The father of the little heroes whose daring exploit is here
illustrated, removed from Pennsylvania in 1786, or thereabouts, and
settled on what was called Beech-bottom Flats, in the State of Ohio,
some two miles from the Ohio River, and three or four miles above the
mouth of Short Creek. In common with all the early settlers of that
State, Johnson was subject to the depredations of the Indians, who felt
that the white men were encroaching upon their hunting-grounds, and did
not hesitate to inflict upon them the fullest measure of vengeance.
Protected by the station, or fort, near which they resided, the family
enjoyed, however, a tolerable share of security.
One Sunday morning, in the fall of 1793, two of his sons—John, aged
thirteen, and Henry, eleven—started for the woods to look for a hat
which the younger had lost the previous evening, while out after the
cows. Having found the hat, they started for home, but coming to the
foot of a hickory tree, whose tempting fruit lay in bounteous profusion
on the ground before them, they, boylike, and dreaming neither of
Indians nor of any other danger, sat down on a fallen log and amused
themselves cracking and eating nuts. While thus engaged, they observed
two men approaching from the direction of the station, who, from their
dress and appearance, they took to be neighbors, seeking for strayed
horses, one of them having a bridle in his hand. Satisfied of this fact,
they continued their employment, until the men had approached quite near
to them, when, upon looking up, they discovered, to their horror, that
they were Indians, dressed in the garb of white men. Their first impulse
was to fly; but upon rising to their feet, one of the intruders
presented his rifle, and told them to stop or he would shoot. Coming up
to them, the other presented his hand, and said: "How do, brodder?" The
oldest boy, John, immediately—instinctively, as it were—called into
requisition a tact perfectly astonishing in such a child. Accepting the
savage's hand, he shook it with a smile, asking with apparently pleased
curiosity if they were Indians. Their captors replied that they were,
telling the boys that they must go with them. Concealing their feelings
of fear and distress, the little fellows submitted, and took up their
line of march for the wilderness, not without the most poignant emotions
at thus being rudely torn from their home and parents. They had heard
enough, young as they were, of Indian captivity, to guess what was in
store for them—that, even at the very best, there would be years of
wild, uncivilized life before them, should they be spared to live at
all. But hiding the sinking of his heart, the oldest took the small
buckskin bag which was given him to carry, with outward cheerfulness,
and entered with spirit into the search of the Indians after the horses
of the white men. The bag, from its weight, he supposed to contain
money, the product of their depredations upon the white community.
The Indians and their captives spent the afternoon in pursuit of horses,
taking a circuitous route through the bottom and over the Short Creek
hill; but evening approaching without their meeting with success, they
drew off some distance into the woods, in search of some place to camp.
Coming to a spring in a hollow, which answered their purpose, they
halted; and while one of them scouted around the camp, the other
proceeded to build a fire, by flashing his gun into some dry "tinder"
wood. While the latter was gone to procure the wood from a decayed
stump, John took up the gun he had left behind, and cocked it, with the
intention of shooting him as he came back; but Henry stopped him, for
fear the other might be near, and able to overpower them, at the same
time promising to aid his brother if he would wait until the Indians
were asleep.
After they had cooked their supper, and eaten it by the fire, the
savages began to converse apart in their own tongue. The result of their
council soon became painfully apparent to the boys. Drawing their
knives, they began to whet them, at the same time continuing their
discussion, with occasional sidelong glances at the boys. Seeing this,
with that remarkable discretion which had hitherto marked his conduct,
John entered into conversation with them, in the course of which he
remarked that he led a hard life with his parents, who were cross to
him, and made him work hard, giving him no chance for play. For his
part, he liked to hunt and fish, and when he got to their towns, he
meant to be a warrior and live with them. This pleased the Indians, and
led to further converse, during which one of them asked the boys which
way home was. John, who assumed to be spokesman, answered, always
pointing the wrong way, which led them to believe that their captives
had lost their reckoning. The business of sharpening the knives was
suspended, and John's bright eyes, smiling but anxious, were not sorry
to see them restored to the belts of the wearers.
