army toward Waxhaw, Mrs. Jackson and her sons were obliged to seek a
safe retreat with a distant relative. Here Andrew did "chores" for his
board. "Never," said one who knew him well at this time, "did Andrew
come home from the shops without bringing with him some new weapon with
which to kill the enemy. Sometimes it was a rude spear, which he would
forge while waiting for the blacksmith to finish his job. Sometimes it
was a club or a tomahawk. Once he fastened the blade of a scythe to a
pole, and, on reaching home, began to cut down the weeds with it that
grew about the house, assailing them with extreme fury, and occasionally
uttering words like these, 'Oh, if I were a man, how I would sweep down
the British with my grass blade!'"
A year later, when Mrs. Jackson had returned to Waxhaw, the brothers
were both taken prisoners in a skirmish. Being commanded to clean the
boots of a British officer, Andrew refused, saying, "Sir, I am a
prisoner of war, and claim to be treated as such."
The angry Englishman drew his sword, and rushed at the boy, who,
attempting to defend himself from the blow, received a deep gash in his
left hand, and also on his head, the scars of which he bore through
life. Robert, the brother, also refused to clean the boots, and was
prostrated by the sword of the brutal officer. Soon after, the boys were
taken with other prisoners to Camden, eighty miles distant, a long and
agonizing journey for wounded men.
They found the prison a wretched place, with no medical supplies; the
food scanty, and small-pox raging among the inmates. The poor mother,
hearing of their forlorn condition, hastened to the place. Both her boys
were ill of the dreaded small-pox, and both suffering from their
sword-wounds. She arranged for the exchange of prisoners, and took her
sons home; Robert to die in her arms two days later, and Andrew to be
saved at last after a perilous illness of several months. Her oldest
son, Hugh, had already given his life to his country in the war.
Almost broken-hearted with the loss of her two sons, yet intensely
patriotic, she hastened to the Charleston prison-ships, to care for the
wounded, taking with her provisions and medicine sent by loving wives
and daughters. The blessed ministrations proved of short duration. Mrs.
Jackson was taken ill of ship-fever, died after a brief illness, and was
buried in the open plain near by. The grave is unmarked and unknown.
When, years later, her illustrious son had become President, he tried to
find the burial-place of the woman he idolized, but it was impossible.
Andrew was now an orphan, and poor; but he had what makes any boy or man
rich, the memory of a devoted, heroic mother. Such a person has an
inspiration that is like martial music on the field of battle; he is
urged onward to duty forevermore. The world is richer for all such
instances of ideal womanhood; the womanhood that gives rather than
receives; that seeks neither admiration nor self-aggrandizement; that,
like the flowers, sends out the same fragrance whether in royal gardens
or beside the peasant's door; that lives to lighten others' sorrows, to
rest tired humanity, to sweeten the bitterness of life by her loveliness
of soul; that is to the world around her
"A new and certain sunrise every day."
Fatherless, motherless, brotherless, the boy of fifteen looked about him
to see what his life-work should be. In the family of a distant relative
he found a home. The son was a saddler. For six months Andrew worked at
this trade. But other plans were in his mind. He knew how his mother had
desired that he might be educated. But how could a boy win his way
without money? For two years or more, little is known of him. It is
believed that he taught a small school. When nearly eighteen, he had
made up his mind to study law, a somewhat remarkable decision for a boy
in his circumstances.
If he studied at all, it should be under the best of teachers; so he
rode to Salisbury, seventy-five miles from Waxhaw, and entered the
office of Mr. Spruce McCay, an eminent lawyer, and later a judge of
distinction.
For nearly two years he studied, enjoying also the sports of the time,
and making, as he did all through life, close friends who were devoted
to his interests. When in the White House, forty-five years afterward,
he said, "I was but a raw lad then, but I did my best." And he did his
best through life!
He loved a fine horse almost as though it were human; he enjoyed the
society of ladies, and possessed a grace and dignity of manner that
surprised those who knew the hardships of his life. His eager
intelligence, his quick, direct glance, that bespoke alertness of mind,
won him attention, even more than would beauty of person. Over six feet
in height, slender to delicacy, he gave the impression of leadership,
from his bravery and self-reliance. Emerson well says, "The basis of
good manners is self-reliance.... Self-trust is the first secret of
success; the belief that, if you are here, the authorities of the
universe put you here, and for cause or with some task strictly
appointed you in your constitution."
