I call him my brother, and I will avenge his cause as if he were such; but I will not spill blood in the lodge of this chief who has received me as a friend.” So saying, he took Wawbe-be-nais-sa by the hand, dragged him out of the lodge, and was about to plunge the knife to his heart, when the chief, who was a strong man, caught his hand, took away

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the knife, and broke it. In the scuffle which ensued, three or four men were at once upon Oto-pun-ne-be; but he being a powerful man, and not forgetting the object of his journey, kept fast his gripe upon Waw-bebe-nais-sa, and did not quit him until two of his ribs were broken, and he was otherwise severely injured. Oto-pun-ne-be was a quiet man, even when drunk, and if he ever entered into a quarrel, it was more commonly, as in this case, in the cause of his friend, rather than his own. I was content with the punishment that had been thus bestowed upon Waw-bebenais-sa, as I thought two broken ribs about equal to the broken head he had given me. We feasted together on game I had killed, so rapid had been my recovery, and then returned to the deserted camp, where we found the lodges all standing as we had left them. After about ten days more, the people began to come back to look after their property. Oto-pun-ne-be took my canoe and returned to Red River, where he lived.

We Shed Many Tears — Tanner’s Return to Kentucky Our journey was very tedious and difficult to Cincinnati, where we rested a little. Thence we descended the Ohio in a skiff. My ever continued to return daily, and when the chill commenced, we were compelled to stop for some time, so that our progress was not rapid. We were accompanied by one man, who assisted my nephew to put me in and take me out of the skiff, for I was now reduced to a mere skeleton, and had not strength enough to walk or stand by myself. As the night was coming on, after a very dark and cloudy day, we arrived at a handsome farm, where was a large and rather good looking house. It was quite dark when we were ready to leave the skiff; they then raised me by the arms, and led, or rather carried me to the house. My nephew told the man our situation, and stated that I was so unwell, it would be extremely difficult, and must even endanger my life, if we attempted to go farther; but he told us we could not stay at his house all night; and when my nephew persisted in his request, he drove us roughly and violently out of the house. The night had now considerably advanced, and the distance to the next house was a mile and an half; but as it stood back from the river, we could not go to it in our skiff. They accordingly supported me between them, and we went on. It was probably after midnight when we arrived at a large brick house; the people within were all in bed, and all the windows were dark, but my nephew knocked at the door, and after a little time a man came out. When he saw me he took hold of me, and assisted me to go in; then he called up his wife and daughters, and gave some supper to my companions. For me he prepared some medicine, and then made me go to bed, where I slept very quietly until late in the morning. At this house I remained nearly all the next day, and was treated with the utmost kindness. From this time I began to get a little better, and without much more difficulty, I reached the place where my sister’s children were living. I staid one night at the house of one of my nephews, whose name was John; then I went to the house of another brother, where I lay sick about a month. A letter was now received, which they made me understand was for me, but though they read it to me repeatedly, I could not comprehend a single word of the contents.

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All the time since my arrival here, I had lain sick, and no one being for any considerable part of the time with me, I had not learned either to understand, or make myself understood; but as I was now some better, and able often to walk about, when a second letter came, I could understand from it, that my brother Edward, whose name I had never forgotten, had gone to Red River to search for me. Also, that one of my uncles, who lived one hundred miles distant, had sent for me to come to him. My greatest anxiety was now on account of my brother Edward, and I immediately called for my horse, intending to return towards Red River and search for him. Twenty or thirty of the neighbours assembled around me when they heard that I wished to go back, and I could comprehend that they wished to dissuade me from going. But when they found I was obstinate, they gave me each a little money: some [giving] one shilling, some two shillings, and others larger sums, and I got upon my horse and started. I had rode about ten miles, when fatigue and sickness overcame me, and I was compelled to stop at the house of a man, whose name, as I afterwards learned, was Morgan. Here I staid four days, and when I again called for my horse, the neighbours, as before, began to gather round me, and each to give me something. One gave me some bread in a bag, another tied a young pig behind my saddle, and among them all, they furnished me with a good outfit of provisions, and some money. I wished to return to Detroit; but as I was still very weak, Mr. Morgan accompanied me to Cincinnati. I had found that it made me sick to sleep in a house, and on this journey I constantly refused to do so. Mr. Morgan would sleep in the houses where we stopped at night, but I chose a good place outside, where I lay down and slept, and I found the advantage of doing so, by the partial recovery of my health. After Mr. Morgan returned from Cincinnati, I travelled on alone, and was before long destitute of provisions. About this time, an old man who was standing by the door of his house, when he saw me, called out stop! come! I could understand no more than these two words, but I knew from the expression of his countenance, and his manner, that his design was friendly, and accordingly went into his yard. He took my horse and gave him plenty of corn, and I accompanied him into the house, where, though they placed food before me, I could not eat. Seeing this, he gave me some nuts, a few of which I ate. When he saw that my horse had eaten, and I was impatient to start, he put on the saddle, and brought the horse. I offered him money, but he would not take it. A day or two afterwards, I stopped at a house where I saw a great quantity of corn lying in the yard. My horse was very hungry, therefore I got down, and taking a dollar out of my pocket, I handed it to the man who stood there, and then I counted ten ears of corn, and took them and laid them before my horse. I could not make the people comprehend that I was hungry; at least they seemed determined not to understand me. I went into the house, and the woman looked displeased; but seeing there part of a loaf of corn bread, I pointed first to it, next to my mouth; but as she appeared not to understand my meaning, I took it in my hand and raised it to my mouth, as if I would eat it. Seeing this, she called to the man outside, and he coming in, took the bread from me, pushed me violently out of the house, then went and took the corn from my horse, and motioned to me to be gone. I came next to a large brick house, and hoping I might meet gentler treatment, I

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determined to try here. But as I was riding up, a very fat man came out and spoke to me in a loud and harsh tone of voice. Though I could not understand his words, his meaning, which I thought was very evident, was, as I supposed, to forbid my entering the yard. I was willing to pass on, and was about to do so, when he ran out and caught my horse by the bridle. He said much to me, of which I understood little or nothing. I thought I could comprehend that he was cursing me for an Indian. He took hold of my gun, and tried to wrench it out of my hand. I have since understood that he kept a tavern, and was a magistrate; but at that time I was sick, and hungry, and irritable, and when I found that he wanted to take my gun from me, I became angry; and having in my hand a hickory stick, about as large as my thumb, and three or four feet long, I struck him over the head with it, so hearty a blow, that he immediately quitted his hold on my gun, and I rode off. Two young men, whose horses were standing by this house, and who appeared to me to be travellers, soon overtook me, and we rode on together. This journey was a painful and unpleasant one to me. I travelled on, from day to day, weak, dispirited, and alone, meeting with little sympathy or attention from the people among whom I passed, often suffering from hunger and from sickness. I was willing to sleep in the woods, as I constantly did; but it was not easy to kill any game, nor did the state of my health allow me to go far from the road to hunt. I had ascended nearly to the head of the Big Miami, when one night, after having offered a dollar to a farmer, and been driven away without refreshment for myself or my horse, I lay down in the woods nearby, and after I supposed them to be asleep, I took as much corn as was sufficient to feed my horse. I had, some time in the course of the preceding day, bought a chicken for twenty-five cents, a part of which I now ate, and the next day I began to feel a little stronger. I had now arrived where the intervals between the settlements were very wide, and seeing a gang of hogs in the woods, I shot one, skinned him, and hung the meat on my saddle, so that I was, for some time, well supplied with provisions. At the forks of the Miami of Lake Erie, was a trader with whom I was well acquainted, and who spoke Ottawwaw as well as I did; but when I asked him for something for my horse, he told me to begone, as he would give me nothing, though he offered to sell me some corn for my bear meat, as he called the pork I had hanging at my saddle; but I disliked him, and therefore went across the river to sleep in the woods. This night I was again taken very sick, and when in the morning I found that my horse had escaped and gone back, I was scarce able to follow him. When I arrived at the river opposite the trader’s house, I saw the horse standing on the other side, and calling to the trader, I asked him to send or bring the horse over to me, as I was sick. When he replied that he would not, I asked him to bring me a canoe, as being sick myself, I did not wish to go into the water; but this he refused to do, and I was compelled to swim across. I took my horse and returned to my camp, but was too sick to travel farther that day. On the day after I resumed my journey, and had the good fortune to come to a house where the woman treated me kindly. She fed my horse, and then offered me some salt pork; but as I could not eat this, I returned it to her. Then she brought me some fresh venison, and I took a shoulder of it. She made signs to me to sit down in the

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house; but as I preferred the woods, I declined her offer, and selected near by a pleasant place to encamp, and there cooked the meat she had given me. Before my supper was cooked, she sent a little boy to bring me some bread, and some fresh and sweet butter. Next day my route was principally out of settlements. At the village of Ah-koonak-goo-zik, I would not stop, as I was already under sufficient obligation to him, and I thought he would again urge me to take his horse. I had arrived within about one hundred miles of Detroit, when I was again taken very sick. Feeling wholly unable to travel, I determined to take some emetic tartar, which I had carried for a long time about me, having received it from Dr. McLaughlin, at Rainy Lake. Soon after I had taken it, rain began to fall, and as the weather was now somewhat cold, and I was unable to avoid getting wet, the cramp affected me very violently. After the rain-had ceased, the creek near which I was encamped froze over, but as I was suffering under a most violent fever, I broke the ice, and plunged myself all over into the water. In this situation I remained for some time, totally unable to travel, and almost without a hope of recovering. Two men passed me with the mail, one of whom could speak a little Indian; but they said they could do nothing for me, as they were compelled to proceed on their journey without loss of time. But at length, I was again able to travel, and resumed my journey. I was two days journey from Detroit, when I met a man in the road, with a Sioux pipe in his hand, whose strong resemblance to my father immediately arrested my attention. I endeavoured to make him stop and take notice of me, but he gave me a hasty look, and passed on. When I arrived, two days afterwards, at Detroit, I learned that this man was, as I supposed, my brother; but the governor would not allow me to return after him, as he knew that my having passed towards Detroit would be known at the Indian traders’ houses on the way, and that my brother, who would inquire at all of them, would very soon hear of me, and return. His opinion appeared to have been well founded, for about three days afterwards my brother arrived. He held me a long time in his arms; but on account of my ignorance of the English language, we were unable to speak to each other, except through an interpreter. He next cut off my long hair, on which, till this time, I had worn strings of broaches, in the manner of the Indians. We visited Gov. Cass together, and he expressed much satisfaction at my having laid aside the Indian costume. But the dress of a white man was extremely uncomfortable to me, so that I was, from time to time, compelled to resume my old dress for the sake of convenience. I endeavoured to persuade my brother, with whom I still conversed through an interpreter, to accompany me to my residence at the Lake of the Woods; but to this he would by no means consent, insisting that I must go with him to his house, beyond the Mississippi, and we set off together accordingly. From the military commandant at Fort Wayne, we received much friendly attention, and our journey was, in the main, a pleasant one. Forty days brought us to the Mississippi, fifteen miles above New Madrid, where my brother resided. Another of my brother’s lived nearby, and they both accompanied me to Jackson, fifteen miles from Cape Girardeau, where two of my sisters were living. From this place we started, six or seven in number, to go to Kentucky; and crossing the Mississippi, a little above Cape Girardeau, we went by the way of Gol-

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conda, on the Ohio, to Kentucky, where many of my relatives lived, not far from the small villages called Salem and Princeton. My sister Lucy had, the night before my arrival, dreamed that she saw me coming through the corn field that surrounded her house. She had ten children. Relatives, friends, and neighbours, crowded around to witness my meeting with my sisters, and though we could converse together but little, they, and most of those who assembled about us, shed many tears. On the Sabbath day after my arrival, greater numbers than usual came to my sister’s house, and divine worship was performed there. My brotherin-law, Jeremiah Rukker, endeavoured to find in my father’s will some provision for me. He took me to the court at Princeton, and showed me to the people there; but nothing could be accomplished. My step-mother, who lived nearby, gave me one hundred and thirty-seven dollars. I went, accompanied by seven of my relatives, some men, some women, to Scottsville, where I had an uncle, who had sent for me. Here the people collected and gave me one hundred dollars, and on my return, Col. Ewing, of Hopkinsville, raised, in about one hour that I remained with him, one hundred dollars more, which he gave me. This gentleman showed me very distinguished attention and kindness, and remains, to this day, a cordial and active friend to me. From Hopkinsville I returned to the house of my step-mother, where I made my preparations to go to the Lake of the Woods. Part of my relatives, who had accompanied me from beyond the Mississippi, had returned to their own homes; but my brother and his wife stayed to travel with me. From my brother Edward’s house, near New Madrid, I went again to Jackson, where I was taken sick. My stock of money had now increased, through the voluntary donations of those friendly and charitable people among whom I had passed, to five hundred dollars, and, this being all in silver, would, my brother thought, be the means of exposing me to danger, and bringing me into difficulty, should I travel by myself; he, therefore, refused to leave me. From Jackson we went together to St. Louis, where we saw Gov. Clark, who had already given much assistance to my brother in his journeys in search of me. He received us with great kindness, and offered us whatever assistance we might think necessary in accomplishing the object I now had in view, which was, to bring my family from the Indian country. My brother wished to accompany me, and to take a considerable number of men, to aid, if it should be necessary, in taking my children from the Indians; but I went one day to Gov. Clark, by myself, and told him he must not listen to my brother, who knew little of the country I was going to visit, or of what was needful to my success in the attempt to bring out my family. In truth, I did not wish my brother, or any other white man, to accompany me, as I knew he could not submit to all the hardships of the journey, and live as I should be compelled to live, in an Indian lodge, all winter. Furthermore, I was aware that he would be rather an incumbrance than any help to me. Gov. Clark wished to send me to the Lake of the Woods by way of the Upper Mississippi; but I was not willing to go that way, on account of the Sioux, through whose country I must pass. He gave me a Mackinac boat, large enough to carry sixty men, with a sufficient crew, three barrels of flour, two of hard bread, guns, tents, axes, &c. &c. Having prevailed on my brother

