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