Seizing a rod he told Robert to hold out his hand, and gave him a caning. "There!" he exclaimed, "I hope that will make you do something."

But the boy folded his arms and answered very quietly, "I came to school to have something beaten into my brains and not into my knuckles." It was very hard for the teacher to do much with such a lad, particularly as the boy was so often really very helpful to him.

Another time when he came to school late, he had been at a shop pouring lead into wooden pencils that were better than those he had made before, and he handed several of them to the master. The man examined them carefully and said they were the best he had ever had. It was hard to scold the boy for spending his time in such ways. One time, when the teacher had tried to rouse his ambition to study history, Robert said to him: "My head's so full of original notions that there's no vacant room to store away the records of dusty old books." Yet in spite of these stories, the boy could not help picking up a great deal of general information at school, for his mind was always alert, and he was eager to improve on everything that had been done before.

At this time in his boyhood it was hard to say whether the young Fulton was more the inventor or the artist, but as soon as the war ended he decided that he would become a painter, and went to Philadelphia, then the chief city of the new nation, to study his art. He made enough money by the use of his pencil and by making drawings for machinists to support himself, and also saved enough money to buy a small farm for his widowed mother and younger brothers and sisters.

Benjamin West, the great painter, had lived near Lancaster, and had heard much of Robert Fulton's boyhood inventions, and he now hunted him out in Philadelphia, and helped him in his new line of work. The young artist met Benjamin Franklin and found him eager to aid him in his plans, and so, by his perseverance and the friends he was fortunate enough to make, he laid the foundations for his future.

When he became a man, the spirit of the inventor finally overcame that of the painter. He went abroad and studied in laboratories in England and France, and then he came home and built a workshop of his own. What particularly interested him was the uses to which steam might be put, and he studied its possibilities until he had worked out his plans for a practical steamboat. How successful those plans were all the world knows.

It was a great day when the crowds that lined the Hudson River saw the _Clermont_ prove that the era of sailing vessels had closed, and that of steamships had dawned. But to the boys who had lived along the Conestoga it did not seem strange that Robert Fulton had won fame as an inventor; they had known he could make anything he chose since that second Independence Day when he had come to his country's rescue with his home-made sky-rockets.

XIII

Andrew Jackson

The Boy of the Carolinas: 1767-1845

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 circ.u.mstances 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 s.p.a.ce would be cleared, and the rudest kind of log house built, with a huge fireplace filling one side of the room. The c.h.i.n.ks 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, gla.s.s, 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.