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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 Villamil was an American, a citizen of the United States, who had cast in
his lot with the Spanish-American Patriots. At his house in Guayaquil (a
city now a part of Ecuador) the local Patriots met to discuss plans.
The Province and city of Guayaquil lay on the northern border of Peru.
They were still under Spanish rule. They were garrisoned by 1500 Spanish
soldiers.
The Patriots decided to capture the garrison. So while San Martin was
preparing to besiege Lima, they set out from Villamil’s house, led by a
Venezuelan officer. Villamil accompanied them with a band of Englishmen
and North Americans, who were eager to help in the attack.
They took the garrison in double-quick time, and with very little
bloodshed at that, for scarcely eight men were killed.
“That was bravely and cleverly done!” said Villamil.
And that he himself had fought bravely and cleverly during the attack,
was soon proven, for the Provisional Government of Guayaquil despatched
him aboard a schooner to carry the good news to Lord Cochrane and San
Martin.
Some time after, there took place at Guayaquil one of the most amazing
meetings the world has ever seen.
THE AMAZING MEETING
This amazing meeting at Guayaquil, was like the dramatic climax of an
exciting story.
There was a mystery in it.
It happened a few months after the freeing of Guayaquil. The people of
the city, dressed in their gayest clothes, were crowding along the streets,
and craning their necks to watch for a procession.
Triumphal arches spanned the streets. On each arch was inscribed:—
BOLIVAR!
And while the people watched eagerly, lo, the new white and blue flag of
independent Guayaquil was hauled down from the gunboats on the river,
and in its place were run up the red, yellow, and blue colours of the great
new Republic of Colombia, which had just been formed to the North of
Guayaquil.
 Then there was a sudden burst of military music, and under the
triumphal arches marched a procession of officers in brilliant uniforms and
soldiers with bayonets. And astride his war-horse, cocked hat in hand, rode
Simon Bolivar, the Venezuelan Liberator, small, erect, and elegant.
He had been leading his conquering Army down from the North, driving
out the Spaniards; while at the same time, San Martin had been freeing the
Republics of Argentina and Chile and convoying his Army up from the
South to the liberation of Peru.
It was General Bolivar who had founded the new and great Republic of
Colombia, and had given it a constitutional government. He was now come
to Guayaquil on his way to liberate Peru.
He rode thus proudly under the arches that bore his name. His alert,
bright, black eyes turned to the right and left as he took in every detail
around him.
Soon after this, the Amazing Meeting took place.
San Martin the Protector arrived at Guayaquil to confer with Bolivar.
Strong Spanish forces were gathering in Peru, concentrating for a
terrible, and final struggle. San Martin’s Army had been weakened by
disease and losses. He was now come to ask Bolivar to join his forces with
the Patriot Army in Peru and so help bring the war to a quick, decisive end.
Thus the two great Patriots met in the gayly decked tropic city. One had
liberated all the northern part of Spanish America, the other had brought
Independence to two southern Republics: Bolivar small, alert, sagacious, of
vivid personality and iron will impatient of restraint, elegantly clad in full
dress uniform; San Martin, stalwart, earnest, simple, yet strong, dressed in
plain garments.
On the result of their conference, hung the completed Freedom of all
Spanish America.
They were left alone.
They conferred for more than an hour.
No one knew what they discussed. But those who caught glimpses of
them, said that Bolivar seemed agitated, while San Martin was grave and
calm.
After the conference, San Martin sent his baggage back to the ship.
The next day, they conferred again.
 Again, nobody knew what they discussed.
That night, San Martin went aboard his ship, and sailed for Peru.
WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARD
Then came the results of that Amazing Meeting.
San Martin returned to Peru, and announced that Bolivar was coming
with his Army to aid the Country. He then resigned his command, refusing
all the honours heaped upon him by the grateful Peruvian Government. But,
he said, that if the Republic of Peru were ever in danger, he would glory in
joining as a citizen in her defense.
Then, to the sorrowing Peruvian People, he issued a farewell address,
assuring them, that since their Independence was secured, he was now
about to fulfil his sacred promise and leave them to govern themselves,
adding:—
“God grant that success may preside over your destinies, and that you
may reach the summit of felicity and peace.”
That same night, San Martin mounted his horse and rode away into the
darkness. He had left Peru forever.
He passed through Chile and laid down his command; then he crossed
the Andes to rest for a while on his little farm at Mendoza.
There the terrible news reached him that his wife had died in Buenos
Aires. All that she had meant to him, he himself expressed in the simple
words:—
“The wife and friend of General San Martin.”
His trials were not yet over. For on his reaching Buenos Aires, its
officials met him coldly and scornfully. Then San Martin, ill, sorrowful, and
forsaken, took his little daughter in his arms, and going aboard a ship sailed
for Europe. Thus he left Argentina, and went into voluntary exile.
He never saw Buenos Aires again. Five years later, longing to retire
quietly on his farm at Mendoza, he returned to Argentina. He never left the
ship. He learned that if he did so, old political factions would rise up again,
and civil war might threaten Argentina. So he sailed back to Europe.
There he looked after his daughter’s education. And in his old age, he
lived comfortably in a small country house on the bank of the Seine. He
cared for his garden, tended his flowers, and read his books, until his sight
began to fail.
At the age of seventy-two, still a voluntary exile for the good of his
Country, he died in his dear daughter’s arms.
“I desire,” said he, “that my heart should rest in Buenos Aires.”