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to return, I set off. The current of the Mississippi, below the Missouri, soon convinced me that my large and heavy boat was not well adapted to the nature of my undertaking, and at Portage De Sioux I left it. From this place I proceeded in a small canoe, with two men, to the head of the Illinois River, thence to Chikago. I had a letter from Gov. Clark to Mr. McKenzie, the Indian agent at that place, and as there was no vessel about to sail for Mackinac, he fitted out a bark canoe, with a crew of Indians, to take me on my journey; but the Indians stopped to drink several days, and, in the mean time, a vessel arrived, in which I sailed on her return. I had waited ten days at Mackinac, when Capt. Knapp, of the revenue cutter, offered me a passage to Drummond’s Island. Here Dr. Mitchell, and the Indian agent, Col. Anderson, treated me in a very friendly manner, until the latter had an opportunity to send me to the Saut De St. Marie. At the Saut I remained two or three months, as Col. Dickson, who was there, would not allow me to go up Lake Superior in the North West Company’s vessel, which went and returned three times while I was detained waiting for him. At last, he was ready to start, and I went on board his boat. We were no sooner out from shore, than he handed me an oar, and though my health was very poor, he compelled me to row as long as I was able to set up. Being at last quite disabled, he left me on shore, at a spot twenty miles above Fort William, where we found Mr. Giarson, who was there to take care of some property for the Hudson’s Bay people. I was much dissatisfied with the treatment I received from Col. Dickson, and at parting I told him, that notwithstanding he left me so far from the end of my journey, I would still reach Me-naw-zhe-tau-naung before him. All my baggage I left in the care of Mr. Giarson, and went on in a small canoe, with one old Frenchman, whom I hired, and having good luck to cross the lake, I arrived before him. My family were all well. Next day, some one told me that the red headed Englishman, as they called Col. Dickson, was coming up to my lodge. I told him, without going out, that he need not come in. “You find me here in my lodge,” said I, “though you abandoned me on the lake shore, when very far from my home, or from any place where I could have expected to find help; but my lodge is not fit for such as you, therefore I hope you will not come in.” I knew he wished to ask me for something to eat, but I was determined not to see him, or give him any thing. He left our village, and went by the Indians’ road to Red River, though, as the water was unusually low, we heard he had a journey of extreme difficulty, and had nearly perished of hunger. There was, on the way, an enclosed burying ground, where one of my brother’s-in-law, a daughter of Oto-pun-ne-be, and others of my friends and acquaintances, had been buried. Many of these graves were well covered, but Col. Dickson broke down the pailings, and destroyed the little houses that had been raised over the graves; at which conduct the Indians were much offended. They threatened to take his life, and might have done so had an opportunity offered; he went to Pembinah, thence to Lake Traverse, and returned no more into the country of the Ojibbeways. A few days after my arrival at Me-naw-zhe-tau-naung, one of my children sickened and died of the measles, a complaint at that time very fatal among the Indians. The others were subsequently attacked, but I now knew better how to take care of them, and no more died. Soon after this, provisions became scarce, and I was, with

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Me-zhuk-ko-naun, making preparations for a medicine hunt. In my dream I saw the same young man I had before seen on similar occasions, come down in the usual manner, and stand before me. He reproved me with more than usual harshness for my complaints, and because I cried for the child I had recently lost. “Henceforth,” said he, “you shall see me no more, and that which remains before you, of your path, shall be full of briers and thorns. It is on account of the many crimes, and the bad conduct of your wife, that all your coming days are to be filled with trouble. Nevertheless, as you have called me this time, I give you something to eat.” When he said this, I looked and saw before me many ducks covering the surface of the water, and in another place a sturgeon, in a third a raindeer. This dream was fulfilled, as usual, at least as much of it as related to my hunting and fishing. As the winter came on, I went to Red River to hunt buffaloe, and make dry meat, and early in the spring I started to come to the states. From my first wife I had parted ten years before the time I now speak of; but the urgency of the Indians, and, in part, the necessity of my situation, had compelled me to take another. By this woman I had three children; those by my former wife were not at present in the village. My wife refusing to accompany me, I took the three children and started without her. At Rainy Lake she overtook me, and agreed to accompany me to Mackinac. On my way down, I was assisted by the North West Company. At Drummond’s Island I was disappointed of large presents given me when on my way to the Lake of the Woods, but which, as I did not then wish to take, were promised me on my return. The commanding officer who had shown me so much kindness, had been relieved by another, of a very different character, one who seemed to find no satisfaction in doing any thing for any person connected with the Indians. This man refused to see me, or afford me any assistance. By the kindness, however, of Mr. Ermatinger, of the Saut De St. Marie, I was enabled to reach Mackinac. Col. Boyd, the Indian agent at that time at Mackinac, called me to him, and wished to hire me as a striker in his smith’s shop; but not liking the employment, I did not wish to remain. He gave me one hundred pounds of flour, the same quantity of pork, some whiskey, tobacco, &c. There were two vessels about to sail for Chikago, but neither of them would take me as a passenger, though I had money enough, and was willing to pay them. As I had no other alternative, I was compelled to purchase from the Indians a poor and old bark canoe, for which I gave sixty dollars, and I engaged three Frenchmen to accompany me; but Col. B would not permit them to go. He gave me, however, a letter to Dr. Wolcott, who was now Indian agent at Chikago, and I started with only one man to assist me. At the Ottawwaw settlement of Waw-gun-nuk-kiz-ze I stopped for a short time, and finding that my canoe was too frail and leaky to perform the voyage, I purchased another, a new one, for which I gave eighty dollars. Several of my acquaintances among the Otawwaws, determined to accompany me, and started accordingly, eight men in one canoe, and six in another, with some women. They went on with me until we arrived within one or two days’ journey of Chikago, when meeting other Indians, with discouraging accounts of the state of the water in the Illinois, they left me and went back. My wife returned with them.

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When I arrived at Chikago, I was sick of a fever, and my provisions being exhausted, I was in great distress. I went to Dr. Wolcott to present him the letter from Col. Boyd, the Indian agent at Mackinac, but he would not receive it, nor take any notice of me. He knew well who I was, as he had seen me when I passed Chikago before, and I could not tell why he refused me assistance. I had my tent set up at a little distance from his house, near a wild rice swamp, and for several days, though I was so much more unwell that I was scarce able to sit up five minutes at a time, I subsisted my children by shooting the black birds as they came and settled on the rice. When I was again able, with the aid of two sticks, to crawl to the house of Dr. Wolcott, I went to represent to him that my children were in danger of perishing of hunger; but he drove me harshly away. When I left his door, I shed some tears, which it was not common for me to do; but I was rendered womanish by my sickness. Three or four times I fainted, and lay long by the road side, on the way from his house to my tent. But my sufferings, and those of my children, were shortly afterwards relieved by a Frenchman, who had been to carry some boats across the Portage. His wife was an Ojibbeway woman, and commonly accompanied him when he went to take any boats across. Though his horses were now much worn out with the long journey from which he had returned, he agreed to take me and my canoe sixty miles, and if his horses could hold out, the whole one hundred and twenty, which was, at the present stage of water, the length of the Portage, for which I agreed to pay him agreeable to his demand, which I thought very moderate. He lent me, also, a young horse to ride, as I was far too weak to think of walking, and he thought I could ride on horseback much more comfortably than in the cart with the canoe. Before we arrived at the end of the sixty miles, he was taken sick, and as there was now a little water in the river, I concluded to put my canoe in, and try to descend in it. His young horse, the night after I gave it up to him, was stolen by the Po-ta-wato-mies. He was seized with the bloody flux, but as he had a young man with him, I rendered him what assistance I could in starting, and let him go back. My Frenchman had deserted from me soon after I left Chikago, and I had now no person to assist me except an old Indian, called Gos-so-kwaTv-waw, (the smoker.) We put the canoe in the water, but we could not get into it ourselves, only sometimes the children were put in, and we took them down, one walking at the bow, the other at the stern of the canoe. We had proceeded no more than three miles, when I found that this method was likely to prove so laborious and slow, that I thought best to engage a Po-ta-wato-mie, whom I met there, and who agreed for a blanket and a pair of leggins, to take my baggage and my children on his horses to the mouth of the An-nummun-ne Se-be, or Yellow Ochre River, a distance of sixty miles. The An-num-mun-ne comes from towards the Mississippi, and below it there is always, in the Illinois, water enough for canoes. I felt somewhat afraid to trust the Po-ta-wato-mie with my children, and the baggage, which contained some valuable property, but old Gos-so-kwawwaw was of [the] opinion that he would prove honest. When he put the children on the horses, he said, “In three days I shall be at the mouth of the An-num-mun-ne River, and shall wait for you there.” Without any farther words, we parted, and the old Smoker and myself continued

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our laborious and difficult route along the bed of the Illinois. Most of the country, on both sides the route, from Chikago to the Yellow Ochre River, are prairie, in which horses and carts can be driven without any difficulty. On our arrival at the place appointed, we found the Po-ta-wato-mie there, and all safe. We now embarked every thing together in the canoe, and went down to Fort Clark, which is on a narrow neck of land, between two lakes, and is thence called by the Indians Ka-gah-gum-ming (the isthmus.) Here I found some acquaintances, or rather those who claimed relationship in consequence of their having been in some measure connected with the family that I belonged to among the Indians. Here was a Taw-ga-we-nin-ne, a son of him that had been the husband of Net-no-kwa, and some of the relatives of one of my wives. One of these, an old woman gave me a sack of Wiskobimmenuk, or that sort of corn which is plucked green, boiled, and then dried. Two or three miles beyond this, as I went on my way, I saw a man standing on the bank, who, as I came opposite to him, called out, “my friend, do you love venison ?” When I told him I did, and had put my canoe in shore, he lifted a large and fat deer into it, saying, “perhaps you will like to eat some of this, which I have just now killed.” He was going to turn away, when I called him back, and though he refused any compensation for the deer, I gave him a little powder and shot, and some flints, for which he appeared very thankful. About this time, when I was one day warm at work, I shot a crane, and got into the water to take it up. Shortly after I felt somewhat unwell, but not reflecting on the cause of my illness, I went again into the water to get something I had shot, when immediately I fell down, and was unable to get up. My fever returned upon me with such violence, that being in immediate expectation of death, I gave the Old Smoker directions to take my children to Governor Clark, who, I was confident, would assist them in reaching my relatives. But contrary to my expectation, I became gradually better, and after some days was able to go on my journey. We passed, great numbers of Potawattomies, their lodges standing many together, in almost every bend of the river. Some of them started out in their canoes occasionally, and accompanied me some distance on my way. One day a man came running from his lodge to the bank of the river, and asked me who I was. When I had told him, he inquired if my children could eat honey; and when I told him I believed they could, he sent two young men, each with a large wooden bowl full, which they brought wading into the water, and handed to me. In this manner I descended the Illinois River, killing plenty of game, and having at all times enough to eat; my health, also, gradually improving, until I came to St. Louis. Here Governor Clark showed his wonted kindness, not only to me and my children, but to the Old Smoker, who had been so serviceable to me in my journey. After giving the old man a handsome present, he provided for his return to his own country, and dismissed him. I was detained longer at St. Louis than I had wished, as new clothes were to be made for my children. Some of these not having been completed in time for me to take with me, the Governor sent them afterwards to Kentucky. From St. Louis, I went to Cape Guirardeau, in my birch bark canoe, having a letter from Governor Clark to the Indian agent at that place. At Cape Guirardeau, where I left my canoe, and where I remained but a very short time, I saw some of the gentlemen of Major Long’s party, then on their return from

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the Rocky Mountains. This was in the fall of the year 1820, and was about one year after my first arrival on the Ohio, in 1819. From the time of my capture by Manito-ogeezhik and Gish-kaw-ko, just thirty years had elapsed, before I started in the spring of 1819, from the Lake of the Woods. So that it must have been in the spring of the year 1789, that I was taken prisoner. I am now forty-seven years old.

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CHAPTER NOTES Introduction

10. In Josiah Collins’ narrative, Shane recorded a very interesting rumor that apparently surfaced following the publication of John Filson’s The Discovery, Settlement and Present State of Kentucke that suggests that it was a man named Humphrey Marshall who wrote The Adventures of Daniel Boon (with Boone’s participation) for Filson’s Kentucke. Perhaps most surprising is the complete lack of discussion regarding this issue among historians, with virtually no mention of this possibility in any recent text. The obvious question, then, is who wrote The Adventures of Daniel Boon? The context for Collins’ statement is his account of the siege of Boonesborough in 1778 (see Josiah Collins’ first narrative in this volume) when Boone returned to the settlement after having escaped capture from the Shawnee and their British allies in order to forewarn his fellow settlers of a forthcoming attack. The issue identified by Collins is that some of the statements contained in the narrative were erroneous and, after a conversation with a contemporary, it was established, as far as Collins was concerned, that “H. Marshall was to blame about that.” That Filson did not author “The Adventures of Daniel Boon” is certainly an interesting proposition and one that a study of the little available evidence does not discount. First, it is a natural assumption that if Boone did not author his own narrative, in spite of how it is presented in Filson’s volume, then it naturally fell to Filson to fulfil those duties and, generally speaking, there has been no cause to question that assumption. However, a comparison of the different sections of Filson’s volume, and between The Adventures and relevant sections of Marshall’s later History of Kentucky, reveals some interesting differences and parallels. In the Filson volume the difference between the main body of text and “Boone’s” statement is somewhat marked. The title of this work suggests that Filson has authored a complete his-

1. Timothy Flint, The First White Man of the West or the Life and Adventures of Daniel Boone, the First Settler of Kentucky, Interspersed with Incidents in the Early Annals of the Country (New York: Hurst and Company, 1868), p. 71. 2. Flint, The First White Man of the West, pp. 68–69. Also see Chapter 5, “Boone, a Family History” by Septimus Schull. 3. Elizabeth A. Perkins, Borderlife: Experience and Memory in the Revolutionary Ohio Valley (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina, 1998), pp. 7–39. 4. M. M. Quaife, “The Ohio Campaigns of 1782,” The Mississippi Valley Historical Review, Vol. 17 (1931), p. 517. 5. See note 10 for more information. 6. Michael A. Lafaro, Daniel Boone: An American Life (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2003), p. 75, 160, 189, and John Mack Faragher, Daniel Boone: The Life and Legend of an American Pioneer (New York: Owl Books, 1992), p. 180, 346. 7. Lyman C. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” in Neal O. Hammon (ed.), My Father, Daniel Boone: The Draper Interview with Nathan Boone (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999), p. 63. 8. John D. Shane, “Interview with William Sudduth,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 61–64 (Draper Manuscripts held by the Wisconsin Historical Society), p. 63. 9. Robert Morgan in his biography of Boone suggests that the language contained in The Adventures may indeed belong to its primary subject, but cannot account for the various sources that instead suggest (and in some cases demonstrate) Boone’s own, very different, mode of selfexpression. Boone: A Biography (Chapel Hill: Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2007), pp. 336– 338.

