Such was the fort. Outside a considerable area had been cleared even of the cane and papaw, that nothing might be left within gun shot which could conceal an enemy. One large elm, however, was spared for beauty and convenience, of which Colonel Henderson, in his journal, writes with the most enthusiastic admiration, calling it the “divine elm.” Under its green canopy, with its graceful leaf branches ever whispering of divine care and protection, they erected a rude pulpit and held divine service. It also served them for a council chamber, within whose shadow at noon a hundred persons could "commodiously seat themselves." There were also, a little farther off, three notable sycamores, two of which are said to have measured twenty feet around the trunk. How magnificent the forests must have been, presided over by such giants as these. The inner square was a clean turf of the native wild clover. Here the whole community gathered in the evenings to enjoy together such simple pleasures and athletic amusements as suited their various fancies. For awhile Rebecca Boone and her daughter seem to have been the only females in the fort. At Harrodsburg there were three mothers of families, with whom they had traveled part of the way from the Clinch. No doubt it would have been very delightful if they could have met occasionally and gossiped a little over their mutual housekeeping experience and the exploits of their respective husbands. But alas! they were fifty miles apart, and a trip of that length in those days was something to be thought of a long time and would hardly be undertaken for the indulgence of a few hours' chat. Perhaps, however, Mrs. Boone and her daughter found a compensating pleasure in being belles among the chivalrous knights of early Kentucky; or, better still, when the cooking, mending, etc., was all done for their own household, they could find many helpful ways of making themselves agreeable to the other fathers, brothers and husbands whose families had not yet arrived. When in a short time Colonel Callaway's wife and daughters were added to their number, what a joy it was. The fathers had been old friends and the girls soon grew as intimate as three girls could be, with a three-fold enjoyment of all the healthy, hearty pleasures their wilderness home afforded, while Mrs. Boone also found a congenial companion in the mother. Everybody found plenty to do, and while enjoying the deliciously bracing weather of the early autumn and feasting their eyes on the richly changing colors of the forests, they did not forget that the winter was coming. The cabins were thoroughly daubed, fuel stored away in abundance, and every possible preparation made for planting the crops in the spring. Nor was there lack of novelty and excitement for every day of their lives. Instead of balls and parties or the planning and construction of their winter wardrobe, they looked forward to the coming home of the hunters. The game had already been scared off to such an extent that they sometimes had to go fifteen or twenty miles and be absent for several days to get a good supply, but an eager little audience always awaited them on their return ready to listen to the recital of each one's adven tures. Sometimes it was a contest with a daughters of Colonel Callaway with Jemima Boone learned a severe lesson on this point in the early summer of 1776, which caused the greatest alarm and distress in the fort as well as to themselves. An account of it is given below in the words of a grandson of the elder Miss Callaway, the venerable Dr. Rivers of Louisville, and written by special request : Much of romance is connected with the early history of Kentucky. Daniel Boone was a marvel of tact, energy, boldness in the face of danger, and noted for his love of the wild forest and of adventures where no civilized foot had ever trodden. He was a pioneer such as may never be seen again. He associated with him in the first settlement of Kenwas an Indian fighter of the boldest type. He had Thus the winter passed, the spring opened, and all began to think of gardening. Each spot was chosen and marked off, the trees cut down or girdled and the brush burned. Then the ground was broken up and softened, after which it was turned over to the wives and daughters. So every bright day found them busy planting the seed brought with them from the older settlements, inhaling fresh vigor from the virgin soil and appreciating these days without the fort with somewhat of the keen relish that city children do a picnic; Kentucky river. They were Jemima Boone, Eliza howbeit, it was necessary to keep a constant eye on the forests and the nearest gate of the fort. The Indians were evidently very much enraged at these invasions of their hunting grounds, and yet all this winter and spring passed without any serious disturbance at Boonsborough. The men, of course, never went anywhere without their insep arable companions, the rifle and the knife, but the girls could hardly realize the dangers that might lurk in every bush or canebrake along the river's bank, and sometimes ventured thoughtlessly to rash dis tances away from the fort. The two tucky many brave and daring spirits. This was before the Revolutionary war and when a wilderness had to be crossed in passing from North Carolina or Virginia in order to reach the dark and bloody ground. The grandparents of the writer were among those who joined Daniel Boone in his wild venture to separate himself from civilization and build up a colony in the heart of the vast wilderness of Kentucky. They were not then married. Their names were Samuel Henderson and Elizabeth (called Betsy) Callaway. On a bright morning in May three girls determined to seek recreation and left the monotony of Boone's fort for the purpose of a boat ride on the beth (or Betsy) Callaway and Fanny Callaway, her sister. They were strong and brave and felt that they could "paddle their own canoe." So they loosed the rude boat from the bank and were soon enjoy ing the romance of a ride on the sparkling waters of the Kentucky river. Seeing some beautiful