Dear Sir: — A few days back I wrote you a letter, in which I promised, as early as possible, to give you a little sketch of my family, my age, and also the little wars that I was engaged in in my younger days. My name is not as common as Smith, but it is to be met with in all the States of this Union, as well as in many parts of Europe. Whether the name is Norman, Saxon, or German, originally, I do not know. But the name seems to have been derived from the occupation followed by those who bore it, at an early day. Woodward, one who protects the forest. My early ancestors of the name came from England, and settled in Maryland, under George Calverton, Baron of Baltimore. And near Annapolis, my great grandfather, Thomas Woodward, was born, and raised in Maryland. He raised a family of children by a first wife — she died, and he went into Fairfax county, Virginia, and married my great grandmother, Elizabeth Simpson, the descendant of a Scotch family — and Simpson is my middle name. Thomas Woodward and Elizabeth Simpson had one son, and called him Thomas, who was my grandfather. The old man returned to Maryland to move his other children to Virginia; he died on his visit to Maryland, and never returned, nor did his Maryland children ever get to Fairfax, but some years after their father's death, some of them went to Dinwiddy county, Virginia, and some to North Carolina; the North Carolina branch of the family has lost one letter in the name — they spell the name with one W, instead of two. I could name many of the older ones of most of the branches of the family, but it would take up too much time, as well as room, for a paper of this sort. My great grandmother remained a widow for some years, when she married a man by the name of Robinson, and raised two sons, William and John, both of whom I have seen, as well as their mother. My mother carried me and my sister to South Carolina when we were small children; the old lady was then living, and from what I have learned since, she was then about 112 years of age — she died two years after. It has been said that Robinson neglected my grandfather's education, and he was suffered to grow up very much in the way that one of his grand sons has since. At an early age he showed some inclination to become a soldier, and was in the French war, and a part of the time with Gen. Washington, who was then a Major or a Colonel. My grandfather was a Captain in that service, and was a much older man than Gen. Washington, and from what I have been able to learn from Parson Weems and others, the old man was looked upon as a good fighter. He married at an early age, a woman by the name of Jemima Collins, and they had four daughters and two sons, John and William. His wife died while he was in the service. At the close of the French war he was ordered on the frontier of South Carolina, leaving his children in Virginia. While in South Carolina, he became acquainted with my grandmother, who was his second wife. And it is the blood of that grandmother which courses through my veins, that in early life tempted me to quit what the world terms civilized and christian man.
I will now give you as accurately as I can the true history of that branch of my family. At the very earliest settlement of South Carolina by Europeans, and at the time those tribes of Indians that inhabited the lower parts of the Carolinas and Georgia, viz: the Sowanokas, Uchees, Yemacraws and others, a European, either of French or Spanish origin, by the names of Silves, (I think the name was originally spelled Silvester, but pronounced Silves,) came to Beaufort, S.C., took an Indian woman for a wife, and raised a family of children. About the time Silves's eldest daughter arrived to womanhood, an Englishman by the name of Thomas Stokes came to the country and turned Indian trader. Stokes took the daughter of Silves for a wife, and raised four children by her, two sons and two daughters, and one of them was my grandmother — her name was Elizabeth. She married one John May. The other daughter, whose name I have forgotten, (though I was much better acquainted with her than I was with my grandmother,) married a man by the name of Joiner.
The two sons were Thomas and Silvester. They were both Whigs in the American Revolution, and in a skirmish with some British and Tories, at the old ridge, not far from the line of Edgefield and Lexington Districts, S. C, they were both badly wounded, and escaped at the time, but were necessarily forced, from their wounds, to go to a settlement to have them dressed. They were betrayed and taken prisoners by the British, and if not hanged at the same time with Col. Haynes, they were just before or after.
My grandmother raised three children by John May, two sons and a daughter, when May died. She then married my grandfather, and settled in the Fairfield District — they raised three sons and three daughters — my father was the oldest of the young set of children. My grandfather, after marrying my grandmother, moved his mother and two half brothers from Virginia to South Carolina. When the Revolution commenced, he raised among the first companies, if not the first, that was raised in South Carolina. He was killed on Dutchman's Creek, in a fight with the British and Tories, on the 12th of May, 1779. My half uncle, Ben. May, took command of his company. My half uncle, John Woodward, raised another company. My father, who was rather young at the commencement of the war to take the field, after his father was killed entered the service — his two own brothers being too young.
As many of the children and grand children of these men are now living, and know but little of the old stock, I will here give a list of the names of my father's family that served in the Revolution, and to a man I believe, were at the battle of Eutaw, except my grandfather and two grand uncles, Tom and Sil. Stokes, who were then dead.
My two half uncles, John and William Woodward; my half uncle, Ben. May — (my half uncle, Tom May, was a cripple, and never served.) Now for the son-in-laws, or those that married my aunts. The oldest first: James Nelson, Phillip Raiford, Robert Rabb, James Andrews, Phillip Riley, William McMorris, William J. Augustin, Reeves Freeman, and Thomas Woodward, who was the youngest of the crowd, and my father. I have seen many of my grandfather's old company; they were said to be good fighters. But I have heard the old ones say that my uncle Ben. May and uncle William Woodward were looked on as being the most daring men of that day.
My uncle William Woodward represented Fairfield District in Congress for several years, and the same District has been represented by his son Joseph, since, and it is his son William that represents Sumter county, in the Alabama Legislature. My mother was a Howard; her father was Nehemiah Howard, a Virginian by birth, and of an English family. My grandmother Howard was Edith Smith, and descended from a Welch family; it is said her father settled Smithfield, on Neuse River, in Johnson county, North Carolina. My grandmother Howard died in Milledgeville, Ga., very near one hundred years of age. I remember to have seen her mother when I was a small boy; it was said she was over a hundred years old; she was then a widow Edmonson. There were nine brothers of the Howard family, and five sisters; they all lived to be grown and raise a family of children, except three — two uncles, one of whom was killed by a horse, and the other was drowned. My youngest aunt of that family was accidentally burned to death. My mother was the ninth child, and the first of the family that died a natural death. Maj. James Howard, late of Macon county, Alabama, was the next child to my mother, and was the last of the fourteen children to die, which was some two or three years back.
I think I have wrote enough to satisfy you that I have had, and yet have, some relations, though I seldom see any of them; the balance I write now will be little things pertaining pretty much to myself.
