Betty Zane
by Zane Grey
TO THE BETTY ZANE CHAPTER OF
THE DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION
THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
BY THE AUTHOR
NOTE
In a quiet corner of the
stately little city of Wheeling, West Va.,
stands a
monument on which is inscribed:
"By authority of the State of West Virginia to
commemorate the siege of Fort
Henry, Sept 11, 1782, the last battle of the American Revolution, this tablet
is here placed."
Had it not been for the
heroism of a girl the
foregoinginscription would
never have been written, and the city of Wheeling would never have existed.
From time to time I have read short stories and magazine articles which have
been published about Elizabeth Zane and her famous
exploit; but they are
unreliable in some particulars, which is owing, no doubt, to the singularly
meagre details
available in histories of our
western border.
For a hundred years the stories of Betty and Isaac Zane have been familiar,
oft-repeated tales in my family--tales told with that pardonable ancestral
pride which seems
inherent in every one. My
grandmother loved to
cluster the
children round her and tell them that when she was a little girl she had knelt
at the feet of Betty Zane, and listened to the old lady as she told of her
brother's
capture by the Indian Princess, of the burning of the Fort, and of
her own race for life. I knew these stories by heart when a child.
Two years ago my mother came to me with an old note book which had been
discovered in some
rubbish that had been placed in the yard to burn. The book
had probably been
hidden in an old picture frame for many years. It belonged
to my great-grandfather, Col. Ebenezer Zane. From its faded and time-worn
pages I have taken the main facts of my story. My regret is that a worthier
pen than mine has not had this
wealth of material.
In this busy
progressive age there are no heroes of the kind so dear to all
lovers of
chivalry and
romance. There are heroes, perhaps, but they are the
patient sad-faced kind, of whom few take cognizance as they hurry
onward. But
cannot we all remember some one who suffered greatly, who
accomplished great
deeds, who died on the battlefield--some one around whose name lingers a halo
of glory? Few of us are so
fortunate" target="_blank" title="a.不幸的,运气差的">
unfortunate that we cannot look
backward on kith or
kin and
thrill with love and
reverence as we dream of an act of
heroism or
martyrdom which rings down the annals of time like the
melody of the
huntsman's horn, as it peals out on a
frosty October morn purer and sweeter
with each succeeding note.
If to any of those who have such remembrances, as well as those who have not,
my story gives an hour of pleasure I shall be rewarded.
PROLOGUE
On June 16, 1716, Alexander Spotswood, Governor of the Colony of Virginia, and
a
gallant soldier who had served under Marlborough in the English wars, rode,
at the head of a
dauntless band of cavaliers, down the quiet street of quaint
old Williamsburg.
The
adventurous spirits of this party of men urged them toward the land of the
setting sun, that unknown west far beyond the blue crested mountains rising so
grandly before them.
Months afterward they stood on the
western range of the Great North mountains
towering above the
picturesque Shenendoah Valley, and from the
summit of one
of the loftiest peaks, where, until then, the foot of a white man had never
trod, they viewed the vast
expanse of plain and forest with glistening eyes.
Returning to Williamsburg they told of the wonderful
richness of the newly
discovered country and thus opened the way for the venturesome
pioneer who was
destined to
overcome all difficulties and make a home in the
western world.
But fifty years and more passed before a white man penetrated far beyond the
purple spires of those
majestic mountains.
One bright morning in June, 1769, the figure of a stalwart, broad shouldered
man could have been seen
standing on the wild and
rugged promontory which
rears its rocky bluff high above the Ohio river, at a point near the mouth of
Wheeling Creek. He was alone save for the
companionship of a deerhound that
crouched at his feet. As he leaned on a long rifle, contemplating the glorious
scene that stretched before km, a smile flashed across his bronzed cheek, and
his heart bounded as he
forecast the future of that spot. In the river below
him lay an island so round and green that it resembled a huge lily pad
floating placidly on the water. The fresh green
foliage of the trees sparkled
with glittering dewdrops. Back of him rose the high ridges, and, in front, as
far as eye could reach,
extended an
unbroken forest.
Beneath him to the left and across a deep
ravine he saw a wide level
clearing.
