Betty Zane
Betty Zane
by
Zane Grey
Web-Books.Com
Betty Zane
Note ...................................................................................................................................3
Prologue .............................................................................................................................4
Chapter 1 ...........................................................................................................................7
Chapter 2 .........................................................................................................................16
Chapter 3 .........................................................................................................................34
Chapter 4 .........................................................................................................................50
Chapter 5 .........................................................................................................................72
Chapter 6 .........................................................................................................................84
Chapter 7 .........................................................................................................................95
Chapter 8 .......................................................................................................................111
Chapter 9 .......................................................................................................................129
Chapter 10 .....................................................................................................................139
Chapter 11 .....................................................................................................................152
Chapter 12 .....................................................................................................................172
Chapter 13 .....................................................................................................................180
Chapter 14 .....................................................................................................................191
Chapter 15 .....................................................................................................................202
Afterword .......................................................................................................................212
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 foregoing inscription 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, oftrepeated
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 greatgrandfather,
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
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
fragrant perfume 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 hurried onward as
if impatient of long restraint, and lost its individuality in the broad Ohio.
This solitary hunter 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 persistent determination that was 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 1
The Zane family was a remarkable one in early days, and most of its members are
historical characters.
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, in what was then known as Berkeley county. There his five sons, and
one daughter, the heroine of this story, were born.
Ebenezer Zane, the eldest, was born October 7, 1747, and grew to manhood in the
Potomac valley. There he married Elizabeth McColloch, a sister of the famous
McColloch brothers so well known in frontier history.
Ebenezer was fortunate in having such a wife and no pioneer could have been better
blessed. She was not only a handsome woman, but one of remarkable force of
character as well as kindness of heart. She was particularly noted for a rare skill in the
treatment of illness, and her deftness in handling the surgeon's knife and extracting a
poisoned bullet or arrow from a wound had restored to health many a settler when all
had despaired.
The Zane brothers were best known on the border for their athletic prowess, and for
their knowledge of Indian warfare and cunning. They were all powerful men,
exceedingly active and as fleet as deer. In appearance they were singularly pleasing
and bore a marked resemblance to one another, all having smooth faces, clear cut,
regular features, dark eyes and long black hair.
When they were as yet boys they had been captured by Indians, soon after their arrival
on the Virginia border, and had been taken far into the interior, and held as captives for
two years. Ebenezer, Silas, and Jonathan Zane were then taken to Detroit and
ransomed. While attempting to swim the Scioto river in an effort to escape, Andrew
Zane had been shot and killed by his pursuers.
But the bonds that held Isaac Zane, the remaining and youngest brother, were stronger
than those of interest or revenge such as had caused the captivity of his brothers. He
was loved by an Indian princess, the daughter of Tarhe, the chief of the puissant Huron
race. Isaac had escaped on various occasions, but had always been retaken, and at the
time of the opening of our story nothing had been heard of him for several years, and it
was believed he had been killed.
At the period of the settling of the little colony in the wilderness, Elizabeth Zane, the only
sister, was living with an aunt in Philadelphia, where she was being educated.
Colonel Zane's house, a two story structure built of rough hewn logs, was the most
comfortable one in the settlement, and occupied a prominent site on the hillside about
one hundred yards from the fort. It was constructed of heavy timber and presented
rather a forbidding appearance with its square corners, its ominous looking portholes,
and strongly barred doors and windows. There were three rooms on the ground floor, a
kitchen, a magazine room for military supplies, and a large room for general use. The
several sleeping rooms were on the second floor, which was reached by a steep
stairway.
The interior of a pioneer's rude dwelling did not reveal, as a rule, more than bare walls,
a bed or two, a table and a few chairs--in fact, no more than the necessities of life. But
Colonel Zane's house proved an exception to this. Most interesting was the large room.
The chinks between the logs had been plastered up with clay and then the walls
covered with white birch bark; trophies of the chase, Indian bows and arrows, pipes and
tomahawks hung upon them; the wide spreading antlers of a noble buck adorned the
space above the mantel piece; buffalo robes covered the couches; bearskin rugs lay
scattered about on the hardwood floor. The wall on the western side had been built over
a huge stone, into which had been cut an open fireplace.
