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NARRATIVE
OF THE
LIFE OF DAVID CROCKETT,
OF THE STATE OF TENNESSEE.
I leave this rule for others when I'm dead,
Be always sure you're right--THEN GO AHEAD!
THE AUTHOR.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
SIXTH EDITION.
PHILADELPHIA.
E. L. CAREY AND A. HART.
BALTIMORE:
CAREY, HART & CO.
1834.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1834,
BY DAVID CROCKETT,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Columbia.
STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON,
PHILADELPHIA.
PREFACE.
Fashion is a thing I care mighty little about, except when it happens to
run just exactly according to my own notion; and I was mighty nigh
sending out my book without any preface at all, until a notion struck
me, that perhaps it was necessary to explain a little the reason why and
wherefore I had written it.
Most of authors seek fame, but I seek for justice,--a holier impulse
than ever entered into the ambitious struggles of the votaries of that
_fickle_, _flirting_ goddess.
A publication has been made to the world, which has done me much
injustice; and the catchpenny errors which it contains, have been
already too long sanctioned by my silence. I don't know the author of
the book--and indeed I don't want to know him; for after he has taken
such a liberty with my name, and made such an effort to hold me up to
publick ridicule, he cannot calculate on any thing but my displeasure. If
he had been content to have written his opinions about me, however
contemptuous they might have been, I should have had less reason to
complain. But when he professes to give my narrative (as he often does)
in my own language, and then puts into my mouth such language as would
disgrace even an outlandish African, he must himself be sensible of the
injustice he has done me, and the trick he has played off on the publick.
I have met with hundreds, if not with thousands of people, who have
formed their opinions of my appearance, habits, language, and every
thing else from that deceptive work.
They have almost in every instance expressed the most profound
astonishment at finding me in human shape, and with the _countenance_,
_appearance_, and _common feelings_ of a human being. It is to correct
all these false notions, and to do justice to myself, that I have
written.
It is certain that the writer of the book alluded to has gathered up
many imperfect scraps of information concerning me, as in parts of his
work there is some little semblance of truth. But I ask him, if this
notice should ever reach his eye, how would he have liked it, if I had
treated _him_ so?--if I had put together such a bundle of ridiculous
stuff, and headed it with _his_ name, and sent it out upon the world
without ever even condescending to ask _his_ permission? To these
questions, all upright men must give the same answer. It was wrong; and
the desire to make money by it, is no apology for such injustice to a
fellow man.
But I let him pass; as my wish is greatly more to vindicate myself, than
to condemn him.
In the following pages I have endeavoured to give the reader a plain,
honest, homespun account of my state in life, and some few of the
difficulties which have attended me along its journey, down to this
time. I am perfectly aware, that I have related many small and, as I
fear, uninteresting circumstances; but if so, my apology is, that it was
rendered necessary by a desire to link the different periods of my life
together, as they have passed, from my childhood onward, and thereby to
enable the reader to select such parts of it as he may relish most, if,
indeed, there is any thing in it which may suit his palate.
I have also been operated on by another consideration. It is this:--I
know, that obscure as I am, my name is making a considerable deal of
fuss in the world. I can't tell why it is, nor in what it is to end. Go
where I will, everybody seems anxious to get a peep at me; and it would
be hard to tell which would have the advantage, if I, and the
"Government," and "Black Hawk," and a great eternal big caravan of _wild
varments_ were all to be showed at the same time in four different parts
of any of the big cities in the nation. I am not so sure that I
shouldn't get the most custom of any of the crew. There must therefore
be something in me, or about me, that attracts attention, which is even
mysterious to myself. I can't understand it, and I therefore put all the
facts down, leaving the reader free to take his choice of them.
On the subject of my style, it is bad enough, in all conscience, to
please critics, if that is what they are after. They are a sort of
vermin, though, that I sha'n't even so much as stop to brush off. If
they want to work on my book, just let them go ahead; and after they are
done, they had better blot out all their criticisms, than to know what
opinion I would express of _them_, and by what sort of a curious name I
would call _them_, if I was standing near them, and looking over their
shoulders. They will, at most, have only their trouble for their pay.