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tory in his own right, yet the majority of material in this book belongs to the appendices, which include “The Minutes of a Piankshaw Council,” “An Account of the Indian Nations,” and, of course, “The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon.” Indeed, the only part of this famous work not a part of the appendices is a topographical essay authored by Filson which comprises less than half of the complete volume. Perhaps one of the most interesting aspects of note when Boone’s narrative is compared to the remainder of the volume is how unique The Adventures’ tone is within the overall volume. A comparison of the opening of Boone’s narrative and the opening of the main essay perhaps best illustrates the divergent tones contained within Kentucke: Curiosity is the natural soul of man, and interesting objects have a powerful influence on our affections. Let these influencing powers actuate, by the permission or disposal of Providence, from selfish or social views, yet in time the mysterious will of Heaven is unfolded, and we behold our conduct, from whatsoever motives excited, operating to answer the important designs of heaven. (See “The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon” in Part I of this volume.) The above quotation is the opening lines of The Adventures; the following quote is how the main essay in the volume opens: The first whiteman we have certain accounts of, who discovered this province, was one James McBride, who, in company of some others, in the year 1754, passing down the Ohio, in canoes, landed at the mouth of Kentucky River [John Filson, The Discovery, Settlement and Present State of Kentucke to Which Is Added the Adventures of Daniel Boone (Wilmington: James Adams, 1784), p. 7]. The second quotation is indicative of the matter-of-fact style that defines the volume’s opening essay whilst the first quote, from The Adventures, though not representative of the tone of the entire work certainly demonstrates how poetic and philosophical the document can be at times. But would such a difference of tone (and the difference can be quite striking at times) really be unexpected of two pieces that were supposed to written by two authors: Boone and Filson? Certainly, there is a logic in attempting to differentiate them (which has certainly been accomplished) but the question then becomes, is this difference in tone the result of Filson’s particular skill with words or the involvement of a third party? Humphrey Marshall, the individual rumored

by Collins to have ghostwritten The Adventures, moved to Kentucky around 1778, settling in Lexington, Fayette County., Around this time Marshall lived as little as ten miles from Boone, which certainly would have allowed him to interview the frontiersman and write the version of his narrative that was published in 1784. Marshall, although hardly obscure, is relatively little known compared to either Boone or Filson and, though a study of his private papers could possibly have shed more light on this matter, according to Ron D. Bryant his descendents, ashamed of some of his outspoken views, particularly those against religion, burned them following his death (Ron D. Bryant, “Humphrey Marshall, Kentucky Historian” Land Office Journal: Ron Bryant Collection, July 2005 (http://sos. ky.gov/land/journal/articles/bryant/humphreymarshall.htm [accessed October 20, 2007]). An outspoken federalist, Marshall enjoyed a controversial status in nineteenth-century Kentucky and found some expression of his view in his The History of Kentucky. Appropriately, Marshall’s work contains biographies of a number of early pioneers including James Harrod and, naturally, Daniel Boone. It is important to note immediately that the parallels between Marshall’s later Boone biography and The Adventures are both obvious and striking but not necessarily indicative of his authorship of the latter piece. The following two quotes, the first from The Adventures and the second from Marshall’s History of Kentucky, illustrate the similarities: It was on the first of May, in the year 1769, that I resigned my domestic happiness for time, and left my family and peacable habitation. [See “The Adventures of Colonel Daniel Boon,” Chapter Two of this document.] At approximately the same place in the relevant chapter of The History of Kentucky by Marshall a passage bearing both a very similar tone and choice of words appears: It was on the first of May, 1769, that Boone, then the father of a family, made a temporary resignation of his domestic happiness [Humphrey Marshall, The History of Kentucky (Frankfurt: George S. Robinson Printers, 1824, p. 18]. The issue here is that these blatant similarities suggest that, rather than authoring the original piece, Marshall simply plagiarized it. Such similar paragraphs can be found throughout both The Adventures and Boone’s biography in Marshall’s later History. What is perhaps more interesting are the similarities in tone between The

CHAPTER NOTES—INTRODUCTION Adventures and some of the other frontiersmen biographies contained in Marshall’s History. When Marshall writes about James Harrod, he introduces the reader to his subject thusly: The subject next in order, is the leader, and patron of the first settlers at Harrodsburgh. Than whom, a man more beloved by his followers, trod not those sylvan scenes. Nor is it ungrateful to history to receive into her pages, a narrative of humble merit; or the traits of a worthy character, however obscure the origin of its subject. What is any man’s worth, but what he, himself, has made? [Marshall, The History of Kentucky, p. 16]. Certainly, there are similarities in tone between the above quotation and, for example, the opening of The Adventures that are largely absent between Boone’s narrative and the rest of Kentucke. Numerous examples could be given here that illustrate this point, but such arguments cannot detract from the lack of substantive evidence that actually exists to back up the rumors Collins reported to John Shane. While many similarities and parallels can be drawn between the two works they remain subjective, open to debate, and impossible to verify or discredit. Because of this no firm conclusion regarding the authorship can be made concerning The Adventures that suggests Marshall was in any way responsible for the published state of the document. Nonetheless, simply dismissing the possibility out of hand is equally problematic. There are certainly enough parallels in Marshall’s History, particularly surrounding biographies of frontiersmen other than Boone (as this could have been plagiarized), that are at least noteworthy if not suspicious; as such, the possibility that Marshall was in some way responsible for The Adventures must at least be acknowledged. To this end three possibilities are offered here to explain Collins’ statement for discerning historians to consider, dismiss, modify, or accept following their own reflection upon the matter. The first is that the rumor Collins passed on to John Shane is simply false and that the parallels between The Adventures and the frontier biographies within Marshall’s History are coincidental, or possibly an attempt by Marshall to emulate the style of The Adventures. The second is that Collins’ rumor is entirely true and that Marshall was the man who wrote Boone’s narrative on behalf of both the frontiersmen and Filson, who wished to differentiate the tone of The Adventures from his own writing. Marshall’s involvement in such a project would have necessarily remained anonymous since he would have been writing as Daniel

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Boone, just as current historians (but not contemporaries) describe The Adventures as “Filson’s Boone.” The third explanation, touched upon by R. W. G. Vail in Voice of the Old Frontier (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1949; reprint, New York: Octagon Books with a Special Arrangement with the University of Pennsylvania Press, 1970), p. 331) in the 1950s (and ignored more or less since) is the possibility that Marshall in some way improved (but did not write) Filson’s The Adventures, in all likelihood adding in the most grandiose and philosophical phrasings that are paralleled in his own work. Again, the likely explanation for this would be a desire by Filson to differentiate the tone of The Adventures from the rest of Kentucke, or perhaps to add some poetic spirit to Boone which he did not feel he could adequately provide. The loss of Humphrey Marshall’s private papers has likely prevented a definitive answer to this issue from ever being found, but the existence of this possibility, backed up as it is by some interesting parallels between The Adventures and Marshall’s History of Kentucky, does deserve some consideration by historians who draw heavily upon this document and, perhaps, that they acknowledge the possibility. Parallels between documents are not evidence in and of themselves, but parallels between The Adventures and History of Kentucky do very little to dispel the possibility that Collins raises. The Adventures, after all, is one of the most important documents to be published in the early United States and as such its authorship, and challenges to that authorship, should be given due consideration, whatever conclusions are ultimately drawn. 11. John Mack Faragher, Daniel Boone: The Life and Legend of an American Pioneer (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1992), p. 302. 12. John Knight, “The Narrative of Doctor John Knight,” in Hugh Henry Brackenrige (ed.) Narratives of the Late Expedition Against the Indians with an Account of the Barbarous Execution of Col. Crawford; and the Wonderful Escape of Dr. Knight and John Slover from Captivity, in 1782 (Philadelphia: Francis Bailey, 1783), front matter. 13. Daniel P. Barr, “‘A Monster So Brutal’: Simon Girty and the Degenerative Myth of the American Frontier, 1783–1900,” Essays in History, Vol. 40 (1998), http://etext.virginia.edu/ journals/EH/EH40/barr40.html.

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Chapter One 1. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 29. 2. Otis K. Rice, Frontier Kentucky (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1993), pp. 19–20; Stephen Aron, How the West Was Lost: The Transformation of Kentucky from Daniel Boone to Henry Clay (Baltimore and London: John Hopkins University Press, 1999), pp. 6–7; Ted Franklin Belue, The Hunters of Kentucky: A Narrative History of America’s First Far West, 1750– 1792 (Mechanicsburg: Stackpole Books, 2003), pp. 14–15, 33. 3. Rice, Frontier Kentucky, pp. 10–11, 20. 4. John D. Shane, “Interview with William Clinkenbeard.” Draper Manuscripts 11-CC-54– 66, p. 56. 5. Faragher, Daniel Boone, p. 106; Lafaro, Daniel Boone, p. 52. 6. Stephen Aron, How the West Was Lost: The Transformation of Kentucky from Daniel Boone to Henry Clay (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), p. 37. 7. Faragher, Daniel Boone, pp. 143–144. 8. John E. Kleber (ed.), The Kentucky Encyclopaedia (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 1992), p. 317. 9. In North America the war began two years prior to the main international conflict, in 1754. 10. Matthew C. Ward, Breaking the Backcountry: The Seven Years War in Virginia and Pennsylvania, 1754–1767 (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2003), pp. 5–9. 11. David Curtis Skaggs, “The Sixty Years War for the Great Lakes, 1754–1814: An Overview,” in David Curtis Skaggs (ed.) The Sixty Years War For the Great Lakes, 1754–1814 (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2001), pp. 1–15. 12. Ward, Breaking the Backcountry, p. 44. 13. The Royal Proclamation (Court of St. James: London, 1763). 14. Fred Anderson, Crucible of War: The Seven Years War and the Fate of Empire in British North America, 1754–1766 (New York: Vintage Books, 2001), p. 636. 15. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” pp. 13–14. 16. Patrick Griffin, American Leviathan: Empire, Nation, and the Revolutionary Frontier (New York: Hill and Wang, 2007); Aron, How the West Was Lost, p. 37. 17. Aron, How the West Was Lost, p. 13. 18. Ibid, pp. 40–41. 19. See “The Josiah Collins Interviews” in Part II of this volume.

20. John D. Shane, “Interview with John Craig.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 144–146, p. 144. 21. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 66. 22. John D. Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins (I).” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 64–78, p. 74. 23. John Demos, Circles and Lines: The Shape and Life of Early America (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004), p. 58. 24. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 65. 25. John Filson, The Discovery, Settlement and Present State of Kentucky to Which Is Added the Adventures of Daniel Boon (Wilmington: James Adams, 1784), p. 68. 26. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 68. 27. Ibid, p. 68. 28. Linda Colley argues that the technological distinction between Native American tribes and Europeans has been overemphasized (Linda Colley, Captives: Britain, Empire, and the World, 1600–1850 [New York: Pantheon, 2002], p. 9). To a degree this is true, and Colley’s argument is certainly not without merit, but the technological difference she dismisses cannot simply be ignored. While it may be true that the British army spent a surprisingly small sum upon gunpowder and projectile weaponry it is also true that the stockade wall and fort system employed by early settlers provided an effective, and often lifesaving, barrier from external forces. Stockades were not unique to Europeans, but what this group did have that Native Americans lacked was ready access to weaponry that could compromise or breach strong fortifications. In the final siege of Boonesborough, for instance, Native Americans fired hundreds of rounds at the fort but few caused fatalities; by the end of the siege the stockade remained intact. When Native American forces gained access to cannons, however, frontier settlements faced much greater risks. When Ruddle’s and Martin’s Stations were successfully defeated, for example, it was the presence of British cannons that allowed tribal forces to engineer this victory. 29. Morgan, Boone, p. 44. 30. Shane, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” pp. 68–69. 31. John D. Shane, “Interview with William Clinkenbeard.” Draper Manuscripts 11 CC 54–66. 32. Shane, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” pp. 68–69. 33. Stephen Aron, How the West Was Lost: The Transformation of Kentucky from Daniel Boone to

CHAPTER NOTES—TWO, THREE Henry Clay (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), p. 54. 34. Shane, “Interview with William Sudduth,” p. 62. 35. John D. Shane, “Interview with George Trumbo.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 113–115, p. 115. 36. Shane, “Interview with William Sudduth,” pp. 62–64. 37. Perkins, Border Life, p. 114. 38. John D. Shane, “Interview with James Wade,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 11–41, p. 17. 39. John D. Shane, “Interview with James Lane,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 55–57, p. 56. 40. Robert S. Laufer, M. S. Gallops, and Ellen Frey-Wouters, “War Stress and Trauma: The Vietnam Experience,” Journal of Health and Social Behaviour, Vol. 25 (1984), p. 67; Lynn R. August and Barbara A. Gianola, “Symptoms of War Trauma Induced Psychiatric Disorders: Southeast Asian Refugees and Vietnam Veterans,” International Migration Review Vol. 21 (1987), pp. 821–823. 41. John D. Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins (II),” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 97–110, pp. 102–103. 42. “The people were dirty, lousy, ragged, and 1 ⁄ 2 starved when, when I came there.” Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins (I),” p. 74. 43. Perkins, Border Life, p. 73. 44. Shane, “Interview with James Lane,” p. 57. 45. Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins (I),” p. 71. 46. Ibid, pp. 76–77. 47. John D. Shane, “A Sketch of the Life of William Sudduth,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 79–96, p. 83. 48. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 119.