This blackened recess, which had seen two houses burned over it, when full of blazing
logs had cheered many noted men with its warmth. Lord Dunmore, General Clark,
Simon Kenton, and Daniel Boone had sat beside that fire. There Cornplanter, the
Seneca chief, had made his famous deal with Colonel Zane, trading the island in the
river opposite the settlement for a barrel of whiskey. Logan, the Mingo chief and friend
of the whites, had smoked many pipes of peace there with Colonel Zane. At a later
period, when King Louis Phillippe, who had been exiled from France by Napoleon, had
come to America, during the course of his melancholy wanderings he had stopped at
Fort Henry a few days. His stay there was marked by a fierce blizzard and the royal
guest passed most of his time at Colonel Zane's fireside. Musing by those roaring logs
perhaps he saw the radiant star of the Man of Destiny rise to its magnificent zenith.
One cold, raw night in early spring the Colonel had just returned from one of his hunting
trips and the tramping of horses mingled with the rough voices of the negro slaves
sounded without. When Colonel Zane entered the house he was greeted affectionately
by his wife and sister. The latter, at the death of her aunt in Philadelphia, had come
west to live with her brother, and had been there since late in the preceding autumn. It
was a welcome sight for the eyes of a tired and weary hunter. The tender kiss of his
comely wife, the cries of the delighted children, and the crackling of the fire warmed his
heart and made him feel how good it was to be home again after a three days' march in
the woods. Placing his rifle in a corner and throwing aside his wet hunting coat, he
turned and stood with his back to the bright blaze. Still young and vigorous, Colonel
Zane was a handsome man. Tall, though not heavy, his frame denoted great strength
and endurance. His face was smooth, his heavy eyebrows met in a straight line; his
eyes were dark and now beamed with a kindly light; his jaw was square and massive;
his mouth resolute; in fact, his whole face was strikingly expressive of courage and
geniality. A great wolf dog had followed him in and, tired from travel, had stretched
himself out before the fireplace, laying his noble head on the paws he had extended
toward the warm blaze.
"Well! Well! I am nearly starved and mighty glad to get back," said the Colonel, with a
smile of satisfaction at the steaming dishes a negro servant was bringing from the
kitchen.
"We are glad you have returned," answered his wife, whose glowing face testified to the
pleasure she felt. "Supper is ready--Annie, bring in some cream--yes, indeed, I am
happy that you are home. I never have a moment's peace when you are away,
especially when you are accompanied by Lewis Wetzel."
"Our hunt was a failure," said the Colonel, after he had helped himself to a plate full of
roast wild turkey. "The bears have just come out of their winter's sleep and are
unusually wary at this time. We saw many signs of their work, tearing rotten logs to
pieces in search of grubs and bees' nests. Wetzel killed a deer and we baited a likely
place where we had discovered many bear tracks. We stayed up all night in a drizzling
rain, hoping to get a shot. I am tired out. So is Tige. Wetzel did not mind the weather or
the ill luck, and when we ran across some Indian sign he went off on one of his lonely
tramps, leaving me to come home alone."
"He is such a reckless man," remarked Mrs. Zane.
"Wetzel is reckless, or rather, daring. His incomparable nerve carries him safely through
many dangers, where an ordinary man would have no show whatever. Well, Betty, how
are you?"
"Quite well," said the slender, dark-eyed girl who had just taken the seat opposite the
Colonel.
"Bessie, has my sister indulged in any shocking escapade in my absence? I think that
last trick of hers, when she gave a bucket of hard cider to that poor tame bear, should
last her a spell."
"No, for a wonder Elizabeth has been very good. However, I do not attribute it to any
unusual change of temperament; simply the cold, wet weather. I anticipate a
catastrophe very shortly if she is kept indoors much longer."
"I have not had much opportunity to be anything but well behaved. If it rains a few days
more I shall become desperate. I want to ride my pony, roam the woods, paddle my
canoe, and enjoy myself," said Elizabeth.
"Well! Well! Betts, I knew it would be dull here for you, but you must not get
discouraged. You know you got here late last fall, and have not had any pleasant
weather yet. It is perfectly delightful in May and June. I can take you to fields of wild
white honeysuckle and May flowers and wild roses. I know you love the woods, so be
patient a little longer."