THE MYSTERY SOLVED

What was the mystery, that had made San Martin at the height of his
success, bow his head in silence and go into voluntary exile?
His enemies reviled him. Even some of his friends accused him of
deserting his post in time of need. But he neither complained nor explained.
A great act of self-abnegation may not be hidden forever. Years passed
by, then San Martin’s noble purpose came to light.
At that Amazing Meeting, after he and Bolivar had exchanged opposing
views as to the best form of government for Spanish America, they began to
discuss the liberation of Peru.
Bolivar refused to enter Peru or to allow his Army to do so without the
consent of the Congress of Colombia. He politely offered to lend San
Martin a few troops, altogether too few to aid in the subjection of the large
Spanish forces gathering in Peru for the final decisive struggle.
San Martin, at a glance, read the Liberator’s purpose. He saw before him
a brilliant General “of a constancy to which difficulties only added
strength,” who by joining his Army to that of Peru, Argentina, and Chile,
could make sure for all time to come, the liberation of the whole of Spanish
America. But it was also plain to San Martin that Bolivar would never
consent to share his command with any other man.
Therefore, San Martin offered to lay down the sword of supreme
command of his forces in Peru, and serve as an ordinary officer under
Bolivar.
This Bolivar refused.
San Martin was pushed to the wall. There was left only one of two things
for him to do—either to return to Peru and wage an unequal and possibly
losing warfare against the Spaniards without the help of Bolivar,—or to
withdraw.
He withdrew in silence.
 But why in silence? Why did he not explain so that people might
understand and not misjudge him?
In a letter that he wrote from Peru to Bolivar, giving his reasons for
retiring, he told why he was silent:—
“The sentiments which this letter contains will remain buried in the
most profound silence. If they were to become public, our enemies might
profit by them and injure the cause of Liberty; while ambitious and
intriguing people might use them to foment discord.”
Again he said, “It shall not be San Martin who will give a day’s delight
to the enemy.”
And on leaving Peru, he said in his farewell to the People, “My
countrymen, as in most affairs, will be divided in opinion—their children
will give a true verdict.”
. . . . . . . . . .
And their children have justified his faith.
To-day, his body rests in the Cathedral of Buenos Aires.
And to-day the school-children of Argentina are taught to love and
reverence the Father of their Country who never thought of himself—Jose
de San Martin.
 MARCH 15

ANDREW
OLD HICKORY
Our Federal Union: It must and shall be preserved!
Andrew Jackson’s Toast on Jefferson’s Birthday
I want to say that Andrew Jackson was a Tennessean; but Andrew
Jackson was an American, and there is not a State in this Nation that
cannot claim him, that has not the right to claim him as a national
hero....
I should not say that Old Hickory was faultless. I do not know very
many strong men that have not got some of the defects of their qualities.
But Andrew Jackson was as upright a Patriot, as honest a man, as
fearless a gentleman, as ever any Nation had in public or private life.
President Theodore Roosevelt

Andrew Jackson was born in the

Carolinas, March 15, 1767
Won the Battle of Talladega against the
Creeks, 1813
Won the Battle of New Orleans against the
British, January 8, 1815
Was made Governor of Florida, 1821
Was elected President, 1828; again, 1832
He died, June 8, 1845
He is sometimes called “Old Hickory”

MISCHIEVOUS ANDY
“Set the case! You are Shauney Kerr’s mare, and me Billy Buck. And I
should mount you, and you should kick, fall, fling, and break your neck,
should I be to blame for that?”
 Imagine this gibberish, roared out by a sandy-haired boy, as he came
leaping from the door of a log-schoolhouse, ready to defy all the other boys
to a race, a wrestle, or a jumping match, while he playfully laid sprawling
as many of his friends as he could trip unawares.
There you have Andy Jackson!
Andy, tall, lank, red-headed, blue-eyed, freckled, barefoot, and dressed
in coarse copperas-coloured clothes, was the son of a poor Scotch Irish
widow. He was born and reared in the Carolinas. He lived with his mother
in the Waxhaws Settlement. His home was a log-cabin in a clearing.
His mother earned her living and that of her two youngest boys. She had
great ambitions for Andy. She sent him to school in the little log-
schoolhouse. And, when she had earned enough money, she paid his tuition
at a country academy.
No boy ever lived who liked fun better than Andy. He ran foot-races,
leaped the bar, and high-jumped. To the younger boys, who never
questioned his mastery, he was a generous protector. There was nothing he
would not do to defend them.
But boys of his own age and older, found him self-willed, somewhat
overbearing, easily offended, very irascible, and on the whole difficult to
get along with.
He learned to read, write, and cast accounts—little more.
James Parton (Retold)