Chapter Two 1. The word “savage” is almost certainly a product of Boone’s collaborator John Filson, or possibly Humphrey Marshall, who was rumored to have edited the original text prior to publication. Throughout John Shane’s interviews with former frontiersmen and women Native Americans were almost exclusively called “Indian” or, where it was known, by their tribal names (“Shawnee,” “Wyandot,” “Cherokee,” etc.). In Lyman Draper’s interview with Boone’s youngest son, Nathan, there is likewise no evidence that Boone ever referred to Native Americans as “savages.” 2. Daniel Boone always spelled his surname

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with a silent “e” (i.e. “Boone” rather than “Boon”), in contradiction to how it was spelled throughout this narrative. 3. John Stewart actually went missing and his fate was not ascertained until 1775 when his remains (identified by his clothes) were found by early settlers. Other possibilities concerning his disappearance, like the later disappearance of James Harrod, included the possibility that Stewart had intentionally disappeared in order to abandon his family and separate from his wife. For more on Harrod see the section in Chapter Three headed “The Mysterious Disappearance of James Harrod.” Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 29. 4. Boone’s eldest son, who was killed in this early settlement attempt, was named James. He was born in 1757 and was sixteen years old when he was killed. 5. Although only the final siege of Boonesborough has entered popular imagination (along with a number of history books) as the siege of Boonesborough, a number of other, smaller sieges, such as this one, actually took place before this. Although the events surrounding the final siege, particularly the scale of the attack and the capture of Boone and many other men from the fort prior to it, are certainly more dramatic it is wrong to describe this incident as the sole siege of this settlement. 6. Chillicothe. 7. Boone’s apparent ease among his new Shawnee family became a source of suspicion after he escaped his captivity. 8. See the section in Chapter Three headed “The Trial of Daniel Boone” for more information on this period. 9. For more on Harrod see the section in Chapter Three headed “The Mysterious Disappearance of James Harrod.” 10. See the section in Chapter Three headed “Simon Girty and the Blue Licks Defeat.” 11. See Chapter Four. 12. Some traditions hold that “Kentucky” means “The Dark and Bloody Ground.”

Chapter Three 1. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” pp. 28–29. 2. Stewart’s powder horn was said to have had his name carved upon it, although according to Nathan Boone, his father would have recognized it even if such had not been the case. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” pp. 29–30.

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3. John D. Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins (II),” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 97–110, p. 98. 4. John D. Shane, “Interview with Benjamin Snelling,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 111–113, p. 112. 5. Shane, “Interview with Benjamin Snelling,” p. 113. 6. Ibid, p. 112. 7. Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins (II),” p. 97. 8. Faragher, Daniel Boone, p. 58. 9. Morgan, pp. 75–77; Faragher, pp. 58–62. 10. John D. Shane, “Notes Appended to J. Sappington’s Interview,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 70–71, p. 71. 11. Kleber (ed.), The Kentucky Encyclopaedia, p. 964. 12. John D. Shane, “Interview with William Barrows (II) and Appended Memos,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 210–213, p. 211. 13. Dwight L. Smith, “Shawnee Captivity Ethnography,” Ethnography, Vol. 2 (1955), pp. 29–30. 14. Hugh Henry Brackenrige and John Slover, “The Narrative of John Slover,” in Hugh Henry Brackenrige (ed.), Narratives of a Late Expedition Against the Indians, with an Account of the Barbarous Execution of Col. Crawford and the Wonderful Escape of Dr. Knight and John Slover from Captivity, in 1782 (Philadelphia: Francis Bailey, 1783), pp. 24–25. 15. John D. Shane, “Interview with John Hanks,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 138–144, p. 141. 16. Shane, “Interview with William Clinkenbeard,” p. 64. 17. Ibid. 18. Shane, “Interview with John Hanks,” p. 141. 19. Shane, “Interview with William Clinkenbeard,” p. 64. 20. John Tanner and Edwin James, A Narrative of the Captivity and Adventures of John Tanner (U.S. Interpreter at the Saut De [sic] Ste. Marie) During Thirty Years Residence Among the Indians in the Interior of North America (London: Baldwin & Cradock, 1830), pp. 31–32. 21. Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins (II),” p. 99. 22. John D. Shane, “Interview with Colonel Thomas Jones,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 232– 234 p. 232. 23. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 119. 24. Filson, The Adventures of Daniel Boon, p. 80.

25. Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins (II),” p. 97. 26. John D. Shane, “Interview with William Boyd.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 58–61, p. 59. 27. Shane, “Interview with William Boyd,” pp. 58–59. 28. Ibid, pp. 59–60. 29. John D. Shane, “Interview with Captain Marcus Richardson.” 12 CC 125–127, 154–156, pp. 125–127. 30. Quaife, “The Ohio Campaigns of 1782,” p. 517. 31. Shane, “Interview with Captain Marcus Richardson,” p. 126. 32. Shane, “Interview with William Clinkenbeard,” p. 54. 33. Griffin, American Leviathan, pp. 152–153. 34. Faragher, Daniel Boone, p. 199. 35. Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins,” p. 79. 36. Daniel Trabue’s narrative is virtually the only surviving source relating to Boone’s trial. It has been speculated by other historians that the records of this trial were destroyed by friends of Boone sometime following the incident. Other than a lack of evidence, there is no direct evidence to support this theory, although it is certainly possible. Faragher, Daniel Boone, pp. 199– 200. 37. Daniel Trabue, Westward into Kentucky: The Narrative of Daniel Trabue (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 2004), p. 63. 38. Draper, Interview with Nathan Boone, p. 65. 39. Robert Morgan in his recent biography of Boone charges Calloway with being “paranoid,” something he probably was not. Attempting to diagnose individual historical figures is significantly problematic and stating, as Morgan does, that Calloway could be “diagnosed” as anything is more misleading than it is enlightening (Morgan, Boone, p. 182). Looking strictly at the trial of Daniel Boone one can see that Calloway’s charges are not paranoid but based upon a sound observation of the events he witnessed. As far as Calloway and many others were concerned, Boone had acted in a very suspicious and borderline disloyal fashion. The issue here is that Morgan made a moral judgment about the character of Calloway, thinly veiled as a psychiatric diagnosis (which it is not). Calloway may have been a difficult person to deal with, and he may have challenged slights to him in court, but this in no way makes him unique among other men of the time. 40. Daniel Trabue and Chester Raymond Young (eds.), Westward into Kentucky: The Nar-

CHAPTER NOTES—FOUR, FIVE rative of Daniel Trabue (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 2004), p. 63. 41. Ibid. 42. Trabue and Young Westward into Kentucky, pp. 63–65. 43. Ibid. 44. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 65. 45. Trabue and Young, Westward into Kentucky, pp. 63–65. 46. Shane, “Interview with Josiah Collins (I),” p. 74. 47. Aron, How the West Was Lost, p. 7. 48. Ibid, p. 38. 49. Belue, The Hunters of Kentucky, pp. 169– 172. 50. John D. Shane, “Interview with Jacob Stevens,” p. 139, and Peter Houston, “A Sketch of the Life and Character of Daniel Boone,” in Ted Franklin Belue (ed.) A Sketch of the Life and Character of Daniel Boone: A Memoir by Peter Houston (Mechanicsburg : Stackpole Books, 1997), p. 27. 51. James H. Merrell, Into the American Woods: Negotiators on the Pennsylvania Frontier (New York: Norton & Company, 1999), pp. 30– 34. 52. John D. Shane, “Interview with John Crawford.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 156–163, p. 159. 53. Shane, “Interview with John Crawford,” p. 167. 54. Timothy Flint, The Life and Adventures of Daniel Boone, the First Settler of Kentucky, Interspersed with Incidents in the Early Annals of the Country (New York: Hurst and Company, 1868), p. 112; Alexander Scott Withers and Reuben Gold Thwaites (eds.), Chronicles of Border Warfare Or, A History of The Settlement by the Whites of Northwestern Virginia and of the Indian Wars and Massacres in That Section of the State (Cincinnati: Stewart & Kidd Company, 1895). 55. Houston, “A Sketch of the Life and Character of Daniel Boone,” p. 22. 56. John D. Shane, “Interview with Patrick Scott,” Draper Manuscripts 11 CC 5–9, 17–18, p. 6. 57. John D. Shane, “Interview with Sarah Graham,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 45–53, p. 46. 58. See Chapter Ten, “The Narrative of Doctor John Knight.” 59. Anonymous, A Song, Called Crawford’s Defeat by the Indians, on the Fourth Day of June, 1782 (Dates from approximately 1782–83). 60. Shane, “Interview with John Crawford,” p. 159.

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61. John D. Shane, “Interview with Mrs. Skaggs,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 236–238, p. 238. 62. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 78. 63. Prior to the attack on Bryan’s Station several young men had been taken captive at the Blue Licks as a prelude to the main part of the assault. Griffin, American Leviathan, pp. 178– 179. 64. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 76; Houston, “A Sketch of the Life and Character of Daniel Boone,” p. 24; and Faragher, Daniel Boone, p. 217. 65. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” p. 75; Houston “A Sketch of the Life and Character of Daniel Boone”pp. 23–24. 66. John D. Shane, “Interview with Jacob Stevens,” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 133–138, p. 138. 67. Shane, “Interview with Jacob Stevens,” pp. 133–134. 68. Draper, “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” pp. 77–78. 69. Both Hays and Corn, in spite of their injuries, were able to cover the thirty-six miles between the battleground and Bryan’s Station in the same day. Shane, “Interview with Jacob Stevens,” p. 141. 70. Houston, “A Sketch of the Life and Character of Daniel Boone,” p. 26. 71. Ibid, pp. 25–26. 72. Shane, “Interview with Jacob Stevens,” p. 135. 73. John D. Shane, “Interview with Isaac Clinkenbeard,” Draper Manuscripts 11 CC 1–4, p. 3.

Chapter Four 1. This document immediately followed Daniel Boone’s narrative in The Discovery, Settlement, and Present State of Kentucke and was referred to near the end of Boone’s narrative. It is presented here as an appendix to Boone’s narrative.

Chapter Five 1. Schull does not count William Boone, who died shortly after being born in 1775. 2. Schull has his facts inverted here. James Boone, Daniel’s eldest son, was killed coming out to Kentucky and Israel Boone, Daniel’s second son, was killed in the battle of Blue Licks.

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3. Timothy Flint’s early Boone biography is perhaps more responsible than any other single entity for some of the most commonly believed and popular myths concerning Boone. Among these, as Schull observed, were images of Boone swinging through the forest on grapevines and, perhaps most importantly, the myth that he fought, and killed, a bear with his bare hands. Although many of Flint’s stories were based upon real events, such as the kidnapping of Boone’s daughter and the Calloway girls, they were frequently loaded with sentiments and actions attributed to Boone that were nothing more than products of the author’s imagination. 4. ((Had made no treaty for himself.)) 5. Ned Boone, Daniel’s brother, killed at Grassy Lick.

7. “This was a volunteer campaign. Nobody went but those that chose to go.” 8. “Holden, 2 or 3 years after, asked me for that money, but I knew it didn’t belong to him, it ought to be divided among the whole company, & wo’dn’t give it to him.” 9. “Had 3 brothers in this campaign: Stephen, James, Elisha.” 10. For more on the captivity experience please see “Captivity” in Chapter Three. 11. “Todd was married at Logan’s Fort to this Jane Briggs, in a hunting shirt made of nettles.” 12. “1st Sermon in Lexington, in July 1781 or 82.” 13. The fort at Lexington was a relatively safe zone although the surrounding woodlands could still host raiding parties, albeit in reduced numbers. 14. damned

Chapter Six 1. See Introduction, note 10. 2. Derriere. 3. In the original document “Howdy” appeared as “How dy.” 4. Collins is referring to Jemima Boone — either Shane recorded the name wrong or the interviewee is in error here. Susannah Boone was Jemima Boone’s older sister (and she did indeed marry William Hays) but it was Jemima, not Susannah, who was kidnapped with the Calloway girls. 5. At this point in the document there is a large space, presumably left by Shane, as Collins was unable to remember the name of the second Calloway girl. This seems to be the case as following this space is a statement regarding Jemima Boone whereas previously Collins had mentioned Susannah Boone when beginning to relate this story. It appears that at this point Collins had become muddled in his recall of names. 6. “’proposed to mount’—&c there were no more than had already been mounted ready to march. Not all the horses had been mounted. Guthrie, or Jacob, after he had mounted his horse to march, a ball came and took him in the corner of his mouth. Was common soldier — it offended him very much. He was then very forward to turn on the Indians & we turned on them & drove them back. It didn’t hurt him much, [he] was [a] pox marked man in the face. We had before formed in a circle, with the horses hitched along with the plunder, in the centre. The men formed then behind trees on foot & then it was, and not when we went to that, that Murdock was killed.”

