I know
Wetzel better, perhaps, than any man living; but have seldom talked
about him. He doesn't like it. He is by birth a Virginian; I should
say, forty years old. We were boys together, and and I am a little
beyond that age. He was like any of the lads, except that he
excelled us all in strength and agility. When he was nearly eighteen
years old a band if Indians--Delawares, I think--crossed the border
on a marauding expedition far into Virginia. They burned the old
Wetzel homestead and murdered the father, mother, two sisters, and a
baby brother. The terrible shock nearly killed Lewis, who for a time
was very ill. When he recovered he went in search of his brothers,
Martin and John Wetzel, who were hunting, and brought them back to
their desolated home. Over the ashes of the home and the graves of
the loved ones the brothers swore sleepless and eternal vengeance.
The elder brothers have been devoted all these twenty years and more
to the killing of Indians; but Lewis has been the great foe of the
redman. You have already seen an example of his deeds, and will hear
of more. His name is a household word on the border. Scores of times
he has saved, actually saved, this fort and settlement. His
knowledge of savage ways surpasses by far Boone's, Major
McColloch's, Jonathan's, or any of the hunters'.
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