READING THE DECLARATION

Andy was nine years old when the Declaration of Independence was signed
at Philadelphia.
In August, some one brought a Philadelphia newspaper to the Waxhaws.
It contained a portion of the Declaration. A crowd of Waxhaw Patriots
gathered in front of the country store owned by Andy’s Uncle Crawford.
They were eager to hear the Declaration read aloud. Andy was chosen to
read it.
He did so proudly in a shrill, penetrating voice. He read the whole thing
through without once stopping to spell out the words. And that was more
than many of the grown men of the Waxhaws could do in those pioneer
days, when frontier log-schoolhouses were few and far between.
 OUT AGAINST TARLETON
Andrew Jackson was little more than thirteen, when the British Tarleton
with his dragoons, thundered along the red roads of the Waxhaws, and dyed
them a deeper red with the blood of the surprised Patriot Militia. For
Tarleton fell upon the Waxhaws settlement, and killed one hundred and
thirteen of the Militia, and wounded a hundred and fifty more.
The wounded men were abandoned to the care of the settlers, and
quartered in the cabins, and in the old log Waxhaw meeting-house, which
was turned into a hospital.
Andrew’s mother was one of the kind women who nursed the soldiers in
the meeting-house. Andrew and his brother Robert assisted her in waiting
upon them. Andrew, more in rage than pity, though pitiful by nature, burned
to avenge their wounds and his brother’s death. For his eldest brother,
Hugh, had mounted his horse the year before, and ridden southward to join
the Patriot forces. He had fought gallantly, and had died bravely.
Tarleton’s massacre at the Waxhaws, had kindled the flames of war in all
that region of the Carolinas. The time was now come when Andrew and
Robert were to play men’s parts. Carrying their own weapons, they
mounted their grass ponies—ponies of the South Carolina swamps, rough,
Shetlandish, wild—and rode away to join the patriots.
Andrew and Robert served in a number of actions, and were finally
taken captive.
They were at length rescued by their mother. This heroic woman arrived
at their prison, and by her efforts and entreaties, succeeded in bringing
about an exchange of prisoners.
Andrew and Robert were brought out of prison and handed over to her.
She gazed at them in astonishment and horror,—so worn and wasted the
boys were with hunger, wounds, and disease. They were both ill with the
smallpox. Robert could not stand, nor even sit on horseback without
support.
Two horses were procured. One, Mrs. Jackson rode herself. Robert was
placed on the other, and held in his seat by some of the prisoners to whom
Mrs. Jackson had just given liberty.
Behind the sad procession poor Andrew dragged his weak and weary
limbs, bare-headed, bare-footed, without a jacket, his only two garments
torn and dirty.
The forty miles of lonely wilderness to the Waxhaws were nearly
traversed, and the fevered boys were expecting in two hours more, to enjoy
the comfort of home, when a chilly, drenching rain set in. The smallpox had
reached that stage when a violent chill proves wellnigh fatal. The boys
reached home and went to bed.
In two days Robert Jackson was dead, while Andrew was a raving
maniac. But the mother’s nursing and his own strong constitution brought
Andrew out of his peril, and set him on the way to slow recovery.
James Parton (Retold)
AN ORPHAN OF THE REVOLUTION
Andrew Jackson was no sooner out of danger, than his courageous mother
resolved to go to Charleston, a distance of nearly two hundred miles, and do
what she could for the comfort of the prisoners confined on the reeking,
disease-infested prison-ships.
Among the many captives on the ships, suffering hunger, sickness, and
neglect, were Mrs. Jackson’s own nephews and some of her Waxhaw
neighbours. She hoped to obtain their release, as she had that of Andy and
Robert.
She arrived at Charleston, and gained admission to the ships. She
distributed food and medicines, and brought much comfort and joy to the
haggard prisoners.
She had been there but a little time when she was seized by ship-fever.
After a short illness she died. She was buried on the open plain, and her
grave was lost sight of. Her clothes, a sorry bundle, were sent to her boy at
the Waxhaws.
And so Andrew Jackson, before reaching his fifteenth birthday had lost
his father, mother, and two brothers. He was an orphan, a sick and
sorrowful orphan, a homeless orphan, an orphan of the Revolution.
Many years later on his birthday, on the very same day when he
disbanded the Army with which he had won the Battle of New Orleans, he
said of his mother:—
“How I wish she could have lived to see this day! There never was a