Chapter Seven 1. None of Boone’s children were born in 1771. The nearest was Daniel Morgan Boone, born in 1769 (which was indeed the year Boone began exploring Kentucky). 2. For further discussion, see the section in Chapter Three headed “The Mysterious Disappearance of James Harrod.” 3. There is a sizable gap in the manuscript here where a word clearly belongs, [disappoint], or [cuckold] perhaps? 4. “((of whom I co’d learn nothing more than the mere name))” 5. “((Did they then get their horses?))” 6. “((and Mr. C. remembered a little French))” 7. “((Mr. C. supposes))” 8. “They asked him what his name was. H. told them it was Captain H.” 9. “((Mr. C. spoke of Harrod as having been missed. I never seen anymore, and as if no one knew how he came to his end. Didn’t seem to know anyone was suspected of causing his death)).” 10. “((whites are safe among them, but an opportunity for pillage a murderous depredation among themselves is not easily passed by))” 11. “((I believe he was generally to warring with the whites. Perhaps never did.))” 12. “((think he had told them on their way out, they wo’d be defeated))” 13. “((altho’ the Indians might be at war, yet a state of warfare is a state of nature with them, and those who were early settlers were so assimilated to the Indians they became [as] insensible to its dangers (as they)))”

CHAPTER NOTES—EIGHT, NINE, TEN 14. “((Mr. Collins seemed not to think James Masterson had any claims to priority in the way of building))” 15. Appears in the text originally as: “not knowing what to do; and ((I believe he said)) crying” 16. Likely either Boone’s or Bryan’s Station (also written by Shane as Bryant’s Station). 17. The Dutch being referred to here are not necessarily the Dutch of the Low Countries, but are more likely to be Germanic peoples, or people of Germanic descent. 18. “((Both, I believe, had raised men. Perhaps Logan was the older man, but)) Holder got it because he had the oldest commission”— as the text originally appears in the document. 19. “Damn” 20. Captain Will, in spite of the Europeanstyle name, was a Native American chief. Very often chiefs were referred to as “Captain” and often had European-style names. It would not be unusual, for instance, to hear Blackfish being referred to as “Captain Blackfish” or the later war chief Blue Jacket referred to as “Captain Blue Jacket.” 21. “((think he said left with him 5 soldiers to guard))” 22. “((think that mess had been removed))” 23. “((and this is more probable. In those times, a road that went near a Lick, wo’d go to it))” 24. Ashton’s Station was also known as Estill’s Station. In the original document Collins’ refusal or inability to refer to it by only one name frustrated Shane.

Chapter Eight 1. “Money was plenty then: Kentucky furnished the supplies for the Indian war, & Winchester was built rapidly.”

Chapter Nine 1. The name “Lulbegrud” is derived from a name appearing in Jonathan Swift’s History of Samuel Gulliver’s Travels, a book popular among a number of early pioneers. Faragher, Daniel Boone, p. 83. 2. McGary’s murder of Molontha was an act of revenge for the defeat of the militia at the Lower Blue Licks in 1782; he believed the chief had been present at the battle. 3. Alexander McKee, like Simon Girty, worked as a cultural liaison between the British

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and a number of Native American tribes. Along with Simon Girty, McKee was present at the Blue Licks defeat. 4. Morgan’s Station was the last settlement in Kentucky to be defeated during the frontier war. 5. This is likely a sign that previous encounters had resulted in broken or fractured bones that had never healed sufficiently, creating a wound that would occasionally excrete bone fragments.

Part III 1. Brackenrige and Slover, “The Narrative of John Slover,” p. 30. 2. Ibid, p. 23. 3. Shane, “Interview with Captain Marcus Richardson,” p. 127. 4. Barr, “‘A Monster So Brutal’: Simon Girty and the Degenerative Myth of the American Frontier.” 5. John Knight, “Dr. Knight’s Narrative,” in Hugh Henry Brackenrige (ed.), Narratives of a Late Expedition Against the Indians, with an Account of the Barbarous Execution of Col. Crawford and the Wonderful Escape of Dr. Knight and John Slover from Captivity, in 1782 (Philadelphia: Francis Bailey, 1783), pp. 11–12. 6. Hugh Henry Brackenrige, Narratives of a Late Expedition Against the Indians, with an Account of the Barbarous Execution of Col. Crawford and the Wonderful Escape of Dr. Knight and John Slover from Captivity, in 1782 (Philadelphia: Francis Bailey, 1783), front matter. 7. The texts presented here of Doctor Knight’s and John Slover’s narratives are taken from first-edition printings. Additional biographical information about John Slover is taken from “Memoir of John Slover” in Hugh Henry Brackenrige and U. P. James (eds.), Indian Atrocities: Narratives of the Perils and Sufferings of Dr. Knight and John Slover, Among the Indians, During the Revolutionary War with Short Memoirs of Col. Crawford and John Slover and a Letter from H. Brackenrige of the Rights of the Indians, Etc. (Cincinnati: U. P. James, Publisher, 1867), pp. 35–36. 8. Brackenrige, Narratives of a Late Expedition Against the Indians, front matter.

Chapter Ten 1. To The Public: The following Narratives were transmitted for publication in September last, but shortly afterwards the letters from Sir

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Guy Carlton, to his Excellency, General Washington, informing that the Savages had received orders to desist from their incursions, gave reason to hope that there would be an end to their barbarities. For this reason it was not thought necessary to hold up to view what they had heretofore done. But as they still continue their murders on our frontier, these Narratives may be serviceable to induce our governments to take some effectual steps to chastise and repress them; as from thence they will see that the nature of an Indian is fierce and cruel, and that an extirpation of them would be useful to the world, and honourable to those who can effect it. [Hugh Henry Brackenrige,] August 3, 1782.” 2. See “Simon Girty and the Blue Licks Defeat” in Chapter Three.

Chapter Eleven 1. “This is a post of ours on the Ohio, about 70 miles below Fort Pitt” [Hugh Henry Brackenrige] 2. “This was Col. Harrison, son-in-law to Col. Crawford, one of the first men in the Western country. He had been greatly active on many occasions in devising measures for the defence of the frontiers, and his character as a citizen in every way, then a young man, distinguished and respectable. He had been a magistrate under the jurisdiction of Virginia, and I believe a delegate to the Assembly of that State. I know no man with whose grave, sedate manners, prudent conduct, good sense and public spirit on all occasions I was more pleased.”— H[enry]. B[rackenrige]. 3. “This was a son of Col. Crawford. I do not remember to have seen him, nor was I acquainted with his character before the expedition, but have since been informed universally, that he was a young man greatly and deservedly esteemed as a soldier and as a citizen.” H. B. 4. “These men, Elliot and Girty, were inhabitants of the Western country, and since the commencement of the war, for some time professed an attachment to America, went off to the Indians. They are of that horrid brood called Refugees, and whom the Devil has long since marked for his own property.” [— H. B.] 5. “This man before the war was an Indian agent for the British. He was put on parole,

broke it, went to the Indians and has since continued violently to incite them to make war against us.” [— H. B.] 6. “It is well known that Mr. Slover mentioned these circumstances at his first coming into Wheeling, and before he could have known the relation of the doctor, for that this is an evidence of the truth of the doctor’s account, and his Own.” H. B. 7. “I observed marks on the man when I saw him, which was eight or ten days after he came in, particularly a wound above his right eyebrow, which he had received with the pipe end of a tomahawk; but his back and body generally bad been injured.” H. B. 8. “It has been said that the putting to death the Moravian Indians has been the cause of the cruelties practised on the prisoners taken at Sandusky. But though this has been made an excuse by the refugees amongst the savages, and by the British, yet it must be well known that it has been the custom of the savages at all times. I have it from Col. John Campbell, who is lately from Chamblee, where he has been in confinement a long time, and was taken on the Ohio some years ago, that two men who were taken with him were put to death at the Shawanese towns in the same manner in which Harrison was Afterwards executed, via.: by blowing powder into their bodies. A large load blown into the body of one of these men, reaching his kidneys, the pain throwing him into rage and madness, the savages were uncommonly diverted with the violence of his exclamation and gestures ; boys of the town, particularly, following him, and considering it as excellent sport. In the evening his head was cut off and an end put to his misery. Col. Campbell himself was led out to make sport of the same kind, but was saved by the interposition, I think, of Elliot.” [— Hugh Henry Brackenrige]

Chapter Twelve 1. According to William Clinkenbeard, John Tanner, Sr., whose settlement was known as Tanner’s Station, was a Presbyterian minister. Shane, “Interview with William Clinkenbeard,” p. 60. 2. See “Captivity” in Chapter Three. 3. Term used by Native Americans to describe settlers.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Anderson, Fred. Crucible of War: The Seven Years War and the Fate of Empire in British North America, 1754–1766 (New York : Vintage Books, 2001). Aron, Stephen. How the West Was Lost: The Transformation of Kentucky from Daniel Boone to Henry Clay (Baltimore and London: John Hopkins University Press, 1999). August, Lynn R., and Barbara A. Gianola. “Symptoms of War Trauma Induced Psychiatric Disorders: Southeast Asian Refugees and Vietnam Veterans,” International Migration Review Vol. 21 (1987). Barnhart, John D. “Frontiersmen and Planters in the Formation of Kentucky,” The Journal of Southern History, Vol. 7, No. 1 (1941). Barr, Daniel P. “‘A Monster So Brutal’: Simon Girty and the Degenerative Myth of the American Frontier, 1783–1900,” Essays in History, Vol. 40 (1998), http://etext.virginia. edu/journals/EH/EH40/barr40.html. Belue, Ted Franklin. The Hunters of Kentucky: A Narrative History of America’s First Far West, 1750–1792 (Mechanicsburg: Stackpole Books, 2003). Brackenrige, Hugh Henry, and Slover, John. “The Narrative of John Slover,” in Hugh Henry Brackenridge (ed.), Narratives of a Late Expedition Against the Indians, with an Account of the Barbarous Execution of Col. Crawford and the Wonderful Escape of Dr. Knight and John Slover from Captivity, in 1782 (Philadelphia: Francis Bailey, 1783). Brackenrige, Hugh Henry, and U. P. James (eds.). Indian Atrocities: Narratives of the Perils and Sufferings of Dr. Knight and John Slover, Among the Indians, During the Revolutionary War with Short Memoirs of Col. Crawford and John Slover and a Letter from H. Brackenridge of the Rights of the Indians, Etc. (Cincinnati: U. P. James, Publisher, 1867). Bryant, Ron D. “Humphrey Marshall, Kentucky

Historian.” Land Office Journal: Ron Bryant Collection, July 2005 (http://sos.ky.gov/land/ journal/articles/bryant/humphreymarshall. htm (accessed October 20, 2007). Colley, Linda. Captives: Britain, Empire, and the World, 1600–1850 (New York : Pantheon, 2002). Courtwright, David T. Violent Land: Single Men and Social Disorder from the Frontier to the Inner City (Cambridge, London: Harvard University Press, 1996). Demos, John. Circles and Lines: The Shape and Life of Early America (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004). Draper, Lyman C. “Interview with Nathan and Olive Boone,” in Neal O. Hammon (ed.) My Father, Daniel Boone: The Draper Interview with Nathan Boone (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999). Faragher, John Mack. Daniel Boone: The Life and Legend of an American Pioneer (New York : Henry Holt and Company, 1992). Filson, John. The Discovery, Settlement and Present State of Kentucke to Which Is Added The Adventures of Daniel Boone (Wilmington: James Adams, 1784). Flint, Timothy. The First White Man of the West or the Life and Adventures of Daniel Boone, the First Settler of Kentucky, Interspersed with Incidents in the Early Annals of the Country (New York: Hurst and Company, 1868). Gainsborough, Thomas. [George III:] The Royal Proclamation of October 7, 1763 (London: Court of St. James). Gates, Paul W. “Tenants of the Log Cabin.” The Mississippi Valley Review, Vol. 49 (1962). Griffin, Patrick. American Leviathan: Empire, Nation, and the Revolutionary Frontier (New York: Hill and Wang, 2007). Hesseltine, William B. “Lyman Draper and the South.” The Journal of Southern History, Vol. 19 (1953).

207

208

BIBLIOGRAHPY

Houston, Peter, and Belue, Ted Franklin (eds.). A Sketch of the Life and Character of Daniel Boone: A Memoir by Peter Houston (Mechanicsburg: Stackpole Books, 1997). John, A. Jake. “Salt on the Ohio Valley Frontier, 1770–1820” Annals of the Association of American Geographers, Vol. 59 (1969). Kleber, John E. (ed.). The Kentucky Encyclopaedia (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 1992). Knight, John. “The Narrative of Doctor John Knight” in Hugh Henry Brackenrige (ed.), Narratives of the Late Expedition Against the Indians with an Account of the Barbarous Execution of Col. Crawford; and the Wonderful Escape of Dr. Knight and John Slover from Captivity, in 1782 (Philadelphia: Francis Bailey, 1783). Lafaro, Michael A. Daniel Boone: An American Life (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2003). Laufer, Robert S., M. S. Gallops, and Ellen FreyWouters. “War Stress and Trauma: The Vietnam Experience.” Journal of Health and Social Behaviour, Vol. 25 (1984). Marshall, Humphrey. The History of Kentucky (Frankfurt: George S. Robinson Printers, 1824). McWhiney, Grady. Cracker Culture: Celtic Ways in the Old South (Tuscaloosa, London: University of Alabama Press, 1989). Merrell, James H. Into the American Woods: Negotiators on the Pennsylvania Frontier (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1999). Morgan, Robert Boone: A Biography (Chapel Hill, N.C.: Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2007. Nobles, Gregory H. “Breaking into the Backcountry: New Approaches to the Early American Frontier, 1750–1800.” William and Mary Quarterly, Vol. 46 (1989). Perkins, Elizabeth A. Borderlife: Experience and Memory in the Revolutionary Ohio Valley (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1998). Quaife, M. M. “The Ohio Campaigns of 1782.” The Mississippi Valley Historical Review, Vol. 17 (1931). Rice, Otis K. Frontier Kentucky (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1993). Shane, John D. “Interview with Benjamin Snelling.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 111–113 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with Captain Marcus Richardson.” 12 CC 125–127, 154–156 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with Colonel Thomas Jones.”

Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 232–234 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with George Trumbo.” Shane Interviews 12 CC 113–115 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with Isaac Clinkenbeard.” Draper Manuscripts 11 CC 1–4 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with Jacob Stevens.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 133–138 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with James Lane.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 55–57 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with James Wade.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 11–41 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with John Crawford.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 156–163 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with John Craig.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 144–146 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with John Hanks.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 138–144 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with Josiah Collins (I).” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 64–78 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with Josiah Collins (II).” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 97–110 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with Mrs. Skaggs.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 236–238 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with Patrick Scott.” Draper Manuscripts 11 CC 5–9, 17–18 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. Shane “Interview with Sarah Graham.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 45–53 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with Septimus Schull.” Draper Manuscripts 11 CC 51–53 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society).

