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Historic Boyhoods

<h2>XIII</h2> <h3>Andrew Jackson</h3> <h4>The Boy of the Carolinas: 1767-1845</h4> It was hard for a boy to get much of an education in the backwoods districts of the American colonies in 1777, and especially so in such a primitive country as that which lay along the Catawba River in South Carolina. The colonies were at war with England, and all the care of the people was needed to protect their farms from attacks by the enemy, and to give as much help as they could to their country's cause. But if the boys and girls learned little from books they learned a great deal from hard experience; courage and self-reliance foremost of all. All of the children learned those lessons at a time when they might come home any day and find their home burned down by the enemy or their father and older brothers carried away prisoners. Even more than most of his playmates however, young Andrew Jackson learned these things, because his life was harder than theirs, and he saw more of the actual fighting. By nature he was a fighter, and circumstances strengthened that trait in him. Land in the Carolinas was so valuable for cotton raising that it was not used for building purposes in those days, so the boys who lived near the Catawba were sent to what were called "old-field schools." An "old-field" was really a pine forest. When many crops of cotton, planted season after season without change, had exhausted the soil, the fences were taken away, and the land was left waste. Young pines soon sprang up, and in a short time the field would be covered with a thick wood. In the wood, as near to the road as possible, a small space would be cleared, and the rudest kind of log house built, with a huge fireplace filling one side of the room. The chinks in the logs were filled with red clay. The trunk of a tree, cut into a plank, was fastened to four upright posts, and served the whole school as a writing-desk. A little below it was stretched a smooth log, and this was the seat for the scholars. A wandering schoolmaster was engaged by the farmers, only for a few months at a time, and he taught the children reading, writing, and arithmetic. When the weather was bad, and the roads, made of thick red clay, were too heavy for travel, or when there was farming to be done, the school was closed. This was the only school Mrs. Jackson could send her son Andrew to, and he went there when he was about ten, and took his place on the slab bench, a tall, slim boy, with bright blue eyes, a freckled face, very long sandy hair, wearing a rough homespun suit, and with bare feet and legs. He was not very fond of school, but he did like to be with other boys, and to lead them in any kind of an adventure, particularly if there was the chance of a fight. There was much in this country life to interest an active boy like Andrew Jackson. Wherever there were no cotton fields there were thick pine woods full of wild turkeys and deer to be had for the shooting. The farmers of the Catawba country took their cotton to market in immense covered wagons, often needing a week to make the journey, and camping out every night. Boys were in demand to help load the cotton, and gather wood for the camp-fires, and many a time Andrew was hired to travel to market with a farmer and his wife and young children, and many a night he spent in a little opening in the woods eating supper and sleeping close to a blazing fire of pine knots that lighted up the trees for yards around. The farmers were not apt to leave their wives and children at home, because either the British or the Indians might sweep down upon the district at any time. So quite a party would travel together, and that added to the fun. Such a life, with plenty of horses to ride, and turkeys to hunt, and journeys to make, with only occasional schooling, appealed strongly to Andrew. In August, 1780, when young Jackson was twelve years old, the American General Gates was defeated by the British, and Cornwallis marched into the country of the Catawba. Many families left their homes and went north to be safe from the enemy, and among others Mrs. Jackson and her sons determined to seek a safer home. Andrew's mother and his brother Robert left on horseback, and a day or two later Andrew followed them. The people all through that desolate part of the country were anxious for news of the war, especially for word of fathers or brothers in the army, and they stood by the roads and asked news eagerly of any chance horseman. At one lonely house a little girl was stationed at the gate to question travelers. About sunset one day she saw a tall, gawkish boy come riding along the road, astride of one of the rough, wild, South Carolina ponies. His bare legs were almost long enough to meet under the pony; he wore a torn wide-brimmed hat which napped about his face. His scanty shirt and trousers were covered with dust, and his face was burned brown and worn with hardship. He had ridden so far and was so tired that he could scarcely keep his seat. "Where you from?" cried the girl, as the boy reined up. "From down below, along Waxhaw Creek." "Where you going?" "Up along north." "Who you for?" "The Continental Congress." "What you doing to the Redcoats down below?" "Oh, we're poppin' 'em still." "An' what may your name be?" "Andy Jackson. Anythin' else you'd like to know?" She asked him for news of her father's regiment, but the boy knew little about it, and was soon riding on his way, following the highroad to