wild flowers on the west bank of the river they incautiously paddled their canoe to the shore that they might obtain each for herself a nice bunch of flowers. While they were landing, some red men of the forest, who were secreted near, among the bushes, rushed down to the beach and made all three of the girls prisoners. No sooner had they captured them than they started off with their fair victims into the pathless forest toward the setting sun. The girls kept their presence of mind and moved off, obedient to silent orders and without arousing the wrath of their captors. My grandmother perceived at once their great danger and determined to do all in her power to lessen it. She took her pocket handkerchief and, without being observed, tore it into shreds and threw the pieces on the ground that they might be a guide to the braves in the fort, who she knew would be sure to follow for their rescue. When the handkerchief gave out she, with seeming carelessness, would now and then break a twig and drop it in their track. This she continued during the rest of their short captivity. Some few hours after the capture the fort was thrown into great alarm, and the cry was, 'Our girls are captured, and we must to the rescue!" A band of eighteen brave men, led by my grandfather, Samuel Henderson, soon started in pursuit. He was then engaged to be married to one of the fair prisoners. His heart was with her whom he loved better than life. He was young, enthusiastic, talented and brave. A fine specimen of a man, nearly six feet in height and weighing one hundred and seventy pounds, he was fit to be a hero, and courageous enough to confront any danger that he might save the girls, and especially his betrothed, from worse than death. On they rushed, these young men, regardless of fatigue or danger. Guided by the shreds of linen torn with so much presence of mind by Betsy Callaway, they found little difficulty in following right on the track of the savages. Then the sprigs broken and scattered by the same deft hands gave additional zest and activity to the pursuit. The young men were all well armed for that day, but the fear was that the Indians might see them in their near approach, and scalping the girls, might make their escape. They had now been in pursuit some twenty-four hours, and the Indians had been in possession of their prey more than thirty hours. They knew by the freshness of the broken twigs that they were nearing the precious objects of their pursuit, whom they were soon to rescue or to see scalped and left dead. As though it were providential, the Indians had become careless, feeling they were sufficiently distant from the fort to regard their prizes secured; and no longer fearing pursuit, they encamped, tied the girls each to a tree, and all except five (who were left as guards) had gone hunting. The girls were all near each other. Those who were with them were busy preparing what food they had for themselves and their prisoners. The nearest one was more than fifty yards from the girls. The young men saw their opportunity. Two or three of them fired but missed the savages. In another moment the girls were rescued and their savage captors running at full speed from those who would have sacrificed life itself to save these jewels of the wilderness from those who were too savage to admire either their beauty or their worth. The air was rent with a shout of joy and the wilderness exhibited a scene of gladness such as never before had lighted up its primeval gloom. The girls were unharmed. (Among the traits of the American Indian, especially in the olden time, was a sacred regard for woman's virtue.) Unharmed, except with swollen feet and hands sore from breaking the twigs which served so useful a purpose in securing their rescue, the girls rejoicingly started with their proud captors back to their parents and friends at the fort, I guess, wisely determining not In again to attempt to paddle their own canoe. two weeks after this there was a marriage in the fort. Squire Boone, the brother of Daniel Boone, was a Baptist preacher, and he was called upon to perform a marriage ceremony for the first time in the history of the colony. The parties to this contract were Samuel Henderson and Betsy Callaway. These were the first white people ever married in the state of Kentucky. The first child born of this pair was a girl and was named Fannie, who afterwards married Mr. Gillespie, who was president of Chappel Hill, North Carolina. My mother always told me that her sister Fannie was the first white child ever born in this commonwealth. After her birth, about 1777, my grandfather returned to North Carolina to take part in the Revolutionary war. He rose to the rank of colonel and was said to be a brave officer. died in Franklin county, Tennessee, whither he and his brother-in-law, Colonel Richard Callaway, had removed in the early part of this century. My grandparents reared a large family, some six daughters and four sons. Of these all are dead except Colonel Alfred Henderson and his sister, Mrs. Endosia Estill, who are both living in Texas at a very advanced age. My parents were married in 1807 and lived together more than fifty years without a death in their family. My mother always took the deepest interest in Kentucky. Her oldest brother, Richard Henderson, died in the town of Henderson about the year 1814. His children and grandchildren still live in that city. It was from the lips of my mother, who lived until her ninetieth year, that I learned all the facts stated in the above narrative. She used to gather her children around her and give to us the stirring incidents in the history of the pioneers of Kentucky. He Yes, two weeks after the capture and rescue of the girls the fort was again in a grand state of excitement. No alarm of savages this time but the imperative whis perings of a tiny god who does not con. fine his influence to "society" and "high culture." Samuel Henderson, the stalwart hero of the rescue, would wait no longer for his promised bride. Perhaps he coveted the right to say his beloved should