When his two years of law-study were ended, the work was but just begun.
There was reputation to be made, and perhaps a fortune, but where and
how? For a year he seems not to have found a law opening; the streams of
fortune do not always flow toward us--we have to make the journey by
persistent and hard rowing against the tide. He probably worked in a
store owned by some acquaintances, earning for daily needs.
At twenty-one came his first opportunity; came, as it often comes,
through a friend. Mr. John McNairy was appointed a judge of the Superior
Court of the Western District of North Carolina (Tennessee), and young
Jackson, his friend, public prosecutor of the same district. He moved to
Nashville in 1788, to begin his difficult work. He was obliged to ride
on horseback over the mountains and through the wilderness, often among
hostile Indians, his life almost constantly in danger. Once, while
travelling with a party of emigrants, when all slept save the sentinels,
he sat against a tree, smoking his corn-cob pipe and keeping an eager
watch. Soon he heard the notes of what seemed to be various owls! He
quietly roused the whole party and moved them on. An hour later, a
company of hunters lay down by the fires which Jackson had left, and
before daylight all save one man were killed by the Indians.
Sometimes the young lawyer slept for twenty successive nights in the
wilderness. This was no life of ease and luxury. At Nashville he found
lodgings in the house of the widow of Colonel John Donelson, a brave
pioneer from Virginia, who had been killed by the Indians. And here
Jackson met the woman who was to prove his good angel as long as she
lived. With Mrs. Donelson lived her dark-haired and dark-eyed daughter
Rachel, married to Lewis Robards from Kentucky. Vivacious, kindly, and
sympathetic, Rachel had been the idol of her father, and probably would
have been of her husband had it not been for his jealous disposition. He
became angry at Jackson, as he had been at others, and made her life so
unhappy that she separated from him and went to friends in Natchez, with
the approval of her mother, and the entire confidence and respect of her
husband's relatives.
After a divorce in 1791, Jackson married her, when they were each
twenty-four years old. History does not record a happier marriage. To
the last, she lived for him alone, but not more fully than he lived for
her. With the world he was thought to be domineering and harsh, and was
often profane; but with her he was patient, gentle, and deferential.
When he won renown, she was happy for his sake, but she did not care for
it for herself. Her kindness of heart took her among the sick and the
unfortunate, and everywhere she was a welcome comforter. She lived
outside of self, and found her reward in the homage of her husband and
her friends.
Jackson soon began to prosper financially. Often he would receive his
fee in lands, a square mile of six hundred and forty acres or more, so
that after a time he was the possessor of several thousand acres.
Success came also from other sources. When a convention was called to
form a constitution for the new State of Tennessee, Jackson was chosen a
delegate. He took an active part in the organization of the State--he
was active in whatever he engaged--and bravely espoused her claims
against the general government for expenses incurred in Indian
conflicts. Tennessee felt that she had a true friend in Jackson, and,
when she wanted a man to represent her in Congress, she sent him to the
House of Representatives. This honor came at twenty-nine years of age--a
strange contrast to the years when he made saddles or did "chores" for
his board, and longed to "sweep down the British with his grass blade."
Jackson served his State well by securing compensation for every man who
had done service or lost his property in the Indian wars. It was not
strange, therefore, that, when a vacancy occurred in the United States
Senate, Jackson was chosen to fill the place, in the autumn of 1797.
Only thirty years old! Rachel Jackson might well be proud of him.
But the following year he resigned his position, glad to be, as he
supposed, out of official life. He was, however, too prominent to be
allowed to remain in private life, and was elected to a judgeship of the
Supreme Court of Tennessee. As he had made it a rule "never to seek and
never to decline public duty," he accepted, on the small salary of six
hundred dollars a year. While many other men in the State were more
learned in the law than Jackson, yet the people believed in his honesty
and integrity, and therefore he was chosen. Quick to decide and slow to
change his mind, in fifteen days he had disposed of fifty cases, says
James Parton, in his entertaining life of Andrew Jackson.
