University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

In less than an hour, Isaac and his companion returned, and reported that
that they had seen no signs of Indians whatever. On the receipt of this intelligence,
the order to march was immediately given, and the whole body of
soldie s, under the scorching rays of an August sun, moved rapidly forward.
Nothing occurred to interrupt their progress, until the van had reached within
a few yards of the ravines before mentioned, when the appalling truth of a
tremendous ambuscade of the savages suddenly became known, by the pouring
therefrom, into their ranks, a terrible volley, which carried with it death,
terror and confusion. Never were soldiers taken more by surprise, and at
greater disadvantage to themselves, both as to numbers and position. They
had relied upon the report of the scouts, who had themselves been deceived
by the quiet of every thing about the ravines, and now here they were, less
than two hundred in number, on an open spot, exposed to the deadly
rifles of more than five hundred Indian warriors, who were lying concealed
among the dark cedars of the ravines.

The first fire was severely destructive, particularly on the right, where
the gallant Colonel Trigg fell mortally wounded, and was soon after tomahawked
and scalped. With him went down several officers of inferior grade,
and a large portion of the Harrodsburgh troops; but, undaunted, his little
band of survivors returned the fire of the Indians, and, assisted by those in
the rear, pressed forward like heroes to the support of the center and van,
where the work of death and caruage was now becoming terrible.

“Onward!” shouted Colonel Todd, as he rode to and fro, animating his
men by his voice and gestures: “Onward, my noble soldiers, and strike for
your country and firesides! Oh God!” exclaimed he the next moment, as
a ball pierced his breast, “I am mortally wounded; but strike! press on,
and mind me not!” As he spoke, he reeled in his saddle, the rein
slipped from his grasp, and his fiery steed rushed away, bearing him to the
enemy and his untimely doom.

“Fight, my lads, and falter not!” cried Major Harlan in the van; and the
next moment his horse went down, some five or six balls lodged in his body,
and he fell to rise no more. But his men remembered their orders, and
fought without faltering until but three remained alive to tell the fate of
their companions.

“At 'em, lads!—don't spare the varmints!” said Boone, as he urged the

left wing into action; and the immediate report of more than fifty rifles in
that quarter, told him he was obeyed. In this wing fought Algernon, Isaac,
the brother and son of Boone, with a heroic desperation worthy of Spartans;
and at every fire an Indian went down before each of their deadly rifles.

But what could avail heroism here on that ill-fated day? Our brave little
band of Kentuckians was opposed by a foe of treble their number, who, on
their first terrible fire being expended, rushed forth from their covert, with
horrible yells, tomahawk in hand, and, gradually extending their lines down
the buffaloe trace, on either side, so as to cut off the retreat of the whites,
closed in upon them in overwhelming numbers, and the slaughter became
immense. Major McGary rushed his horse to and fro among the enemy,
and shouted and fought with all the desperate impetuosity of his nature.
Major Todd did his best to press on the rear, and Colonel Boone still urged
his men to the fight with all the backwoods eloquence in his power. But,
alas! of what avail was coolness, impetuosity, or desperation now? The
Indians were closing in thicker and thicker. Officers and privates, horsemen
and footmen, were falling before the destructive fire of their rifles, or sinking
beneath their bloody tomahawks, amid yells and screeches the most diabolical.
Cries, groans, and curses, resounded on every hand, from the living,
the wounded and dying. But few now remained in command. Colonels
Todd and Trigg, Majors Harlan and McBride, Captains Bulger and Gordon,
with a host of other gallant officers, were now no more. Already had the
Indians enclosed them as in a net, hemmed them in on all sides, and they
were falling as grass before the scythe of the mower. Retreat was almost cut
off—in a few minutes it would be entirely. They could hope for nothing
against such odds, but a certain and bloody death. There was a possibility
of escape. A few minutes and it would be too late. They hesitated—they
wavered—they turned and fled;—and now it was that a horrible sight presented
itself.

The space between the head of the ravines and the ford of the river, a distance
of more than a mile, suddenly became the scene of a hard and bloody
race. As the whites fled, the Indians sprang after them, with whoops and
yells that more resembled those of infuriated demons than human beings;
and whenever an unfortunate Kentuckian was overtaken, he instantly fell a
victim to the tomahawk and scalping knife. Those who were mounted generally
escaped; but the foot suffered dreadfully; and the whole distance presented
an appalling sight of bloody, mangled corses, strewing the ground in
every direction. Girty, the renegade, was now at the height of his hellish
enjoyment. With oaths and curses, and horrid laughter, his hands and
weapons reeking with blood of the slain, he rushed on after new victims,
braining and scalping all that came within his reach.