But I rather expect I shall have them on my side.
But I don't know of any thing in my book to be criticised on by
honourable men. Is it on my spelling?--that's not my trade. Is it on my
grammar?--I hadn't time to learn it, and make no pretensions to it. Is
it on the order and arrangement of my book?--I never wrote one before,
and never read very many; and, of course, know mighty little about that.
Will it be on the authorship of the book?--this I claim, and I'll hang
on to it, like a wax plaster. The whole book is my own, and every
sentiment and sentence in it. I would not be such a fool, or knave
either, as to deny that I have had it hastily run over by a friend or
so, and that some little alterations have been made in the spelling and
grammar; and I am not so sure that it is not the worse of even that, for
I despise this way of spelling contrary to nature. And as for grammar,
it's pretty much a thing of nothing at last, after all the fuss that's
made about it. In some places, I wouldn't suffer either the spelling, or
grammar, or any thing else to be touch'd; and therefore it will be found
in my own way.
But if any body complains that I have had it looked over, I can only
say to him, her, or them--as the case may be--that while critics were
learning grammar, and learning to spell, I, and "Doctor Jackson, L.L.D."
were fighting in the wars; and if our books, and messages, and
proclamations, and cabinet writings, and so forth, and so on, should
need a little looking over, and a little correcting of the spelling and
the grammar to make them fit for use, its just nobody's business. Big
men have more important matters to attend to than crossing their
_t_'s--, and dotting their _i_'s--, and such like small things. But the
"Government's" name is to the proclamation, and my name's to the book;
and if I didn't write the book, the "Government" didn't write the
proclamation, which no man _dares to deny_!
But just read for yourself, and my ears for a heel tap, if before you
get through you don't say, with many a good-natured smile and hearty
laugh, "This is truly the very thing itself--the exact image of its
Author,
DAVID CROCKETT."
WASHINGTON CITY,
February 1st, 1834.
NARRATIVE
OF THE
LIFE OF DAVID CROCKETT.
CHAPTER I.
As the public seem to feel some interest in the history of an individual
so humble as I am, and as that history can be so well known to no person
living as to myself, I have, after so long a time, and under many
pressing solicitations from my friends and acquaintances, at last
determined to put my own hand to it, and lay before the world a
narrative on which they may at least rely as being true. And seeking no
ornament or colouring for a plain, simple tale of truth, I throw aside
all hypocritical and fawning apologies, and, according to my own maxim,
just "_go ahead_." Where I am not known, I might, perhaps, gain some
little credit by having thrown around this volume some of the flowers of
learning; but where I am known, the vile cheatery would soon be
detected, and like the foolish jackdaw, that with a _borrowed_ tail
attempted to play the peacock, I should be justly robbed of my pilfered
ornaments, and sent forth to strut without a tail for the balance of my
time. I shall commence my book with what little I have learned of the
history of my father, as all _great men_ rest many, if not most, of
their hopes on their noble ancestry. Mine was poor, but I hope honest,
and even that is as much as many a man can say. But to my subject.
My father's name was John Crockett, and he was of Irish descent. He was
either born in Ireland or on a passage from that country to America
across the Atlantic. He was by profession a farmer, and spent the early
part of his life in the state of Pennsylvania. The name of my mother was
Rebecca Hawkins. She was an American woman, born in the state of
Maryland, between York and Baltimore. It is likely I may have heard
where they were married, but if so, I have forgotten. It is, however,
certain that they were, or else the public would never have been
troubled with the history of David Crockett, their son.
I have an imperfect recollection of the part which I have understood my
father took in the revolutionary war. I personally know nothing about
it, for it happened to be a little before my day; but from himself, and
many others who were well acquainted with its troubles and afflictions,
I have learned that he was a soldier in the revolutionary war, and took
part in that bloody struggle. He fought, according to my information, in
the battle at Kings Mountain against the British and tories, and in some
other engagements of which my remembrance is too imperfect to enable me
to speak with any certainty. At some time, though I cannot say certainly
when, my father, as I have understood, lived in Lincoln county, in the
state of North Carolina. How long, I don't know. But when he removed
from there, he settled in that district of country which is now embraced
in the east division of Tennessee, though it was not then erected into a
state.
