hread of the lakes, lay the
stern resolution of the men of Kentucky and the supreme audacity of the
mind of Clark.

From this crucible of fire and blood a great people emerged, hardy,
brave, chivalrous, quick to respond to the cries and sufferings of
others, but with an iron hate of all things Indian and British stamped
eternally in their hearts. Others might be craven, but they were not.
Every savage incursion was answered by a counterstroke. The last red man
had not retreated across the Ohio, before the mounted riflemen of
Kentucky, leaving old men and boys behind to supply the settlements,
and with a little corn meal and jerked venison for their provision,
sallied forth to take their vengeance and demolish the Indian towns.
Federal commanders, secretaries of war, even Presidents might
remonstrate, but all in vain. They had come forth into the wilderness to
form their homes and clear the land, and make way for civilization, and
they would not go back. In every family there was the story of a
midnight massacre, or of a wife or child struck down by the tomahawk, or
of a loving father burned at the stake. To plead with men whose souls
had been seared by outrage and horror was unavailing. All savages
appeared the same to them. They shot without discrimination, and shot to
kill. They marched with Clark, they rode with Harmar, and they fought
with Wayne and Harrison. In the war of 1812, more than seven thousand
Kentuckians took the field. It was, as Butler has aptly termed it, "a
state in arms." You may call them "barbarians," "rude frontiersmen," or
what you will, but it took men such as these to advance the outposts of
the nation and to conquer the west. Strongly, irresistibly, is the soul
of the patriot moved by the story of their deeds.

With all its bloody toil and suffering, Kentucky grew. After the spring
of 1779, when Clark had captured Vincennes, the danger of extermination
was over. Following the revolution a strong and ever increasing stream
of boats passed down the Ohio. The rich lands, the luxuriant pastures,
the bounteous harvests of corn and wheat, were great attractions. Josiah
Harmar, writing from the mouth of the Muskingum in May, 1787, reports
one hundred and seventy-seven boats, two thousand six hundred and
eighty-nine men, women and children, one thousand three hundred and
thirty-three horses, seven hundred and sixty-six cattle, and one hundred
and two wagons, as passing that point, bound for Limestone