Time Surfing: Experience History.
Historical Backdrop
In the winter of 1778, the American Revolution had reached the far frontier of Kentucky. On February 7, a Shawnee war party captured a salt-making crew led by Daniel Boone near the Lower Blue Licks. Boone was 43, a Pennsylvania-born woodsman and the leader who had cut the Wilderness Road and founded Boonesborough. Rather than kill him, Chief Blackfish adopted him into the tribe, plucked his hair to a scalp lock, painted him, and named him Sheltowee, “Big Turtle.” For four months Boone lived, hunted, and won trust in the village of Chillicothe on the Little Miami River in the Ohio country. Then in June he watched hundreds of painted warriors gather to attack Boonesborough. On the morning of June 16, 1778, he ran.
Date/time and location: June 16, 1778 — before dawn, a Shawnee bark lodge (wegiwa), Chillicothe village, Little Miami River, Ohio country
You wake in the dark. The fire is low. Bodies breathe around you, your Shawnee family, the ones who spared your life. Smoke and bear grease fill your nose. You lie still and think of your wife, Rebecca, and the fort. Yesterday you counted the warriors. Painted. Armed. Marching soon. Your family sleeps a hundred miles south, and they do not know. Today you run, or they die. You close your eyes and wait for gray light.
Date/time and location: June 16, 1778 — first light, edge of the Chillicothe village commons
You step outside. Cold morning air. Dew soaks your moccasins. Across the open ground, warriors gather. Faces striped black and red. Muskets, war clubs, powder horns. They are counting themselves, and the number is large, four hundred and more. They are going to your fort. You keep your face calm, like a man with nothing to hide. Inside, your heart hammers. You nod at a passing brave and turn away slow. You have seen enough.
Date/time and location: June 16, 1778 — mid-morning, forest edge north of Chillicothe, a hunting party
You join the hunt like always. You are the best shot they have, and they trust you now. You laugh with the young men. You waste your shots on birds, so your powder runs low and they think nothing of it. All the while your eyes read the trees, the sun, the way south. You slip a little farther out each time. Nobody watches the tame turtle anymore. That is the plan. That has always been the plan.
Date/time and location: June 16, 1778 — late morning, deep timber, the moment of flight
Now. The others are spread out, heads down over a fresh trail. You are alone at the edge of the trees. One breath. You turn and go. No running yet, just walking fast and quiet, the way a man leaves a room he means to come back to. Then the trees close behind you and you break into a hard trot. Your legs know the direction. South. Home. You do not look back.
Date/time and location: June 16, 1778 — midday, open bottomland, a captured Shawnee horse
You find a horse grazing loose near the trail. A gift. You swing up bareback and kick it hard. The ground blurs. Branches whip your arms. You ride like a man chased by the whole nation, because soon you will be. Wind and hoofbeats fill your ears. You lean low over the neck and drive south, mile after mile, saving your legs for later. The horse’s flanks steam. You ask everything of it.
Date/time and location: June 16, 1778 — afternoon, wooded ridgeline, the horse gives out