The Indians, although pleased and conciliated, were careful not to trust
their little prisoners too far, but pinioned their arms, and when they
laid down to sleep for the night, placed the boys between them, secured
by a large strap, which passed under their own bodies. Late in the
night, one of the savages, becoming cold, stirred in his sleep, caught
hold of John in his arms, and turned him over to the outside, soon
relapsing into sound slumber with the renewed warmth thus obtained. In
this situation the boy, awake and alert, found means to get his hands
loose; he then nudged his brother, made him get up, and untied his arms.
This done, Henry thought of nothing but of running off as fast as
possible; but when about to start, his brother caught hold of him,
whispering: "We must kill these Indians before we go." After some
hesitation, Henry agreed to make the attempt. John took one of the
rifles of their captors, and placed it on a log with the muzzle close to
the head of one of them. He then cocked the gun, and placed his little
brother at the breech with his finger on the trigger, with instructions
to pull it as soon as he should strike the other Indian. He then took
one of the tomahawks, and placed himself astride the second foe. All
this time the savages slumbered on in their fancied security. That
moment he gave the word to fire, while he brought the tomahawk down with
all the force of his young arm upon his sleeping enemy. The blow,
however, fell upon the back of the neck and to one side, so as not to be
fatal; the wounded savage attempted to spring up, but the little fellow,
urged to desperation, plied his blows with such force and rapidity upon
the Indian's skull, that, to use his own words in describing it, "the
Indian laid still and began to quiver."
At the moment of the first stroke given by the elder brother, the
younger one pulled the trigger, as directed; but his shot was not more
fatal than the other's blow, for he only succeeded in blowing off a
large part of his antagonist's lower jaw. This Indian, an instant after
receiving the wound, began to flounce about and yell in the most
frightful manner. The boys were glad to abandon him to his fate. They
made the best of their way to the fort, reaching it a little before
daybreak. On getting near the station, they found the people all up, and
a great anxiety on their account. On hearing a woman exclaim: "Poor
little fellows, they are killed or taken prisoners!" the eldest one
answered: "No, mother, we are here yet!"
Having brought away nothing from the Indian camp, their relation was not
credited, and a party was made up to go in search of its truth. On
arriving at the camp, they found the Indian whom John had tomahawked,
dead; the other had crawled away, leaving a heavy, bloody trail, by
which he was traced to the top of a fallen tree, where he had ensconced
himself, determined to sell his life dearly. At the approach of the
party he attempted to fire upon them; but his gun flashed in the pan;
and one of the men remarking that he "didn't care about being killed by
a dead Injin," they left him to die of his wounds. His skeleton and gun
were found, some time afterward, near the spot. It was conjectured that
the bag of specie which the Indians had, was appropriated by one of the
settlers, who had slipped off in advance upon hearing the story of the
boys. For some time after this person seemed better supplied with money
than he had ever been before.
The story of the heroism of the little warriors got abroad, and even the
Indians themselves gave them credit for it. After the treaty with
General Wayne, an old Indian, who was a friend of the two who were
killed (and who, it seems, had been distinguished warriors), inquired of
a man from Short Creek what they had done with the two young braves who
had killed the Indians. Being answered that they lived at the same place
with their parents, he replied: "Then you have not done right; you
should have made kings of those boys."
There are a good many stories told of those early days, far pleasanter
for the boys of this generation to read in safety, by the comfortable
winter fire, than it was for the hardy and sagacious little heroes to
enact them.
In August, 1786, a lad by the name of Downing, who lived at a fort near
Slate Creek, in what is now Bath county, was requested by an older
companion to assist him in hunting for a horse which had strayed away
the preceding evening. Downing readily complied, and the two friends
searched in every direction, until at length they found themselves in a
wild valley, some six or seven miles from the fort. Here Downing became
alarmed, and repeatedly told his companion, Yates, that he heard sticks
cracking behind them, and was certain that Indians were dogging them.
Yates, an old backwoods-man, laughed at the fears of the boy, and
contemptuously asked him at what price be rated his scalp, offering to
insure it for sixpence. Downing, however, was not so easily satisfied.