BIBLIOGRAPHY _____. “Interview with William Barrows (II) and Appended Memos.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 210–213 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with William Boyd.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 58–61 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with William Clinkenbeard.” Draper Manuscripts 11-CC-54–66 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Interview with William Sudduth.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 61–64 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “Notes Appended to J. Sappington’s Interview.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 190 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). _____. “A Sketch of the Life of William Sudduth.” Draper Manuscripts 12 CC 79–96 (Draper Manuscripts located at the Wisconsin Historical Society). Sioli, Marco. “Huguenot Traditions in the Mountains of Kentucky: Daniel Trabue’s Memories,” The Journal of American History, Vol. 84, No. 4 (1988). Skaggs, David Curtis (ed.). The Sixty Years War for the Great Lakes, 1754–1814 (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2001). Smith, Dwight L. “Shawnee Captivity Ethnography,” Ethnography, Vol. 2 (1955). A Song, Called Crawford’s Defeat by the Indians, on the Fourth Day of June, 1782 (Dates from approximately 1782–83).

209

Spierenburg, Pieter (ed.). Men and Violence: Gender, Honor, and Rituals in Modern Europe and America (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1998). Tanner, John. and Edwin James. A Narrative of the Captivity and Adventures of John Tanner (U.S. Interpreter at the Saut De [sic] Ste. Marie) During Thirty Years Residence Among the Indians in the Interior of North America (London: Baldwin & Cradock, 1830). Trabue, Daniel, and Chester Raymond Young (eds.). Westward into Kentucky: The Narrative of Daniel Trabue (Lexington: University of Kentucky Press, 2004). Vail, R. W. G. Voice of the Old Frontier (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1949; reprint, New York : Octagon Books with a Special Arrangement with the University of Pennsylvania Press, 1970). Ward, Matthew C. Breaking the Backcountry: The Seven Years War in Virginia and Pennsylvania, 1754–1767 (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2003). White, Richard. The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Region, 1650–1815 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). Withers, Alexander Scott, and Reuben Gold Thwaites (eds.). Chronicles of Border Warfare or, A History of the Settlement by the Whites of Northwestern Virginia and of the Indian Wars and Massacres in That Section of the State (Cincinnati: Stewart & Kidd Company, 1895).

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INDEX Accidents 110 Adams, Capt. 110 The Adventures of Daniel Boone 1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 10, 11, 12, 14, 16, 24, 30, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 83, 102, 113, 114, 141 African Americans 22, 23, 42, 44, 57, 84, 85, 88, 95, 102, 114, 115, 116, 125, 138, 164, 170 Ah-Koo-Naj-Goo-Zik 189 Alabama 87 Alleghany Mountains 122 Allington, Casandra 117 American Revolution 14, 15, 25, 31, 67, 68, 73, 118, 143, 147, 157 Anderson, Col. 191 Andrew Johnson 85, 101 An-Num-Mum-Ne-Se-Be 193 Appalachian Mountains 14, 15, 16, 17, 22, 31, 68 Arnett, Thomas 130 Arnold, John 133 Aron, Stephen 68 Ashby, Benjamin 118 Ashby, Jack 118 Ashley, Lt. 149 Ashton, Capt. 42, 114 Ashton, Mrs. 114 Ashton’s Station 42 Babyboom 83 Bailey, John 118 Baize, James 53 Baker, Almer 117 Baker, Isaac 27, 129 Baker, Joshua 133, 136 Baker’s Station 27, 117, 129 Bald Eagle 121 Baptist 107 Barbee, Joshua 137 Bargaining 89 Barrow, David 79 Barrow, William 50 Batters 101 Battle of Fallen Timbers 7, 25, 73, 101, 118, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137

Battle of Kings Mountain 109 Battle of Point Pleasant 92 Bean, Capt. 148 Bear 77, 154, 180 Beasley, James 89 Beaver 127, 139, 179 Becraft, Miss 132 Beddinger, Michael 103 Be-Gwi-O-Mus-Ko 184 Be-Nais-Sa 171 Bennett, Joshua 123 Beths, Elishe 87 Big Jimmy 85 Big Miami 95, 110, 124, 164, 165, 166, 188 Biggs, Capt. 149, 150 Bird, Col. 41 Black Smithing 192 Blackberry Campaign see Edwards, John, 1791 Campaign Blackburn, Joseph 123 Blackfish 18, 20, 39, 54, 55, 61, 64, 65, 83, 84, 86, 87 Blackfish (II) 132 Blue Grass 77 Blue Jacket 53, 54, 97, 125; capture 128 Blue Jacket’s Town 125 Blue Licks 21, 38, 42, 43, 67, 77, 85, 102, 114, 116, 121, 122, 123; Battle of 5, 43, 68, 69, 70, 72, 73, 78, 89, 93, 94, 109 Boone, Daniel 5, 10, 11, 13, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 22, 30, 45, 50, 52, 54, 55, 58, 60, 70, 71, 72, 73, 76, 77, 78, 83, 85, 86, 90, 92, 94, 98, 114, 118, 125, 128, 139; biography 11; death 12; defeat of 1773 expedition 36; folklore surrounding 2, 3, 5, 6, 77, 98; life in captivity 38, 39; physical description 83 Boone, Daniel Morgan 48, 77 Boone, Edward 42, 48, 77, 113, 114 Boone, Israel 11, 43, 70, 72, 73, 77

211

Boone, James 11, 36, 77 Boone, Jemima 21, 24, 37, 48, 76, 77, 85 Boone, Jesse 77 Boone, Lavina 77 Boone, Moses 23 Boone, Nathan 12, 55, 71, 77 Boone, Rebecca 35, 37, 41, 48, 49, 58, 76, 77, 82, 98 Boone, Squire 34, 48, 77, 84, 98, 101, 102 Boone, Susanna 77, 98 Boone family 11, 12, 32, 36 37, 41, 49, 58, 76, 77 Boone’s Station 15 Boonesborough 15, 16, 18, 19, 21, 23, 26, 31, 37, 38, 39, 41, 46, 54, 55, 65, 66, 76, 78, 80, 82, 83, 84, 86, 89, 94, 98, 101, 102, 103, 106, 109, 110, 114, 118, 119; forty eight hour siege 37; siege of 5, 22, 23, 24, 29, 55, 61, 62, 63, 64, 67, 84, 85; treaty negotiations 40 Bowman, John 38, 41, 82, 83, 87, 90, 102, 109 Bowman’s Campaign 87, 88, 107, 109 Boyd, Col. 192, 193 Boyd, William 57 Brackenrige, Hugh Henry 8, 9, 141, 142, 143, 145 Braddock, Edward 11, 18 Braddock’s Defeat 11, 18 Bradstone, Nicholas 87, 104 Brenton, Maj. 148 Briant’s Station see Bryan’s Station Briggs, Ben 92 Briggs, Miss 92 British 16, 17, 38, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 68, 69, 74, 101, 134, 136, 142, 147; Indian alliances 15, 17, 20, 21, 40, 65, 68, 134, 136, 142, 159, 171 Brown, Thomas 120 Brundin, David 23, 24, 85 Bryan, George 108, 109

212 Bryan, Rebecca see Boone, Rebecca Bryan, William 108 Bryan Family 89 Bryan’s Station 42, 70, 71, 72, 89, 93, 94, 95, 108, 109, 121 Bryant’s Station see Bryan’s Station Buck Elk see McConnell, William Buffalo 34, 42, 76, 95, 114, 122, 123, 127, 128, 192 Buffalo Roads 121 Bulger, Ned 109 Bull, Maj. 137 Bullitt’s Lick 99 Bullock, Nathaniel 112 Burnt Station 89 Bush, Billy 132 Bush’s Settlement 127, 132 Butler, Edmond 137 Byron, Lord 5 Cabin Creek 121, 128 Caldwell, James 128 Caliamers, General 83 Calloway, Betsy 21, 37, 76, 85 Calloway, Cajah 112 Calloway, Dick 112 Calloway, Fanny 21, 37, 76, 85 Calloway, Flanders 65, 85 Calloway, Jimmy 112 Calloway, Keziah 98 Calloway, Richard 21, 62, 64, 65, 66, 77, 91 Calvinism 106 Campbell, Allen 96 Campbell, Maj. 136 Campbell, Mr. 96 Canada 42 Cane 78 Cane Ridge 123 Cape Girardeau 189, 194 Captain Pipe 150, 151, 152 Captain Will 110 Captain Will’s Town 112 Captivity 9, 13, 25, 30, 38, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 95, 97, 111, 112, 114, 115, 116, 141, 142, 143, 150, 151, 152, 153, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172; adoption 30, 31, 38, 39, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 85, 117, 143, 145, 155, 157, 160, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172; capture of the inhabitants of Martin’s and Riddle’s Stations 41; change in dress 189; escape 21, 30, 34, 39, 54, 70, 83, 85, 86, 89, 93, 102, 117, 153, 154, 160, 161, 162; execution 151, 152, 158, 159; growing up in 9; kidnapped 20, 21, 25, 34, 37, 38, 42, 56, 57, 58, 65, 76, 77,

INDEX 85, 89, 91, 93, 97, 114, 115, 117, 119, 131, 132, 134, 144, 156, 157, 164, 165, 170; lifelong 116; long term 133; marriage 117, 175, 176, 177; narratives 8, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195; preparations for execution and/or torture 150, 151, 152, 157, 158, 160; prisoner exchange 112; release 157; return 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195; sale 157, 171, 172 Capture of the Salt Boilers 38, 77, 102 Carlisle 123 Cartwright, Joshua 106 Cartwright, Samuel 130 Cass, Gov. 189 Casseday’s Creek 77 Cassidy, Michael 123 Cassidy, William 131 Casualty rates 26 Catholic Church 101 Caves 163 Chapman, Jacob 86 Chapman, Job 102 Chapman, Mrs. Job 102, 103 Charleston 118 Cheat River 122 Cherokee River see Tennessee River Chicago 191, 192, 193, 194 Chillicothe 38, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, 85, 86, 87, 88, 91, 95, 107, 110 Chippawaws see Indians, Chippewas Cincinnati 87, 95, 110, 118, 133, 137, 164, 186, 187 Clark, George R. 41, 43, 44, 80, 82, 90, 91, 95, 99, 124; 1780 Campaign 90, 91, 110; 1782 Campaign 110, 111, 112; 1786 Campaign 124, 125 Clark, Gov. 190, 191, 194 Clay Lick 113 Cleland, M. 158 Clemens, Capt. 112 Clench River 36, 37 Clifton, William 27, 28 Clifton, Mrs. William 28 Clinkenbeard, Isaac 116, 117 Clinkenbeard, William 15, 53, 116, 117 Coburn 114 Coffer, Reuben 129, 138 Collins, Elisha 83, 87

Collins, Josiah 6, 23, 28, 29, 48, 80, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 98, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 119 Continental Congress 16 Cool, William 33 Cooper, James Fenimore 5 Corilarers 118; see also Marshall, Thomas Corn, George 72 Cornstalk 16, 18, 19, 20; murder 19, 20, 21, 25, 26, 61, 64 Cornwallis, Charles 89, 158 Corporal punishment 163, 168, 169, 170, 172 Costea 75 Cougton 95 Council House 157, 158, 160 Court 92, 103, 190 Courtship 92, 102, 174, 175, 176, 177 Covington 87 Cows 89, 101, 105, 127, 163, 164 Crab Orchard 44, 107 Cradlebaugh, William 106 Craig, John 21, 97 Craig, Justin 89 Craig, Mrs. 25 Crawford, John 69, 70, 132, 149 Crawford, William 141, 147, 149, 150, 151, 152; campaign 142, 147, 148, 149, 150, 155, 156; capture 150; disintegration of Crawford’s Army 149; execution 4, 8, 59, 66, 68, 69, 70, 142, 144, 151, 152, 160 Crawford, William, II 149, 150, 158 Crittendew, John 96 Cross Plains 92, 94, 105, 113–114 Crossway 121 Cumberland Mountains 36 Cumberland River 100 Cushakim 162 Dalton, Thomas J. 74 Darnall, Thomas 105 Davies, James 115 Davies, Joshua 115 Davies, Samuel 56, 57, 58, 115 Davies family 56 Davis, Sam 102 Davis, William 87 Deer 76, 122, 127, 154, 194 Demos, John 22 Dennis, Samuel 99 Denton, John 102, 105 Denton, Thomas 102 Derangement 181 Desertion 82 Detroit 21, 38, 42, 57, 61, 64, 77, 83, 112, 132, 155, 159, 164, 167, 171, 187, 189

INDEX Dickerson, Martin 105 Dickerson, Samuel 129 Dickinson 97 Dickinson, Archie 96, 113 Dickinson, William 96, 113 Dickson, Col. 191 The Discovery, Settlement, and Present state of Kentucke 5, 12 Donaldson, John 82, 123, 124 Doolan, Jacob 113 Douglass, Alexander 99 Douglass, Samuel 99 Downing, Capt. 132 Drake, Ephriam 83, 102 Draper, Lyman C. 2, 3, 48, 51 Dreams 9, 190 Drennon, James 97 Drennon, Thomas 70 Drennon’s Lick 96, 97, 113 Drummond’s Island 191, 192 Dunlop, Alexander 96 Dunmore’s War 36, 92, 157 Duquesne, Capt. 40 Dutch 74 Education 120, 121 Edwards, Col. 125 Edwards, John 130 Elijah Croshwait’s Station 128 Elinipsico see Nipsico Elk 76, 122, 154, 179 Elkhorn 96, 128, 163, 164 Elks 102 Ellington, Miss 132 Elliot, Matthew 158 Elliot’s Town 124 Ely, Benjamin 130 Enoch Smith’s Settlement 129 Ermatinger, Mr. 192 Estill, Capt. see Ashton, Capt. Estill, Mrs. see Ashton, Mrs. Estill, Sam 109 Estill’s Station see Ashton’s Station Ewing, Col. 190 The Falcon see Tanner, John Falls of the Ohio 38, 41, 43, 44, 74, 82, 86, 88, 95, 112, 159 Faragher, John Mack 16 Farrow, Joe 89 Farrow, Thornton 89, 90 Faulkner 89 Fayette 78 Fearis, Isaac 107 Fearis, Nathan 107 Filson, John 5, 6, 11, 12, 14, 16, 80, 83, 118, 141 Finley, John 33 Finley, Samuel 86, 102, 103 Flat Creek 121 Fleming, John 112 Fleming Creek 112 Fleming’s Branch 121 Flint, Timothy 2, 77

