Life of Daniel Boone, the Great Western Hunter and PioneerHartley, Cecil B.
History
Life of Daniel Boone, the Great Western Hunter and Pioneer
Hartley, Cecil B.
Boone, Daniel, 1734-1820; Frontier and pioneer life -- Kentucky; Pioneers -- Kentucky -- Biography
"'I was once,' said he, 'on a hunting expedition on the banks of the
Green River, when the lower parts of this State (Kentucky) were still
in the hands of Nature, and none but the sons of the soil were looked
upon as its lawful proprietors. We Virginians had for some time been
waging a war of intrusion upon them, and I, amongst the rest, rambled
through the woods in pursuit of their race, as I now would follow the
tracks of any ravenous animal. The Indians outwitted me one dark night,
and I was as unexpectedly as suddenly made a prisoner by them. The trick
had been managed with great skill; for no sooner had I extinguished
the fire of my camp, and laid me down to rest, in full security, as
I thought, than I felt myself seized by an indistinguishable number
of hands, and was immediately pinioned, as if about to be led to the
scaffold for execution. To have attempted to be refractory would have
proved useless and dangerous to my life; and I suffered myself to be
removed from my camp to theirs, a few miles distant, without uttering
even a word of complaint. You are aware, I dare say, that to act in this
manner was the best policy, as you understand that by so doing I proved
to the Indians at once that I was born and bred as fearless of death as
any of themselves.
"'When we reached the camp, great rejoicings were exhibited. Two squaws
and a few papooses appeared particularly delighted at the sight of me,
and I was assured, by very unequivocal gestures and words, that, on the
morrow, the mortal enemy of the Redskins would cease to live. I never
opened my lips but was busy contriving some scheme which might enable me
to give the rascals the slip before dawn. The women immediately fell a
searching about my hunting-shirt for whatever they might think valuable,
and, fortunately for me, soon found my flask tilled with _Monongahela_
(that is, reader, strong whisky). A terrific grin was exhibited on
their murderous countenances, while my heart throbbed with joy at the
anticipation of their intoxication. The crew immediately began to beat
their bellies and sing, as they passed the bottle from mouth to mouth.
How often did I wish the flask ten times its size, and filled with
aquafortis! I observed that the squaws drank more freely than the
warriors, and again my spirits were about to be depressed, when the
report of a gun was heard at a distance. The Indians all jumped on their
feet. The singing and drinking were both brought to a stand, and I saw,
with inexpressible joy, the men walk off to some distance and talk to
the squaws. I knew that they were consulting about me, and I foresaw
that in a few moments the warriors would go to discover the cause of the
gun having been fired so near their camp. I expected that the squaws
would be left to guard me. Well, sir, it was just so. They returned;
the men took up their guns, and walked away. The squaws sat down again,
and in less than five minutes had my bottle up to their dirty mouths,
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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