woman like her. She was gentle as a dove and brave as a lioness....
 “Her last words have been the law of my life. When the tidings of her
death reached me, I at first could not believe it. When I finally realized the
truth, I felt utterly alone.... Yes, I was alone. With that feeling, I started to
make my own way....
“The memory of my Mother and her teachings, were after all the only
capital I had to start in life with, and on that capital I have made my way.”
James Parton and Other Sources.
THE HOOTING IN THE WILDERNESS
It was night in the Tennessee Wilderness. A train of settlers from the
Carolinas, with four-wheeled ox-carts and pack-horses, and attended by an
armed guard, was winding its way along the trail through the forest toward
the frontier-town of Nashville. They had marched thirty-six hours, a night
and two days, without stopping to rest. They were keeping a vigilant
outlook for savages.
At length, they reached what they thought was a safe camping-ground.
The tired travellers hastened to encamp. Their little tents were pitched.
Their fires were lighted. The exhausted women and children crept into the
tents, and fell asleep.
The men, except those who were to stand sentinel during the first half of
the night, wrapped their blankets around them and lay down under the lee
of sheltering logs with their feet to the fire.
Silence fell on the camp.
All slept except the sentinels and one young man. He sat with his back to
a tree, smoking a corn-cob pipe. He was not handsome; but the direct
glance of his keen blue eye and his resolute expression, made him seem so
in spite of a long thin face, high forehead somewhat narrow, and sandy-red
hair falling low on his brow.
This young man was Andrew Jackson,—mischievous Andy of the
Waxhaws,—now grown to be a clever, licensed, young lawyer. He was
going with the emigrant train to Nashville in order to hang out his sign and
practise on the frontier.
He sat there in the Wilderness, in the darkness, peacefully smoking. He
listened to the night sounds from the forest. He was falling into a doze,
when he noted the various hoots of owls in the forest around him.
 “A remarkable country this, for owls,” he thought, as he closed his eyes
and fell asleep.
Just then an owl, whose hooting had sounded at a distance, suddenly
uttered a peculiar cry close to the camp.
In a moment, young Jackson was the widest awake man in Tennessee.
He grasped his rifle, and crept cautiously to where his friend Searcy was
sleeping, and woke him quietly.
“Searcy,” said he, “raise your head and make no noise.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Searcy.
“The owls—listen—there—there again! Isn’t that a little too natural?”
“Do you think so?” asked Searcy.
“I know it,” replied young Jackson. “There are Indians all around us. I
have heard them in every direction. They mean to attack before daybreak.”
In a few minutes, the men of the camp were aroused. The experienced
woodsmen among them listened to the hooting, and agreed with young
Jackson, that there were Indians in the forest. Jackson advised that the camp
should be instantly and quietly broken up, and the march resumed.
This was done, and the company heard nothing more of the savages.
But a party of hunters who reached the same camping-ground an hour
after the company had left it, lay down by the fires and slept. Before day
dawned, the Indians were upon them, and killed all except one of the party.
But the long train of emigrants, men, women and children, were safely
continuing their wearisome journey through the Wilderness. At last, they
reached Nashville to the joy of the settlers there.
And a great piece of news young Andrew Jackson brought with him to
Nashville—the Constitution of the United States had just been ratified and
adopted by a majority of the States of the Union.
James Parton (Retold)
FORT MIMS
The War of 1812 was made terrible by an uprising of the Indians. The
Creeks, incited and armed by British officers, attacked Fort Mims in
Alabama, and, with unspeakable atrocities, massacred over five hundred
helpless men, women, and children.
 The howling savages at their bloody work made so hideous a scene, that
even their Chief, a half-breed Indian named Weatherford, was filled with
horror. He tried to protect the women and children. But his savage followers
broke all restraint, and nothing could stop their cruel butchery. The Creeks
ended by setting fire to the ruins of the fort.
This Indian massacre at Fort Mims was one of the bloodiest in history.
The news reached Tennessee, arousing the country. Andrew Jackson rose
from a sick-bed, called together an army of volunteers, and led them against
the Creeks.
DAVY CROCKETT