He observed that in whatever direction they turned, the same ominous
sounds continued to haunt them, and as Yates continued to treat the
matter recklessly, he resolved to take measures for his own safety.
Gradually slackening his pace, he permitted Yates to advance twenty or
thirty steps ahead, and immediately afterward, as they descended the
slope of a gentle hill, Downing slipped aside and hid himself in a thick
cluster of whortleberry bushes. Yates proceeded on, singing carelessly
some rude song, and was soon out of sight. Scarcely had he disappeared,
when Downing beheld two savages put aside the stalks of a cane-brake,
and cautiously look out in the direction Yates had taken. Fearful that
they had seen him step aside, he determined to fire upon them, and trust
to his heels for safety; but so unsteady was his hand, that in raising
his gun to his shoulder, it went off before he had taken aim. He
immediately ran, and after proceeding about fifty yards, met Yates, who
had hastily retraced his steps. The enemy were then in full view, and
the woodsman, who might have outstripped the lad, graduated his steps to
those of his companion. The Indians, by taking a shorter path, gained
rapidly upon the fugitives, across whose way lay a deep gully. Yates
easily cleared it, but Downing dropped short, and fell at full length
upon the bottom. The savages, eager to capture Yates, continued the
pursuit, without appearing to notice Downing, who, quickly recovering
his strength, began to walk slowly up the ditch, fearing to leave it,
lest the enemy should see him. He had scarcely emerged into the open
ground before he saw one of the Indians returning, apparently in quest
of him. His gun being unloaded, Downing threw it away, and again took to
flight; but his pursuer gained on him so rapidly, that he lost all hope
of escape. Coming at length to a large poplar, which had been blown up
by the roots, he ran along the body of the tree on one side, while the
Indian ran along the other, expecting to intercept his game at the root.
But here fortune favored the latter in the most singular manner. A
she-bear which was suckling her cubs in a bed at the root of the tree,
suddenly sprung upon the Indian, and while the latter was yelling and
stabbing his hirsute antagonist with his knife, Downing succeeded in
reaching the fort, where he found Yates reposing after a hot chase, in
which he, also, had distanced his pursuers.
[Illustration:
The Johnson Boys Killing their Captors.
]
Whether the bear or the Indian came off victor in the impromptu
engagement so suddenly entered into, the historian sayeth not.
In the following narrative, the incidents of which are included in the
History of the State of Kentucky, will be noticed the fortitude of
another little hero, who, in the midst of appalling circumstances,
received two severe wounds, one of which must have been extremely
painful, yet who made no sign—would not even allow it to be known that
he was injured, until the conflict was over.
In March, 1788, Captain William Hubbell, floating down the Ohio River in
his flat-boat, on his return from the east, after leaving Pittsburg, saw
traces of Indians along the banks of the stream, which excited his
suspicions and increased his watchfulness. On the boat, besides Captain
Hubbell, were Daniel Light, and William Plascut and his family. Before
reaching the mouth of the Great Kanawha, their number was increased to
twenty, among whom were Ray, Tucker and Kilpatrick, also two daughters
of the latter, a man by the name of Stoner, an Irishman, and a German.
Information at Gallipolis confirmed their previous expectation of a
conflict with a large body of Indians; Captain Hubbell therefore made
every preparation to resist the anticipated attack. The men, divided
into three watches for the night, were alternately on the look-out for
two hours at a time. The arms on board unfortunately consisted mainly of
old muskets much out of order. These were put in the best possible
condition for service.
On the 23d, Hubbell's party overtook a fleet of six boats descending the
river in company, and, for mutual protection, at first concluded to join
them. Finding them, however, a careless, noisy set of people, more
intent on dancing than watching for Indians, Hubbell determined to push
forward alone. One of the six boats, desirous of keeping up with
Hubbell, pushed forward for a short time; but its crew at length dropped
asleep, and it was soon left in the rear. Early in the night, a canoe
was seen flying down the river, in which probably were Indians on the
watch. Fires and other signs also were observed, which indicated the
presence of a formidable body of the savages.