He settled there under dangerous circumstances, both to himself and his
family, as the country was full of Indians, who were at that time very
troublesome. By the Creeks, my grandfather and grandmother Crockett were
both murdered, in their own house, and on the very spot of ground where
Rogersville, in Hawkins county, now stands. At the same time, the
Indians wounded Joseph Crockett, a brother to my father, by a ball,
which broke his arm; and took James a prisoner, who was still a younger
brother than Joseph, and who, from natural defects, was less able to
make his escape, as he was both deaf and dumb. He remained with them for
seventeen years and nine months, when he was discovered and recollected
by my father and his eldest brother, William Crockett; and was purchased
by them from an Indian trader, at a price which I do not now remember;
but so it was, that he was delivered up to them, and they returned him
to his relatives. He now lives in Cumberland county, in the state of
Kentucky, though I have not seen him for many years.
My father and mother had six sons and three daughters. I was the fifth
son. What a pity I hadn't been the seventh! For then I might have been,
by _common consent_, called _doctor_, as a heap of people get to be
great men. But, like many of them, I stood no chance to become great in
any other way than by accident. As my father was very poor, and living
as he did _far back in the back woods_, he had neither the means nor the
opportunity to give me, or any of the rest of his children, any
learning.
But before I get on the subject of my own troubles, and a great many
very funny things that have happened to me, like all other historians
and biographers, I should not only inform the public that I was born,
myself, as well as other folks, but that this important event took
place, according to the best information I have received on the subject,
on the 17th of August, in the year 1786; whether by day or night, I
believe I never heard, but if I did I, have forgotten. I suppose,
however, it is not very material to my present purpose, nor to the
world, as the more important fact is well attested, that I was born;
and, indeed, it might be inferred, from my present size and appearance,
that I was pretty _well born_, though I have never yet attached myself
to that numerous and worthy society.
At that time my father lived at the mouth of Lime Stone, on the
Nola-chucky river; and for the purpose not only of showing what sort of
a man I now am, but also to show how soon I began to be a _sort of a
little man_, I have endeavoured to take the _back track_ of life, in
order to fix on the first thing that I can remember. But even then, as
now, so many things were happening, that as Major Jack Downing would
say, they are all in "a pretty considerable of a snarl," and I find it
"kinder hard" to fix on that thing, among them all, which really
happened first. But I think it likely, I have hit on the outside line
of my recollection; as one thing happened at which I was so badly
scared, that it seems to me I could not have forgotten it, if it had
happened a little time only after I was born. Therefore it furnishes me
with no certain evidence of my age at the time; but I know one thing
very well, and that is, that when it happened, I had no knowledge of the
use of breeches, for I had never had any nor worn any.
But the circumstance was this: My four elder brothers, and a well-grown
boy of about fifteen years old, by the name of Campbell, and myself,
were all playing on the river's side; when all the rest of them got into
my father's canoe, and put out to amuse themselves on the water, leaving
me on the shore alone.
Just a little distance below them, there was a fall in the river, which
went slap-right straight down. My brothers, though they were little
fellows, had been used to paddling the canoe, and could have carried it
safely anywhere about there; but this fellow Campbell wouldn't let them
have the paddle, but, fool like, undertook to manage it himself. I
reckon he had never seen a water craft before; and it went just any way
but the way he wanted it. There he paddled, and paddled, and
paddled--all the while going wrong,--until,--in a short time, here they
were all going, straight forward, stern foremost, right plump to the
falls; and if they had only had a fair shake, they would have gone over
as slick as a whistle. It was'ent this, though, that scared me; for I
was so infernal mad that they had left me on the shore, that I had as
soon have seen them all go over the falls a bit, as any other way. But
their danger was seen by a man by the name of Kendall, but I'll be shot
if it was Amos; for I believe I would know him yet if I was to see him.