“Go ahead!” Davy Crockett’s motto

When Andrew Jackson called for volunteers to punish the Creeks, Davy
Crockett, the famous Tennessee bear-hunter, came hurrying to enlist. He
was a backwoodsman, born and reared in a log cabin in the Wilderness.
Armed with his long rifle and hunting-knife, dressed in a hunting-shirt
and fox-skin cap with the tail hanging down behind, he was a picturesque
figure.
He was merry as well as fearless, and kept the soldiers in a constant roar
of laughter with his jokes and funny stories. He was kind-hearted, and gave
away his money to any soldier who needed it.
“Go ahead!” was his motto whenever facing difficulty or dangers.
Some years after the Creek War, he took part in the struggle for Liberty
in Texas.
With Travis and Bowie, he defended the Alamo.
“Go ahead! Liberty and Independence for ever!” wrote Davy Crockett in
his diary just before the Alamo fell.
CHIEF WEATHERFORD
Andrew Jackson carried forward his Indian campaign with crushing
effect. Blow after blow fell upon the doomed Creeks, and at the Battle of
the Horseshoe, he annihilated their power for ever.
The Creeks were conquered; but their Chief, Weatherford, was still at
large. Andrew Jackson gave orders for his pursuit and capture. He wished to
punish him for his part in the massacre at Fort Mims.
The Creek force under Weatherford had melted away. The warriors who
were left after the battle, had taken flight to a place of safety, leaving him
alone in the forest with a multitude of Indian women and children, widows
and orphans, perishing for want of food.
It was then that Weatherford gave a shining example of humanity and
heroism. He might have fled to safety with the rest of his war-party. He
chose to remain and to attempt, at the sacrifice of his own life, to save from
starvation the women and children who were with him.
He mounted his gray steed, and directed his course to General Jackson’s
camp. When only a few miles from there, a fine deer crossed his path and
stopped within shooting distance. Weatherford shot the deer and placed it
on his horse behind the saddle.
Reloading his rifle with two balls, for the purpose of shooting Big
Warrior, a leading Chief friendly to the Americans, if he gave him any
trouble, Weatherford rode on. He soon reached the outposts of the camp. He
politely inquired of a group of soldiers where General Jackson was. An old
man pointed out the General’s tent, and the fearless Chief rode up to it.
Before the entrance of the tent sat Big Warrior himself. Seeing
Weatherford, he cried out in an insulting tone:—
“Ah! Bill Weatherford, have we got you at last?”
With a glance of fire at Big Warrior, Weatherford replied with an oath:—
“Traitor! if you give me any insolence, I will blow a ball through your
cowardly heart!”
General Jackson now came running out of the tent.
“How dare you,” exclaimed the General furiously, “ride up to my tent
after having murdered the women and children at Fort Mims?”
“General Jackson,” replied Weatherford with dignity, “I am not afraid of
you. I fear no man, for I am a Creek warrior.
“I have nothing to request in behalf of myself. You can kill me if you
desire. But I come to beg you to send for the women and children of the
war-party, who are now starving in the woods. Their fields and cribs have
been destroyed by your people, who have driven them to the woods without
an ear of corn. I hope that you will send out parties who will conduct them
safely here, in order that they may be fed.
 “I exerted myself in vain to prevent the massacre of the women and
children at Fort Mims. I am now done fighting. The Red Sticks are nearly
all killed. If I could fight you any longer, I would most heartily do so.
“Send for the women and children. They never did you any harm. But
kill me, if the white people want it done.”
While he was speaking, a crowd of officers and soldiers gathered around
the tent. Associating the name of Weatherford with the oft-told horrors of
the massacre, and not understanding what was going forward, the soldiers
cast upon the Chief glances of hatred and aversion. Many of them cried out:
—
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”
“Silence!” exclaimed Jackson.
And the clamour was hushed.
“Any man,” added the General, with great energy, “who would kill as
brave a man as this, would rob the dead!”
He then requested Weatherford to alight, and enter his tent. Which the
Chief did, bringing in with him the deer he had killed by the way, and
presenting it to the General.
Jackson accepted the gift, and invited Weatherford to drink a glass of
brandy. But Weatherford refused to drink, saying:—
“General, I am one of the few Indians who do not drink liquor. But I
would thank you for a little tobacco.”
Jackson gave him some tobacco, and they then discussed terms of peace.
Weatherford explained that he wished peace, in order that his Nation might
be relieved of their sufferings and the women and children saved.
“If you wish to continue the war,” said General Jackson, “you are at
liberty to depart unharmed; but if you desire peace you may remain, and
you shall be protected.”
And as Weatherford desired peace, General Jackson sent for the women
and children and had them fed and cared for.
When the war was over, Weatherford again became a planter, for he had
been a prosperous one before he led his Nation, the Creeks, on the war-path.
He lived many years in peace with white men and red, respected by his
neighbours for his bravery, honour, and good native common-sense.
 To the day of his death, Weatherford deeply regretted the massacre at
Fort Mims. “My warriors,” said he, “were like famished wolves. And the
first taste of blood made their appetites insatiable.”
James Parton and Other Stories.
SAM HOUSTON
Years before the fall of the Alamo, during the Creek War, at the Battle of
the Horseshoe, Andrew Jackson had just given the order for a part of his
troops to charge the Indian breastwork. The troops rushed forward with
loud shouts.
The first in that rush was a young Lieutenant, Sam Houston.[5] As he led
the way across the breastwork, a barbed arrow struck deep into his thigh.
He tried to pull it out, but could not. He called to an officer, and asked him
to draw it out.
The officer tugged at its shaft twice, but failed.
“Try again!” shouted Sam Houston, lifting his sword, “and if you fail
this time, I will smite you to the earth!”
The officer, with a desperate effort, pulled out the arrow. A stream of
blood gushed from the wound. Sam Houston recrossed the breastwork to
the rear, to have it dressed.
A surgeon dressed it and staunched the flow of blood. Just then Andrew
Jackson rode up to see who was wounded. Recognizing his daring
lieutenant, he forbade him to return to the fight.
Under any other circumstances, Sam Houston would have obeyed
without a word. But now he begged the General to allow him to go back to
his men. General Jackson ordered him most peremptorily not to cross the
breastwork again.
But Sam Houston was determined to die in that battle or win fame for
ever. And soon after, when General Jackson called for volunteers to storm a
ravine, Sam Houston rushed into the thick of the fight, and the next minute
he was leading on his men. He received two rifle-balls in his right shoulder,
and his left arm fell shattered at his side. At last, exhausted by the loss of
blood he dropped to the ground.
He eventually recovered; and the military prowess and heroism which he
had displayed throughout this battle, secured for him the lasting regard of
Old Hickory.
Retold from the “Life of Sam Houston”

