Betty Zane

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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 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, 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 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 Shenandoah 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 him, 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 were 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 I.

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 been 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?"

"Not for a very long time, Noah."

"But I am not afraid of Betty's bar. He growls at me when I throw
sticks at him, and snaps his teeth. Can I go with you next time?"

"My brother came over from Short Creek to-day. He has been to Fort
Pitt," interposed Mrs. Zane. As she was speaking a tap sounded on
the door, which, being opened by Betty, disclosed Captain Boggs his
daughter Lydia, and Major Samuel McColloch, the brother of Mrs.
Zane.

"Ah, Colonel! I expected to find you at home to-night. The weather
has been miserable for hunting and it is not getting any better. The
wind is blowing from the northwest and a storm is coming," said
Captain Boggs, a fine, soldierly looking man.

"Hello, Captain! How are you? Sam, I have not had the pleasure of
seeing you for a long time," replied Colonel Zane, as he shook hands
with his guests.

Major McColloch was the eldest of the brothers of that name. As an
Indian killer he ranked next to the intrepid Wetzel; but while
Wetzel preferred to take his chances alone and track the Indians
through the untrodden wilds, McColloch was a leader of expeditions
against the savages. A giant in stature, massive in build, bronzed
and bearded, he looked the typical frontiersman. His blue eyes were
like those of his sister and his voice had the same pleasant ring.

"Major McColloch, do you remember me?" asked Betty.

"Indeed I do," he answered, with a smile. "You were a little girl,
running wild, on the Potomac when I last saw you!"

"Do you remember when you used to lift me on your horse and give me
lessons in riding?"

"I remember better than you. How you used to stick on the back of
that horse was a mystery to me."

"Well, I shall be ready soon to go on with those lessons in riding.
I have heard of your wonderful leap over the hill and I should like
to have you tell me all about it. Of all the stories I have heard
since I arrived at Fort Henry, the one of your ride and leap for
life is the most wonderful."

"Yes, Sam, she will bother you to death about that ride, and will
try to give you lessons in leaping down precipices. I should not be
at all surprised to find her trying to duplicate your feat. You know
the Indian pony I got from that fur trader last summer. Well, he is
as wild as a deer and she has been riding him without his being
broken," said Colonel Zane.

"Some other time I shall tell you about my jump over the hill. Just
now I have important matters to discuss," answered the Major to
Betty.

It was evident that something unusual had occurred, for after
chatting a few moments the three men withdrew into the magazine room
and conversed in low, earnest tones.

Lydia Boggs was eighteen, fair haired and blue eyed. Like Betty she
had received a good education, and, in that respect, was superior to
the border girls, who seldom knew more than to keep house and to
make linen. At the outbreak of the Indian wars General Clark had
stationed Captain Boggs at Fort Henry and Lydia had lived there with
him two years. After Betty's arrival, which she hailed with delight,
the girls had become fast friends.

Lydia slipped her arm affectionately around Betty's neck and said,
"Why did you not come over to the Fort to-day?"

"It has been such an ugly day, so disagreeable altogether, that I
have remained indoors."

"You missed something," said Lydia, knowingly.

"What do you mean? What did I miss?"

"Oh, perhaps, after all, it will not interest you."

"How provoking! Of course it will. Anything or anybody would
interest me to-night. Do tell me, please."

"It isn't much. Only a young soldier came over with Major
McColloch."

"A soldier? From Fort Pitt? Do I know him? I have met most of the
officers."

"No, you have never seen him. He is a stranger to all of us."

"There does not seem to be so much in your news," said Betty, in a
disappointed tone. "To be sure, strangers are a rarity in our little
village, but, judging from the strangers who have visited us in the
past, I imagine this one cannot be much different."

"Wait until you see him," said Lydia, with a serious little nod of
her head.

"Come, tell me all about him," said Betty, now much interested.

"Major McColloch brought him in to see papa, and he was introduced
to me. He is a southerner and from one of those old families. I
could tell by his cool, easy, almost reckless air. He is handsome,
tall and fair, and his face is frank and open. He has such beautiful
manners. He bowed low to me and really I felt so embarrassed that I
hardly spoke. You know I am used to these big hunters seizing your
hand and giving it a squeeze which makes you want to scream. Well,
this young man is different. He is a cavalier. All the girls are in
love with him already. So will you be."