At the river the carnage was in no wise abated. Horsemen and footmen,
Indians and whites, victors and vanquished, rushed down the slope, pellmell,
and plunged into the stream—some striving for life and liberty, some for
death and vengeance—and the dark rolling waters went sweeping on, colored
with the blood of the slaughtered.

An act of heroic gallantry and presence of mind here occurred, which has
often been mentioned in history, tending as it did to check somewhat the
blood-thirsty savages, and give many of the fugitives time to escape. Some
twelve or fifteen horsemen had already passed the ford in safety, and were
in the act of spurring forward, regardless of the fate of their unfortunate
companions on foot, when one of their number, a man by the name of Netherland,
who had previously been accused of cowardice, suddenly shouted, as if
giving the word of command:

“Halt! Fire on the Indians, and protect the men in the river!”

The order was obeyed, in the same spirit it was given; and the sudden discharge
of more than a dozen rifles, made the infuriated savages recoil in
dismay, and thereby saved many a poor fellow's life.—The reaction, however,
speedily followed. Many of the savages now swam the river above
and below the ford, and gave chase to the fugitives for fifteen and even
twenty miles, though with but little success after crossing the stream—as
the latter generally planged into the neighboring thickets, and so eluded the
vigilance of the former.

Such were the general features of the disastrous battle of Blue Licks—a
battle of dreadful import to the pioneers of Kentucky—which threw the land
into mourning, and made a most solemn and startling impression upon the
minds of its inhabitants. Had we space to chronicle individual heroism, we
might fill page after page with brave and noble achievements; but as it is, we
shall confine ourself to those connected with our most prominent characters.

We have stated previously, that Algernon Reynolds fought in the left wing,
under the command of Boone; where, for the few minutes which the action
lasted, he sustained himself with great gallantry; and, by his undaunted
courage, inspired those immediately around him with like ardor. On the
retreat of the whites, he found himself cut off from the river by a large body
of Indians, headed by his old foe, Simon Girty, who, having recognised him,
was now pressing forward with several stalwart warriors, to again make him
prisoner. For the first time since the commencement of the battle, he felt
his heart sink. To be taken alive was a thousand times worse than death,
and escape seemed impossible. However, there was no time for consideration;
another moment might be fatal; his foes were upon him; it was now
or never. Luckily he was mounted on a fiery steed—which had thus far escaped
a scratch—and had one undischarged pistol in his holster. This he
drew forth as his last hope, and, tightening the rein, wheeled his horse and
spurred down upon his enemies with tremendous velocity.

“I have you now by —!” cried the renegade. As he spoke he sprang
forward to grasp the bridle of Algernon's horse, but stumbled and fell, and
the beast passed over him, unfortunately though without doing him any injury.

But Algernon had not yet got clear of his enemies; for on the fall of Girty,
he found himself surrounded by a host of savages—whooping and yelling
frightfully—and his direct course to the river cut off by a body of more than
a hundred. There was only one point, and that a few yards to his left,
where there appeared a possibility of his breaking through their lines. In
the twinkling of an eye, and while his horse was yet under full headway, his
decision was made. Rushing his steed hard to the right, in order to deceive
his foes, he suddenly wheeled him again to the left, and the side of the beast
striking against some three or four of the Indians, who were on the point of
seizing his rein, staggered them back upon their companions, creating no
little confusion. Taking advantage of this, our hero, with the speed of a
flying arrow, bore down upon the weakest point, where, after shooting down a
powerful savage, who had succeeded in grasping his bridle and was on the
point of tomahawking his horse, he passed their lines, amid a volley of rifle
balls, which cut his clothes in several places, but left himself and steed unharmed.

The worst of the danger now seemed over; but still his road ahead was
beset with Indians, who were killing and scalping all that fell in their power,
and behind him were the infuriated renegade and his party now in hot pursuit.
His steed, however, was strong and fleet, and he put him to his wind;

by which means he not only distanced those behind him, but passed one or
two parties in front unharmed. About half way between the ravines and the
river, he overtook Major McGary, and some five or six other horsemen, who
were dashing forward at a fast gallop, and checking his fiery beast somewhat,
he silently joined them. A little further on, Reynolds observed an officer
on foot, who, exhausted by his recent exertions and lame from former
wounds, had fallen behind his companions. On coming up, he recognised in
the crippled soldier the brave Captain Patterson; and with a magnanimity
and self-sacrifice worthy of all imitation, he instantly reined in his horse and
dismounted, while the others kept upon their course.