Not long after the close of the Revolution, my father left Fairfield District, S.C., and went into Union District, and taught school; several of the Howard family went to the school; among them was my mother, and the children younger than herself. The school continued for some ten years, and at the close of the school my father gave my grandfather Howard to understand that he wished to marry his daughter Mary. It was objected to by the whole Howard family, except John and Ben. Howard. My father returned to Fairfield, and my grandfather Howard moved to Georgia. My grandfather Woodward had a large property in land and negroes for the time in which he lived, and after his death and the close of the war, the heirs set about a division. There was soon a split between the white and Indian children. My father took a few negroes and left for the Cherokee nation. On his route he called at my grandfather Howard's who had then settled in what is now called Elbert county, Georgia, and within six miles of the head of' Savannah River. My father tried a second time to get the consent of my grandfather, and through the influence of the two brothers, John and Ben, the matter was arranged. My father settled on Savannah River, between the mouths of two creeks, Lightwood Log and Powder Log, and in Elbert county. There had been at a very early day a stockade fort erected at the place by Gen. Perkins and Col. Cleveland — it was at the old Cherokee crossing, when that tribe was in the habit of trading to Ninety-Six, (96) or Cambridge, as it is now called. This old work stood near what was known in my time as Shockley's Ferry — the block-houses had been converted into dwelling houses — in fact, they had been put up first as dwelling houses and picketed in. In one of these houses I was born; an old lady by the name of Black was present — I have made mention of her before. I was born between the 22d of February, 1794, and the 22d of Feb., 1797, but it is impossible for me to know which, as there have been so many conflicting statements about it, for I rely nothing on any record that I have seen, and if I am to judge from what I can recollect of my father (who died in March, 1800) and other things, I am satisfied that I will be sixty-five years of age on the 22d February next. I do not claim to be born on that day, because the greatest man that our country ever had happened to be born on that day. All the old ones that I have talked to agree as to the day and month, but many of them differ as to the year. But there is one thing sure, I was born at some time and at some place, and if I don't find some time and place to die at, before a great while, it may be looked upon as a miracle.
I entered the army on the first day of July, 1812, and accompanied Gen. Daniel Newnan to East Florida. I was in no fight in that expedition. I was at Kingsley's house, and in sight of Capt. Cone and his men when they had a little skirmish with the Indians, and Capt. Farren was killed. I went with some other militia under Tom Rix, to take a look at the castle of St. Augustine. We were taken for Cone's patriots, and were fired upon. If ever I see you, I will tell you an amusing story about that affair, but it would be too long here. I camped one night at Twelve Mile Swamp, with Sergeant McIntosh, and others, when the Indians or Spaniards fired a few guns at the camp, and made us leave. Some month or two after that, Dr. Fort, of Milledgeville, Georgia — who was a Captain at that time — and a Capt. Williams, of the Marines, camped at the same place. They were attacked by a large party of Indians and Spaniards, and had a severe fight, and lost several men. Fort and Williams were both wounded; Williams died of his wounds, and Fort, if living, will be a cripple for life. As to the fighting, I done but little and saw less; but if it was foot-racing, wrestling, swimming, and the like, I was among the foremost.
At the close of that expedition I returned to Milledgeville, half naked, half starved, and the ague and fever every other day. On my route home, I recollect to have met with Seaborn Jones, Beckney Franklin, (the Solicitor for that circuit,) Peter Easly, (he was Judge,) a Mr. Sawyer, Hiram Stores, Tom Fitch, Stephen W. Harris, (the father of Wat. and Sampson) — all lawyers. I gave Jones the only trophy I had taken, in the war — it was a walking stick taken from the palmtree — so you see I have borne off a palm in time of war, but never have been in a Legislature or Congress like some, who have borne off perhaps less than a palm. My service was in 1813-14, under Gen. Floyd. I was in his night-fight, as it was called at Caleebe Creek — I know as much about that fight an any man living or dead. Barney Riley, a half breed, that killed John Lucas, and myself accompanied Captain Harvey one night from Fort Hall to Milly's Creek, just above the Federal Crossing, and took the wife of Ben. Moseley from the hostile Indians — killed three and crippled a few more. This trip to Milly's Creek was in February, 1814; the Caleebe fight was on the 27th Jan., 1814. The army returned home, and I remained, as I have before informed you, to take charge of Fort Hull.
After I returned from Fort Hawkins with Col. Milton's horse, as I mentioned to you before, I remained altogether with the Indians, until the last of April or first of May; I then went to Georgia, remained a few weeks, and returned to the Nation, and spent most of the summer among the Indians. Some times I have been fired on by out-lying Indians-and some would have called them fights if they could have been got into the newspapers, before they got cold. That fall a call was made for troops to go to the City of Savannah. Capt. Horton, who commanded the Baldwin company, requested me to go with him as a kind of drill-master — not to go as a soldier in the service, but merely as a follower of the army — and that himself and officers would support me and give me soldier's pay themselves, as I would be entitled to none from the government. I declined the offer, but I met with a man by the name of Tom Cothron, who had just been in the State long enough to stand a draft, and it had fallen to his lot to take the field. He was somewhat afraid to risk his health in the winter season at Savannah, and wanted a substitute. He found a man that agreed to take his place for fifty dollars, but Capt. Horton would not take him. Tom Cothran was the stingiest man I ever knew, except Judge Smith and John Crayon. I promised Cothron to take his place for one hundred dollars, and he was to consider himself dead in the eye of the law should I be killed. The trade was made and in I went. Militiamen, with a hundred dollars in their pockets, did not go in gangs in them days.
We reached Camp Covington — the Captain allowed me all the privileges that he dared to. I was soon detailed for a teamster, and it was not long before I was as well acquainted with Savannah and its inhabitants (the better classes excepted) as any one belonging to the army. I had a very fine suit of Indian fixins,' known to but few. There was a young man in Glasscock's company by the name of Augustus Parker, who had been raised among the Indians, and spoke the language much better than I could. There was a man in Horton's company by the name of Jacob Durden, a fine pensman, who wrote out a passport, and signed Col. Hawkins' name to it. With the aid of the Indian dress, Augustus Parker, and the forged passport, I imposed myself upon Gen. Floyd, and as many others as I chose to, and among them was Gen. Watson, my brother-in-law. I played it off upon the citizens of Savannah until I got tired. A great many of the tricks would have amused you, could you have witnessed them at the time. I was well acquainted with most of the officers and men that belonged to that army. It so happened that some of the officers of .the army got to visiting a circus that was in the city, and had once or twice got into some little troubles with some naval officers, and a knock down or two had taken place, all being dressed in citizen clothes. A Major Mitchell, and some other officers proposed to take me along one night and pay my way to the circus, and if anything like a knock down took place, I was to lend a hand. I went, and after the show was over, all hands went to a drinking house, or grocery. We had not been there long before a dispute arose between the landsmen and seaman. The signal was given, and I let in on the little tarry-trousered fellows, and it was not long before I received a blow on the side of the head with a stick, which put me to some trouble to know whether it was the grocery or myself that was knocked down. But I soon found out that it was myself that had lost my balance, and called for quarter. Seamen are much more generous in a matter of that sort than landsmen, and they hauled off, and when I come to look around, my crowd had left. The seamen asked me who I was and what I was. I made a fair statement of the whole matter. They said I was a pretty good fellow, but could not be let off until I would go to a tavern and take something to eat and drink with them. I consented, thinking to get a chance to leave them. The tavern, I think, was kept by one Shellman.