Charlotte. In Charlotte the Jacksons boarded with some relatives, and Andrew worked hard to pay for his food and lodging. He drove cattle, tended the mill, brought in wood, picked beans, and did any odd jobs that fell to his hand. All the time he was hoping for a chance to fight the enemy, and each day he brought home some new weapon. One day it was a rude spear which he had forged while he waited for the blacksmith to finish a job, another time it was a wooden club, and another a tomahawk. Once he fastened the blade of a scythe to a pole, and when he reached home began cutting down weeds with it, crying, "Oh, if only I were a man, how I'd cut down the Redcoats with this!" The man with whom he was living happened to be watching him, and said later to Andrew's mother: "That boy Andy is going to fight his way in this world." The war between the colonists and the British was especially bitter in the Carolinas, where conditions were more rude and simple than in other parts of the country. The stories that came to Andrew were enough to stir any boy's blood. He had heard that at Charleston the farmers had used their cotton bales to build a fort, that the guerrilla leader Marion had split saws into sword blades for his men, that in more than one encounter the Carolina militia had gone into battle with more men than muskets, so that the unarmed men had to stand and watch the battle until some comrade fell and they could rush in and seize his gun. Popular legends made the Redcoats little less than devils, fit companions for the Indian bands they sent upon the war-path. News of one attack after another came to the Jackson boys until they could stand inaction no longer, and joined a small band of independent riders, not members of any regiment, but free to attack and retreat as they liked. Andrew's first real taste of battle came when he, his brother Robert, and six friends were guarding the house of a neighbor, Captain Sands. The captain had come to see his family, and it was known that the house might be attacked by Tories. Leaving one man to watch, the rest of the defenders stretched themselves out on the floor of the living-room and went to sleep. The sentry also dozed, but toward midnight he was roused by a suspicious noise, and investigating found that two bands of the enemy were approaching the house, one in the front and one in the rear. He rushed indoors, and seized Andrew, who was sleeping next to the door, by the hair. "The Tories are upon us!" he cried in great alarm. The boy jumped up, and ran out of doors. Seeing men in the distance he placed his gun in the fork of a tree by the door, and hailed the men. They made no reply. He called to them again. There was no answer, but they came on double-quick. By this time the other defenders were roused, and had joined the boy. Andrew fired, and the attacking party answered with a volley. The Tories who were creeping up from the rear supposed the volley was fired from the defenders, and immediately answered with fire from their guns. Andrew and his companions retreated into the house, having managed for a few moments to draw the enemy's fire in the darkness against each other. The Tories halted and learned their mistake. By now the men indoors opened fire from the windows on both parties. Several Tories fell, and the rest were held at bay. Then very fortunately a distant bugle was heard sounding the cavalry charge, and the Tories, thinking they had been led into an ambush and were about to be attacked in the rear, dashed to their horses and, mounting, rode off at full speed. It turned out afterward that a neighbor, hearing the firing at Captain Sands' house, had blown his bugle, hoping to give the enemy alarm in the darkness, and that in reality the trick had worked to perfection. So the Jackson boys had luck with them in their first skirmish. They were not so lucky next time. The British general heard of the activity of the little band of colonists and planned to end them. He heard that about forty of the farmers were gathered at the Waxhaw meeting-house, and he sent a body of dragoons, dressed in rough country clothes, to seize them. The farmers were expecting a band of neighbors, and were fooled by the British. Eleven of the forty were taken prisoners, and the rest fled, pursued hotly by the dragoons. Andrew found himself riding desperately by the side of his cousin, Lieutenant Thomas Crawford. For a time they kept to the road, and then turned across a swampy field, where they soon came to a wide slough of mire. They plunged their horses into the bog. Andrew struggled through, but when he reached the bank he found that his cousin's horse had fallen, and that Thomas was trying to fight off his pursuers with his sword. Andrew started back, but before he could get near his cousin the latter had been forced to surrender. The boy then turned, and succeeded in outriding the dragoons, and finally found refuge in the woods, where his brother Robert joined him that night. The next morning hunger forced the two boys to seek a house, and they crept up to their cousin's. They left their guns and horses in the woods, and reached the house safely. Unfortunately a Tory neighbor had seen them, and, seizing their horses and arms, he sent word to the British soldiers. Before the boys had any notice of attack the house was surrounded and they were taken prisoners. Andrew never forgot the scene that followed. There were no men in the house, only his cousin's wife and young children. Nevertheless the soldiers destroyed everything