“Sir!” cried he to Patterson, “you are, I perceive, fatigued and weak.
Your life is in great danger. Mount, sir—mount! I am fresh and will take
my chance on foot.”

“God bless you, sir!—God bless you for this noble act!” exclaimed Patterson,
as Reynolds assisted him into the saddle. “If I escape—”

“Enough!” said Reynolds, hurriedly, interrupting him. “Fly, sir—fly!
God be with you! Adieu!” And turning away as he spoke, he sprang down
the side of the ridge, and running along the edge of the river some little distance,
plunged into the water and swam to the opposite shore. Unfortunately
for our hero, he had changed his garments at Bryan's Station, and now
wore a pair of buckskin breeches, which, in swimming the stream, had become
so soaked and heavy that he was obliged to remove them in order to
display his usual agility. While seated upon the bank and occupied in this
manner, he was startled by a hand being placed upon his shoulder, and the
familiar grunt of an Indian sounding in his ear. On looking up he at once
recognised the grim features of Wild-cat, and saw himself in the power of
some half dozen savages.

“Me wanty you,” said Wild-cat, quietly. “Kitchokema give much for
Long-Knife. Come!”

There was no alternative now; and Algernon rose to his feet and suffered
his weapons to be taken from him, with what feelings we leave the reader to
imagine. Taking him along, the savages set forward on the alert for other
game; and presently three of them darted away in chase of a party of whites;
and directly after, two others, leaving our hero alone with Wild-cat. Hope
now revived that he might yet escape; nor was he this time disappointed;
for after advancing a short distance, Wild-cat stooped down to tie his moccasin,
when Reynolds immediately sprang upon him, knocked him down with
his fist, seized his rifle, tomahawk and knife, fled into the thicket, and reacked
Bryan's Station during the night succeeding, unscathed.[1]

Throughout the short but severe action at the ravines, Boone maintained
his ground with great coolness and courage, animating his soldiers by word
and deed, until the rout became general, when he found it necessary, to prevent
falling into the hands of the enemy, to have recourse to immediate
flight. As he cast his eyes around him for this purpose, he saw himself cut
off from the ford by the large body of Indians, through whose lines our hero
was even then struggling. At this moment he heard a groan which attracted
his attention, and looking down, he perceived his son Israel lying on the
ground scarcely five paces distant, weltering in his blood. With all a father's
feelings of affection and alarm, he instantly sprang from his horse, and, raising
the youth in his arms, darted into the nearest ravine and made with all
speed for the river. A few of the Indians were herein concealed, who discharged

their rifles at him as he passed, without injury, and then joined in
pursuit. One, a powerful warrior, having outstripped his companions, was
rushing upon the old woodsman with his tomahawk, when the latter, with
backwoods celerity, instantly raised his rifle and shot him through the body.
Finding himself hard pressed, and that his son was already in the agonies of
death, the old hunter strained him for the last time to his heart, with choking
emotion, pressed his lips to those already growing cold, and then, with a
groan of agony, left him to his fate and the scalping knife of the savage,
while he barely made his own escape by swimming the river below the lower
bend. To him this was a mournful day—never to be forgotten—and one that,
even long, long years after, could never be mentioned but with tears.

In this action the brother of Boone was wounded; but in company with
Isaac Younker, and some three or four others, he succeeded in making his
escape.

On the day of the battle, Colonel Logan arrived at Bryan's Station
with a command of four hundred and fifty soldiers. On learning that the
garrison with their reinforcements had gone the day preceding in pursuit of
the Indians, and fearful of some disaster, he resolved on a forced march to
give them assistance as soon as possible. For this purpose he immediately
set forward on their trail, but had gone only a few miles, when he met a
party of the fugitives returning from the scene of slaughter. They were
alarmed and excited, and of course their account of the battle was greatly
exaggerated, believing as they did that they were the only escaped survivors.
Their report, to say the least, was very startling, allowing that only the half
were true; and in consequence, Logan decided on retracing his steps to the
station, until he should be able to collect more definite news concerning the
fight. Gradually one party after another came dropping in; and by nine
o'clock nearly or quite all of the survivors were assembled in the fortress;
when it was ascertained that a little over one-third of the party, or between
sixty and seventy of those engaged in the battle, were missing. It was a sad
night of wailing and lementation, and dreadful excitement in the station; for
scarcely a family there, but was mourning the loss of some friend or relation.
Algernon and Isaac had returned, to the great joy of those most interested in
their welfare; but the father-in-law of the latter came not, and there was
mourning in consequence.