Not long after we reached the tavern, a man by the name of Campbell came in. I knew him; he had been a soldier in 1812, under Col. John Williams, from East Tennessee. He informed me that he was then a marine, and belonged to the sloop-ofwar Epervier, or El Epervier, and that much money was to be made by shipping on board of her. I soon found that some of those who had been in the frolic at the grocery were naval officers, for they would at times ask me if I knew the penalty for striking an officer. They soon found that I knew it was necessary for them to have worn some badge, so as to distinguish them from other persons. So they resorted to the liquor, and through that and Campbell, I suppose, I went on board. At all events, the firing of the morning gun at Fort Wayne waked me. I found myself roosting like a swallow, under deck, swung in a hammock; I guessed what had happened. I went on deck, and felt, as well as looked, pretty much like the fellow that took Aleck McDougald's tumbler.
The news came that the British were about to force their way by Tybee, and come to the city; they weighed anchor, took some soldiers from Yellow Barracks and Fort Wayne, and put down the river. The soldiers were put on shore at such places as they were needed. The Epervier was commanded by a Capt. Downs, who had been with Commodore Porter at Valparaiso, and he [Downs] had after that commanded the Essex, junior; the other officers on board that I became acquainted with were Lieuts. Shubrick and Stevens. The Epervier crowded sail and put to sea, as I thought. I seated myself on a gun in the stern of the sloop — some called it the steam-chaser, others the long Tom.. But so it was, I sat on that gun and watched the land until it looked about as narrow as a little blue stripe in a home-made vest that I wore. It was not long before some fellow sung out in the tops, "a sail in sight." The Epervier soon tacked and put into Savannah. The sail that was seen was said to be a part of the British squadron under the command of Admiral Cogburn, or Cockrain, I forget which. I had been but a few days on board, and was extremely tired of a seaman's life.
By this time the news of peace had reached Savannah. I asked permission 0£ the Captain to go on shore and visit my friends at Camp Covington, which he refused. The sloop was lying not more than fifty yards from the shore, and I had not been on board long enough to lose my action, or get the sailor's rock; and it so happened that the Captain and Lieut. Shubrick went on shore in the yawl, and the Captain's gig, as it was called, was lashed up to the sides of the sloop. I watched my opportunity, took a running start, jumped upon the Long Tom, and from that I jumped over the bulwark into the river, and swam ashore. Those on the sloop hollowed to those on shore to stop me, but there happened to be a pile of staves close by, and I gathered one and forced my way through their ranks. One fellow, to be smart, followed me on horse back. I took him off, mounted the horse and rode him a few squares, tied him to a post and went into a hotel, kept by two ladies — Mary Williams and Becky Blackstrap. They knew me, for it was at their house I had laid out the best part of Tom Cothron's hundred dollars. They died my clothes, and that night I went to Camp Covington, and put up with one William Rice, a very good man — why I say he was a good man, I was with him several months in a militia camp, and he, like Elijah Moseley, would pray at night and fight in the day, if called upon — he was a good friend to me, at all events, and was for years after; but when I rescued Henry Augustine, who was under guard for killing George Crookshank, I understood that Billy Rice became my enemy; but if he is living, and as good as I think he was, he no doubt has forgiven me long since. The last I heard of him he was a Methodist preacher, either in Autauga or Lowndes county.
I remained about Camp Covington until Gen. Watson could employ me a lawyer — he employed a Mr. Pelote. I then started for the sloop, which had dropped down to Five Fathom, near Fort Jackson; I hailed her, and they asked what I wanted. I told them who I was, and they told me to come on board as I went on shore; the weather was cold, but I took the water and reached the vessel. The Captain asked me why I had acted so. I told him I was drunk when I shipped, and that I had asked his permission to go on shore, and he had refused me the privilege, and that I wished to see my friends before I left — for it had already been understood that if peace was made with Great Britain, that the Epervier was to go up the Mediterranean with a fleet under Commodore Decatur. I was let off, and in a few hours two persons came along side — one of them was the Sheriff of Chatham county, John B. Norris. Norris was after that Sheriff of Dallas county, Alabama, and perhaps a merchant in Claiborne and Mobile. He served a writ of habeas corpus on the Captain; I was taken to the city. I knew no one to give as security for my appearance at court, and of course I was put in prison. I then would have been glad to be back on the ship. I was put in a room with three others — I shall recollect my room-mates as long as I live. There was one John Scales, and a man by the name of Phelps and Phillip Fitzpatrick. Scales and Phelps were charged with having sold beef to the British, while they lay off Sunberry. Fitzpatrick had killed a man by the name of McGraw, in Effingham county, and I for good behaviour.
The jailer, or manager of the prison, was named McCall, and I think once wrote a history of Georgia. He was a bad cripple, unable to walk, and had to go over the floor in a little wagon constructed for the purpose, and a big negro man to carry him from one floor to another. Though, let me finish with my room-mates — Scales, Phelps and Fitzpatrick. They escaped from prison during my stay about the place. Scales I never heard of; Phelps I heard was killed years after about Vicksburg, Miss.; and Fitzpatrick I think was the man that aided Gen. Jessup in procuring the Cuba blood hounds, in 1836. I had not been in my room but a few hours before I recognized the sentinel who guarded the door, or who was on that walk. His name was James Collins; I had known him long and well. I requested him to see Maj. McCaIl, and say to him that if it would not be deviating too much from his established rules, that I would be glad to be taken to where I could see him, if he could not come to the cell. In a few moments a Mr. Hanglighter, the turn key, and two soldiers, came and conveyed me to Maj. McCall. I made a fair statement of my case, and informed him that my brother-in-law was a Quarter Master at Camp Covington, and that if he would permit me to write, I could give any security that would be asked. I by chance mentioned that John Howard, of Milledgeville, was my uncle. The old man told me it made no difference about the security; if I wished to go to Camp Covington, there was his carriage horse, take him and go. I went, and it was late at night when I returned to the prison. I was then permitted to room with Mr. Hanglighter. I had some money, and lived much better than I had been in the habit of, for some time.
There were a great many British prisoners of war, as well as lots of Spaniards, Portugese, St. Domingo Negroes, and a few Turks, or some other copper-colored fellows from the Northern shores of Africa. Had it not been for the name of being put in jail, I was well pleased with my stay. I was permitted to visit my first room-mates whenever I wished. Every day such as were not put in for capital offences were turned out into the parade ground, as they called it. It was a strong picketing, enclosing two or three acres, and guarded by soldiers. I was allowed to go to the city whenever I chose, and stay as long as I pleased.