This man Kendall was working in a field on the bank, and knowing there
was no time to lose, he started full tilt, and here he come like a cane
brake afire; and as he ran, he threw off his coat, and then his jacket,
and then his shirt, for I know when he got to the water he had nothing
on but his breeches. But seeing him in such a hurry, and tearing off his
clothes as he went, I had no doubt but that the devil or something else
was after him--and close on him, too--as he was running within an inch
of his life. This alarmed me, and I screamed out like a young painter.
But Kendall didn't stop for this. He went ahead with all might, and as
full bent on saving the boys, as Amos was on moving the deposites. When
he came to the water he plunged in, and where it was too deep to wade
he would swim, and where it was shallow enough he went bolting on; and
by such exertion as I never saw at any other time in my life, he reached
the canoe, when it was within twenty or thirty feet of the falls; and so
great was the suck, and so swift the current, that poor Kendall had a
hard time of it to stop them at last, as Amos will to stop the mouths of
the people about his stockjobbing. But he hung on to the canoe, till he
got it stop'd, and then draw'd it out of danger. When they got out, I
found the boys were more scared than I had been, and the only thing that
comforted me was, the belief that it was a punishment on them for
leaving me on shore.
Shortly after this, my father removed, and settled in the same county,
about ten miles above Greenville.
There another circumstance happened, which made a lasting impression on
my memory, though I was but a small child. Joseph Hawkins, who was a
brother to my mother, was in the woods hunting for deer. He was passing
near a thicket of brush, in which one of our neighbours was gathering
some grapes, as it was in the fall of the year, and the grape season.
The body of the man was hid by the brush, and it was only as he would
raise his hand to pull the bunches, that any part of him could be seen.
It was a likely place for deer; and my uncle, having no suspicion that
it was any human being, but supposing the raising of the hand to be the
occasional twitch of a deer's ear, fired at the lump, and as the devil
would have it, unfortunately shot the man through the body. I saw my
father draw a silk handkerchief through the bullet hole, and entirely
through his body; yet after a while he got well, as little as any one
would have thought it. What become of him, or whether he is dead or
alive, I don't know; but I reckon he did'ent fancy the business of
gathering grapes in an out-of-the-way thicket soon again.
The next move my father made was to the mouth of Cove creek, where he
and a man by the name of Thomas Galbreath undertook to build a mill in
partnership. They went on very well with their work until it was nigh
done, when there came the second epistle to Noah's fresh, and away went
their mill, shot, lock, and barrel. I remember the water rose so high,
that it got up into the house we lived in, and my father moved us out of
it, to keep us from being drowned. I was now about seven or eight years
old, and have a pretty distinct recollection of every thing that was
going on. From his bad luck in that business, and being ready to wash
out from mill building, my father again removed, and this time settled
in Jefferson county, now in the state of Tennessee; where he opened a
tavern on the road from Abbingdon to Knoxville.
His tavern was on a small scale, as he was poor; and the principal
accommodations which he kept, were for the waggoners who travelled the
road. Here I remained with him until I was twelve years old; and about
that time, you may guess, if you belong to Yankee land, or reckon, if
like me you belong to the back-woods, that I began to make up my
acquaintance with hard times, and a plenty of them.
An old Dutchman, by the name of Jacob Siler, who was moving from Knox
county to Rockbridge, in the state of Virginia, in passing, made a stop
at my father's house. He had a large stock of cattle, that he was
carrying on with him; and I suppose made some proposition to my father
to hire some one to assist him.
Being hard run every way, and having no thought, as I believe, that I
was cut out for a Congressman or the like, young as I was, and as little
as I knew about travelling, or being from home, he hired me to the old
Dutchman, to go four hundred miles on foot, with a perfect stranger that
I never had seen until the evening before. I set out with a heavy heart,
it is true, but I went ahead, until we arrived at the place, which was
three miles from what is called the Natural Bridge, and made a stop at
the house of a Mr. Hartley, who was father-in-law to Mr. Siler, who had
hired me. My Dutch master was very kind to me, and gave me five or six
dollars, being pleased, as he said, with my services.
This, however, I think was a bait for me, as he persuaded me to stay
with him, and not return any more to my father. I had been taught so
many lessons of obedience by my father, that I at first supposed I was
bound to obey this man, or at least I was afraid openly to disobey him;
and I therefore staid with him, and tried to put on a look of perfect
contentment until I got the family all to believe I was fully satisfied.
