Читать книгу The First White Man of the West - Timothy Flint - Страница 21

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Boone removes to the head waters of the Yadkin river—He meets with Finley, who had crossed the mountains into Tennessee—They agree to explore the wilderness west of the Alleghanies together.

After his marriage, Boone's first step was to consider where he should find a place, in which he could unite the advantages of fields to cultivate, and range for hunting. True to the impulse of his nature, he plunged deeper into the wilderness, to realize this dream of comfort and happiness. Leaving his wife, he visited the unsettled regions of North Carolina, and selected a spot near the head waters of the Yadkin, for his future home.

The same spirit that afterwards operated to take Mrs. Boone to Kentucky, now led her to leave her friends, and follow her husband to a region where she was an entire stranger. Men change their place of abode from ambition or interest; women from affection. In the course of a few months, Daniel Boone had reared comfortable cabins upon a pleasant eminence at a little distance from the river bank, inclosed a field, and gathered around him the means of abundance and enjoyment. His dwelling, though of rude exterior, offered the weary traveller shelter, a cheerful fire, and a plentiful board, graced with the most cordial welcome. The faces that looked on him were free from the cloud of care, the constraint of ceremony, and the distrust and fear, with which men learn to regard one another in the midst of the rivalry, competition, and scramble of populous cities. The spoils of the chase gave variety to his table, and afforded Boone an excuse for devoting his leisure hours to his favorite pursuit. The country around spread an ample field for its exercise, as it was almost untouched by the axe of the woodsman.

The lapse of a few years—passed in the useful and unpretending occupations of the husbandman—brought no external change to Daniel Boone, deserving of record. His step was now the firm tread of sober manhood; and his purpose the result of matured reflection. This influence of the progress of time, instead of obliterating the original impress of his character, only sunk it deeper. The dwellings of immigrants were springing up in all directions around. Inclosures again began to surround him on every hand, shutting him out from his accustomed haunts in the depths of the forest shade. He saw cultivated fields stretching over large extents of country; and in the distance, villages and towns; and was made sensible of their train of forms, and laws, and restrictions, and buts, and bounds, gradually approaching his habitation. Be determined again to leave them far behind. His resolve was made, but he had not decided to what point he would turn. Circumstances soon occurred to terminate his indecision.

As early as 1760, the country west of the Cumberland mountains was considered by the inhabitants of Carolina and Virginia, as involved in something of the same obscurity which lay over the American continent, after its first discovery by Columbus. Those who spread their sails to cross the sea, and find new skies, a new soil, and men in a new world, were not deemed more daring by their brethren at home, than the few hardy adventurers, who struck into the pathless forests stretching along the frontier settlements of the western country, were estimated by their friends and neighbors. Even the most informed and intelligent, where information and intelligence were cultivated, knew so little of the immense extent of country, now designated as the "Mississippi Valley," that a book, published near the year 1800, in Philadelphia or New York, by a writer of talent and standing, speaks of the many mouths of the Missouri, as entering the Mississippi far below the Ohio.

The simple inmates of cabins, in the remote region bordering on the new country, knew still less about it; as they had not penetrated its wilderness, and were destitute of that general knowledge which prevents the exercise of the exaggerations of vague conjecture. There was, indeed, ample room for the indulgence of speculation upon the features which the unexplored land was characterized. Its mountains, plains, and streams, animals, and men, were yet to be discovered and named. It might be found the richest land under the sun, exhaustless in fertility, yielding the most valuable productions, and unfailing in its resources. It was possible it would prove a sterile desert. Imagination could not but expatiate in this unbounded field and unexplored wilderness; and there are few persons entirely secure from the influence of imagination. The real danger attending the first exploration of a country filled with wild animals and savages; and the difficulty of carrying a sufficient supply of ammunition to procure food, during a long journey, necessarily made on foot, had prevented any attempt of the kind. The Alleghany mountains had hitherto stood an unsurmounted barrier between the Atlantic country and the shores of the beautiful Ohio.

Not far from this period, Dr. Walker, an intelligent and enterprising Virginian, collected a small party, and actually crossed the mountains at the Cumberland Gap, after traversing Powell's valley. One of his leading inducements to this tour, was the hope of making botanical discoveries. The party crossed Cumberland river, and pursued a north-east course over the highlands, which give rise to the sources of the lesser tributaries of the important streams that water the Ohio valley. They reached Big Sandy, after enduring the privations and fatigue incident to such an undertaking. From this point they commenced their return home. On reaching it, they showed no inclination to resume their attempt, although the information thus gained respecting the country, presented it in a very favorable light. These first adventurers wanted the hardihood, unconquerable fortitude, and unwavering purpose, which nothing but death could arrest, that marked the pioneers, who followed in their footsteps. Some time elapsed before a second exploring expedition was set on foot. The relations of what these men had seen on the other side of the mountains had assumed the form of romance, rather than reality. Hunters, alone or in pairs, now ventured to extend their range into the skirts of the wilderness, thus gradually enlarging the sphere of definite conceptions, respecting the country beyond it.