I got my Indian dress from Camp Covington, and Gus. Parker and myself performed one day for the Major. I had a large butcher knife, and the Major allowed me to act the drunken Indian. I got into the parade ground with my knife, and commenced cutting capers, and Parker telling how destructive I was when drunk. The British, Spanish, negro and everything else, would give me as wide a walk as I wished.
Now for the trial — it came off before Judge Berrien. While mixing about, I found a man who seemed to know my age better than I did myself, and all I had to prove was that I was not twenty-one years of age, to be discharged from the vessel on which I had shipped. The man that seemed to know my age was not a native of America, but looked old enough to have known Adam's age. He volunteered his services, and as the government had been receiving volunteers for some time past, I thought it well enough to take one into my service and drill him, and see what I could make of him. There was General Watson and a cousin of mine that could both say, from what they had understood, that my age was recorded some where as having been born on the 22d February, 1797 — this was in March, 1815. I found that their testimony was not likely to do me any good. You know it has been said that volunteers are more reliable than drafted men. My volunteer came to the stand and made his statement. The Judge asked the witness some questions, as well as the counsel for Captain Downs. He answered them promptly, and to the purpose.
The Judge informed Capt. Downs that he should discharge me, unless he [Downs] could introduce testimony to set aside that of the witness who had just left the stand. Just as the Judge closed these remarks, the witness turned and said:
"Oh! may it please yer Honor, he may look all over old Ireland and Amaraky too, but he'Il never find the lad that will say black is my eye."
Capt. Downs looked at the witness a moment, and then observed: "No, nor never can I, or any one else, find a man that is a better master of his trade than yourself."
The witness then remarked: "Ah! captain, you are right! There's not a man that lives can bate me a ditching, age and inch me."
These last remarks of the witness even made the Captain laugh. I was discharged. If I ever see you, and you will call my attention to this subject, and to the visit I made with Tom Rix to St. Augustine, and your risibility has not entirely left you, I will obligate myself at least to make you smile.
After I was discharged, I offered the Captain the money I had received as bounty money, but he would not take it, and insisted on my going with him, which I declined, and we parted. I have seen Capt. Downs since, but Lieuts. Shubrick, Stevens, and all that I knew on board, were lost. I believe I did hear that a young man by the name of Edward Collier, from Augusta, Ga., who shipped as Master of Marines about the time I left the ship, also left her before she sailed from Savannah.
On the 15th day of July, 1815, the Epervier passed Gibraltar on her return to this country with dispatches from Commodore Decatur, and was commanded by Lieut. John Shubrick; that is the last satisfactory account that was ever heard of her; that is history. I have never let an opportunity escape to catch any thing that I thought would or could give the least clue to the destiny of that iII-fated vessel and crew.
After quitting the Epervier, and loitering about Savannah for a week or two, I returned to Milledgeville. I paid a visit to my relatives in South Carolina, and returned to Georgia and went into the Nation that same year; laid a claim at or near the old Mordecai place, and very near where old John Burch settled. After spending some month or six weeks with the Indians, and engaging some corn, I put out with two negroes for Alabama. On arriving at Line Creek, I learned from George Zimmerman or William Bagby that some one was on my claim. I concluded to locate among the Indians myself and send my negroes back, but had to carry them myself. I hired them to one James Mallett, for the year 1816; got two hundred dollars; put out next in company with Col. Turner Bynum and his son, Jesse A. Bynum, who since represented Halifax District, N.C., in Congress. I traveled with them to Tombecbee, or Bigby. The Indians stole our horses and hid them out, to get pay for bringing them in.
After Col. Bynum and his son left me I remained a week or two with an old North Carolina acquaintance, who was then living at Pine Jackson, a Dr. Neil Smith. From Pine Jackson I went to Madisonville, on Lake Ponchatrain, then to New Orleans. I there fell in with one Angus Gilchrist, and he and myself went to Nachadoches, Texas; there we found Edward McLauchlin, the best Indian interpreter I ever heard, except BiIIy Hamby. From Nachadoches we went everywhere. It would take one of John's kind of books to hold all that happened that year, so I will have to let that year's travel pass. Though it is not much trouble to say to you that I was long enough from home to get out of funds.
I returned to Georgia, and in November Gen. Clark and some other gentlemen employed me to go to St. Augustine after some negroes that had left them. I went to Camden county, and got a Captain Wm. Cone to go with me into Florida. I failed to get the negroes, but I saw Peter McQueen and Josiah Francis for the first time I had seen them for years, for it was before the war that I had seen them last. They were then trading at Fort Hawkins. They informed me that some of the negroes were on the Sawanee, at Bowlegs' Town. I returned to Milledgeville, remained a few days, went into the Creek Nation, and got a white man by the name of John Winslett, and we started for Sawanee. We got below Flint River, to Nehe Marthla's Town — or Fort Town — and found times a little too warm, and returned to Ochehaw, or Flint River. From there I went to Hartford, and Winslett to Chattahoochee.
Some time in January, 1817, I took a trip to North Carolina. I returned to Georgia in March, and was again prevailed upon to go to Florida for runaway negroes. I got a half-breed, named Laufauka — better known to the whites as John Blount — and an old Cusseta Indian named Tobler, who spoke fine English for an Indian — we put out and reached Bowlegs' Town. Arburthnot had a store close by, and he informed me that he believed the negroes, or a part of them, were in the neighborhood, but that I would hazard too much in attempting to arrest them. I quit the place, and saw nothing more of it for over a year, at which time I helped to burn up the place. I spent pretty much of that summer in the settlements on the Alabama river, and among the Indians. I made me another claim on the Autauga side.
On my return to Georgia, in the latter part of the summer, General Mitchell, who was then the Indian Agent, informed me that he had just received a letter from Arburthnot, stating that the Florida Indians would do mischief, and that he [Mitchell] had better caution the travelers on the Military Road, as well as inform our Government of their intentions. It was done, and a call made for troops. Baldwin, Hancock, Washington, Putnam and Morgan counties, had to elect a Major. I offered my services — my opponents were Capt. Joseph H. Howard, with whom I had served in two expeditions, and who was my Captain in both — and Capt. John D. Broadnax, a very efficient officer, who had distinguished himself in Gen. Floyd's fights. But it so turned out that I got more votes than both of them. Gov. Rabun declared that he was gratified at my success, and would issue a commission forthwith, that I should have the title, if nothing else.
The troops were not ordered out immediately, and I was made Deputy Sheriff of the county, bought an interest with one John Jeter in a tavern, had an interest in a Faro-Bank, and many other things to attend to, too tedious to mention. All these things, with the aid of my two partners in business, broke me, and I had nothing left but a Major's commission to depend upon. Finally, the troops were ordered to rendezvous at Fort Hawkins — I had nothing to do but leave a few debts unsettled, and put out. I happened to be the oldest Major, and there being no Colonel or Brigadier-General then at head-quarters, I took command of two Battalions of Infantry, and two Troops of Cavalry. Shortly afterwards, a Mr. Wimberly was. made Colonel, and Gen. Thomas Glasscock appointed to the command of the whole. The General and Colonel disagreed, and I associated mostly with a Capt. Melvin, who had command of a company of United States Artillery. There was little done except foot-racing, wrestling and drinking whisky, when we could get it. The troops never went more than forty miles beyond the line.
