When I was about eight years old, my father having a large family to provide for, sold his farm with the expectation of acquiring larger possessions farther west. Thus he was stimulated to encounter the perils of pioneer life. He crossed the Ohio River and bought some improvements on what was called Beach Bottom Flats, two and a half miles from the river, and three or four miles above the mouth of Short Creek.
When I was between eleven and twelve years old, I think it was in the fall of 1788, I was taken prisoner with my brother John, who was about eighteen months older than I. The circumstances are as follows: "One Saturday evening we were out with an older brother, and came home late in the evening; one of us had lost a hat and John and I went back the next day to look for it. We found the hat, and sat down on a log and were cracking nuts-after a short time we saw two men coming down from the direction of the house; from their dress we took them to be two of our neighbors, James Perdue and James Russell. We paid but little attention to them till they came quite near us. To escape by flight was now impossible and we had been disposed to try it. We sat still until they came up near us, one of them said, "How do, broder." My brother then asked them if they were Indians and they answered in the affirmative, and said we must go with them.
We took our suppers, and talked some time and went to bed on the naked ground to try to rest and study out the best mode of attack. They put us between them that they might be better able to guard us. After a while one of the Indians, supposing we were asleep, got up and stretched himself down on the other side of the fire and soon began to snore. John, who had been watching every motion, found they were sound asleep and whispered to me to get up. We got up as carefully as possible. John took the gun which the Indian struck fire with, cocked and placed it in the direction of the head of one of the Indians; he then took a tomahawk and drew it over the head of the other; I pulled the trigger and he struck at the same time; the blow falling too far back on the neck, only stunning the Indian; he attempted to spring to his feet, uttering most hideous yells. Although my brother repeated the blows with some effect the conflict became terrible and somewhat doubtful. The Indian, however, was forced to yield to the blows he received upon his head, and, in a short time, he lay quiet and still at our feet.After we were satisfied that they were both dead, and fearing there were others close by, we hurried off and took nothing with us but the gun I shot with. We took our course towards the river, and in about three quarters of a mile we found a path which led to Carpenter’s Fort. My brother here hung his hat that we might know on our return where to turn off to find our camp. We got to the fort a little before daylight. We related our experience, and adventure, and a small party went back with my brother and found the Indian that had been tomahawked; the other had crawled away a short distance.
This remarkable act of heroism was recognized by the United States Government, for they granted these brothers a large tract of land that embraced the site of the killing of these two Indians. The boys later sold the land and moved into what is now Monroe County, where Henry told the above story
Carpenter's Fort had been built on Short Creek to protect the few families in the neighborhood from the troublesome Indians. Life was crude, simple and difficult.
Later that same year (1793) while in camp on McIntire Creek with ___ McIntire and John Layport, two neighbors, the Indians attacked them. James Johnson was captured after a hard struggle but his two companions were killed.
On one occasion British traders sought to obtain his liberty but without avail. He was released in 1795 as terms in Wayne's Greenville Treaty.
One More Thing. I forgot to mention James Johnson was my 5th Great Grandfather and his sons Henry and John were my 5th Great Uncles. And yes, I'm very very proud of them.