In 1767, a backwoodsman of the name of Finley, of North Carolina, in company with a few kindred spirits resembling him in character, advanced still farther into the interior of the land of promise. It is probable, they chose the season of flowers for their enterprise; as on the return of this little band, a description of the soil they had trodden, and the sights they had seen, went abroad, that charmed all ears, excited all imaginations, and dwelt upon every tongue. Well might they so describe. Their course lay through a portion of Tennessee. There is nothing grand or imposing in scenery—nothing striking or picturesque in cascades and precipitous declivities of mountains covered with woods—nothing romantic and delightful in deep and sheltered valleys, through which wind clear streams, which is not found in this first region they traversed. The mountains here stretch along in continuous ridges—and there shoot up into elevated peaks. On the summits of some, spread plateaus, which afford the most commanding prospects, and offer all advantages for cultivation, overhung by the purest atmosphere. No words can picture the secluded beauty of some of the vales bordering the creeks and small streams, which dash transparent as air over rocks, moss-covered and time-worn—walled in by the precipitous sides of mountains, down which pour numberless waterfalls.

The soil is rich beyond any tracts of the same character in the west. Beautiful white, gray, and red marbles are found here; and sometimes fine specimens of rock-crystals. Salt springs abound. It has lead mines; and iron ore is no where more abundant. Its salt-petre caves are most astonishing curiosities. One of them has been traced ten miles. Another, on a high point of Cumberland mountain, has a perpendicular descent, the bottom of which has never been sounded. They abound in prodigious vaulted apartments and singular chambers, the roofs springing up into noble arches, or running along for miles in regular oblong excavations. The gloomy grandeur, produced by the faint illumination of torches in these immense subterranean retreats, may be imagined, but not described. Springs rise, and considerable streams flow through them, on smooth limestone beds.

This is the very home of subterranean wonders, showing the noblest caves in the world. In comparison with them, the celebrated one at Antiparos is but a slight excavation. Spurs of the mountains, called the "Enchanted Mountains," show traces impressed in the solid limestone, of the footsteps of men, horses, and other animals, as distinctly as though they had been made upon clay mortar. In places the tracks are such as would be made by feet, that had slidden upon soft clay in descending declivities.

Prodigious remains of animals are found near the salines. Whole trees are discovered completely petrified; and to crown the list of wonders, in turning up the soil, graves are opened, which contain the skeletons of figures, who must have been of mature age. Paintings of the sun, moon, animals, and serpents, on high and apparently inaccessible cliffs, out of question the work of former ages, in colors as fresh as if recently laid on, and in some instances, just and ingenious in delineation, are a subject of untiring speculation. Even the streams in this region of wonders have scooped out for themselves immensely deep channels hemmed in by perpendicular walls of limestone, sometimes springing up to a height of three or four hundred feet. As the traveller looks down upon the dark waters rolling so far beneath him, seeming to flow in a subterranean world, he cannot but feel impressions of the grandeur of nature stealing over him.

It is not to be supposed, that persons, whose sole object in entering the country was to explore it, would fail to note these surprising traces of past races, the beautiful diversity of the aspect of the country, or these wonders of nature exhibited on every hand. Being neither incurious nor incompetent observers, their delineations were graphic and vivid.

"Their teachers had been woods and rills,

The silence, that is in the starry sky;

The sleep, that is among the lonely hills."

They advanced into Kentucky so far, as to their imaginations with the fresh and luxuriant beauty of its lawns, its rich cane-brakes and flowering forests. To them it was a terrestrial paradise for it was full of game. Deer, elk, bears, buffaloes, panthers, wolves, wild-cats, and foxes, abounded in the thick tangles of the green cane; and in the open woods, pheasants, partridges, and turkeys, were as plenty as domestic fowls in the old settlements.