I will give you a few of the most remarkable occurrences that took place. We traveled one day until after two o'clock, in a very heavy rain. The cavalry was' some two miles in the rear; the General ordered the men to fire off their guns, wipe out and re-load. I asked him if it would not be best to notify the dragoons, for fear they might think we were attacked, and make an unnecessary forced march to come up. The General said he commanded, and it was none of my business. The firing commenced; some would re-load and fire; after a little we heard a roaring behind us, and here was Major Lewis and Capt. Glenn — both uncles of Dixon H. Lewis — and very large men, and Glenn looked almost as large as the horse he was riding — and it was no pony, at that. They were both brave, and Glenn was a good fighter. I had seen him well tried at Caleebe Creek. Glenn did not care who commanded — he spoke his mind very plainly. The next firing we had we were encamped in a little breast-work — orders were issued for the sentinels to fire and run in, and a few in the line had private orders to fire their guns, in order to see how the men would stand it. It so happened that one of the sentinels did not receive the order, nor did he fire — his name was Booth Fitzpatrick, an uncle to Senator Ben. Fitzpatrick — and when the few in the lines commenced firing, all hands cut loose, and it was some time before a stop could be put to it. There were two cousins from Baldwin county, both very stout men and good soldiers — James Aidridge and Alexander Chambliss. Aldridge was a very mischievous youngster, and loved fun. Chambliss was very hard of hearing, and after the firing ceased, Chambliss asked Aldridge: "Jim, did you shoot? ....Yes," says Aidridge, "I did; and did you not see the Indians? ....No!" said Chambliss, "I did not shoot, nor did I see the first Indian."
After it was all over, Uncle Booth, as we all called him, came walking in, and said: "My sons, I think you are mistaken, for I have looked with all the eyes I have, and have not seen the first Indian; besides, my sons, you came very near shooting the old man, and if I had not placed a tree between you and me you would have done it."
The next thing worthy of notice, we left our ammunition at Blackshire's old breastworks, and marched some four or five miles and built a breast-work. The ammunition was guarded by some eight or ten men. One night we heard some guns in the direction of the ammunition camp, and it fell to my lot, or at least I volunteered, to go and see what the firing meant. I took these same two cousins, and some others, and put out. When I reached the guard, they had put up a target, and had been shooting at it by fire-light. So the General concluded that it would be easier to march back to the ammunition, than to remove it; so he did, and put up a little stockade-work, and called it Fort Early.
The next thing to be mentioned is, there was an Indian Town, some eight or ten miles below, on the river, and on the opposite side from us. It was called Fulemmy's or Pinder-Town — the Indians were Chehaws. An officer and some fifteen men went down to get some provisions, and while they were there a party of hostile Indians, sure enough, made their appearance in the neighborhood of the town. The officer was notified of it, and fixed himself for a fight. They had expected to stay all night at the town when they went, but a runner was sent to camp for a reinforcement. It was then night, and thought not expedient to march the men at that time; I took with me an Indian boy or man, whom we had as an interpreter — one Abram Alfreend, and I think David Strother — and went down with the intention of moving the men out in the night. The runner and myself crossed over in a canoe, and found all safe, and when I got things ready for re-crossing, the canoe was missing. If the two big cousins were not in that crowd, I had them with me the next day. The old Chief told me there was a place just below on the river where I could wade across, if there was no canoe. The men said they could defend themselves, if they were attacked. I took an Indian with me, put on a blanket, and tied before me like an apron a woman's petty coat, and under the blanket I carried a musket, and the Indian carried a water jug. In making our way to the ford, through some switch cane that small foot-path went through, at no great distance I heard a gun fire, and in my imagination I heard others cock. That was enough for me. I dropped the blanket and petty coats, as well as the gun. I took the water — and whether I waded, swam or forded, I never stopped to enquire, but crossed in a hurry. It was but a little way to where I left Alfreend, the Indian, and the other man; we soon made our way to camp.
By the time it was light enough to travel, and see what was around us, we had a good force near the town. We crossed the men over, found the trail of the hostile Indians, and pursued them until late in the day — they going towards the white settlements, and rather in the direction of our camp. We returned to camp that night, hungry, wet and cold. Maj. Morgan had been out that day with a party of men, and discovered their trail, and followed them until evening; he came in sight of their camp — they had encamped on a little ridge of timber that was entirely surrounded by water, and within six miles of our camp. The troops were anxious to go that night and surround the camp, but it was objected to; the next morning one of the friendly Indians whom I had left to follow the trail, came in and said they had left, and had gone in the direction of Hartford. An officer and some men were despatched to meet some provision wagons and let them know that there was danger to be apprehended. The wagons were met — a Maj. Franklin Heard had charge of the guard. They reached Cedar Creek within four miles or less of our camp, and two men, Tom Lee and Sam Loftis, went into the creek, and had nearly crossed, when they were fired upon and killed. They cut Lee's head off, and scalped Loftis. The same man, Strother, whom I had with me a night or two before, was along when the men were killed, and brought the news to the camp.
Just before we learned that Lee and Loftis were killed a man named Keith had come through alone from Fort Gaines; he had travelled of nights, and wanted some assistance, as there were a great many women and children unprotected in the Fort. I volunteered to go, and my battalion was willing to go also, but was not allowed. I then proposed that if the General would issue an order for me to take the command at Fort Gaines, I would go alone, with the scout, Keith. This he would not do, but said that if I could get thirty men, I might have that number. I made a call, and got nineteen men — myself, Keith, and Indian Bill, (the same man that saved Gen. Gaines' life when his boat was wrecked,) making twenty-two.
As soon as they brought in Lee without his head, and Loftis scalped, we took a look and started that night. I crossed the river, went to Chehaw, on Kitchafoony Creek, got fourteen Indian warriors, and left next morning. I wanted, if possible, to cross before night, the Echowagnotchy Creek, which was very large and very full, and a large swamp on both sides. Between sunset and dark we entered the swamp. We had not gone far before we discovered some dozen pairs of Indian leggins, hung up to dry. We made our way to the run of the creek, and cut down a large hollow gum for the men to cross upon, but when it fell, it went so deep into the water that we could not use it, and we had to return back to high land and camp. Fortunately, we found a little wet-weather spring near the top of the most elevated point that we could find, and a number of dead pines that had fallen. We soon built a breast-work, and took our horses in, (there were but four) — and we concluded that if the worst came to the worst, as the saying is, we would try horse flesh. I sIept very little that night. The old Chief whom I had along with me said he knew a better and safer crossing place. Just before day we built up large fires, and left for the new crossing, which was about three miles. We crossed quite handy, and had to turn up the creek to get to our trail. A little after day we heard a number of guns fire in the direction of our camp — we made a forced march that day. We frequently, through the day, could see one or two Indians, who would keep at a distance from us. That night, about nine o'clock, we came in the neighborhood of Fort Gaines.