At daybreak, before the men were at their posts, a voice some distance
below repeatedly solicited them, in a plaintive tone, to come on shore,
representing that some white persons wished to take a passage in their
boat. This the Captain naturally concluded to be an Indian artifice. He
accordingly placed every man upon his guard. The voice of entreaty soon
was changed into insult, and the sound of distant paddles announced the
approach of the savage foe. Three Indian canoes were seen through the
mist rapidly advancing. With the utmost coolness, the Captain and his
companions prepared to receive them. Every man was ordered not to fire
until the savages came nearly up to the boat; the men, also, were
directed to fire in succession, that there might be no intervals.
The canoes were found to contain from twenty-five to thirty Indians
each. When within musket-shot, they poured in a general fire from one of
the canoes, by which Tucker and Light were wounded. The three canoes now
placed themselves on the bow, stern and side of the boat, opening a
raking fire upon the whites; but the steady firing from the boat had a
powerful effect in checking the confidence and the fury of the savages.
Hubbell, after firing his own gun, took up that of one of the wounded
men, and was in the act of discharging it when a ball tore away the
lock. He deliberately seized a brand of fire, and, applying it to the
pan, discharged it with effect. When in the act of raising his gun a
third time, a ball passed through his right arm, which for a moment
disabled him. Seeing this, the savages rushed for the boat, to board it.
Severely wounded as he was, Hubbell rushed to the bow, and assisted in
forcing the enemy off, by the discharge of a pair of horse pistols, and
by billets of wood. Meeting with so desperate a resistance, the Indians
at length discontinued the contest, for the moment.
The boat which Hubbell had recently left behind now appearing in sight,
the canoes rushed toward it. They boarded it without opposition, killed
Captain Greathouse and a lad, placed the women in the center of their
canoes, and then manning them with a fresh reinforcement from the shore,
again pursued Hubbell and his party. The melancholy alternative now
presented itself to these brave but desponding men, either of falling a
prey to the savages, or to run the risk of shooting the white women in
the canoes, purposely placed there by the Indians, in the hope of
obtaining protection by their presence. Hubbell, well knowing how little
mercy was to be expected if the savages were victorious, did not
hesitate. He resolved to war to the last.
There were now but four men left on board of the boat capable of
defending it. The Captain himself was severely wounded in two places.
Yet the second attack was resisted with incredible firmness. Whenever
the Indians would rise to fire, the whites would, commonly, give them
the first shot, which in almost every instance would prove fatal.
Notwithstanding the disparity of numbers and the exhausted condition of
Hubbell's party, the Indians, despairing of success, retired to the
shore. Just as the last canoe was departing, Hubbell called to the
Indian chief in the stern, and on his turning round, discharged his
piece at him. When the smoke was dissipated, the savage was seen lying
on his back, severely, perhaps mortally, wounded.
Unfortunately, the boat had drifted near to shore, where the Indians
were collected, and a large concourse, probably between four and five
hundred, were seen rushing down on the bank. Ray and Plascut, the only
men remaining unhurt, took to the oars. As the boat was not more than
twenty yards from shore, it was deemed prudent for them to lie down, and
attempt to paddle out into the river with the utmost practicable
rapidity. While thus covered, nine balls were shot into one oar, and ten
into the other, without wounding the rowers, who were protected by the
side of the boat and the blankets in its stern. During this exposure to
the fire, which continued about twenty minutes, Kilpatrick observed a
particular Indian, whom he thought a favorable mark for his rifle, and,
despite the solemn warning of Captain Hubbell, rose to shoot the savage.
He immediately received a ball in his mouth, which passed out at the
back part of his head, and was, almost at the same moment, shot through
the heart. He fell among the horses that about the same time were
killed, presenting to his afflicted daughters and fellow travelers, who
were witnesses of the awful occurrence, a spectacle of horror which it
were impossible to describe.
The boat, providentially, was then suddenly carried out into the stream,
beyond reach of the enemy's balls. The little band, reduced in numbers,
wounded, afflicted, and almost exhausted by fatigue, still were
unsubdued in spirit, and being assembled in all their strength, men,
women and children, with an appearance of triumph gave three hearty
cheers, calling to the Indians to come on again if they were fond of the
sport.
