With Boone on the frontier

“My father must be with that party!”

Such was the thought which rushed into Joe’s mind when he heard the announcement made by the sharpshooter.

The news created a stir among the followers of Daniel Boone, and all of the party hurried forward to meet the newcomers.

The other party looked travel-stained and weary. Their hunting garbs were almost reduced to rags, and more than one was suffering from wounds.

Joe looked at the men eagerly, and his heart fell when he realized that neither his father nor Mr. Parsons was among them.

“We have had a long, hard siege of it,” said one of the hunters. “We have had half a dozen battles with the redskins and had a last brush with them day before yesterday while on our way to this spot. They seemed to be coming from here.”

“That must have been the band that set fire to this forest,” said Daniel Boone.

From one of the hunters, old Pep Frost, Joe obtained the particulars of the advance on the Indians.

“We had two fights with ’em afore winter closed in on us,” said Frost. “Then we went into quarters on the sunny side o’ a cliff and went to shootin’ game to keep us alive.”

“But what of my father and of Mr. Parsons?” asked Joe impatiently. “And did you see anything of my mother and Clara Parsons?”

“One question at a time, lad. Yes, we saw both your mother and Clara Parsons, and two other captives, and we got ’em all away from the Injuns. That was a month ago. But two days later the redskins came down on us stronger nor ever and took the captives back. Your father and Mr. Parsons were fer following ’em up at once, and did so—an’ thet’s the last any o’ us saw o’ ’em.”

“Then you don’t know what has become of my father?”

“Nuthin’ further nor thet, Joey. It’s too bad, but I can’t give ye nuthin’ but the truth,” answered Pep Frost.

It was a great blow, and, coming after such a long wait, was doubly telling. The young pioneer covered his face with his hands and gave a long, deep sigh.

“I don’t know what the folks at home will say of this,” he remarked, after a silence.

“I am truly sorry for ye, Joey, indeed I am. Let us hope it all turns out for the best.”

Again the party under Daniel Boone went forward, and two days later a small part of the Indians under Long Knife were engaged. Joe was in the thick of this contest, and had the satisfaction of bringing down one Indian, who was afterward finished by Boone with a hunting knife.

This was the end of the pursuit. From one of the Indians it was learned that another attack was contemplated on the fort at Boonesborough, and so the settlers returned to that vicinity, unwilling to remain away and leave the fort and the homesteads unprotected.

When Joe came back with the news brought in by Pep Frost and the others who had gone away the year before, there was a good deal of crying on the part of Mrs. Parsons and Harmony and Cora.

“The hand of Providence is surely against us,” said the Quakeress. “We have done wrong by coming here and settling on the lands of the Indians. Would that the others were back once more, and that we might return to the East.”

Harry had but little to say, but Joe understood his chum.

“It’s awful,” said Joe, when the two were alone in the garden. “I can’t imagine what is going to happen next.”

“Nor I,” returned Harry. “Perhaps mother is right and we did wrong to settle on these lands.”

“No. I can’t believe that. If we didn’t come, others would. There will be cities and towns without number here some day, Harry.”

The threatened attack on the fort at Boonesborough did not take place, for Long Knife was afraid to march against the garrison now stationed there. But other settlements were visited, and during that summer and winter eight settlers were killed by the red men. More than two dozen families grew utterly discouraged and sold off their belongings for a song and returned to the East.

It was a dark winter all around—dark for these pioneers who had done so much to make a home for themselves in the wilderness, and doubly dark for the ragged and ill-fed army under General Washington who were doing their best to drive the soldiers of England from American soil.

As the winter passed away the Indians grew bolder, and hardly a week passed that they did not raid some settlement. Sometimes they only drove away the horses and cattle, but often they would kill and scalp every man, woman, and child they could lay their hands upon. The battles were not always one-sided, and twice the Indians were surrounded and fully a score of them were killed or made prisoners.

During those days it was almost impossible to do much around the cabin home. When the boys worked in the garden—for the time to plow was now at hand—they had their firearms close by, ready for use, and when they went to the forest for wood, they always surveyed the locality with care and retreated to the cabin at the first indication of danger.

Inside the cabin it was the same. A rifle stood behind the door loaded all the time, and neither Mrs. Parsons nor the girls thought of going to the spring for a bucket of water unless they were satisfied the coast was clear. Often the various inmates of the cabin would stand watch during the night, fearing a raid or another attempt to burn the home over their heads.

“We can’t stand this very long,” remarked Joe one day. “I’m getting to be as nervous as a cat.”

