III
THE HERMITAGE
At the last stand on the banks of the winding Tennessee, the Major satup late in eager discussion about Old Hickory with an enthusiasticTennesseean. The ladies had retired, and the Boy listened with quieteagerness to the talk.
"Waal, we're goin' ter make Andrew Jackson President anyhow, Major!" theTennesseean drawled.
"I'm afraid they'll beat us," the Major answered, with a shake of hishead.
"How'll they beat us when we git ready ter make the fight?"
"Old Hickory says himself, he ain't fit--"
"I reckon we know more about that than he does," persisted the man fromTennessee.
"The aristocrats don't think so--"
"What t'ell they got agin him? Ain't he the biggest man in this countryto-day? Didn't he lick Spain and England both at Pensacola and didn't hefinish the Red Coats at New Orleans--"
"They say his education's poor--"
"He knowed enough to make this country cock o' the walk--what more dothey want--damn 'em!"
"They say he swears--"
The Tennesseean roared:
"Waal, if all the cussin' men vote fur him--he'll sho be elected!"
"The real trouble--" the Major said thoughtfully, "is what thescandal-mongers keep saying about his wife--"
"He's killed one son-of-a-gun about that already, an' they better lethim alone--"
"That's just it, my friend: he killed that skunk in a duel and it's notthe only one he has fought either. Old Hickory's got the temper of thedevil."
"Waal, thar ain't nothin' in them lies about his wife--"
The Major lifted his hand and moved closer:
"There's just enough truth at the bottom of it all to give the liars thechance they need to talk forever--"
"I never knowed thar wuz ary grain er truth in hit, at all--"
"There is, though," the Major interrupted, "and that's where we're goingto have a big fight on our hands when it comes to the rub. This LewisRobards, her first husband, was a quarrelsome cuss. Every man thatlooked at his wife, he swore was after her, and if she lifted her eyes,he was sure she was guilty. There was no divorce law in Virginia andRobards petitioned the Legislature to pass an Act of Divorce in hisfavor. The dog swore in this petition that his wife had deserted him andwas living with Andrew Jackson. He _was_ boarding with her mother, thewidow Donelson. The Legislature passed the Act, but it only authorizedthe Courts of the Territory of Kentucky to try the case, and grant thedivorce if the facts were proven.
"Robards never went to Court with it for over two years, and Jackson,under the impression that the Legislature had given the divorce, marriedRachel Robards at Natchez in August, 1791.
"Two years later, the skunk slips into Court and gets his divorce!
"As quick as Old Hickory heard this, he married her over again. Therewas a mighty hullabaloo kicked up about it by the politicians. Theytried to run Jackson out of the country--the little pups who were afraidof him. He challenged the leader of this pack of hounds, and shot himdead--"
"Served him right, too," broke in the Tennesseean, removing his pipe,with a nod of his shaggy head.
"But it don't help him on the way to Washington!" The Major grunted,suddenly rising and dismissing the subject for the night.
The Boy's curiosity was kindled to see the great man whose name hadfilled the world.
The distance to Nashville was quickly covered. The Major pressedstraight through the town without pause and drew rein at the General'sgate.
The welcome they received from their distinguished host was so simple,so genuine, so real, the Boy's heart went out in loyal admiration.
The house was a big rambling structure of logs, in front of which stooda stately grove of magnificent forest trees. Behind it stretched thegrain and cotton fields.
Nothing could surpass the unaffected and perfect courtesy with which theGeneral welcomed his guests. The tall, stately figure, moving with theunconscious grace of perfect manhood, needed no rules of a dancingmaster for his guidance. He had sprung from the common people, but hewas a born leader and ruler of men.
The Boy listened with keen ears to hear him rip out one of thoseterrible oaths of which so much had been said. His speech was gentle andkind, and he asked a blessing at every meal exactly as his own quiet,dignified father at home. In all the three weeks they remained hisguests not an oath or an ugly word fell from his lips. The Boy wonderedhow people could tell such lies.
The General liked boys, too. It was easy to see that. He gave hours ofhis time to the games and sports of his adopted son, Andrew Jackson,Jr., and his two little guests. He got up contests of all sorts. Theyraced their ponies. They ran and jumped. They played marbles. Theyfollowed the hounds. And always with them as friend and counselor, theGeneral, gentle, kind, considerate. The only thing he prohibited waswrestling.
"No, boys," he said with a frown. "That's not a good sport for highspirited youth. To feel the hand of a rival on your body may lead to afight."
The deep set eyes flashed with the memory of his own hot blooded boyhoodand young manhood.
The General's wife won the Boy's whole heart from the moment he saw her.
"How could they tell such lies!" he kept repeating with boyishindignation. Pure and sweet as the face of his own mother was hers.Loving, unselfish, tender and thoughtful, she moved through her housewith the gentle step of a ministering angel. The knightly deference withwhich the General attended her slightest wish, stirred the Boy'simagination. He could see him standing erect, pistol in hand, in thegray dawn of the morning on which he faced the enemy who had slanderedher. He could see the big firm hand grip the pistol's handle in a claspof steel as he waited the signal of Death. He wondered what sort ofwound Dickenson's bullet had made in the General's breast. Anyhow, ithad not been fatal. His enemy lived but a few hours.
He set his lips firmly, and repeated the Tennesseean's verdict:
"Served him right, too."
The Boy left the Hermitage under the spell of Old Hickory's personalityfor life. He had seen a great man.