Elizabeth had been spoiled by her brothers--what girl would not have been by five great
big worshippers?--and any trivial thing gone wrong with her was a serious matter to
them. They were proud of her, and of her beauty and accomplishments were never tired
of talking. She had the dark hair and eyes so characteristic of the Zanes; the same oval
face and fine features: and added to this was a certain softness of contour and a
sweetness of expression which made her face bewitching. But, in spite of that demure
and innocent face, she possessed a decided will of her own, and one very apt to be
asserted; she was mischievous; inclined to coquettishness, and more terrible than all
she had a fiery temper which could be aroused with the most surprising ease.
Colonel Zane was wont to say that his sister's accomplishments were innumerable.
After only a few months on the border she could prepare the flax and weave a linsey
dresscloth with admirable skill. Sometimes to humor Betty the Colonel's wife would
allow her to get the dinner, and she would do it in a manner that pleased her brothers,
and called forth golden praises from the cook, old Sam's wife who had beer with the
family twenty years. Betty sang in the little church on Sundays; she organized and
taught a Sunday school class; she often beat Colonel Zane and Major McColloch at
their favorite game of checkers, which they had played together since they were knee
high; in fact, Betty did nearly everything well, from baking pies to painting the birch bark
walls of her room. But these things were insignificant in Colonel Zane's eyes. If the
Colonel were ever guilty of bragging it was about his sister's ability in those
acquirements demanding a true eye, a fleet foot, a strong arm and a daring spirit. He
had told all the people in the settlement, to many of whom Betty was unknown, that she
could ride like an Indian and shoot with undoubted skill; that she had a generous share
of the Zanes' fleetness of foot, and that she would send a canoe over as bad a place as
she could find. The boasts of the Colonel remained as yet unproven, but, be that as it
may, Betty had, notwithstanding her many faults, endeared herself to all. She made
sunshine and happiness everywhere; the old people loved her; the children adored her,
and the broad shouldered, heavy footed young settlers were shy and silent, yet blissfully
happy in her presence.
"Betty, will you fill my pipe?" asked the Colonel, when he had finished his supper and
had pulled his big chair nearer the fire. His oldest child, Noah, a sturdy lad of six,
climbed upon his knee and plied him with questions.
"Did you see any bars and bufflers?" he asked, his eyes large and round.
"No, my lad, not one."
"How long will it be until I am big enough to go?"
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by
Zane Grey
Web-Books.Com
Betty Zane
Note ...................................................................................................................................3
Prologue .............................................................................................................................4
Chapter 1 ...........................................................................................................................7
Chapter 2 .........................................................................................................................16
Chapter 3 .........................................................................................................................34
Chapter 4 .........................................................................................................................50
Chapter 5 .........................................................................................................................72
Chapter 6 .........................................................................................................................84
Chapter 7 .........................................................................................................................95
Chapter 8 .......................................................................................................................111
Chapter 9 .......................................................................................................................129
Chapter 10 .....................................................................................................................139
Chapter 11 .....................................................................................................................152
Chapter 12 .....................................................................................................................172
Chapter 13 .....................................................................................................................180
Chapter 14 .....................................................................................................................191
Chapter 15 .....................................................................................................................202
Afterword .......................................................................................................................212
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 foregoing inscription 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, oftrepeated
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 greatgrandfather,
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
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
fragrant perfume 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 hurried onward as
if impatient of long restraint, and lost its individuality in the broad Ohio.
This solitary hunter 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 persistent determination that was 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 1
The Zane family was a remarkable one in early days, and most of its members are
historical characters.
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, in what was then known as Berkeley county. There his five sons, and
one daughter, the heroine of this story, were born.
Ebenezer Zane, the eldest, was born October 7, 1747, and grew to manhood in the
Potomac valley. There he married Elizabeth McColloch, a sister of the famous
McColloch brothers so well known in frontier history.
Ebenezer was fortunate in having such a wife and no pioneer could have been better
blessed. She was not only a handsome woman, but one of remarkable force of
character as well as kindness of heart. She was particularly noted for a rare skill in the
treatment of illness, and her deftness in handling the surgeon's knife and extracting a
poisoned bullet or arrow from a wound had restored to health many a settler when all
had despaired.
The Zane brothers were best known on the border for their athletic prowess, and for
their knowledge of Indian warfare and cunning. They were all powerful men,
exceedingly active and as fleet as deer. In appearance they were singularly pleasing
and bore a marked resemblance to one another, all having smooth faces, clear cut,
regular features, dark eyes and long black hair.