WHY JACKSON WAS NAMED OLD HICKORY

When Andrew Jackson, with his Tennessee riflemen, was camping at
Natchez waiting for orders to move on to New Orleans, he received a
despatch from the War Department. It ordered him to dismiss his men at
once.
Jackson’s indignation and rage knew no bounds. Dismiss them without
pay, without means of transportation, without provision for the sick! Never!
He himself would march them home again through the savage Wilderness,
at his own expense! Such was his determination.
And when his little Army set out from Natchez for its march of five
hundred miles through the Wilderness, there were a hundred and fifty men
on the sick-list, of whom fifty-six could not raise their heads from the
pillow. There were but eleven wagons to convey them. The most
desperately ill were placed in the wagons. The rest of the sick were
mounted on the horses of the officers.
General Jackson had three fine horses, and gave them up to the sick,
himself briskly trudging on foot. Day after day, he tramped gayly along the
miry roads, never tired, and always ready with a cheering word for others.
They marched with extraordinary speed, averaging eighteen miles a day,
and performing the whole journey in less than a month. And yet the sick
men rapidly recovered under the reviving influence of a homeward march.
“Where am I?” asked one young fellow who had been lifted to his place
in a wagon, when insensible and apparently dying.
“On your way home!” cried the General merrily.
And the young soldier began to improve from that hour, and reached
home in good health.
Many of the volunteers had heard so much of Jackson’s violent and
hasty temper, that they had joined the corps with a certain dread and
hesitation, fearing not the enemy, nor the marches, nor diseases and
wounds, so much as the swift wrath of their Commander. How surprised
were they to find, that though there was a whole volcano of wrath in their
General, yet to the men of his command, so long as they did their duty and
longer, he was the most gentle, patient, considerate, and generous of
friends.
It was on this homeward march that the nickname of Old Hickory was
bestowed upon Andrew Jackson by his men. First of all the remark was
made by a soldier, who was struck with his wonderful pedestrian powers,
that the General was tough. Next it was observed of him that he was as
tough as hickory. Then he was called Hickory. Lastly the affectionate
adjective old was prefixed. And ever after he was known as Old Hickory.
James Parton (Retold)
THE COTTON-BALES
We have all heard tell that Andrew Jackson and his riflemen fought the
Battle of New Orleans from behind cotton-bales.
This is a mistake. Yet it is true that Old Hickory did commandeer a
whole cargo of cotton-bales, and with them built a bastion in front of his
guns. But at the very first bombardment, the balls from the British batteries
knocked the bales in all directions, while wads from the American guns and
spurting flames from the muzzles of the rifles set some of the bales afire.
They fell smouldering into the ditch outside, and lay there sending up
smoke and choking odours.
When the bombardment was over, the American soldiers dragged the
unburnt cotton-bales to the rear. They cut them open and used the layers of
cotton for beds.
AFTER THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS
The British troops had retreated before the savage crackling of the
Tennessee and Kentucky rifles. The American artillery, which had
continued to play upon the British batteries, ceased their fire for the guns to
cool and the dense smoke to roll away.
The whole American Army crowded in triumph to the parapet, and
looked over into the field.
What a scene was gradually disclosed to them! The plain was covered
and heaped with the British dead and wounded. The American soldiers, to
their credit be it repeated, were appalled and silenced at the sight before
them.
 Dressed in their gay uniforms, cleanly shaven and attired for the
promised victory and triumphal entry into New Orleans, these stalwart men
lay on the gory field frightful examples of the horrors of war. Strangely did
they contrast with those ragged, begrimed, long-haired pioneer men who,
crowding the American parapet, stood surveying the destruction their long-
rifles had caused.
On the edge of the woods, there were many British soldiers who, being
slightly wounded, had concealed themselves under brush and in the trees.
And it was pitiable to hear the cries for help and water that arose from every
quarter of the field.
As the Americans gazed on this scene of desolation and suffering, a
profound and melancholy silence pervaded the Army. No sounds of
exultation or rejoicing were heard. Pity and sympathy had succeeded to the
boisterous and savage feelings which a few minutes before had possessed
their souls.
Many of the Americans stole without leave from their positions, and
with their canteens gave water to the dying, and assisted the wounded.
Those of their enemy who could walk, the Americans led into the lines,
where they received attention from Jackson’s medical staff. Others, who
were desperately wounded, the Americans carried into camp on their backs.
Jackson sent a message to New Orleans to despatch all the carts and
vehicles to the lines. Late in the day, a long procession of these carts was
seen slowly winding its way along the levee from the field of battle. They
contained the British wounded.
The citizens of New Orleans, men and women, pressed forward to tender
every aid to their suffering enemies. By private subscription, the citizens
supplied mattresses and pillows, lint and old linen; all of which articles
were then exceedingly scarce in the city. Women-nurses cared for the
British, and watched at their bedsides night and day. Several of the officers,
who were grievously wounded, were taken to private residences and there
provided with every comfort.
Such acts as these ennoble humanity, and soften the horrors of war.
James Parton (Retold)
 APRIL 13