A consultation between Colonels Logan and Boone, resulted in the decision
to march forthwith to the battle-ground. Accordingly every thing being got
in readiness, Colonel Logan set out with his command, at a late hour the
same night, accompanied by Boone, and a few of the survivors of the ill-fated
engagement. Towards morning a halt of three hours was ordered for
rest and refreshment, when the line of march was again taken up, and by
noon of the day succeeding the battle, the forces arrived upon the ground,
where a most horribly repulsive scene met their view.

The Indians had departed on their homeward route, bearing their killed
and wounded away from the field of carnage; but the dead and mutilated
bodies of the whites still remained where they had fallen, presenting a spectacle
the most hideous and revolting possibly to be conceived. In the edge
of the stream, on the banks, up the ridge, and along the buffaloe trace to
the ravines, were lying the bloody and mangled corses of the gallant heroes
—who, the day before, full of ardor and life, had rushed on to the battle and
an untimely and inglorious death,—now swollen, putrid, and in the first
stage of decomposition, from the action of the scorching rays of an August
sun—surrounded by vultures and crows, and all species of carrion fowl,
many of which, having gorged themselves on the horrid repast, were either

sweeping overhead in large flocks, and screeching their funeral dirge, or wiping
their bloody bills on the neighboring trees. Some of the bodies in the
stream had been gnawed by fishes—others by wolves—and all had been so
disfigured, by one means and another, that but very few could be recognised
by their friends.

“Oh, God of Heaven! what a sight!” exclaimed Colonel Logan, as he ran
his eye over the scene.

“A dark and terrible day for Kaintuck,” answered Boone, who was standing
by his side; and as he spoke, the old hunter turned away his head to conceal
his emotion; for his mind reverted to the death of his noble son.

Orders were now given by Colonel Logan, to have the bodies collected,
and interred in a manner as decent as circumstances would permit. This
being accomplished, he returned with his men to Bryan's Station, and there
dismissed them—it not being thought advisable to pursue the enemy further.
In this ever memorable battle of Blue Licks, the Kentuckians had sixty
killed, twelve wounded, and seven taken prisoners, most of whom were afterwards
put to the tortures. As we said before, it was a sad day for Kentucky,
and threw the land into mourning and gloom. Colonels Todd and
Trigg, and Majors Harlan and McBride, were men beloved and respected in
life, and bitterly lamented in death by a long list of true-hearted friends.

The great trace where the battle was fought, is now green with low branching
cedars; and a solitary monument near by, informs the curious spectator
of the sad disaster of by gone times. The Blue Lick Springs are much resorted
to in the summer season by invalids and others, for whose convenience
a magnificent hotel stands upon the banks of the lovely and romantic Licking.

A few words more and our general history will be closed. On receiving
the intelligence of the battle of Blue Licks, General Clark—who then occupied
a fort at the Falls of the Ohio, on the present site of Louisville—resolved
upon another expedition to the enemy's country; for which purpose it
was proposed to raise an army of one thousand men, who, under their respective
commanders, should congregate opposite the mouth of the Licking, on
the present site of Cincinnati. The interior and upper country were to rendezvous
at Bryan's Station, under the command of Colonels Logan and Floyd;
and the lower settlements at the Falls of Ohio, under General Clark; who,
on all parties arriving at the grand rendezvous, was to be commander-inchief
of the expedition. One thousand mounted riflemen were raised without
a draft, who marched upon the enemy in their own country, destroyed
their villages, provisions, and cornfields, took several prisoners, and carried
with them so much terror and desolation, that the Indians never sufficiently
recovered from the shock to renew hostilities in a formidable body;
and the Kentuckians henceforth, save in individual cases, were left unmolested.

On their march they came upon the rear of Girty's party, returning from
their successful battle: but an Indian scout gave the renegade and his companions
warning in time for them to escape the whites by flight. In this expedition,
Colonel Boone volunteered and served as a private; being the last
in which the noble old hunter was ever engaged in defence of the settlements
of Kentucky. Algernon Reynolds and Isaac Younker were his companions
in arms, who, on the dismissal of the troops, returned again to Bryan's
Station.