Thus ended this stubborn conflict, in which only two out of nine men
escaped unhurt. Tucker and Kilpatrick were killed on the spot, Stoner
was mortally wounded, and died on his arrival at Limestone, and all the
rest, excepting Ray and Plascut, were severely wounded. The women and
children all were uninjured, excepting a little son of Mr. Plascut, who,
after the battle was over, came to the Captain, and with great coolness
requested him to take a ball out of his head. On examination, it
appeared that a bullet, which had passed through the side of the boat,
had penetrated the forehead of this little hero, and still remained
under the skin. The Captain took it out, when the youth, observing,
"That is not all," raised his arm, and exhibited a piece of bone at the
point of his elbow, which had been shot off, and hung only by the skin.
His mother exclaimed:
"Why did you not tell me of this?"
"Because," he coolly replied, "the Captain directed us to be silent
during the action, and I thought you would be likely to make a noise if
I told you."
Here was true _pluck_.
The boat made its way down the river as rapidly as possible, the object
being to reach Limestone that night. The Captain, tormented by
excruciating pain, and faint through loss of blood, was under the
necessity of steering the boat with his left arm, till about ten o'clock
that night, when he was relieved by William Brooks, who resided on the
bank of the river, and who was induced by the calls of the suffering
party to come out to their assistance. By his aid, and that of some
other persons, who were in the same manner brought to their relief, the
party was enabled to reach Limestone about twelve o'clock that night. On
the arrival of Brooks, Captain Hubbell, relieved from labor and
responsibility, sunk under the weight of pain and fatigue, and became
for a while totally insensible. When the boat reached Limestone, he
found himself unable to walk, and was carried up to the tavern. Here he
continued several days, until he acquired sufficient strength to proceed
homeward.
On the arrival of Hubbell's party at Limestone, they found a
considerable force of armed men ready to march against the Indians. They
now learned that, on the Sunday preceding, these very same savages had
cut off a detachment of men ascending the Ohio from Fort Washington, at
the mouth of Licking River, and had killed with their tomahawks, without
firing a gun, twenty-one out of twenty-two men, of which the detachment
consisted!
Crowds of people, as might be expected, came to examine the boat which
had been the scene of so much heroism and such horrid carnage, and to
visit the resolute little band by whom it had been so gallantly
defended. On examination, it was found that the sides of the boat were
literally filled with bullets and bullet-holes. There was scarcely a
space of two feet square in the part above water, which had not either a
ball remaining in it, or a hole through which a ball had passed. Some
persons who had the curiosity to count the number of holes in the
blankets which were hung up as curtains in the stern of the boat,
affirmed that in the space of five feet square there were one hundred
and twenty-two. Four horses out of five were killed. The escape of the
fifth, amidst such a shower of balls, appears almost miraculous.
The day after the arrival of Captain Hubbell and his companions, the
five boats passed on the night preceding the battle reached Limestone.
The Indians, it would appear, had met with too formidable a resistance
from a single boat to attack a fleet, and suffered them to pass
unmolested. From that time, it is believed that no boat was assailed by
Indians on the Ohio.
The force which marched out from Limestone to disperse this formidable
body of savages discovered several Indians dead on the shore, near the
scene of action. They also found the bodies of Captain Greathouse and
several others—men, women and children—who had been on board of his
boat. Most of them appeared to have been _whipped to death_, as they
were found stripped, tied to trees, and marked with the appearance of
lashes; and large rods, which seemed to have been worn with use, were
observed lying near them.
It is wonderful, when we consider the perils which beset the early
settlers, that Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana did not remain untenanted by
white men. We can not open the history of the years, from 1787 to 1814,
that we do not find, upon almost every page, a story of suffering, of
miraculous escape, or of appalling death which everywhere seemed to be
in store for the daring pioneer. In the course of this series of tales
we shall have occasion to repeat many of those stirring episodes, which
will be perused with commingled feelings of pain and admiration. Every
youth, and particularly every one dwelling west of the Alleghanies,
should study these episodes, and learn from them through what trials
came their blessings.
[Illustration:
Sweatland's Thrilling Hunting Adventure—_Page_ 6.
]