Presence Of The Past

By Matt Stafford, Sweet Owen Contributor

It was late summer 1778 in what is now Madison County, Kentucky, at Fort Boonesborough. A

marksman took his place at the southwest bastion of the structure, fitting his rifle through a hole

in the timber. He tried in vain to steady the stock as it rose and fell against his shoulder with

each anxious heartbeat.

His target was 60 yards away — a Native American warrior at a conference under a giant elm

tree. The warrior stood guard over a white man negotiating terms to avoid a siege of the fort.

At this makeshift conference table, under the same elm tree where Kentucky’s first legislative

session and worship service had taken place years earlier, representatives from both sides —

the settlers and their Native American and British counterparts — were on their final day of

negotiations.

Among them was Daniel Boone, speaking with his adoptive Shawnee father, Blackfish, who had

accepted Boone as his son after Boone and fellow salt makers were captured at Blue Licks

earlier that year. This meeting marked a reunion of sorts between the two men, just months

after Boone’s escape and his 160-mile trek in four days to warn fellow settlers of the impending

siege.

But the tribes had plotted a ruse. After Boone told Blackfish that the land had been purchased

from the Cherokee, Blackfish consulted a Cherokee representative who confirmed the

statement. Unable to return to the British empty-handed, Blackfish feigned satisfaction with the

deal but intended to seize prisoners or scalps. He called for the “long shake,” and when the

warriors — who outnumbered the settlers 2-to-1 — grabbed their counterparts, a fight erupted.

The marksman in the bastion fixed his sights on a warrior wearing a necklace of bright trinkets.

“What a fine target,” he thought. When the struggle began, he fired. The warrior fell lifeless to

the dirt.

What followed was the last major attempt by Native Americans to capture the fort by the

Kentucky River. Thanks to steady marksmen, strong women and providence — a heavy rain

that doused the flames of fiery arrows — the fort stood. Blackfish retreated north across the

Ohio with the Shawnee.

The frontiersman who fired that first shot was my fourth great-grandfather, William Stafford, who

later defended Bryan’s Station and served with George Rogers Clark.

From teachers to politicians, we often hear: “Those who don’t learn from the past are destined

to repeat it.” But sometimes the past revisits us without a lesson to teach.

My father has spent countless hours researching family and historical records that revealed

William’s story. He later married Leah Westerfield, a member of one of the first Dutch families to

settle Kentucky and a survivor of one of the state’s worst massacres. William received a land

grant for his military service and settled in Carroll County. Leah died in Owen County, where

many of our family still reside.

Fast forward two centuries: My father was born on a farm near Liberty in Casey County. After

graduating from Eastern Kentucky University and serving two years in the Marine Corps, he

accepted a job as the county’s first Extension 4-H agent. Moving north, he met my mother in

Owenton, and the rest, as they say, is history.

It seems fitting that my father now calls Owen County home, a stone’s throw from our family

cemetery where some of Kentucky’s earliest patriots rest. Some call it fortune. I call it destiny.

Had Fort Boonesborough fallen, Kentucky’s frontier might have been lost. Had my father not

moved to Owen County, I wouldn’t be here. Like my ancestors, he found a peaceful life here.

Because of William Stafford’s determination to defend the fort, my family can still call this place

home.

History can be controversial, but it is immutable. We live with the choices of those before us,

whether right or wrong.

This season — with football, hunting, bonfires, hayrides and reenactments — always brings me

joy. It reminds me of autumns past, when a light jacket was all you needed for adventure.

So the next time you’re gathered around a fire, gazing at the same stars your ancestors once

did, I encourage you to discover your past. It may be more relevant to your present than you

think.