THOMAS JEFFERSON
THE FRAMER OF THE DECLARATION OF
INDEPENDENCE
All honour to Jefferson—to the man, who, in the concrete pressure of a
struggle for National Independence by a single People, had the coolness,
forecast, and capacity to introduce into a merely revolutionary document an
abstract truth applicable to all men and all times; and so to embalm it
there, that to-day and in all coming days, it shall be a rebuke and a
stumbling-block to the very harbingers of reappearing tyranny and
oppression.
Abraham Lincoln

THE FOURTH OF JULY

1826
“Is it the Fourth?” “No, not yet,” they answered, “but ’t will soon be early
morn.
We will wake you, if you slumber, when the day begins to dawn.”
Then the statesman left the present, lived again amid the past,
Saw, perhaps, the peopled Future, lived again amid the Past,
Till the flashes of the morning lit the far horizon low,
And the sun’s rays, o’er the forest in the East, began to glow.
..........
Evening, in majestic shadows, fell upon the fortress’ walls;
Sweetly were the last bells ringing on the James and on the Charles.
’Mid the choruses of Freedom, two departed victors lay,
One beside the blue Rivanna, one by Massachusetts Bay.

Hezekiah Butterworth (Condensed)

Thomas Jefferson was born in Virginia,

April 13, 1743
Framed the Declaration of Independence,
1776
Was elected Governor of Virginia, 1779
Appointed Secretary of State in
Washington’s Cabinet, 1789
Elected third President of the United States,
1800
He died on the Fiftieth Anniversary of the
Signing of the Declaration of
Independence, the Fourth of July, 1826
He was called the Sage of Monticello.
Monticello was the name of his fine
country estate.

THE BOY OWNER OF SHADWELL FARM

Thomas Jefferson was a boy of seventeen, tall, raw-boned, freckled, and
sandy-haired. He came to Williamsburg from the far west of Virginia, to
enter the College of William and Mary.
With his large feet and hands, his thick wrists, and prominent cheek
bones and chin, he could not have been accounted handsome or graceful.
He is described, however, as a fresh, bright, healthy-looking youth, as
straight as a gun-barrel, sinewy and strong, with that alertness of movement
which comes of early familiarity with saddle, gun, canoe, and minuet. His
teeth, too, were perfect. His eyes, which were of hazel-gray, were beaming
and expressive.
His home, Shadwell Farm, was a hundred and fifty miles to the north-
west of Williamsburg among the mountains of central Virginia. It was a
plain, spacious farmhouse, a story and a half high, with four large rooms
and a wide entry on the ground floor, and many garret chambers above. The
farm was nineteen hundred acres of land, part of it densely wooded, and
some of it so steep and rocky as to be unfit for cultivation. The farm was
tilled by thirty slaves.
And Thomas Jefferson, this student of seventeen, through the death of
his father, was already the head of the family, and under a guardian, the
owner of Shadwell Farm, the best portion of his father’s estate.
His father, Peter Jefferson, had been a wonder of physical force and
stature. He had the strength of three strong men. Two hogsheads of tobacco,
each weighing a thousand pounds, he could raise at once from their sides,
and stand them upright. When surveying in the Wilderness, he could tire out
his assistants, and tire out his mules; then eat his mules, and still press on,
sleeping alone by night in a hollow tree to the howling of the wolves, till his
task was done.
From this natural chief of men, Thomas Jefferson derived his stature, his
erectness, and his bodily strength.
James Parton (Arranged)

A CHRISTMAS GUEST
Shadwell Farm was a good farm to grow up on. Thomas Jefferson and his
noisy crowd of schoolfellows hunted on a mountain near by, which
abounded in deer, turkeys, foxes, and other game. Jefferson was a keen
hunter, eager for a fox, swift of foot and sound of wind, coming in fresh and
alert after a long day’s clambering hunt.
 He studied hard, for he liked books as much as fox-hunting. Soon he
began to be impatient to enter college. Then, too, he had never seen a town
nor even a village of twenty houses, and he was curious to know something
of the great world. His guardian consenting, he bade farewell to his mother
and sisters, and set off for Williamsburg, a five days’ long ride from his
home.
But just before he started for college, he stayed over the holidays at a
merry house in Hanover County, where he met, for the first time, a jovial
blade named Patrick Henry, noted then only for fiddling, dancing, mimicry,
and practical jokes.
Jefferson and Henry became great friends. Jefferson had not a suspicion
of the wonderful talent that lay undeveloped in the prime mover of all the
fun of that merry company. While as little, doubtless, did Patrick Henry see
in this slender sandy-haired lad, a political leader and associate.
Yet only a few years later, in May 1765, Patrick Henry was elected a
member of the House of Burgesses, and Jefferson was become a brilliant
law student.
In 1775, Jefferson was elected a delegate to the Continental Congress,
that declared the Independence of the United States of America.
James Parton (Arranged)
THE AUTHOR OF THE DECLARATION
The English settlers of Virginia, brought with them English rights and
liberties. The settlers and their descendants were “forever to enjoy all
liberties, franchises, and immunities enjoyed by Englishmen in England.”
They received from England the right to make their own laws, if not
contrary to the laws of England.
It was a Governor of Virginia who summoned the first representative
Assembly that ever met in America, the first American Colonial
Legislature. This happened about a year before the Pilgrim Fathers reached
the New World, and drew up the Mayflower Compact.
It was not strange, therefore, that Thomas Jefferson, born and reared in
the atmosphere of Virginia Freedom, should have been a Patriot who
fearlessly defended American Liberty.
He was also a man of unusual intellectual power and a writer of elegant
prose. So when Congress appointed a Committee to draft the Declaration of
Independence, he was made a member of that Committee.
When the Committee met, the other members asked Thomas Jefferson to
compose the draft. He did so. The Committee admired his draft so much,
that with but few changes, they submitted it to Congress.
After a fiery debate, some alterations being made, Congress adopted
Thomas Jefferson’s draft, as the Declaration of Independence of the United
States of America.
PROCLAIM LIBERTY