Now, sir, I have seen some trouble in my time, and have run some few risks, I reckon, and have often felt bad, but a portion of that night was the most disagreeable that I ever spent.
When we got within half a mile of the Fort, we could see dogs trotting, and hear them howling in every direction. Keith said the Fort had been taken. We got within three hundred yards of the Fort and could see a dim light, that Keith said was in one of the block-houses. Keith approached a little nearer, and returned and he was sure the Fort was in possession of the enemy. I sent my interpreter and another Indian to the boat landing, to see if there were any crafts in which we could descend the river. They returned, and reported that there was a number of canoes and a ferry boat. I went a short distance to a spot that was a little lower than the surrounding earth, and wrote the following lines to Gen. Gaines, who was then at old Hartford, Ga.:
"JANUARY 16, 1818, 10 o'clock at night. I am now within gun-shot of Fort Gaines, which is in possession of the Indians. There is a heavy cloud rising, and as soon as it get so dark that objects cannot be distinguished from the Fort, I will attempt to re-take it, and try and sustain myself until I get assistance. If I find I cannot do that, I will try and descend the river below Perryman Town, and go across to Fort Scott. I shall at all events sell myself and men as dearly as possible."
These lines I wrote by a little fire-light, kindled by the friendly Indians — they holding their blankets around it, to prevent its being seen from the Fort. I gave these lines to the interpreter, Bill — gave him my horse, and told him whenever he heard the firing commence, and was certain it was a fight, to make the best of his way to Hartford; but not to start until he was certain that the Fort might not still be in the possession of the whites, and by chance a sentinel or two might, through fear or something else, fire upon us.
The few lines above described as written to Gen. Gaines — and which you will see were not sent — are the only lines I ever attempted to write to a superior, detailing my situation, when on separate command, during all the service, or all the time I was in service. We waited until the cloud covered us, and then approached towards the Fort, and when within about one hundred yards of it, I halted the men, and took Keith and an Indian, and made for a little flickering light which we could see, and which Keith supposed was in one of the block-houses. It turned out to be true. I walked up to the blockhouse, in which there was a door some three or four feet square, cut out to place a cannon at. Two men were playing cards on the ammunition box, and a young lady interesting them with a song. As I got to the door, one of the card-players observed to the other that he was out. I observed to them that it was me that was out, and wished to come in. I called up my men, took my letter to Gen. Gaines and burned it, and took command. I called up all hands, went to the magazine and took out some guns, and informed them that every man who did not take a gun and do duty, should leave the Fort.
I will here state that I believe I had as resolute a set of men for the number, as I ever saw. Among them was Capt. John Curry, from Washington; Lieut. Steel, from Hancock; Ensign Clark, from Morgan county, Georgia. I recollect yet many of the names. Catle J. Atkins, who lived many years in Macon county, Ala., and two brothers by the name of Emerson — Ben. and Uriah — who were living in Montgomery county, Ala., when I left the country, in 1841.
I remained at Fort Gaines but a few days, when I was relieved by Majs. Twiggs and Muhlenberg — Maj. Twiggs is now the distinguished Gen. Twiggs, of our Army. Maj. Muhlenberg is the officer who had charge of that convoy of boats, on one of which Lieut. Scott and his party were massacred. I marched my men to Fort Hawkins and discharged them.
I there met with three letters, one from Gen. Glasscock, requesting me to accept an appointment in his staff; one from Gen. Gaines, requesting me to get as many Indians as I could, and join him at Fort Early. The other was from Gen. Jackson — it was rather an order than a request. He wanted me at Fort Scott, with as many Indians as I could raise. I paid a short visit to Elbert and Franklin counties, Georgia, and to Pendleton District, South Carolina, after some negroes, of which I have before made mention. I passed through Twiggs county, Ga., got Capt. Isaac Brown and went to Fort Early. Flint River was very high, which enabled me to take a large flat boat down to Fort Scott, with ammunition for the troops. At Fort Scott I met with a portion of my Indians, which I had sent the talk to. I was placed at the head of the Indians, and crossed the river.
This was in March, 1818. We occasionally fired a few guns at straggling Indians, and they in turn would fire upon us; now and then one was killed, and a prisoner or two taken. There was nothing that could be called a fight on our route to the spot on the Apalachacola, where Gen. Clinch had blown up Fort Woodbine, a year or two before. The Army at that time consisted of the 4th and 7th Regiments of United States Infantry, two Regiments of Georgia Militia, under Gen. Glasscock, a Company of Kentuckians, under Capt. Robert Crittenden, and a Company of Tennesseeans, under Capt. Dunlap, (this last Company composed Gen. Jackson's Life Guard,) and some five hundred Indians, under the two half-breed Chiefs, Kinard and Lovet, and myself.
We set about building Fort Gadsden, on the site of old Fort Woodbine. And at that place Gen. Jackson and myself took our first split, and as the matter has been often talked of, and misrepresented by some, I will here give you the particulars of that affair, as there are those yet living who witnessed it. Gen. Twiggs, of the Army, witnessed the whole of it, and Col. John Banks, of Columbus, Ga., Maj. Samuel Robinson, of Washington county, Ga., and Capt. Isaac Brown, of this State, are all familiar with the circumstances.
Capt. Dunlap was a gentleman and a good officer, and his company was composed mostly of the sons of the first families about Nashville, and some of them were very young, as well as very mischievous. They performed no duty more than to ride along the trail on our march, and when in camp strolled when and where they pleased. I had noticed them, or some of them, several times on our march from Fort Scott to where we then were, making fun and cutting their capers with the Georgia Militia. I tried to put a stop to it as often as I could, told them that we were all engaged in the same service, and should be one people. It did no good. One day, while at work on Fort Gadsden, I had a parcel of Indians taking the bark from the pines to cover the huts in the Fort; many of the officers were present, noticing how neatly the Indians arranged the bark. Among those present that I recollect, were Gens. Jackson, Gaines and Glasscock; Cols. Breasly and King; Maj. Floyd and Capt. Bee. While we were there, a Georgian by the name of Jabez Gilbert came up. I knew Gilbert; he was pretty well smoked — soap and water would have helped the looks both of himself and clothes. Some eight or ten of these Nashville youngsters seized him, and said they would throw him into the river, which was but a few yards off. One of the young men, I think, was named Ayres, and perhaps a Lieutenant. He stepped up to Gen. Jackson, and said: "General, we have a notion to wash that fellow." The General said nothing, but hung his head and smiled. That made me mad. They dragged Gilbert nearly to the water's edge. I remarked to Gen. Glasscock, that was one of his men; I repeated it several times, but Glasscock said nothing. I then spoke out loud, and remarked that he was a Georgian, and had claims on me. I then walked to where Gilbert was, pulled him away from them, and ordered him to go to his quarters. They then attempted to seize me. I tapped, or pushed one of them over; and another I pushed into the water, where it was about knee deep.