After six years, longing for a more active life, Jackson resigned, and
was made major-general of the militia of the State. This position was
given, not without opposition, he receiving only one more vote than his
chief competitor. That one vote, perhaps, led to New Orleans and the
Presidency. This office was in accordance with his natural tastes. Since
boyhood, he had loved the stir and command of battle, and believed he
should like to conquer an enemy as he had met and conquered every
obstacle that lay athwart his path.
As there was no war in progress, he continued his law practice. But, not
satisfied with this alone, he became a merchant, trading with the
Indians, selling blankets, hardware, and the like, and receiving in
return cotton and other produce of the country. In the panic of 1798, he
became financially embarrassed, but, true to his manly nature, he worked
steadily on till every dollar was paid. He sold twenty-five thousand
acres of his wild land, sold his home, and moved into a log house at the
Hermitage, seven miles out from Nashville, and preserved for himself the
best thing on earth, a good name. So honest was he believed to be, when
a Tennessean went to Boston bankers for a loan, with several leading
names on his paper, they said, "Do you know General Jackson? Could you
get his endorsement?"
"Yes, but he is not worth a tenth as much as either of these men whose
names I offer you," was the response.
"No matter; General Jackson has always protected himself and his paper,
and we'll let you have the money on the strength of his name." And the
loan was granted.
Honest and just though he was, he permitted his own fiery nature, or a
perverted public opinion, to lead him into acts which tarnished his
whole subsequent career. Quick to resent a wrong, he was morbidly
sensitive about the circumstances of his marriage with Rachel Robards.
When they were married, in 1791, they supposed that the divorce, applied
for, had been granted, but they learned in 1793, two years afterward,
that it was not legally obtained till the latter date. They were at
once remarried, but the matter caused much idle talk, and, as General
Jackson came into prominence, his enemies were not slow to rehearse the
story. The slightest aspersion of his wife's character aroused all the
anger of his nature, and, says Parton, "For the man who dared breathe
her name except in honor, he kept pistols in perfect condition for
thirty-seven years." And, as duelling was the disgraceful fashion of the
times, Jackson did not hesitate to use his pistols.
In 1806, when he was thirty-nine, one of those miscalled "affairs of
honor" took place. Charles Dickinson, a prominent man of the State, in
the course of a long quarrel, had spoken disparagingly of Mrs. Jackson,
and he was therefore challenged to mortal combat. Thursday morning, May
29, he kissed his young wife tenderly, telling her he was going to
Kentucky, and "would be home, sure, to-morrow night." He met Jackson on
the banks of the Red River. The one was tall, erect, and intense; the
other young, handsome, an expert marksman, and determined to make no
mistake in his fatal work.
Dickinson fired with his supposed unerring aim, and missed! The bullet
grazed Jackson's breast, and years later was the true cause of his
death. Jackson took deliberate aim, intending to kill his opponent, and
succeeded. The ball passed quite through Dickinson's body. His wife was
sent for, being told that he was dangerously wounded. On her way thither
she met, in a rough emigrant wagon, the body of her husband. He had
"come home, sure, to-morrow night"--but dead! He was deeply mourned by
the State, which sympathized with his wife and infant child. General
Jackson made bitter enemies by this act. Rachel had been avenged, but at
what a fearful cost!
Eighteen years had gone by since Jackson's marriage. He had received
distinguished honors; he had been a Representative, a Senator, a Judge
of the Supreme Court of the State, a Major-General of the militia, but
one joy was wanting. No children had been born in the home. Mrs.
Jackson's nephews and nieces were often at the Hermitage, and he made
her kindred his own; but both loved children, and this one blessing was
denied them. In 1809, twins were born to Mrs. Jackson's brother. One of
these, when but a few days old, was taken to the Hermitage, and the
general adopted him, giving him his own name, Andrew Jackson.