When they were as yet boys they had been captured by Indians, soon after their arrival
on the Virginia border, and had been taken far into the interior, and held as captives for
two years. Ebenezer, Silas, and Jonathan Zane were then taken to Detroit and
ransomed. While attempting to swim the Scioto river in an effort to escape, Andrew
Zane had been shot and killed by his pursuers.
But the bonds that held Isaac Zane, the remaining and youngest brother, were stronger
than those of interest or revenge such as had caused the captivity of his brothers. He
was loved by an Indian princess, the daughter of Tarhe, the chief of the puissant Huron
race. Isaac had escaped on various occasions, but had always been retaken, and at the
time of the opening of our story nothing had been heard of him for several years, and it
was believed he had been killed.
At the period of the settling of the little colony in the wilderness, Elizabeth Zane, the only
sister, was living with an aunt in Philadelphia, where she was being educated.
Colonel Zane's house, a two story structure built of rough hewn logs, was the most
comfortable one in the settlement, and occupied a prominent site on the hillside about
one hundred yards from the fort. It was constructed of heavy timber and presented
rather a forbidding appearance with its square corners, its ominous looking portholes,
and strongly barred doors and windows. There were three rooms on the ground floor, a
kitchen, a magazine room for military supplies, and a large room for general use. The
several sleeping rooms were on the second floor, which was reached by a steep
stairway.
The interior of a pioneer's rude dwelling did not reveal, as a rule, more than bare walls,
a bed or two, a table and a few chairs--in fact, no more than the necessities of life. But
Colonel Zane's house proved an exception to this. Most interesting was the large room.
The chinks between the logs had been plastered up with clay and then the walls
covered with white birch bark; trophies of the chase, Indian bows and arrows, pipes and
tomahawks hung upon them; the wide spreading antlers of a noble buck adorned the
space above the mantel piece; buffalo robes covered the couches; bearskin rugs lay
scattered about on the hardwood floor. The wall on the western side had been built over
a huge stone, into which had been cut an open fireplace.
This blackened recess, which had seen two houses burned over it, when full of blazing
logs had cheered many noted men with its warmth. Lord Dunmore, General Clark,
Simon Kenton, and Daniel Boone had sat beside that fire. There Cornplanter, the
Seneca chief, had made his famous deal with Colonel Zane, trading the island in the
river opposite the settlement for a barrel of whiskey. Logan, the Mingo chief and friend
of the whites, had smoked many pipes of peace there with Colonel Zane. At a later
period, when King Louis Phillippe, who had been exiled from France by Napoleon, had
come to America, during the course of his melancholy wanderings he had stopped at
Fort Henry a few days. His stay there was marked by a fierce blizzard and the royal
guest passed most of his time at Colonel Zane's fireside. Musing by those roaring logs
perhaps he saw the radiant star of the Man of Destiny rise to its magnificent zenith.
One cold, raw night in early spring the Colonel had just returned from one of his hunting
trips and the tramping of horses mingled with the rough voices of the negro slaves
sounded without. When Colonel Zane entered the house he was greeted affectionately
by his wife and sister. The latter, at the death of her aunt in Philadelphia, had come
west to live with her brother, and had been there since late in the preceding autumn. It
was a welcome sight for the eyes of a tired and weary hunter. The tender kiss of his
comely wife, the cries of the delighted children, and the crackling of the fire warmed his
heart and made him feel how good it was to be home again after a three days' march in
the woods. Placing his rifle in a corner and throwing aside his wet hunting coat, he
turned and stood with his back to the bright blaze. Still young and vigorous, Colonel
Zane was a handsome man. Tall, though not heavy, his frame denoted great strength
and endurance. His face was smooth, his heavy eyebrows met in a straight line; his
eyes were dark and now beamed with a kindly light; his jaw was square and massive;
his mouth resolute; in fact, his whole face was strikingly expressive of courage and
geniality. A great wolf dog had followed him in and, tired from travel, had stretched
himself out before the fireplace, laying his noble head on the paws he had extended
toward the warm blaze.
"Well! Well! I am nearly starved and mighty glad to get back," said the Colonel, with a
smile of satisfaction at the steaming dishes a negro servant was bringing from the
kitchen.
