Читать книгу The Victim - Thomas Dixon - Страница 6
ОглавлениеTHE HERMITAGE
At the last stand on the banks of the winding Tennessee, the Major sat up late in eager discussion about Old Hickory with an enthusiastic Tennesseean. The ladies had retired, and the Boy listened with quiet eagerness to the talk.
"Waal, we're goin' ter make Andrew Jackson President anyhow, Major!" the Tennesseean drawled.
"I'm afraid they'll beat us," the Major answered, with a shake of his head.
"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 from Tennessee.
"The aristocrats don't think so—"
"What t'ell they got agin him? Ain't he the biggest man in this country to-day? Didn't he lick Spain and England both at Pensacola and didn't he finish 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 do they 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 the scandal-mongers keep saying about his wife—"
"He's killed one son-of-a-gun about that already, an' they better let him alone—"
"That's just it, my friend: he killed that skunk in a duel and it's not the only one he has fought either. Old Hickory's got the temper of the devil."
"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 the chance 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 going to have a big fight on our hands when it comes to the rub. This Lewis Robards, her first husband, was a quarrelsome cuss. Every man that looked 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 and Robards petitioned the Legislature to pass an Act of Divorce in his favor. The dog swore in this petition that his wife had deserted him and was living with Andrew Jackson. He was boarding with her mother, the widow Donelson. The Legislature passed the Act, but it only authorized the Courts of the Territory of Kentucky to try the case, and grant the divorce 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, married Rachel 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. There was a mighty hullabaloo kicked up about it by the politicians. They tried to run Jackson out of the country—the little pups who were afraid of him. He challenged the leader of this pack of hounds, and shot him dead—"
"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 had filled the world.
The distance to Nashville was quickly covered. The Major pressed straight through the town without pause and drew rein at the General's gate.
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 stood a stately grove of magnificent forest trees. Behind it stretched the grain and cotton fields.
Nothing could surpass the unaffected and perfect courtesy with which the General welcomed his guests. The tall, stately figure, moving with the unconscious grace of perfect manhood, needed no rules of a dancing master for his guidance. He had sprung from the common people, but he was a born leader and ruler of men.
The Boy listened with keen ears to hear him rip out one of those terrible oaths of which so much had been said. His speech was gentle and kind, and he asked a blessing at every meal exactly as his own quiet, dignified father at home. In all the three weeks they remained his guests not an oath or an ugly word fell from his lips. The Boy wondered how people could tell such lies.
The General liked boys, too. It was easy to see that. He gave hours of his 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. They raced their ponies. They ran and jumped. They played marbles. They followed the hounds. And always with them as friend and counselor, the General, gentle, kind, considerate. The only thing he prohibited was wrestling.
"No, boys," he said with a frown. "That's not a good sport for high spirited youth. To feel the hand of a rival on your body may lead to a fight."
The deep set eyes flashed with the memory of his own hot blooded boyhood and 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 boyish indignation. Pure and sweet as the face of his own mother was hers. Loving, unselfish, tender and thoughtful, she moved through her house with the gentle step of a ministering angel. The knightly deference with which the General attended her slightest wish, stirred the Boy's imagination. He could see him standing erect, pistol in hand, in the gray dawn of the morning on which he faced the enemy who had slandered her. He could see the big firm hand grip the pistol's handle in a clasp of steel as he waited the signal of Death. He wondered what sort of wound Dickenson's bullet had made in the General's breast. Anyhow, it had 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 personality for life. He had seen a great man.