Ever after, this child was a comfort and a delight. Visitors would often
find the general reading, with the boy in the rocking-chair beside him
or in his lap. Hon. Thomas H. Benton, in his "Thirty Years' View," tells
this story: "I arrived at his house one wet, chilly evening in February,
and came upon him in the twilight, sitting alone before the fire, a lamb
and a child between his knees. He started a little, called a servant to
remove the two innocents to another room, and explained to me how it
was. The child had cried because the lamb was out in the cold, and
begged him to bring it in, which he had done to please the child, his
adopted son, then not two years old. The ferocious man does not do that!
and though Jackson had his passions and his violence, they were for men
and enemies--those who stood up against him--and not for women and
children, or the weak and helpless; for all whom his feelings were those
of protection and support."
Jackson was always the friend of _young_ men--a constant inspiration to
them to do their best. He knew the possibilities of a barefooted boy
like himself. The world owes thanks to those who are its inspiration;
whose minds develop ours; whose sweetness of nature makes us grow
lovable, as plants grow in the sunshine; whose ideals become our ideals;
who lead us up the mountains of faith and trust and hope, but the cord
is silken and we never know that we are led; who go through life loving
and serving--for love is service; who are our comfort and strength--we
lean on those whom we love.
While Jackson was the friend of young men, especially he was loyal to
any who were near his heart. He was like another great man, in a great
war, the hero of 1812 and the hero of 1861. Jackson and Grant were true
to those who had been true to them. Only a man of small soul forgets the
ladder by which he climbs.
The second war with Great Britain had come upon the American people,
June 19, 1812. Our country had suffered in its commerce through the
continued wars of England with France. Vessels had been searched by the
English, to find persons suspected of being British subjects; often
American seamen were impressed into their service. On the ocean, the
contest between English and American ships became almost constant. While
a portion of the States were not in favor of the war, one person was
surely in favor, and ready for it; one who had not forgotten the deaths
of his mother and brothers in the Revolutionary War; who had not
forgotten the wounds on his head and hand. That person was General
Jackson.
He at once offered to the Governor of Louisiana, for the defence of New
Orleans, three thousand soldiers. The offer was accepted, and he started
for Natchez, there to await orders. The men were in the best of spirits,
kept hopeful and enthusiastic by the ardor of their commander, who said
to them: "Perish our friends--perish our wives--perish our children (the
dearest pledges of Heaven)--nay, perish all earthly considerations--but
let the honor and fame of a volunteer soldier be untarnished and
immaculate. We now enjoy liberties, political, civil, and religious,
that no other nation on earth possesses. May we never survive them! No,
rather let us perish in maintaining them. And if we must yield, where is
the man that would not prefer being buried in the ruins of his country
than live the ignominious slave of haughty lords and unfeeling tyrants?"
After a time the "orders" came, but what was the astonishment and
indignation of both officers and men to hear that their services were
not needed, as the British evidently did not intend to attack New
Orleans; that they were to disband and return to Tennessee. Without pay
or rations, five hundred miles from home!--Jackson felt that it was an
insult. He took an oath that they should never disband till they were at
their own doors; that he would conduct his brave three thousand through
the wilderness and the Indian tribes, and be responsible for expenses.
One hundred and fifty of his men were ill. He put those who could ride
on horses, and then, walking at their head, led the gallant company
toward home.
The soldiers used to say that he was "tough as hickory;" then "Old
Hickory" grew to be a term of endearment, which he bore ever afterward.
A month later, and the disappointed soldiers were at Nashville. Before
they disbanded, they were marched out upon the public square, and
received a superb stand of colors. The needle-work was on white satin;
eighteen orange stars in a crescent, with two sprigs of laurel, and the
words, "Tennessee Volunteers--Independence, in a state of war, is to be
maintained on the battle-ground of the Republic. The tented field is the
post of honor. Presented by the ladies of East Tennessee." Under these
words were all the implements of war; cannons, muskets, drums, swords,
and the like. Jackson and his men never forgot this offering of love,
and showed themselves worthy of it in after years.
If Jackson was not needed at New Orleans, he was soon needed elsewhere.
Tecumseh, the great Indian chief, saw the lands of his fathers passing
into the hands of the white men. He had long been uniting the western
tribes from Florida to the northern lakes, and, now that we were at war
with England, he believed the hour of their delivery was come. He at
once incited the Creeks of Alabama to arms.