Food and starvation 83, 112, 121, 122, 125, 153, 156, 166, 167, 169, 171, 172, 178, 181, 184, 188, 189, 191 Fort Adams 133 Fort Clark 194 Fort Defiance 133, 136 Fort Deposit 134 Fort Hamilton 133 Fort Jefferson 133 Fort Lawrence 154 Fort McIntosh 154 Fort Pitt 91, 147, 156, 157 Fort Recovery 133, 136, 137 Fort Wayne 136, 189 Fort William 191 Fort Winchester 133 Foxes Creek 123 France (French), 17, 40, 74, 99, 100, 110, 167, 191, 193 Francis McConnell’s Station 92 Frankfort 96 French, James 98 French, Judge 128 French, Keziah see Calloway, Keziah French and Indian War see Seven Years War Frontier: changing location 14; folklore 1, 2, 21, 77, 79, 142; perceptions 3, 4; stations 26; trans–Appalachian 4, 17, 19, 66, 79; zones 14 Frontier warfare 8, 9, 11, 26, 31, 59, 60, 85, 102, 103, 111; captive executions 25; creation of widows 28; death of settlers 16, 23, 24, 25, 27, 28, 34 36, 37, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 50, 56, 71, 77, 82, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 92, 93, 95, 96, 97, 106, 107, 108, 109, 111, 114, 116, 117, 122, 123, 125, 126, 128, 129, 130, 131, 134, 139, 148, 150, 155, 163, 164, 170; discovery of bodies 13, 43, 94, 113, 117, 131; early development 14; escalation of conflict 15, 16; exodus of settlers in early years 19; guerrilla warfare 11, 17, 38, 58, 71, 72, 88; impact of the Seven Years War 17; impact upon Indians 26; involvement of civilians 14, 15, 22; murder of Indian prisoners 20, 31, 124, 159; plunder 88, 89, 125; psychological warfare 17, 27, 28; pursuit 78; scalping 25, 42, 56, 78, 86, 88, 108, 114, 136, 150, 151, 152, 159, 163, 170; seasonal impact upon 63, 64; settler raids north of the Ohi 30, 31, 32, 39, 41, 43, 44, 55, 62, 63, 64, 70, 86, 87, 88, 90, 91, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 117, 124, 125, 129, 130, 133,

213 134, 135, 136, 137, 147, 148, 149, 150, 155; treatment of prisoners 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59 Fulton, Mr. 132 Gauntlet 77, 83, 91, 157, 158 Georgetown 87, 128, 133 Giarson, Mr. 191 Gibson, Col. 147, 152 Ginseng 138 Girty, George 68, 118, 160 Girty, James 68, 118, 158 Girty, Simon 1, 8, 42, 66, 68, 69, 70, 73, 118, 141, 142, 143, 150, 151, 152 Girty family 68 Gish-Kaw-Ko 195 Glen, David 106, 107 Glen, James 96 Gnadenhutten 59, 69, 142 Go, Rebecca see Boone, Rebecca Go Betweens 22 Goe, Philip 98 Goe, Rebecca see Boone, Rebecca Golconda 190, 191 Goose Creek 130 Gos-So-KwaTv-Waw 193, 194 Graham, Sarah 50, 51, 69 Grant, Moses 128 Grant, Samuel 128 Grant’s Station 89 Grassy Lick 77, 123 Grave Creek 122 Gray, George 87, 103 Grayson 113 Grayson, Ben 95 Great Kenhawa 121 Great Miami 41 Great Spirit 177 Great Wood River 177 Green River 106, 107 Greensburgh 78 Greenup, Dick 118 Greenville 133, 136, 137 Guess, Capt. 114 Gun Powder 23 Hagan, James 108 Hagan, John 87, 104 Half Moon 161 Hall, Henry 124 Halley, John 127 Hamilton, Henry 38, 40, 99, 102 Hamilton, John 131 Hammond, Edward 99 Hancock, Stephen 22 Hancock, Mrs. Stephen 22 Hancock, William 83, 102, 110 Hanks, John 53 Hardin, John 117 Hardin’s Defeat 117 Harlan, Silas 71, 83, 91, 94, 102 Harland, Maj. 42, 43

214 Harmar, Josiah 117 Harmar’s Campaign 101, 117 Harper, Mrs. 83 Harris, Isaac 83 Harrison, Col. 150 Harrison, Maj. 149, 158 Harrod, Ann 47, 48, 49, 51 Harrod, James 12, 41, 46, 48, 50, 51, 86, 92, 99, 100, 108 Harrodsburgh 15, 18, 26, 28, 46, 51, 83, 85, 86, 87, 89, 90, 91, 92, 101, 102, 106, 107, 114 Hart, Capta. 89 Hartgrove, Israel 57, 58 Hartgrove familly 56, 57 Hast, Capt. 109 Haw, the Rev. 47 Hawk 183, 184 Hay, James 78 Hayden, Benjamin 87 Hayden, Mr. 117 Hayden, William 87 Hays, Jerry 97 Hays, Jim 72 Hays, William 85, 98 Helsus, Maj. 99 Henderson, Richard 16, 19, 44, 77, 82, 85 Henderson, William 105 Henry, Patrick 101 Hiblick, John 104 Hickman, Paschal 133 Hinks Station 121 Hinkston River 114 Hinton 90 Hodges, Jesse 119 Holden, Joseph 33 Holder, Capt. 42, 87, 88 Holder, Col. 108, 112 Holder’s Defeat 94 Holly, John 30, 32, 55, 58, 60, 95 Hood, Andrew 118 Hood, Lucas 131, 135 Hood, Maj. 121, 123, 124, 126, 129, 131 Hood, Miss 123 Hood’s Station 116, 122, 126, 128, 130, 137 Hopkinsville 190 Horses 85, 89, 90, 91, 94, 95, 100, 101, 103, 106, 107, 109, 114, 116, 117, 120, 121, 124, 125, 129, 134, 135, 136, 147, 149, 150, 155, 161, 162, 163, 164, 168, 169, 170, 173, 174, 187, 193, 194; mutilation 123, 139, 173; theft 85, 99, 107, 109, 110, 112, 113, 116, 121, 123, 124, 126, 128, 131, 132, 136 Houston, Peter 70, 71 Hoy, Jones 119 Hoy’s Station 42, 119 Hughes, David 123, 124 The Hunter see Taw-Ga-WeNinnie

INDEX Hunter, David 107 Hunting 11, 13, 34, 35, 39, 77, 82, 89, 93, 95, 101, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 113, 114, 121, 122, 123, 126, 127, 128, 139, 168, 169, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 188, 192, 194 Hutchings, Lt. 82 Illinois 82, 90, 99, 194 Illinois Regiment 95 Illinois River 191, 194 Indian Creek 126 Indians 9, 13, 15, 16, 29, 30, 31, 44, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 66, 67, 77, 91, 101, 116, 118, 121, 122, 123, 124, 126, 127, 128, 131, 134, 135, 142, 143, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 156, 157, 158, 162, 190, 191, 192; alcohol consumption 171, 173, 174, 179, 191; Cherokee 13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 25, 36, 42, 46, 53, 56, 67, 68, 74, 100, 101, 107, 117, 132, 159; Chicasaw 74; Chippewas 159; courtship 174, 175, 176, 177; Delaware 7, 42, 67, 74, 99, 100, 143, 150, 151, 152, 157, 158; divorce 185; dreams 144, 145, 183, 184, 192; epidemics 172, 173, 174, 191; feuds 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186; fortified towns 180; The Great Spirit 13; guides 100; Kaskaskias 101; marriage 175, 176, 177; Menominee 171; Miami 7, 67, 68, 74, 75, 143, 157; migration of 173; Mingo 16, 67, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161; multi–tribal diversity 67, 68, 69; Munse 159; musical instruments 176; Ojibway 9, 145, 171, 172, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 191, 193; Ottawas 171, 172, 174, 188, 192; Piankashaw 74, 75; Pickaway 16, 67, 68; Pottawatamie 57, 193, 194; prediction of death and misfortune 173, 175, 183, 184; raids 11, 21, 25, 26, 27, 28, 36, 37, 38, 41, 42, 44, 49, 67, 70, 82, 87, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 96, 97, 102, 103, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 112, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 137, 138, 139, 147, 163, 164, 165, 170, 171; relations with settlers 13; religious movements 178; resource theft 29; settler perceptions of 17, 18; and settlers 91; Shawnee 5, 7, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 25, 26, 30,

32, 40, 41, 42, 43, 46, 52, 53, 54, 55, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 70, 74, 80, 84, 85, 87, 89, 95, 97, 106, 110, 111, 112, 114, 124, 125, 143, 146, 150, 151, 152, 155, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 163, 167, 177, 178, 179; Shawnee Prophet 9, 145, 177, 178, 179; siege 40, 41, 70, 84; Sioux 9, 145, 171, 177, 179, 180, 185, 190; spies and scouts 39; suicide 174; Tawas 42, 159; trade 33, 167, 185; treatment of prisoners 38, 69, 74, 75, 85, 91, 95, 112, 117, 124, 131, 132, 143, 144, 150, 151, 152, 153, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 167; use of gunpowder 23; violence 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186; war cry 27; war dances 30, 86, 106, 159; Winnebagoes 171; Wyandot 4, 7, 16, 42, 43, 58, 59, 67, 68, 69, 91, 94, 114, 115, 141, 142, 143, 147, 151, 152, 159 Infidelity 98, 102 Informal Sieges 29 Inness, Harry 118 Irvine, General 147 Isaacs, John 99 The Isthmus see Ka-Ga-GumMing Jackson 189 James 117 James, Edwin 9, 144 January, Ephriam 94 January, James 87 John Baker’s Station 128 Johnson, Andrew 30, 61, 83, 86 Johnson, Col. 106 Johnson, Lailel 87 Johnson, Mr. 130 Johnson, R.M. 96 Johnson, Robert 117 Ka-Ga-Gum-Ming 194 Kaskaskias 82, 98, 99, 100, 102 Kearsey, James 107 Keaton, Billy 27 Kelly, James 82, 106 Kelly, Samuel 104 Kelly, William 106 Kennedy, Gen. 138 Kenton, Simon 118, 125, 130, 133 Kenton’s Station 116 Kentucky 58, 159, 164, 168, 189, 190; disputes over ownership 15, 16; early exploration 11, 13, 17, 18, 19, 33, 35, 36, 98; early settlement 11, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 37, 38, 78; first attempt at settling 19, 36; frontier war 14, 15, 16; as an Indian hunting ground 13, 14 Kentucky-Ohio Frontier 144

INDEX Kentucky River 76, 87, 90, 94, 97, 105, 106, 114, 163 Ke-Nu-Kau-Ne-She-Way-BoAnt 174 Kersey, Justin 96 Kincaird, Frazier 132 Kincaird, H. 132 Kirkman, Robert 108 Kirtner, Widow 104 Kish-Kau-Ko 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171 Knapp, Capt. 191 Knight, John 8, 9, 141, 142, 143, 145, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 160 Kwo-Tash-E 169 Kwo-Ta-She 171 Lake Erie 165 Lake Huron 165 Lake of the Woods 183, 189, 190, 195 Lake Superior 191 Lake Traverse 191 Lambert, Mr. 89, 109 Land grants 12 Land surveying 11, 36, 95, 113, 118, 121, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 139 Lane, James 27 Lawsuits 11 Leary, Bartlett 83 Lee, Henry 125 Lee’s Station 116, 125 Lexington 43, 83, 87, 89, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 103, 104, 105, 107, 109, 116, 117, 121, 128 Licking 43 Licking Bottoms 126 Licking River 38, 41, 90, 94 Light, Jacob 87 Limestone 113, 118, 122 Linn, Isaac 59, 60 Linn, Thomas 59, 60 Littell 118 Little Horse see Hays, Jerry Little Kenhawa 120 Little Miami 38, 88 Little Mountain 127 Little Slate 121 Little Slate Licks 138 Logan, Benjamin 43, 62, 64, 65, 71, 72, 78, 87, 88, 94, 108, 116; 1786 campaign 117, 118, 124, 125 Logan’s Fort 18, 26, 92, 103, 114; siege 37 Logan’s Station 89 London 85 Long, Justin 89 Long, Maj. 194 Lord Dunmore 36 Louis, Doctor 110 Louisville 78, 101, 116, 117, 120, 121, 122 Lowry, Mr. 105

Lulbegrud 124 Lulbegrud Old Fields 132 Mackinac 171, 172, 174, 191, 192, 193 Manifre, William 99 Manito-O-Geezhik 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 195 Mann’s Lick 99 Mannuchcothee 143, 157 Marriage 102, 175, 176, 177 Marshall, Col. 147 Marshall, Humphrey 6, 83 Marshall, Thomas 96, 109, 118, 139 Marshall-Filson 83 Martin, Harvey 135 Martin, Henry 132, 135 Martin, John 82, 92, 106, 109 Martin, Mrs. 96 Martin, William 104 Martin’s Station 41, 89, 110 Masterson, Caleb 121 Masterson, James 105 Mattox, Wilson 99, 107 Maumee River 167, 171 May, John 97 Mays, Samuel 87 Maysville 54, 84, 95, 116, 118, 122, 124, 125, 128, 129 McAnalta, Capt. see McIntire, Capt. McBride, James 87 McClellan, Mr. 133 McClelland’s Station 18, 20 McClung, John A. 3, 118, 139 McConnell, Alexander 92, 93, 94 McConnell, Francis 87, 96 McConnell, James 94 McConnell, John 96 McConnell, William 87, 96, 107, 110 McConnell, William (Tanner), 105 McConnell’s Station 83, 93, 96, 107, 121 McCracken, Capt. 95 McCracken, William 87, 110 McCraft, Benjamin 117 McCraft, Miss 25 McCraft, Mrs. 25, 117 McDaniel, Henry 93, 107, 108 McDaniel, Widow 104 McDaniel, William 104 McGary, Hugh 31, 71, 72, 90, 92, 94, 95, 102, 106, 108, 124 McGary’s Station 90, 94 McGee’s Station 121, 128 McHall, Mr. 110 McHall, Mrs. 95, 110 McIlvaine, James 87 McIlvaine, Moses 91, 96 McIntire, Capt. 122, 128 McIntire, John 124