never go boating again without him. What, marry out in the wilderness! Yes; why not? There was the preacher, good Squire Boone, and plenty of people to make a jolly wedding. But-a wedning with no tailor, dressmaker nor milliner within hundreds of miles! Nay even spinning and weaving had scarce begun in Kentucky. Yet even so, each girl friend, and even the bride herself, had but to take down from the peg behind the door (her wardrobe), and shake out her best linsey petticoat, and see that the linen or linsey short gown, all homespun, to be worn with it, was clean and neat for the occasion. So they were independent, you see, of dressmakers. And though this outfit was neither dainty nor fine, it at least left untrammeled the free, graceful motions of nature. Early on the eventful day each cabin was busy and bustling. The ceremony must needs be performed before, dinner. That was the fashionable hour in those days, and of course all must participate, for in a community like this, shut up within fort walls and cut off, in a measure, from other associations, joys and dangers were shared by all as if they had been one family. The sun was nearing its noonday strength when the excitement began to culminate in one of the larger corner cabins, that occupied by Colonel Henderson, elder brother to the expectant groom. Here the young gallants of the fort and perhaps some from other forts were collected. Flanders Callaway and Captain John Holder you may be sure were there. They were lovers also, respectively, of the other two maidens of the quandam captivity, and the romance of that little episode was to be fittingly completed some of these days by two more weddings, each of a rescued maiden to one of her brave rescuers. onel John Floyd, the handsome young widower, he certainly would not miss seeing the last of the thoughtful little lassie he had helped to recapture from the savages. And Col Picture them to yourself, those men of early days, grand specimens of nature's athletes, every one of them "with nerves of iron and sinews of steel," and a cool, self-possessed strength and good nature, equally ready to face a bear, elude a savage or dance at a wedding. Their costume was in keeping. The short breeches, leggings and moccasins were made of dressed deer skin, and the hunting-shirt, so universally worn, was of homespun linsey, like the girls' dresses. This hunting-shirt was a loose frock coat reaching half way down the thighs, with large open sleeves and a cape, and worn with a All the leather belt fastened behind. edges were decorated with fringes made of a raveled piece of cloth of some (once) bright color, which gave quite a handsome appearance. Add the tomahawk at one side, the scalping-knife in its sheath at the other and the inevitable rifle in hand or within easy reach, and the pioneer stands complete before you, prepared for whatever may happen. Some of the ceremonies afterwards in vogue, as running for the bottle, were probably omitted on this occasion, for even if whiskey had been introduced at this early date, there was lack. of space in the fort for the race, and the recent raid of the savages and the occasional indications of their lurking presence rendered it more prudent to confine their fun within fortification limits. At another cabin might have been found the pretty sun-browned lassie, with cheeks like the blush on twin peaches and a soft light in her bright eyes. Her two companions in pleasure and danger were with her, her sister Fannie and Jemima Boone, and they were discussing, with nimble fingers, some flowers hastily gathered while out milking in the morning under shelter of the guns and watchful eyes of their "braves." Just enough to decorate, in their own simple fashion, themselves and the cabin where the wedding feast is laid. In a very short time the delicious fragrance of the wild roses waited to the eager senses of young Henderson reminded him of his own sweet rose that had so nearly been snatched from his grasp. The brief ceremony was performed by Squire Boone, who was a Baptist preacher, immediately on the arrival of the groom. and his party, after which came the wed. ding dinner. Not delicate dishes and confectionery, but good substantial food such as vigorous appetites crave and over which Mother Callaway and Mother Boone and whatever other mothers were in the fort at the time had been busy all the morning. Beef, bear's meat, fowls and venison, with such vegetables as they had been able to raise, set out on a fourlegged wooden slab, as smooth as an ax could make it, for a table, and served in wooden bowls and trays, with wooden spoons. The carving was done with the ever ready knife at each belt, and they ate as they pleased, or as best they could. Perhaps there were enough left of the pewter spoons and tin cups brought from their old homes to supply an honored few, and the crystal nectar dipped from the bubbling spring under the "divine elm " was a beverage as refreshing as it was harmless. The guests sat on long, wooden benches, with a three-legged stool at each end of the table, and however served or however eaten you may be sure they made a merry meal of it. When dinner was over, as the cabins were rather small, they adjourned to the green, where on the smooth sward they danced the hours away until the sun went down and the moon and stars came out to light the jolly scene. If a stray fiddler had found his way to the wilds of Kentucky, no doubt he was there making the forests echo to the sound of jigs and reels and merry-go-rounds. It was the usual custom to keep up the dancing until the next day, but on this occasion they were doubtless more inoderate, for when Betsy Callaway became a matron there were probably but two young ladies left in the fort, as the Boones and the Callaways seem to have been the only families there at that time, and the rest of the children must have been small. So much for the first wedding of Kentucky. We cannot doubt they were all more careful from this time, and we do not hear of any more similar accidents at this fort. Daniel Boone himself was notably cau |