they could find, smashed furniture, crockery, glass, tore all the clothing to rags, and broke in windows and doors. Then the officer in charge ordered Andrew to clean his high riding-boots, which were crusted with mud. The boy refused to do it, saying, "I've a right to be treated as a prisoner of war." The officer swore, and aimed a blow with his sword at Andrew's head. Jackson threw up his left arm as a shield and received two wounds, one a deep gash on the head, the other on his hand. The officer then turned to Robert Jackson, and ordered him to clean his boots. Robert also refused. Then the man struck this boy on the head, and knocked him to the floor. It was a bad business, and the whole performance, especially the brutal treatment of a defenseless woman and two boy prisoners, made a deep impression on Andrew's mind. He was only fourteen years old, but his fighting spirit was that of a grown man. Shortly after this Andrew was ordered to mount a horse, and guide some of the soldiers to the house of a well-known man named Thompson. He was threatened with death if he failed to guide them right. There was nothing for it but to obey, but the boy hit upon a plan by which he might give Thompson a chance to escape. Instead of reaching the house by the usual road he took the men a roundabout way which brought them into full sight of the place half a mile before they reached it. As Andrew had guessed, some one was on watch, and instantly gave the alarm, so that the Redcoats had the pleasure of seeing the man they sought dash from his house, mount a waiting horse, and make off toward a creek that ran close by. The creek was swollen and very deep, but the rider plunged into it and got safely across. The dragoons, however, did not dare follow, and Thompson, shouting defiance at them, got safely into the woods and away. The prisoners were now gathered together, and placed under one escort to be taken to the British prison at Camden, South Carolina. The journey was a very hard one. Both the Jackson boys and their cousin, Thomas Crawford, were suffering from wounds, but they were allowed no food or water as they were marched the forty miles. The soldiers even forbade the boys scooping up drinking water from one of the streams they crossed. The prison at Camden was wretchedness itself. Two hundred and fifty men and boys were herded into one small enclosure. They were given no beds, no medicine, nor bandages to dress their wounds, only a little bad bread for food. The brothers were separated. Andrew was robbed of his coat and shoes; he was sick and hungry and worried, for he had no idea what had happened to his mother or brother. Then as a final horror smallpox broke out in the prison, and the fear of contagion was added to the other torments. One day Andrew was lying in the sun near the prison gate when an officer was attracted by his youth and came up to talk with him. The officer seemed kind, and the boy poured out the miseries of the prison life to him. He told how the men were starved or given bad food, and how they were ill used by the guards. The officer was shocked and promised to look into the matter. When he did he found that the contractors were not giving the prisoners the food they were paid to provide, and he reported the matter to those in charge. Shortly after conditions improved. Then news came to the prison that the American General Greene was coming to deliver them. They were tremendously excited at the report. General Greene had indeed marched on Camden with a small army of twelve hundred men, but as he had marched faster than his artillery he thought it best to wait on a hill outside the town until the guns should come up with him. Six days he stayed there, and then the British commander decided to attack him without further delay. The prison yard would have given a good view of the battle but for a board fence which had lately been built on top of the wall. Andrew looked everywhere for a crack in the boards, but could find none. He managed, however, during the night to cut a hole with an old razor blade which had been given the prisoners to serve as a meat knife. Through this hole he saw something of the battle next day, and described what he saw to the men in the yard below him. The Americans were not expecting the British attack. When the British general led out his nine hundred men early in the morning the Americans were scattered over the hill, washing their clothes, cleaning their guns, cooking, and playing cards. Andrew saw the enemy steal about the base of the hill. There was no way in which he could warn his countrymen. He saw the British steal up the hill, and break suddenly on the surprised soldiers. The colonials rushed for their arms, fell into line, met the charge. The American horse dashed upon the British rear, and a cheer went up from the waiting prisoners. Then the British made a second charge, and this time carried men and horses before them, down the slope and out into the plain. The Americans ceased firing, and finally broke in full retreat. The prisoners were in more wretched state than they had been before. After the battle Andrew's spirits sank to the lowest ebb. He fell ill with the first symptoms of the dreaded smallpox. His brother was in even worse condition. The wound in his head had not healed, as it had never been properly treated. He also was ill, and it seemed as though both boys were about to fall victims to the plague. Fortunately, at this great crisis, help suddenly appeared. Their devoted mother learned