July 4, 1776
The Declaration was signed! America was free!
Joyously the great bell in the steeple of the State House at Philadelphia,
swung its iron tongue and pealed forth the glad news, proclaiming Liberty
throughout all the land.
The tidings spread from city to city, from village to village, from farm to
farm. There was shouting, rejoicing, bonfires, and thanksgiving. Copies of
the Declaration were sent to all the States. Washington had it proclaimed at
the head of his troops; while far away in the Waxhaws, nine year old
Andrew Jackson read it aloud to an eager crowd of backwoods settlers.
The great bell—the Liberty Bell—that had proclaimed Liberty, was
carefully treasured. To-day, it may be seen in Independence Hall, as the old
State House is now called.
Around the crown of the Liberty Bell are inscribed the words which God
Almighty commanded the Hebrews to proclaim to all the Hebrew People,
every fifty years, so that they should not oppress one another:—

Proclaim Liberty throughout all the Land,

Unto all the inhabitants thereof.

Twenty-three years before the Declaration of Independence was signed,

these prophetic words from the Bible had been inscribed upon the crown of
that great Bell.
ONLY A REPRIEVE
 Fondly do we hope,—fervently do we pray,—that this mighty scourge of
War may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all
the wealth piled by the bondsman’s two hundred and fifty years of
unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn by the
lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three
thousand years ago, so still it must be said, “The judgments of the Lord
are true and righteous altogether.”
Abraham Lincoln
There were two statements in the Declaration of Independence, which must
have profoundly disturbed its Signers:—
“All men are created equal,” and have the right “to Life, Liberty, and the
pursuit of Happiness.”
Many of the Signers were slave-holders.
Thomas Jefferson of Virginia, the Framer of the Declaration, was an
Abolitionist, and an active one, throwing the weight of his great influence
against the institution of slavery.
He earnestly believed that all men—white and black alike—are born
equal. So, when he was asked to frame the Declaration of Independence, he
put into it a clause condemning the slave-trade, as an “assemblage of
horrors.” During the debate in the Convention, this clause was stricken out.
Though Jefferson had his reasons for not freeing his own slaves, he
continued to speak and write against slavery as a violation of human rights
and liberties.
“This abomination must have an end,” he said.
There were other Americans who believed as he did.
George Washington, in his Will, left their freedom to his slaves, to be
given them after his wife’s death. He ordered a fund to be set aside for the
support of all his old and sick slaves, and he bade his heirs see to it that the
young negroes were taught to read and write and to carry on some useful
occupation.
Kosciuszko was Jefferson’s intimate friend, and like him a believer in
Freedom for all men, without regard to race or colour. Before he left
America, Kosciuszko made a will turning over his American property to
Jefferson, for the purchase of slaves from their owners and for their
education, so that when free, they might earn their living and become
worthy citizens.
 From the time of Jefferson until the Civil War, slavery to be or not to be,
was the burning question. Men and women, specially those belonging to the
Society of Friends, devoted their lives to the abolition of slavery.
Many of these Abolitionists were mobbed, and otherwise persecuted,
because of their humane efforts. William Lloyd Garrison was the great
leader of the Abolitionists. “The Quaker Poet” Whittier was also a leader in
the agitation against slavery.
But to go back to Thomas Jefferson: When the Missouri Compromise
went into effect, and “the house was divided against itself,” Jefferson was
deeply and terribly stirred. He looked far into the future.
“This momentous question,” he wrote, “like a fire-bell in the night,
awakened and filled me with terror. I considered it at once as the knell of
the Union. It is hushed, indeed, for the moment. But this is a reprieve only
—not a final sentence.”
And again he said:—
“I tremble for my Country, when I reflect that God is just; that His
justice cannot sleep for ever.”
First the reprieve! Then as the crime was continued, the execution of the
sentence! Nearly a hundred years of slavery passed after the framing of the
Declaration, then on North and South fell the terrible retributive punishment
of the Civil War.
ON THE FOURTH OF JULY

1826
It was the Fourth of July, the fiftieth anniversary of the Signing of the
Declaration of Independence.
In his home at Monticello, Thomas Jefferson had closed his eyes for ever
on the Fourth of July, the fiftieth anniversary of the Signing of the
Declaration of Independence.
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