“I am the same,” answered Harry. “Every sound makes me jump as if a pistol had exploded at my ear.”

“If only father would come home—and your father and the others.”

That was always the way their talk ended—if only the others would return. And it made them heartsick beyond description.

“If it wasn’t for the women folks we could go on a hunt for them,” said Joe. “But it wouldn’t be right to leave them here alone.”

This was in the early spring, and a few days later a scout came in with the information that the Indians were once more gathering for an attack on the fort.

At once messengers were sent in all directions, and the settlers were told to hasten into Boonesborough without delay. Some few remained at their homes, but the Parsons and the Winships decided to seek the protection of the fort.

The attack came on the 15th of April, 1777. The Indians were about a hundred strong, and the garrison at that time numbered less than fifty,—some writers state less than forty,—for many of the settlers were away on a hunting tour.

The first assault of the red men was a fierce one. A shower of arrows were sent against and over the stockade that did no damage, and then the warriors came forward, uttering their shrill war-whoops, and flourishing their tomahawks and hunting knives.

“Here they come!” cried half a dozen of the settlers who were at the loopholes.

“Stand firm!” was the command. “Don’t fire until you are sure of your man!”

On came the red men, shouting and dancing, and another flight of arrows came over the stockade. Then the pioneers opened fire, and down went three Indians, two killed instantly.

After that the smoke and din of battle were terrific. The Indians ran from one end of the stockade to the other, trying to climb the barrier or break it down. A log was brought and used as a battering-ram against the heavy gates. But they were securely barred on the inside, and before those at the log could use the ram more than once two of them were laid low, and then the others dropped the log and ran for shelter.

“Hurrah! they are on the run!” was the cry, and the settlers reloaded their guns with all possible speed.

But the Indians were not yet defeated. Soon they came forward again, and this attack lasted quarter of an hour. A good number of stones were hurled into the fort, and one hit Joe on the shoulder, causing him to cry out from pain.

“What is it?” came quickly from Harry.

“A stone hit me. Oh!” And Joe dropped his gun and rubbed the hurt. Fortunately no bones were broken, and he soon picked up his weapon and went to his loophole again.

The temper of the settlers was now thoroughly aroused, and they met the second onslaught of the Indians with vigor. There was a constant rattle of musketry, and soon the red men grew disheartened and retreated once more. Then the pioneers opened the gates and made after their foe, and the Indians ran helter-skelter in all directions, taking their dead and dying with them.

It is a most remarkable fact that in this battle but one pioneer lost his life, and only two or three were seriously wounded. How many the Indians lost will never be known, for, as stated before, they took all their dead and dying with them. A fair estimate, however, places their dead at not less than twenty.

As night was coming on, it was not deemed advisable to let the settlers return to their homes, so the families remained in the fort until the next day. During the night a rainstorm came up, and in the morning the downpour was heavy. But by noon the clouds drifted westward and soon the sun shone as brightly as ever.

The storm was a blessing to many a settler, for it prevented his cabin from being burnt down by the Indians, who ran around from place to place, with big torches, doing all the damage they could.

After the contest was over, Joe uncovered his shoulder and found it considerably bruised. Mrs. Parsons dressed it, and though it hurt for several days afterward, no serious results followed.

“I reckon I can be thankful that I wasn’t touched,” said Harry. “An arrow passed right alongside of my left ear—but a miss is as good as a mile.”

“I’ll wager a pound that the redskins come back before long,” said Joe. “They are bound to wipe this settlement out if they possibly can.”

It was decided that Joe and Harry should return home first, leaving Mrs. Parsons and the girls at the fort until the morning following.

“There is no telling in what condition the Indians have left the cabin,” said Joe. “For all we know it may be burnt to the ground.”

“That is true,” answered his chum. “Although I saw no fire in that direction, did you?”

“To tell the truth, I didn’t look—my shoulder pained me so much.”

The boys were soon on the way, going part of the distance with some other settlers. The heavy rains had left the trail ankle deep with mud, so their progress was somewhat slow. At last, however, they came in sight of the cabin.

“Hurrah! it is still standing!” cried Harry. “That is something to be thankful for.”

“But they tried to burn it down, Harry. See, here is a mass of half-burnt brushwood heaped up against the north side. If it hadn’t been for the storm our cabin would now be in ashes.”

“They have burst in the back door, Joe!” was the next cry. “And see, the living room is about empty.”

Both ran into the cabin and gazed around them in dismay. One glance told the truth. The cabin had been looted from end to end, and all the small articles of value, including all of their cooking utensils, had been taken away.