Col. Breasly, who had been, or was looking to be arrested, had made me a present of his side arms, which I had under my hunting shirt, and showed to the boys, and that ended the row at the water.
I walked back, and took my seat not far from where Gen. Jackson and the others were sitting. This man Ayres came up and commenced a sort of quarrel with me, and said that Gen. Jackson saw it, and had not interfered, and that it was none of my business; besides, he said, I had no command among the whites, and that I had better attend to my Indians. I told him it mattered not where my command was; that when I saw such chaps as him out of their place, I would put them in it. I discovered that the General was mad, for I had not been very choice about words or insinuations. He rose to his feet and said he had seen as big men as I was thrown into the water. I remarked to him that he might, but that he had not men enough in his Life Guard to put me in, and if he liked he could try it.
Maj. Twiggs at this time stepped near, and gave me to understand that I had better say no more, and to go to my quarters, and remarked to Ayres, at the same time, "Young man, you put out from here." Twiggs and Capt. Bee were the only men that said a word. Capt. Bee turned off, and spoke so as to be heard by those who were listening, and said: "Woodward is right, and the Georgians ought to love him."
As I walked off, Gen. Jackson cursed me for a damned long, Indian looking son-ofa-bitch — ( recollect his language well.) As he made that speech, I turned and said to him, that I had some of the blood, but neither boasted of, nor was ashamed of it. I went to my quarters, and either sent a note or got Capt. Brown to go to the General, (I now forget which,) and say to him that I regretted having incurred his displeasure, and that if he had no further use for my services, I would quit his camp.
That evening or the next morning he sent for me to go to his quarters. He said to me that I done right in preventing the volunteers from throwing the militiaman in the water, but said I was too self-willed, and did not observe a proper respect towards my superiors, and that he wished the matter to drop there, and wished me to remain. There the matter ended.
I could not help laughing to myself at the idea of the difference the old General then made (and which is often made yet) between volunteers and militia, for I had always looked upon volunteers and drafted men both, as being militia, until they had been well trained. Though I believe the word militia signifies a national force or trained band-and all new troops, both volunteers and drafted men, are alike until they are made regulars by training.
From Fort Gadsden we marched to Micasucky, where we had a little brush. There were a few Georgians, some Tennesseeans, under Maj. Russell, a fine fighter, and some friendly Indians in the skirmish — there were but seven Indians killed, but every man along killed one of them. The next was the McIntosh fight, where Mrs. Dill was rescued, which I have given you an account of before. Col. Butler's account of that is a very incorrect one, as will be recollected by those who were along, and have read his report of that fight. But there is nothing which is more exaggerated generally than the official reports of fights, and particularly those little skirmishes with Indians. The severest brush that I was engaged in during that campaign, was at the Negro Village, near Bowlegs' Town, on the Sawanee. There were only about three hundred friendly Indians, and but four white men engaged in that fight — Isaac Brown, Jack Carter, James Finley, and myself. Col. Williamson, by some means, misunderstood Gen. Jackson's orders, or mistook his place in time of that fight. For if Gen. Jackson's orders had been strictly carried out, and the place of attack strictly observed, very few Indians and negroes could have escaped. But as it turned out, a few Indians had the brunt to bear, as will be recollected by those familiar with that campaign. This fight was in April, but I now forget on what day of the month. The next day I crossed the river with some five hundred Indians, by swimming, and carrying our guns in one hand. We pursued the Indians that day and a part of the next; killed a few Indians, and took a few women and children prisoners, as well as caught a few negroes. On our return to camp, it was in the evening; the man Robert Ambrista happened to get between our lines and the army, and was picked up and made a prisoner, and that ended the Seminole war, so far as I was engaged in it. At the time Ambrista and Cook were picked up at Sawanee, Arbusthnot was a prisoner at St. Marks, which was then in charge of Capt. Vashon. You have heard of the Arbusthnot and Ambrista case. And those who have, or think they have a knowledge of that matter, have made up their minds for and against, long since, and anything that I could say now would do no good. I think it likely, could their lives have been spared, their families at least would have been more benefitted, our country would have sustained no loss, and the consciences of some men, on mature reflection, would have rested easier. And no doubt at the time they were executed, some could have been found of our own people who had been equally guilty, in furnishing the Indians material to do mischief with.
While I was in Florida with the natives from the Chehawtown, some Georgians under the command of a fool Yankee, by the name of Obed Wright; went to Chehaw, burned and plundered the town, and killed a few old men, some women and children, and among others killed old Howard, who was known as the native chief. The news reached Gert. Jackson while he was at Pensacola. He ordered Maj. Davis, of the ordnance department to go into Georgia, arrest Wright, and carry him to his (Jackson's) camp, let that be where it might. Maj. Davis arrested Wright, I think, in Louisville. He carried him to Milledgeville where he tried to make his escape. Maj. Davis called on me, as I then had returned home, to aid him in carrying Wright to the army. I not thinking about the impropriety of taking a man by military process, and a private citizen too, out of his State to be tried by a military tribunal, and that, perhaps out of the United States, seized Wright, put him on a horse, and was about being off when Gen. Clark came up, learned what was going on, and said Wright should go no further; and said he would be one to defend the rights of a citizen against Gen. Jackson and his whole force. Gov. Rabun had a writ of habeas corpus issued, and Wright was released. Maj. Davis was highly pleased at getting rid of his charge. Not long afterwards, I received a letter from the General stating that he was well pleased at my offering my services to Maj. Davis, in aiding to bring that murderer to justice; and that as I had, on a former occasion, intimated to him that I would like to be in the regular army, if I then wished, he would procure for me a commission. I declined.
That was the end of my services in the United States until 1836, and as there was scarcely a youngster about Columbus, Georgia, or Montgomery, Alabama, who had ever seen Blackstone's Commentaries, or read the Georgia Justice, or Aiken's Digest, or seen a Root Doctor, or read medicine as far as Salts, but was Aid to somebody, or some one else, and among them you will, no doubt, if you wish, get the whole of that affair complete.
