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.

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.