215 McIntyre, John 53 McKee, Alexander 42, 95, 112, 125, 136, 159 McKee’s Town 95 McKenzie, Mr. 191 McKinley, John 151 McKinney, John 92, 96 McLaughlin, Doctor 189 McLean, Alex 104 McMillan, James 132 McMullen, William 123 McMurtey’s Station 105 Measles 191 Medicine bags 178 Medicine hunt 192 Me-Naw-Zhe-Tau-Naung 185, 191 Menifer, Billy 100 Menomonee see Indians, Menominee Me-Shuk-Ko-Naun 183, 184 Metai 174 Methodist Church 47 Me-Zhuk-Ko-Naun 192 Miami 166, 167 Middle Island Creek 120 Midwifery 83 Mill Creek 121 Millar, Christopher 133 Millersburgh 113, 117 Millican, Joshua 99 Mingo Bottom 147 Mis-Kwa-Bun–O-Kwa 172, 175, 176, 177 Mississippi 100, 189, 191, 193 Mississippi River 86, 99, 190 Missouri 12, 55, 78, 101, 102, 128, 191 Mitchell 89 Mitchell, David 87, 104 Mitchell, Dr. 191 Mitchell, William 87 Moluntha 31, 73, 124 Monay, James 33 Monongahela River 120, 122 Monroe, Mr. 97 Montgomery, John 83 Moore, Thomas 134 Moose 178, 179 Moravian Town 148 Morgan, Charles 120, 121 Morgan, George 132 Morgan, Mr. 187 Morgan, Ralph 121 Morgan’s Station 24, 49, 117, 128, 129, 131, 138 Morrison 119 Morrison, John 87, 104 Morrison, Maj. 89, 95, 111 Morrow, James 104 Moseby, John 105 Mount Sterling 117, 118, 126, 128, 129, 131 Mud Lick 127, 128 Murdock 88 Muskingum 156

216 Muskingum River 148, 154, 162 The Muskrat’s Liver see OZhusk-Koo-Koon Muster Rolls 137 Myner, Elias 130 Nah-Gaun–Esh-Kaw-Waw 184 Natches 87 Naylor, Samuel 131 Ne-Keek-Wos-Ke-Cheem e-Kwa 171 Netherland, Maj. 94 Netherlands, Benjamin 105 Net-No-Kwa 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 194 New Madrid 163, 189, 190 New Orleans 101, 118 New River 157 Newcomer’s Town 162 Nipsico 13, 21 Noble, Mark 86, 102, 103 North Carolina 33, 38, 41, 82, 89 North Elkhorn 108 North Fork 132 North West Company 191, 192 Novels 118 Ohio Company Survey 118 Ohio River 14, 20, 31, 35, 55, 64, 70, 81, 86, 87, 95, 100, 118, 120, 121, 122, 123, 129, 137, 147, 154, 163, 164, 165, 170, 190 Ohio Valley 17, 31, 32, 67 Ojibbeway see Indians, Ojibway Ojibway see Indians, Ojibway Old Mingo Town 147 Old Smoker 194 Oldcomer’s Town 162 Oley Valley 11 Olympian Springs 117 O-Poih-Gun 181 Oral Culture 51 Ore 113 Oto-Pun–ne-be 184, 185, 186, 191 Ottawa see Indians, Ottawa Ottawwaws see Indians, Ottawa The Otter see Ne-Keek-WosKe-Cheem e-Kwa Otter Creek 82, 106, 109 Owens, Patrick 105 Owingsville 85, 118, 131 O-Zhusk-Koo-Koon 174, 175 Paddy O. see Owens, Patrick Paint Creek 39, 62, 64 Paint Lick Creek 123 Paris 117 Patterson, Robert 87 Paul, James 156 Paw-paws 125 Pe-Be-Gwun see Indians, musical instruments Peguolly 31 see Johnson, Andrew

INDEX Pembinah 191 Pennsylvania 11, 90 Peyton, Timothy 89 Philips, John 99 Piankashaw Council Minutes 44 Piankashaw Indians see Indians, Miami Pickaway 41, 44, 88, 110 Pickaway Battle 87 Picts 157 see Indians, Miami Pigs 82, 89, 188 The Pipe see O-Poih-Gun Pittsburgh 82, 120 Poage, William 92, 114 Poage, Mrs. William 114 Point Pleasant 12, 20, 26, 61 Point St. Ignace 172 Pompey 22, 84 Poor, John 109 Portage De Sioux 191 Porter, John 109 Post Carriers 189 Post St. Vincent’s 74 Potomac 158 Powel’s Valley 36 Power, Jeremiah 138 Presbyterian 96 Price, Maj. 134, 135 Princeton 190 Proclamation Line of 1763 17 Prophecies 177, 178, 179, 192 Pruett, James 99 Pruett, Robert 107 Rainy Lake 189, 192 Rankin, Adam 96 Rankin’s Meeting House 96 Red River 33, 132, 164, 172, 176, 179, 186, 187, 191, 192 The Red Sky of the Morning 175; see also Mis-Kwa-Bun–O-Kwa Redstone Creek 120 Religious service 92 Relly, John 139 Resurgent population 24 Reynolds, Mr. 117 Rheumatism 156 Richie, William 135 Riddles, Isaac 89 Riddles’ Station 41, 89, 110 River Crossing 120 Rock Castle River 56 Rocky Mountains 195 Rodedbaugh 133 Rose, Maj. 149 Roseblock, Gov. 102 Ross, Hugh 88 Ross, Mr. 108 Ruddle, Mr. 130 Rukker, Jeremiah 190 Rum 75, 99, 100, 101, 132 Rush Lake 183 Russell’s Creek 107 St. Clair, Arthur 133 St. Louis 190, 194

Salem 190 Salt Boilers 52, 61, 63, 64, 70, 77, 102 Salt Lick 127 Salt Lick Creek 123, 127 Salt Production 38, 39, 86, 98, 99, 113, 116, 123 Salvation 160 Sandusky 66, 69, 141, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 156; former site 148 Sandusky Creek 149 San-Je-Wa-Nun 169 Sau-Ge-Nong 171, 172 Sau-Ge-Nong River 168, 169 Saut De St. Marie 191, 192 Schull 130 Schull, Peter 90 Schull, Septimus 76 Sciotha 39 Scioto River 161, 162 Sconces, Robert 128 Scott, Charles 133, 136, 137 Scottsville 190 Scouts and spies 29, 109, 112, 133, 134, 136, 137, 138, 148 Search for captives 187 Searcy, Reuben 103 Searey, Bartlett 102 Sedge grass 50 Serency, David 139 Settlement of the KentuckyOhio Country 2 Settler retaliation 22 Seven Years War 11, 16, 17, 18, 20, 31, 143, 155, 157 Shab-A-Wy-Wy-A-Gun 172 Shane, John D. 2, 3, 4, 6, 47, 49, 50, 51, 69, 79, 80, 81, 98, 115 Sharpsburgh 85 Shawnee River see Cumberland River Shawnee Run 90 Shaw-Shaw-Wa ne-Ba-Se 171; see also Tanner, John Shaysburg 121 She-Gaw-Koo-Sink 183, 184 Shelby, Isaac 89 Shelp, John 28, 29, 99, 106 She-Mung 169, 171 Sherlock 112 Skaggs, David Curtis 17 Slate Creek 117, 121, 138 Slate Iron Works 117, 128–131, 138 Slate Lick 126 Slavery 15, 23, 42, 44, 52, 57, 85, 95, 102, 114, 115, 116, 125, 138, 164 Sleep deprivation 125 Slover, Abraham 143 Slover, John 8, 9, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162 Slover family 143

INDEX Small pox 122 Smith, Enoch 128 Smith, Jacob 130 Smith, James 107 Smith, William Bailey 84 Smith’s Station 107 The Smoker see Gos-SoKwaTv-Waw Snakes 78 Snelling, Benjamin 47, 48, 49, 51, 80 social networking 26, 27, 51, 70, 105 South, Tom 108 South Fork 130 Sovereign, John 111 Spanish 74, 78 Spar, Matthias 123 Speed, Thomas 118 Squatting 116, 122 Stafford, Mr. 106 Stearns, Jacob 84 Steele, William 134 Stevens, Capt. 132 Stevens, Jacob 72 Stevens, Koswell 87 Stevens, Roswell 99 Stewart, John 13, 17, 18, 33, 34, 46 Stillwater 162 Stinson, Samuel 96 Stinson, Thomas 96 Stockton, Mr. 130 Stoner, Michael 36 Stoner’s Fork 122 Story, John 87 Strode, James 124 Strode’s Station 15, 54, 94, 114, 116, 118, 121, 122, 123, 128, 129 Stroud’s Station see Strode’s Station Stuart, William 106, 107 Stucker 89 Stucker, James 106 Stucker, Mick 106 Sudduth, Anne 80, 120 Sudduth, Benjamin 116, 122 Sudduth, Ezekiel 126 Sudduth, John 80, 116, 120, 122, 128 Sudduth, John, Jr. 128 Sudduth, Miss 123, 137 Sudduth, William 7, 25, 80, 81, 92, 116, 117, 118, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139 Suicide 173, 174 Swearingen, Benoni 103 Swift, Jonathan 50, 51 Swift’s Mine 50, 51, 129

146, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195 Tanner, John, Sr. 144, 163, 164, 165 Tanner, Lucy 163, 190 Tanner, Martha 183 Tanner, Mrs. 164 Tanner family 144, 145, 163, 164, 165, 170, 171, 189, 190 Target practice 39 Taughsemenonne 95 Tavern 118 Taw-Ga-We-Ninnie 172, 194 Taylor, Hancock 118 Tennessee River 100 Thompson, Betty 92 Thompson, Hugh 110 Thompson, Mr. 104 Thompson, Widow 104 Thompson Survey 118 Todd, John 42, 43, 71, 72, 90, 91, 92 Todd, Justin 94 Todd, Levi 12, 71, 92, 93, 94, 104, 105, 128, 133, 134 Todd, Robert 92 Todd’s Cabin 103 Todd’s Station 89, 105 Tomblin 108 Tomlin, Nick 93 Tood, Levi 91 Torture 151, 152, 157, 158, 160 Town Fork 103 Townsley, Oswald 119 Trabue, Daniel 62 Trans-Appalachian West 14 Treating 101 Treaty Negotiations 44, 74, 75, 84, 85, 111, 112, 157, 171 Treaty of Camp Charlotte 16, 18, 19 Treaty of Greenville 14, 25, 31, 73, 132 Treaty of Sycamore Shoals 16, 19, 36 Treaty of Watauga see Treaty of Sycamore Shoals The Trial of Daniel Boone 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66 Trigg, Col. 42 Trigg, Stephen 43, 71, 72 Triplett’s Creek 127, 128, 131, 132 Truck wheels 107 Trumbo, George 25 Turner, Frederick Jackson 79 Turner, Joe 104 Tuscarawas 156

Taffa see Rum Tanner, Agatha 163 Tanner, Edward 187, 189, 190 Tanner, John 9, 10, 144, 145,

Unhealed injuries 138 Vance, David 87 Vardermain, John 110

217 Varesnetre, Jacob 109 Versailles 96 Virginia 22, 36, 38, 80, 89, 90, 91, 101, 104, 106, 112, 120, 157, 158, 163 Wabash Indians 74, 75, 125 Wachatomakak 157 Wade, John 126, 127, 128, 129, 138, 139 Wade’s Pond 139 Wa-Ge-Tote 184 Walden’s Mountains 36 Wales, Maj. 111, 112 Walker, Matthew 89 Wallace, John 96 Wallace, Joshua 96 Waller, Edward 95, 113 Waller, John 112 Wa-Me-Gon-A-Biew 172, 173 Wampum 75, 159 Wapotomica Town 124 War of 1812 133 Washington 117, 125, 129 Washington, Lee 118 Wasson, James 87, 107, 108 Waw-Bebe-Nai-Sa 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186 Waw-Gun–Nuk-Kiz-Ze 192 Wayne, Anthony 133, 134, 136 Well, William 133 Westward migration 22, 26, 36, 37, 38, 67, 83, 89, 120, 122 Wheeling 95, 113, 120, 121, 122, 156, 159, 162 White, Ambrose 58, 59 White, Betty 101 White, Lullia 103 White Bird see Waw-Bebe-NaiSa Wild animal attack 92 Wild rice 172 Wild turkeys 121, 122, 154, 166 Wildcat 92 Wilderness Road 36 Wilderness Travel 28, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 39, 41, 47, 82, 89, 91, 96, 112, 116, 120, 121, 123, 126, 127, 128, 131, 137, 148, 149, 150, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 162, 166, 167, 168, 169, 176, 183, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 193 Wiley, James 92, 96 Wilkinson, General 97 Wilkinson, John 127 Williams, Billy 100 Williams, Joe 100 Williams, Thomas 116, 122 Williams, William 99 Williamson, Col. 147 Will’s Creek 112 Will’s Town 44 Wilson, Jeremiah 116, 122 Wilson, Jim 53 Wilson, Mrs. 118

218 Wilson, Thomas 116 Winchester 117, 128 Wingenim Tribe 150 Wiondot see Indians, Wyandot Wiskobimmenuk 194 Wolcott, Doctor 192, 193 Woodland communication 121, 128

INDEX Wood’s Station 116 Worley 48 Wymore, George 108 Wymore, John 93, 104, 107, 108 Wymore, Martin 108 Wyngenim 151 Yadkin River 33, 36

Yearby, James 83, 106 Yellow Ochre River 194; see also An-Num-Mum-Ne-Se-Be Young, Mrs 117 Young, William 132