In the southern portion of that State, forty miles north of Mobile,
stood Fort Mims. The whites had become alarmed at the hostile attitude
of the Indians, and over five hundred men, women, and children had
crowded into the fort for safety. On the 30th of August, 1813, a
thousand Creek warriors in their war paint and feathers, uttering their
terrible war-whoops, rushed into the fort, tomahawked the men and women,
and trampled the children into the dust. The buildings were burned, and
the plain was covered with dead bodies. The massacre at Fort Mims
blanched every face and embittered every heart. The Tennesseans offered
at once to march against the Creeks. The hot-headed General Jackson had
been wounded in a quarrel with Thomas H. Benton, and was suffering from
the ball in his shoulder, which he carried there for twenty years. But
he put his left arm into a sling, and, though emaciated through long
weeks of illness, he led his twenty-five hundred men into the Indians'
country.
The provisions did not follow them as had been arranged. Jackson wrote
home earnestly for money and food. He said, "There is an enemy whom I
dread much more than I do the hostile Creeks, and whose power, I am
fearful, I shall first be made to feel--I mean the meagre monster,
FAMINE." And yet he encouraged his men with these brave words: "Shall an
enemy wholly unacquainted with military evolution, and who rely more for
victory on their grim visages and hideous yells than upon their bravery
or their weapons--shall such an enemy ever drive before them the well
trained youths of our country, whose bosoms pant for glory and a desire
to avenge the wrongs they have received? Your general will not live to
behold such a spectacle; rather would he rush into the thickest of the
enemy, and submit himself to their scalping-knives.... With his soldiers
he will face all dangers, and with them participate in the glory of
conquest."
The first battle with the Creeks was fought under General John Coffee at
Talluschatches, thirteen miles from Jackson's camp, the friendly Creeks
leading the way, wearing white feathers and white deer's-tails to
distinguish them from the hostile tribes. The whites, maddened by the
memory of Fort Mims, fought like tigers; the Indians, sullen and
revengeful at the prospect of losing their homes and their
hunting-grounds, neither asked nor gave quarter, and fought heroically.
Nearly the whole town perished.
On the battle-field was found a dead mother with her arms clasped about
a living child. The babe was brought into camp, and Jackson asked some
of the Indian women to care for it. "No!" said they, "all his relations
are dead; kill him too." The baby was cared for at General Jackson's
expense till the campaign was over, and then carried to the Hermitage,
where he grew to young manhood as a petted son. The general and his wife
gave him the name of Lincoyer. In his seventeenth year he died of
consumption, sincerely mourned by his devoted friends.
Following the battle of Talluschatches, General Jackson moved against
Talladega, and, after a bloody conflict, rescued one hundred and fifty
friendly Creeks. Returning to camp, he found starvation staring him in
the face. The men were becoming desperate; yet he kept his cheerfulness,
dividing with them the last crust. One morning a gaunt, hungry-looking
soldier approached General Jackson as he was sitting under a tree,
eating, and asked for some food, saying that he was nearly starving.
"It has been a rule with me," said the general, "never to turn away a
hungry man, when it is in my power to relieve him, and I will most
cheerfully divide with you what I have." Putting his hand in his pocket,
he drew forth a few acorns. "This is the best and only fare I have," he
said, and the soldier was comforted.
Many of the men had enlisted for three months only, and were impatient
to return home. Finally, the militia determined to return with or
without the general's consent. Jackson heard of their intention, and at
once ordered the volunteers to detain them, peaceably if they could,
forcibly if they must. Then the volunteers, in turn, attempted to go
back, but were met by Jackson's firm resolve to shoot the first man who
took a step toward home.
"I cannot," he said, "must not believe that the 'Volunteers of
Tennessee,' a name ever dear to fame, will disgrace themselves, and a
country which they have honored, by abandoning her standard, as
mutineers and deserters; but should I be disappointed, and compelled to
resign this pleasing hope, one thing I will not resign--my duty. Mutiny
and sedition, so long as I possess the power of quelling them, shall be
put down; and even when left destitute of this, I will still be found in
the last extremity endeavoring to discharge the duty I owe my country
and myself." That one word, "duty," was the key-note of Jackson's life.
It was his religion--it was his philosophy.