The few scattered and blackened tree stumps showed the ravages made by a
forest fire in the years gone by. The field was now overgrown with hazel and
laurel bushes, and intermingling with them w ere the trailing arbutus, the
honeysuckle, and the wild rose. A
fragrantperfume was wafted
upward to him. A
rushing creek bordered one edge of the
clearing. After a long quiet reach of
water, which could be seen winding back in the hills, the
stream tumbled madly
over a rocky ledge, and white with foam, it
hurriedonward as if
impatient of
long
restraint, and lost its
individuality in the broad Ohio.
This
solitaryhunter was Colonel Ebenezer Zane. He was one of those daring
men, who, as the tide of emigration started
westward, had left his friends and
family and had struck out alone into the
wilderness. Departing from his home
in Eastern Virginia he had plunged into the woods, and after many days of
hunting and exploring, he reached the then far Western Ohio
valley.
The scene so impressed Colonel Zane that he concluded to found a settlement
there. Taking "tomahawk possession" of the
locality (which consisted of
blazing a few trees with his tomahawk), he built himself a rude shack and
remained that summer on the Ohio.
In the autumn he set out for Berkeley County, Virginia, to tell his people of
the
magnificent country he had discovered. The following spring he persuaded a
number of
settlers, of a like spirit with himself, to accompany him to the
wilderness. Believing it unsafe to take their families with them at once, they
left them at Red Stone on the Monongahela river, while the men, including
Colonel Zane, his brothers Silas, Andrew, Jonathan and Isaac, the Wetzels,
McCollochs, Bennets, Metzars and others, pushed on ahead.
The country through which they passed was one tangled, most impenetrable
forest; the axe of the
pioneer had never sounded in this region, where every
rod of the way might harbor some unknown danger.
These
reckless bordermen knew not the meaning of fear; to all, daring
adventure was
welcome, and the
screech of a redskin and the ping of a
bulletwere familiar sounds; to the Wetzels, McCollochs and Jonathan Zane the hunting
of Indians was the most
thrilling
passion of their lives; indeed, the Wetzels,
particularly, knew no other
occupation. They had attained a wonderful skill
with the rifle; long practice had rendered their senses as acute as those of
the fox. Skilled in every
variety of woodcraft, with lynx eyes ever on the
alert for detecting a trail, or the curling smoke of some camp fire, or the
minutest sign of an enemy, these men stole
onward through the forest with the
cautious but dogged and
persistentdetermination that was
characteristic" target="_blank" title="a.特有的 n.特性">
characteristic of
the
settler.
They at length climbed the commanding bluff overlooking the
majestic river,
and as they gazed out on the undulating and uninterrupted area of green, their
hearts beat high with hope.
The keen axe, wielded by strong arms, soon opened the
clearing and reared
stout log cabins on the river bluff. Then Ebenezer Zane and his followers
moved their families and soon the settlement began to grow and
flourish. As
the little village commenced to
prosper the redmen became troublesome.
Settlers were shot while plowing the fields or
gathering the harvests. Bands
of
hostile Indians prowled around and made it dangerous for anyone to leave
the
clearing. Frequently the first person to appear in the early morning would
be shot at by an Indian concealed in the woods.
General George Rodgers Clark, commandant of the Western Military Department,
arrived at the village in 1774. As an attack from the savages was apprehended
during the year the
settlers determined to erect a fort as a defense for the
infant settlement. It was planned by General Clark and built by the people
themselves. At first they called it Fort Fincastle, in honor of Lord Dunmore,
who, at the time of its
erection, was Governor of the Colony of Virginia. In
1776 its name was changed to Fort. Henry, in honor of Patrick Henry.
For many years it remained the most famous fort on the
frontier, having
withstood
numberless Indian attacks and two
memorable sieges, one in 1777,
which year is called the year of the "Bloody Sevens," and again in 1782. In
this last siege the British Rangers under Hamilton took part with the Indians,
making the attack practically the last battle of the Revolution.
BETTY ZANE
CHAPTER I.
The Zane family was a
remarkable one in early days, and most of its members
are
historicalcharacters.
The first Zane of whom any trace can be found was a Dane of aristocratic
lineage, who was exiled from his country and came to America with William
Penn. He was
prominent for several years in the new settlement founded by
Penn, and Zane street, Philadelphia, bears his name. Being a proud and
arrogant man, he soon became obnoxious to his Quaker brethren. He therefore
cut loose from them and emigrated to Virginia, settling on the Potomac river,