of the boys' state, and went by herself to Camden to see if she could not procure a transfer of prisoners. She saw the British general, and arranged that he should free her two sons and five of her neighbors in return for thirteen British soldiers who had been recently captured by a Waxhaw captain. The boys were set free, and joined their mother. She was shocked to find them so changed by hunger, illness, and wounds. Robert could not stand, and Andrew was little better off. They were free, however, at last, and Mrs. Jackson planned to get them home as soon as possible. The mother could get only two horses. One she rode, and Robert was put on the other, and held in the saddle by two of the men just freed. Andrew dragged himself wearily behind, without hat, coat, or shoes. Forty miles of wilderness lay between Camden and the boys' old home at Waxhaw near the Catawba. The little party trudged along as best it could, and were only two miles from home when a cold, drenching rain started to fall. The boys, ill already, suffered terribly. Finally they reached home, and were put to bed. The cold rain had proved too severe for Robert, and two days later he died. Andrew, stricken with smallpox, as was his brother, was very ill for a long time. While Andrew was still sick word came to Waxhaw that the condition of some of the men and boys in the Charleston prison ships was even worse than that of the men at Camden. Mrs. Jackson's nephews and many of her friends and neighbors were in the ships, and she felt that she must do something to relieve them. As soon as she could leave Andrew, she started with two other women to travel the hundred and sixty miles to Charleston. The three women carried medicines and country delicacies and gifts for the prisoners. It was a most heroic journey. They had no protectors, and they were going into the enemy's lines. They succeeded, however, finally managing to gain admittance to the ships, and to deliver the messages from home, the food, and the medicines that were so greatly needed. No one can say how much happiness they brought to those ships in Charleston harbor. Mrs. Jackson stayed in the neighborhood of the city some time, doing what she could to help her countrymen. Unfortunately disease was only too rife in the prisons, and it was not long before she became ill with the ship fever, and after a very short illness died. The news was brought to Andrew, now fifteen years old, as he lay at home, just recovering a little of his strength. He had always been devoted to his mother and worshipped her memory all the days of his life. The British under Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown, October 19, 1781, and the war in the south practically came to an end. Andrew Jackson came out of the Revolution without father or mother or brother, a convalescent in the house of a cousin, with bitter memories of the war. For a long time he was exceedingly weak and dispirited, and that fighting aggressive nature which had marked his early boyhood did not return to him for some time. The boy of sixteen had no one to advise him as to what to do. He tired of life in the primitive Waxhaw country, and when the British evacuated Charleston he went there, and saw something of city life. But his money was soon spent, and he had to decide what he should turn his hand to. The law appealed to him as a good field for advancement, just as it appealed to so many ambitious youths of the new country. At almost the same time there began the emigration of many Carolina families westward into what was to become the territory of Tennessee. Land was given to all who would emigrate and settle there. The idea of growing up with a new community appealed to Andrew; he knew he had the power to make his way. In 1788 he started on his journey west, traveling in the company of about a hundred settlers. They had many adventures and several times they were in danger of attack from Indians. Once it was Jackson himself, sitting by the camp-fire after the others had gone to sleep, who detected something strange in the hooting of owls about the camp, and waked his friends just in time to save them from being surrounded by a band of redskins on the war-path. At last they reached the small town which had been christened Nashville, and there Andrew decided to settle and practice law. This was about the time that Washington was being inaugurated first President of the United States. <ANTIMG src="images/illus11.png" alt="jackson" /> Andrew Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans Andrew grew up with Tennessee. He became a big figure in the western country. He was known as a shrewd, aggressive man, and was sent to Congress from that district. Later, when the War of 1812 came, he was made a general of the American forces, and finally put an end to that war by winning the battle of New Orleans. Some of the satisfaction of that last campaign may have atoned to him for his own sufferings in the Revolution. When the war ended he had won the reputation of a great general, and was one of the most popular men in the United States. His nickname of "Old Hickory" was given him in deep affection. Shortly afterward he was elected President, and then reëlected. He was intensely democratic, absolutely fearless, a magnetic leader. There are few more remarkable stories than that of the rise of the barefooted boy of the Waxhaw to be the chief of the great republic. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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