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From \"Betty Zane\" by Zane Grey

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I found this book interesting, so I recorded a bit of it

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English (North American)

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Senior (55+)


US General American (GenAm)


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Betty Zane by Zane Gray, 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 Virginia stands a monument on which is inscribed By the Authority of the State of West Virginia to commemorate the siege of Fort Henry, September 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 in the city of Wheeling would never have existed from time to time. I have read short stories in magazine articles which have been published about Elizabeth's Ayn and her famous exploit, but they are unreliable in some particulars, which is owing no doubt to the singularly meager details available in histories of our western border for 100 years. The stories of Betty and Isaac Zane have been familiar off repeated tales in my family. Tales told with that pardonable ancestral pride which seems inherent in everyone. My grandmother loved to cluster the Children around 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 ford and 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 notebook which had been discovered in some rubbish and 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, Colonel Lebanese, resign from its faded in time worn pages. I have taken the main facts of my story. My regret is that a worthy er pen than mine has not had this wealth of material 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 someone who has suffered greatly who has accomplished great deeds, who died on the battlefield? Someone around, who's 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 peels 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 16th 17 16 alexander Spotswood governor of the colony of Virginia and a gallant soldier who had served under moral burrow in the english wars, rode at the head of a dauntless band of cavaliers down the quiet streets of quaint old Williamsburg. The adventurous spirit of this party of men urged them toward the land of the setting sun, that unknown west, far beyond the blue crusted mountains, rising so grandly before them. Months afterward they stood on the western range of the great northern 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 to make a home in the western world. But 50 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 shoulder band 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, saved 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 bronze to 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 in the water. The fresh green foliage of the trees sparkled with glistening dew drops back of him rose the high ridges, and in front, as far as I 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 years gone by, the field is now overgrown with hazel and laurel bushes, and intermingling with them were the trailing are Buddhists, and the honeysuckle, and the wild rose, a fragrant perfume was wafted toward 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 struck out alone in 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 Zain that he concluded to found a settlement there taking a 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 into the wilderness, believing it unsafe to take their families with them at once. They left them at Redstone on the Monongahela river. While the men, including Colonel Zane, his brother's Silas, Andrew, Jonathan and Isaac. The Wetzel's McCullough's the benefits. The Mezieres and others pushed on ahead. The country through which they passed was one tangled, most Impenetrable forest. The acts of the pioneer had never sounded in this region where every rod of the way might harbor some unknown danger. These reckless border men knew not the meaning of fear. To all daring adventure was welcome, and the screech of a red skin and the ping of a bullet were familiar sounds to the Wetzel's McCullough's and Jonathan Zane. The hunting of indians was the most thrilling passion of their lives. Indeed, the Wetzel's 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 campfire or the minute ist sign of the enemy. These men stole onward through the forest with the cautious but dogged and persistent determination that was the characteristic of the settler day. At length climbed the commanding bluff overlooking the majestic river, and as they gazed out on the undulating and un interpreted area of green, their hearts beat high with hope. The keen acts wielded by strong arms soon opened the clearing and rare 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 red man 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 Rogers 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 afford 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 Fin Castle, 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 four Henry in honour of Patrick Henry. For many years it remained the most famous forts on the frontier, having withstood numberless indian attacks and two memorable sieges, one in 17 77 which year is called the Year of the Bloody Sevens, And again in 1782. In this last siege, the british rangers under Hambleton took part with the indians, making the attack practically the last battle of the revolution.