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 bullet

were 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,