"We are glad you have returned," answered his wife, whose glowing face testified to the
pleasure she felt. "Supper is ready--Annie, bring in some cream--yes, indeed, I am
happy that you are home. I never have a moment's peace when you are away,
especially when you are accompanied by Lewis Wetzel."
"Our hunt was a failure," said the Colonel, after he had helped himself to a plate full of
roast wild turkey. "The bears have just come out of their winter's sleep and are
unusually wary at this time. We saw many signs of their work, tearing rotten logs to
pieces in search of grubs and bees' nests. Wetzel killed a deer and we baited a likely
place where we had discovered many bear tracks. We stayed up all night in a drizzling
rain, hoping to get a shot. I am tired out. So is Tige. Wetzel did not mind the weather or
the ill luck, and when we ran across some Indian sign he went off on one of his lonely
tramps, leaving me to come home alone."
"He is such a reckless man," remarked Mrs. Zane.
"Wetzel is reckless, or rather, daring. His incomparable nerve carries him safely through
many dangers, where an ordinary man would have no show whatever. Well, Betty, how
are you?"
"Quite well," said the slender, dark-eyed girl who had just taken the seat opposite the
Colonel.
"Bessie, has my sister indulged in any shocking escapade in my absence? I think that
last trick of hers, when she gave a bucket of hard cider to that poor tame bear, should
last her a spell."
"No, for a wonder Elizabeth has been very good. However, I do not attribute it to any
unusual change of temperament; simply the cold, wet weather. I anticipate a
catastrophe very shortly if she is kept indoors much longer."
"I have not had much opportunity to be anything but well behaved. If it rains a few days
more I shall become desperate. I want to ride my pony, roam the woods, paddle my
canoe, and enjoy myself," said Elizabeth.
"Well! Well! Betts, I knew it would be dull here for you, but you must not get
discouraged. You know you got here late last fall, and have not had any pleasant
weather yet. It is perfectly delightful in May and June. I can take you to fields of wild
white honeysuckle and May flowers and wild roses. I know you love the woods, so be
patient a little longer."
Elizabeth had been spoiled by her brothers--what girl would not have been by five great
big worshippers?--and any trivial thing gone wrong with her was a serious matter to
them. They were proud of her, and of her beauty and accomplishments were never tired
of talking. She had the dark hair and eyes so characteristic of the Zanes; the same oval
face and fine features: and added to this was a certain softness of contour and a
sweetness of expression which made her face bewitching. But, in spite of that demure
and innocent face, she possessed a decided will of her own, and one very apt to be
asserted; she was mischievous; inclined to coquettishness, and more terrible than all
she had a fiery temper which could be aroused with the most surprising ease.
Colonel Zane was wont to say that his sister's accomplishments were innumerable.
After only a few months on the border she could prepare the flax and weave a linsey
dresscloth with admirable skill. Sometimes to humor Betty the Colonel's wife would
allow her to get the dinner, and she would do it in a manner that pleased her brothers,
and called forth golden praises from the cook, old Sam's wife who had beer with the
family twenty years. Betty sang in the little church on Sundays; she organized and
taught a Sunday school class; she often beat Colonel Zane and Major McColloch at
their favorite game of checkers, which they had played together since they were knee
high; in fact, Betty did nearly everything well, from baking pies to painting the birch bark
walls of her room. But these things were insignificant in Colonel Zane's eyes. If the
Colonel were ever guilty of bragging it was about his sister's ability in those
acquirements demanding a true eye, a fleet foot, a strong arm and a daring spirit. He
had told all the people in the settlement, to many of whom Betty was unknown, that she
could ride like an Indian and shoot with undoubted skill; that she had a generous share
of the Zanes' fleetness of foot, and that she would send a canoe over as bad a place as
she could find. The boasts of the Colonel remained as yet unproven, but, be that as it
may, Betty had, notwithstanding her many faults, endeared herself to all. She made
sunshine and happiness everywhere; the old people loved her; the children adored her,
and the broad shouldered, heavy footed young settlers were shy and silent, yet blissfully
happy in her presence.
"Betty, will you fill my pipe?" asked the Colonel, when he had finished his supper and
had pulled his big chair nearer the fire. His oldest child, Noah, a sturdy lad of six,
climbed upon his knee and plied him with questions.
"Did you see any bars and bufflers?" he asked, his eyes large and round.
"No, my lad, not one."
"How long will it be until I am big enough to go?"
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