He was born in New Jersey, but removed with his father to Wythe County, Virginia, about 1780. In March, 1782, while he and his brother David were in search of a mare and her foal, which had strayed off into the woods, they were surprised by the appearance of a small party of Indians, who darted upon them from behind the trees, and, before Jonathan had time to make an effort at escape, he found himself in the grasp of a stalwart warrior, who threatened him with his tomahawk, and checked the effort, if the idea had risen in his mind. David, however, started to run, and was pursued by one of the Indians, who soon returned, leading him by one hand, and with the other holding the handle of a spear, which he had thrown at him, and which still remained in his body. On seeing this, another savage stepped up and took hold of the boy, holding him firmly in his grasp, while the first pulled the spear out of the wound by main strength. The poor fellow uttered a shriek of pain at this barbarous surgery, whereupon Jonathan moved toward him and inquired if he was hurt. He replied that he was, and in a few moments sank dying to the ground. Jonathan was hurried forward, while one of the Indians remained with the other boy; but in a few moments made his appearance with the scalp of David in his hand, and, as he approached, with an exhibition of the most fiendish delight, he shook the reeking trophy, from which the blood was still dripping, in the face of the lad, who was so horror-stricken at the fate of his brother as to be scarcely able to proceed. Finding it necessary, however, for the salvation of his own life, he urged himself to his utmost, and they soon overtook the balance of the party, with whom he found a Mrs. Martin, a neighbor, and a child, about five years old, whom the Indians had taken captive after murdering the husband of Mrs. Martin, and all the rest of her family. They did not long leave her this solace to her misery, but finding the boy somewhat troublesome, they killed and scalped it, and, to still the agonizing cries of the broken-hearted mother, one of the inhuman wretches drew the edge of his knife across her forehead, at the same time crying "scalp! scalp!" to intimate the fate in store for her if she did not stop her screams. Finding threats of no avail, they then cut switches, with which they beat her until she became quiet. One day, as the boy Alder was sitting on the ground, after eating his dinner, and being completely worn out with the fatigue of their long and rapid march, not having risen when ordered to do so, he observed the shadow of some one standing behind him with a tomahawk in his hand, in the attitude of striking. He turned suddenly around and beheld a warrior just in the act of tomahawking him. Finding himself discovered, perhaps, or struck with the good-natured look which the boy's face wore, he withheld the blow, and commenced feeling of his head. He afterward told