A Good Man W ith a G reat Story
Rohan Morey
May 1 7, 2 017
Memoir
It was 1746 w hen I w as w andering i n t he woods a nd I
heard a deep, s cratchy voice coming from behind me. I
was s cared a t first, b ut t his n ative took m y h and and t aught
me e verything I k now. His n ame was Askuwheteau, w hich
meant he who watches. He watched me l ike a f ox and
guided me t hrough m any life l essons. H e t aught me t o be
brave. I also w as t aught to a lways do what's right, no
matter w hat. Finally, t he l ast l esson I learned w as to take
risks. Because if I don't take r isks, I n ever will g et b etter at
anything. N ow i s my chance to thank A skuwheteau for
doing so m any things f or me. H e even taught m e how t o
shoot a g un.
When I w as twelve I g ot my f irst g un, a flintlock r ifle. I
was so e xcited. I thought, w hat g ood is a gun if you d on’t
use it? This would b e m y f irst t ime h unting. So that night, I
went into the w oods.
CRACK!
This w as v ery s cary. I i ntended to s hoot a bunny o r
smaller, but no b unny could make a sound that l oud. I
turned a round and panicked. B ehind me w as a huge, ugly,
enormous BEAR! His hair w as b rown, with sticks and
leaves stuck t o it.
Stay c alm, I told m yself. I p ut my h and on the t rigger. I
am a good shooter. I c ouldn’t d o i t. I m ust do t his.… I
pulled the t rigger.
BOOM!
I did i t! I g ot t hrough t his b ecause I u sed m y b ravery, I
told myself and I l ived.
I w as s itting d rinking m int tea w hen the g uards, J ames
Flintwood a nd Charles S mith reported Jemima r an a way
with her friends. I w as t errified.
“James,” I i nstructed, “ tell m y men t”
“Sir, I h ave a lready a ssembled t hem and i nformed
them of t he s ituation. T hey d o not want to fight,” J ames
informed me. “Sir, if you f orce t hem t o fight f or you, y ou
will b e putting t heir l ives at risk for something they d on’t
want to do them. W ho i s g oing t o defend the fort i f there i s
no o ne a t t he fort?”
“You are r ight. I will g o t o rescue J emima a lone,” I
decided.
I didn’t hesitate after that, I started t racking were the
CherokeeShawnee, u sing my n ative skills I w as taught.
For the f irst d ay, I followed the trail that I used t o g et to
Boonesborough, b ut a bout 15 m iles down t he trail, t here
was a f ork in t he road. This w asn’t h ere w hen I m ade the
trail, I t hought. A ll t he f ootprints that I h ad b een following
went down o ne side. But I w as smarter t han t hat: I went
down t he side t hat had no f ootprints.
A fter three days, I was s earching t hrough the woods
when f inally I saw J emima s itting on a log i n front o f the
camp. It was the happiest moment in m
BOOM! O h no! I screamed i n m y h ead, S omeone just
fired a gun. I t hink it was a imed a t m e…
Crack! G unshot! I c an’t back d own. I need to r escue
Jemima. I n eed to start f iring back… K aboom! B am!
That's i t, I t old myself. Y es! The n atives a re r unning
away.
“Dad!” J emima yelled a s she s truggled to f ree h erself
from t he tree.
“Jemima C allaway Boone. H ow d id y ou get us i nto t his
mess…”
“I a m so glad I t ook t hat r isk,” I whispered, “ Thank g od,
for that lesson.”
Everything w ent g reat for the n ext three months, but
when m y f riends a nd I were h unting, William started
screaming.
“Sir! Natives!” William warned
“What!” I s creamed, “ Where! W h”
One week l ater at t he Shawnee Fort:
“Daniel Boone,” t he l eader s aid, “ we shall now c all
you C hief B lackfish.”
I w ill e scape f rom t his rotten p lace. I t ell m yself. I
suffered i n t heir fort f or five m onths, when f inally t he day
came: I e scaped. I a m g lad I d idn’t get c aught, for if I got
caught, I would still be i n jail…
I w as put o n this w orld to m ake a difference, n o
different t han you. I h ave m ade a p ositive i mpact o n this
world. How w ill you?