After I quit the army in 1818, I went to Washington city with some half-breed Indians. I visited the eastern shore of Maryland, went into Delaware, returned to Georgia, and then went to Alabama and fixed for another settlement. I carried a few new negroes and settled them below old Montgomery, in Autauga county. In the spring of 1819, I returned to Georgia to aid Gen. Watson in running the line between Georgia and Florida. I got some Uchee Indians to pack horses and hunt for him, as provision was scarce. After I returned to Milledgeville, I took a trip to Alabama as low as Claiborne. I returned to Georgia, wrote a letter to Gen. Jackson, notifying him of an enterprise that I wished to engage in, (he and I had talked on the subject while in Florida). I have his answer to my letter now, and will send it to you, and you can do what you please with it. It was written on the 30th of September, and mailed at Nashville on the Ist of October, 1819. I was engaged in a little affair in 1813, for a few weeks, but most of those who were along, and myself, differed in our views about patriotism, and I quit.
I seen Capt. Cain is dead. He was a man of good heart, and I will let that matter and those that were engaged, rest. Gen. Jackson's letter will explain to you what I was engaged in shortly after I got it. Here I and my crowd differed again about patriotism, In 1820, I returned to Alabama and was married on the 3d of August of that year. The Brigadier General had to be elected by the commissioned officers of the Brigade. The candidates were Col. Joseph H. Howard, Gilbert Shearer, Andrew Taprid, Jonas Brown, William Gray, the man who fought Joe Kemp the first fight for a hundred dollars, and myself. I was elected in August, 1820, and was commissioned on the 13th of September of the same year by Thomas Bibb, who was discharging the duties of Governor, by virtue of his office as President of the Senate of the State. I remained in Alabama some twenty years; managed my pecuniary matters badly most of the time; was very poor; was sold out twice by the sheriff; always voted on the weak side; was not very popular; often spoke too quick and too freely; had a family that was interesting to me at least, consequently had often to submit to indignities or insults from a little short stock that under other circumstances I should have slapped a rod. In 1841, I moved to Arkansas, and lived there twelve years. The climate proved fatal to all my family except my eldest son, and it has so preyed upon him and myself that we are nothing more than the wrecks of what once were men. Now, sir, these sketches have been written in a poor style, but have been faithfully narrated; and perhaps you may be able to glean from them, in an imperfect manner, a part of the information you desired, and whether you find them interesting or not, from the rapid manner in which my health has declined of late, I think it probable they are the last I shall give you or any one else. I shall close this by giving you what I think was the true disposition and character of Gen. Jackson. If he was not the most sensible and best man that I have known, he was the greatest man, with a large portion of the American people, whom I have had any thing to do with. His mind was stronger and better cultivated than many have thought it to be; a man of bitter prejudices and unforgiving disposition, and a true friend when he really proposed it. He could not be corrupted with money, strictly honest in all monied transactions, despised flattery, though he often had it heaped upon him by the quantity, in his latter days. The only ones who could flatter him were those whom he looked upon as being so low they could have no motive, and those who stood so high as not to be suspected. He preferred having his own judgment respected more than that of the balance of the world. If he bet ten dollars on a horse race, he would pay a hundred rather than lose the ten; for with the loss of the ten dollars would go his judgment. He would never, for a moment, suffer himself to think that those he placed in office would act dishonest — he being honest in money matters himself — and that was the cause of there being some defaulters in office during his administration. He would admit of no superior, and was jealous of those whom the people looked upon as his equals and was not at all times a judge of his true friends. There were thousands who appreciated him properly and admired him for his good qualities, but opposed some of his arbitrary measures, and some had not voted for him. These he looked upon as his enemies, and never missed an opportunity to deal them a blow under the fifth rib. His popularity, at one time, and for a long time, was almost irresistible. He would suffer it used in the support of a friend, regardless of every thing, when silence on his part would have placed him in a more enviable attitude with the more reflecting and intelligent portion of mankind. I will cite one instance among many to show how far he would go. It has been the custom, and is expected, that demagogues and politicians will use every means to carry their points in elections. But there has always been one rule observed among our army and naval officers, and it never should be violated; for they established the rule and take them according to number, they are and have been the most thorough gentlemen I have any knowledge of. That rule was never for one officer to speak disparagingly of another, unless it was well known that he had been guilty of a gross violation of duty, or something else, that had rendered him an unfit associate for the balance. Gen. Harrison had been a Major General in the army and resigned. Gen. Jackson succeeded to the command which Gen. Harrison would have held had he continued in the service. Gert. Jackson did much. He achieved a victory that the history of wars seldom records. The American people thanked him, they rewarded him, placed him in the highest office known to civilized men. But not to their credit do I say they submitted to his iron will, and in some instances a gross violation of their rights. It is well known, in a country like ours, that in some instances too high an estimate has been placed on military fame. It has governed in some of the most important elections, and has resulted in but little good to the country. In 1840, Gen. Harrison was a candidate for the Presidency. His friends seized upon his military deeds, and other things, as had Gen. Jackson's friends done before. Instead of remaining quiet and letting the people arrange their own matters, Gen. Jackson departed so far from what I think should have been his proper course as to write a letter, giving the people, and particularly his own friends, to understand that he never had looked upon Gen. Harrison as a military man. This was objectionable, coming from the source it did. The times and circumstances at the time, some men have lived, have had much to do in building up or pulling down their fortunes. It is quite likely that if Oliver Cromwell had lived in England at any other time than that in which he did live, from the reign of Egbert down to Victoria he would have been looked upon as being what he really was — a base hypocrite. — Clay, Webster, Calhoun and Gaston, (if the latter had possessed_ more ambition) would have been great at any age of the world, and so would Gen. Jackson have been more than an ordinary man at any time. And had he been old enough, and placed at the head of any army in the revolution, no doubt he would have distinguished himself, but never would have been rated higher than many engaged in that service, and perhaps not as high as Green, Wayne, Stark, Daniel Morgan, or Ethan Allen. And had there, by chance or otherwise, been any one who was placed higher in the scale of greatness than himself, I think it quite likely that he would have evinced, or have shown, to some extent, a kind of jealousy to Charles Lee or Horatio Gates. Those of the Revolution were a different people to most of those in Gen. Jackson's time. In the Revolution, men were willing to serve, and if by chance they were killed, it would answer for their friends to read and speak of their deeds of daring. But not so in Gen. Jackson's time. There were too many who chose to live and see their names puffed in the newspapers, whether they merited it or not. Gen. Jackson knew the people he lived amongst, and knew how to control them and did do it.
The best evidence I can give of his being a great man is, that without money and friends he raised himself from an obscure Irish boy to the head of this nation, and was the most popular man that ever was and perhaps ever will be in it again. I have not said Irish boy from any invidious motive, or to detract any thing from his true merit. For I think if his true origin were known, it would only add to his standing, and prove to the world that he descended from a race of the right blood to make great men. One thing can be said of a truth, that he made more little would-be great-men, the last twenty years of his life, than God has made truly great ones for the last two centuries. And if his ambition, at times, caused him to err, his love of country made him a good patriot; and the American people will cherish his memory, particularly those living in his time, while he sleeps quietly where the laudations of sycophantic and hypocritical friends and the reproaches of his enemies cannot interrupt his repose.