Such were the materials, from which these hunters, on their return formed descriptions that fixed in the remembrance, and operated upon the fancy of all who heard. A year after Finley's return, his love of wandering led him into the vicinity of Daniel Boone. They met, and the hearts of these kindred spirits at once warmed towards each other. Finley related his adventures, and painted the delights of Kain-tuck-kee—for such was its Indian name. Boone had but few hair-breath escapes to recount, in comparison with his new companion. But it can readily be imagined, that a burning sensation rose in his breast, like that of the celebrated painter Correggio, when low-born, untaught, poor and destitute of every advantage, save that of splendid native endowment, he stood before the work of the immortal Raphael, and said, "I too am a painter!" Boone's purpose was fixed. In a region, such as Finley described, far in advance of the wearying monotony of a life of inglorious toil, he would have space to roam unwitnessed, undisturbed by those of his own race, whose only thought was to cut down trees, at least for a period of some years. We wish not to be understood to laud these views, as wise or just. In the order of things, however, it was necessary, that men like Finley and Boone, and their companions, should precede in the wilderness, to prepare the way for the multitudes who would soon follow. It is probable, that no motives but those ascribed to them, would have induced these adventurers to face the hardships and extremes of suffering from exposure and hunger, and the peril of life, which they literally carried in their hand.

No feeling, but a devotion to their favorite pursuits and modes of life, stronger than the fear of abandonment, in the interminable and pathless woods, to all forms of misery and death, could ever have enabled them to persist in braving the danger and distress that stared them in the face at every advancing step.

Finley was invited by Boone permanently to share the comfort of his fire-side—for it was now winter. It needs no exercise of fancy to conjecture their subjects of conversation during the long evening. The bitter wintry wind burst upon their dwelling only to enhance the cheerfulness of the blazing fire in the huge chimneys, by the contrast of the inclemency of nature without.

It does not seem natural, at first thought, that a season, in which nature shows herself stern and unrelenting, should be chosen, as that in which plans are originated and matured for settling the destiny of life. But it was during this winter, that Boone and Finley arranged all the preliminaries of their expedition, and agreed to meet on the first of May in the coming spring; and with some others, whom they hoped to induce to join them for greater strength and safety, to set forth together on an expedition into Kentucky.

Boone's array of arguments, to influence those whom he wished to share this daring enterprise with him, was tinctured with the coloring of rude poetry. "They would ascend," he said, "the unnamed mountains, whose green heads rose not far from their former hunting-grounds, since fences and inclosures had begun to surround them on all sides, shutting up the hunter from his free range and support. The deer had fled from the sound of the axe, which levelled the noble trees under whose shade they could repose from the fatigues of pursuit. The springs and streams among the hills were bared to the fierce sun, and would soon dry up and disappear. Soon 'the horn would no more wake them up in the morn.' The sons of their love and pride, instead of being trained hunters, with a free, bold step, frank kindness, true honor, and a courage that knew not fear, would become men to whom the pleasures and dangers of their fathers would seem an idle tale." The prospect spreading on the other side of the mountains, he pictured as filled with all the images of abundance and freedom that could enter the thoughts of the hunter. The paintings were drawn from nature, and the words few and simple, that spoke to the hearts of these sons of the forest. "The broad woods," he pursued, "would stretch beneath their eyes, when the mountain summits were gained, one extended tuft of blossoms. The cane was a tangle of luxuriance, affording the richest pastures. The only paths through it were those made by buffaloes and bears. In the sheltered glades, turkeys and large wild birds were so abundant, that a hunter could supply himself in an hour for the wants of a week. They would not be found like the lean and tough birds in the old settlements, that lingered around the clearings and stumps of the trees, in the topmost of whose branches the fear of man compelled them to rest, but young and full fed. The trees in this new land were of no stinted or gnarled growth, but shot up tall, straight, and taper. The yellow poplar here threw up into the air a column of an hundred feet shaft in a contest with the sycamore for the pre-eminence of the woods. Their wives and children would remain safe in their present homes, until the first dangers and fatigues of the new settlement had been met and overcome. When their homes were selected, and their cabins built, they would return and bring them out to their new abodes. The outward journey could be regulated by the uncontrolled pleasure of their more frail travellers. What guardians could be more true than their husbands with their good rifles and the skill and determination to use them? They would depend, not upon circumstances, but upon themselves. The babes would exult in the arms of their mothers from the inspiring influence of the fresh air; and at night a cradle from the hollow tree would rock them to a healthful repose. The older children, training to the pursuits and pleasures of a life in the woods, and acquiring vigor of body and mind with every day, in their season of prime, would feel no shame that they had hearts softened by the warm current of true feeling. When their own silver hairs lay thin upon the brow, and their eye was dim, and sounds came confused on their ear, and their step faltered, and their form bent, they would find consideration, and care, and tenderness from children, whose breasts were not steeled by ambition, nor hardened by avarice; in whom the beautiful influences of the indulgence of none but natural desires and pure affections would not be deadened by the selfishness, vanity, and fear of ridicule, that are the harvest of what is called civilized and cultivated life." Such at least, in after life, were the contrasts that Boone used to present between social life and that of the woodsman.

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