I had been there about four or five weeks, when one day myself and two
other boys were playing on the road-side, some distance from the house.
There came along three waggons. One belonged to an old man by the name
of Dunn, and the others to two of his sons. They had each of them a good
team, and were all bound for Knoxville. They had been in the habit of
stopping at my father's as they passed the road, and I knew them. I made
myself known to the old gentleman, and informed him of my situation; I
expressed a wish to get back to my father and mother, if they could fix
any plan for me to do so. They told me that they would stay that night
at a tavern seven miles from there, and that if I could get to them
before day the next morning, they would take me home; and if I was
pursued, they would protect me. This was a Sunday evening; I went back
to the good old Dutchman's house, and as good fortune would have it, he
and the family were out on a visit. I gathered my clothes, and what
little money I had, and put them all together under the head of my bed.
I went to bed early that night, but sleep seemed to be a stranger to me.
For though I was a wild boy, yet I dearly loved my father and mother,
and their images appeared to be so deeply fixed in my mind, that I could
not sleep for thinking of them. And then the fear that when I should
attempt to go out, I should be discovered and called to a halt, filled
me with anxiety; and between my childish love of home, on the one hand,
and the fears of which I have spoken, on the other, I felt mighty queer.
But so it was, about three hours before day in the morning I got up to
make my start. When I got out, I found it was snowing fast, and that the
snow was then on the ground about eight inches deep. I had not even the
advantage of moonlight, and the whole sky was hid by the falling snow,
so that I had to guess at my way to the big road, which was about a half
mile from the house. I however pushed ahead and soon got to it, and then
pursued it, in the direction to the waggons.
I could not have pursued the road if I had not guided myself by the
opening it made between the timber, as the snow was too deep to leave
any part of it to be known by either seeing or feeling.
Before I overtook the waggons, the earth was covered about as deep as my
knees; and my tracks filled so briskly after me, that by daylight, my
Dutch master could have seen no trace which I left.
I got to the place about an hour before day. I found the waggoners
already stirring, and engaged in feeding and preparing their horses for
a start. Mr. Dunn took me in and treated me with great kindness. My
heart was more deeply impressed by meeting with such a friend, and "at
such a time," than by wading the snow-storm by night, or all the other
sufferings which my mind had endured. I warmed myself by the fire, for I
was very cold, and after an early breakfast, we set out on our journey.
The thoughts of home now began to take the entire possession of my mind,
and I almost numbered the sluggish turns of the wheels, and much more
certainly the miles of our travel, which appeared to me to count mighty
slow. I continued with my kind protectors, until we got to the house of
a Mr. John Cole, on Roanoke, when my impatience became so great, that I
determined to set out on foot and go ahead by myself, as I could travel
twice as fast in that way as the waggons could.
Mr. Dunn seemed very sorry to part with me, and used many arguments to
prevent me from leaving him. But home, poor as it was, again rushed on
my memory, and it seemed ten times as dear to me as it ever had before.
The reason was, that my parents were there, and all that I had been
accustomed to in the hours of childhood and infancy was there; and there
my anxious little heart panted also to be. We remained at Mr. Coles that
night, and early in the morning I felt that I couldn't stay; so, taking
leave of my friends the waggoners, I went forward on foot, until I was
fortunately overtaken by a gentleman, who was returning from market, to
which he had been with a drove of horses. He had a led horse, with a
bridle and saddle on him, and he kindly offered to let me get on his
horse and ride him. I did so, and was glad of the chance, for I was
tired, and was, moreover, near the first crossing of Roanoke, which I
would have been compelled to wade, cold as the water was, if I had not
fortunately met this good man. I travelled with him in this way, without
any thing turning up worth recording, until we got within fifteen miles
of my father's house. There we parted, and he went on to Kentucky and I
trudged on homeward, which place I reached that evening. The name of
this kind gentleman I have entirely forgotten, and I am sorry for it;
for it deserves a high place in my little book. A remembrance of his
kindness to a little straggling boy, and a stranger to him, has however
a resting place in my heart, and there it will remain as long as I
live.