THE GRACE DARLING OF AMERICA.
About forty-six years ago a story of English heroism stirred the heart of the world. Grace Darling was born at Bamborough, on the coast of Northumberland, in 1815, and died in 1842. Her father was the keeper of the Long-stone Light-house, on one of the most exposed of the Farne islands. On the night of September 6, 1838, the Forfarshire steamer, proceeding from Hull to Dundee, was wrecked on one of the crags of the Farne group. Of fifty-three persons on board, thirty-eight perished, including the captain and his wife. On the morning of the 7th the survivors were discovered by Grace clinging to the rocks and remnants of the vessel, in imminent danger of being washed off by the returning tide. Grace, with the assistance of her parents, but against their remonstrance, immediately launched a boat and, with her father, succeeded in rescuing nine of them, and six escaped by other means. Presents and admiration were showered upon her from all parts of the United Kingdom, and a public subscription to the amount of £700 was raised for her. Among the many poets who sang her praises was Wordsworth, in a poem of considerable length, of which the following is a passage:
"Among the dwellers in the silent fields
The natural heart is touched, and public way
And crowded street resound with ballad strains,
Inspired by one whose very name bespeaks
Favor divine, exalting, human love;
Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbrian coast,
Known unto few, but prized as far as known,
A single act endears to high and low
Through the whole land--to manhood, moved in spite
Of the world's freezing cares; to generous youth;
To infancy, that lisps her praise; to age,
Whose eye reflects it, glistening through tears
Of generous admiration. Such true fame
Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds
Do no imperishable record find
Save in the roll of heaven, where hers may live
A theme for angels, when they celebrate
The high-souled virtues which forgetful earth
Has witnessed."
These lines describe equally well Ida Lewis, the heroine of our own country, whose brave deeds have passed into the habit of a life.
Ida Lewis Wilson, for she is now married, is the daughter of Hosea Lewis, who was formerly of the revenue service, became keeper of Lime Rock Lighthouse, in the inner harbor of Newport, R.I. The lighthouse is situated on one of the small rocks of limestone in that harbor, and is entirely surrounded by water.
From her thirteenth year Ida has resided on the rock. As the only means of connection with the city of Newport is by water, she early learned the use of oars. When she was about fifteen years of age she rescued from drowning four boys who had been thrown into the water by the upsetting of their boat near the lighthouse. During the Winter of 1865-66, on one of the coldest days of that season, she rescued a soldier belonging to Fort Adams, who was clinging to a skiff, which had upset with him and become full of water. She lifted him out of the water into her own boat and carried him to the lighthouse.
About this time the duty of looking after the light depended on Ida and her mother, her father having become a hopeless cripple from paralysis. This charge they fulfilled in the most perfect manner, no light on the coast being more regularly or more perfectly attended to. It is a singular life to imagine, these two women living thus isolated from the rest of the world. The freedom of the life, however, and the constant abundance of stimulating sea air, together with the exercise of rowing to and from the city, gave Ida a physical strength and a health which makes her richer in all the valuable part of life than many of her sex whose lives are passed in constant repining for something to live for, while surrounded with all the appliances of luxury. That Miss Lewis has also developed an independence of courage is shown by her deeds, which prove also that the isolation of her life has not in any way prevented the development of the tenderness of sympathy with suffering which is supposed to be peculiar to only the helplessness of women.
It was owing to the efforts of the late Senator Burnside that Ida became the recognized keeper of the lighthouse, a promotion as graceful as it was deserved. The matter was arranged in January, 1879, by Senator Burnside and Collector Pratt.
The keeper of Lime Rock Light then was Mrs. Zoradia Lewis, Ida's mother, who had been in charge for a number of years. Mrs. Lewis's second daughter, who was very sick, required all the mother's attention, and accordingly it was suggested to her that by her resignation the heroine could receive the appointment. She gladly accepted the suggestion, and on January 24th Ida received her appointment, with a salary of $750 a year, an increase of $250 over her mother's pay. In communicating the appointment Secretary Sherman said: "This appointment is conferred upon you as a mark of my appreciation for your noble and heroic efforts in saving human lives." Ida Lewis had given up all hope that her claims would ever be recognized, and the news was joyfully received.
In July, 1881, the Secretary of the Treasury awarded the gold life-saving medal to her in recognition of her services in rescuing a number of persons from drowning since the passage of the act authorizing such awards. Most of the rescues made were under circumstances which called for heroic daring, and involved the risk of her life. The following summary of her achievements in life-saving is taken from the records of the Treasury Department:
"The total number of lives Mrs. Ida Lewis Wilson has saved since 1854, so far as known, is thirteen. In all these cases except two she has relied wholly on herself. Her latest achievement was the rescue in February, 1881, of two bandsmen from Fort Adams, near Newport, R.I. The men were passing over the ice near Lime Rock Light-house, where Mrs. Lewis Wilson resides, when the ice gave way and they fell in. Hearing their cries, Mrs. Wilson ran out with a clothes-line which she threw to them, successively hauling them out at a great risk to herself from the double peril of the ice giving way beneath her and of being pulled in. Her heroism on various occasions has won her the tribute of her State's Legislature expressed in an official resolution; the public presentation to her of a boat by the citizens of Newport; a testimonial in money from the officers and soldiers of Fort Adams for saving their comrades; and medals from the Massachusetts Humane Society and the New York Life-saving Benevolent Association. To these offerings is now fitly added the gold medal of the United States Life-saving Service."
The presentation took place at the Custom House at Newport, on October 11, 1881, in the presence of many of the leading residents of the State, who met there upon invitation of Collector Cozzors. Mrs. Wilson was introduced to the company by Ex-Collector Macy. The collector introduced Lieutenant-commander F.E. Chadwick, U.S.N., who, in a happy speech, made the presentation of the highest token of merit of the kind which can be given in this country, the life-saving medal of the first class, conferred by the United States Government "for extreme heroic daring involving eminent personal danger." After a simple and eloquent recital of the circumstances in which Mrs. Wilson had, at the risk of her own life and in circumstances requiring the utmost skill and daring, saved from a watery grave on six occasions thirteen persons, Commander Chadwick paid a glowing tribute to the heroism of Mrs. Wilson, and concluded by reading the letter of Secretary of the Treasury Windom, conferring the medal awarded to her under the law of June 20th, 1874. Lieutenant-governor Fay responded on behalf of Mrs. Wilson, and an appropriate address was made by Ex-Governor Van Zant on behalf of Newport and Rhode Island.
After the addresses the public were invited to inspect the gold medal, and were greatly impressed with its beauty. It bears upon its obverse side a tablet with the following inscription:
TO
Ida Lewis Wilson,
For Signal Heroism in Saving Two Men from Drowning,
FEBRUARY 4, 1881.
Surrounding the tablet is the inscription:
In Testimony of Heroic Deeds in Saving Life
from the Peril of the Seas.
XLIX.
RACHEL JACKSON
(BORN 1767--DIED 1828.)
THE WIFE OF OUR SEVENTH PRESIDENT.
Rachel Donelson was the maiden name of General Jackson's wife. She was born in Virginia, in the year 1767, and lived there until she was eleven years of age. Her father, Colonel John Donelson, was a planter and land surveyor, who possessed considerable wealth in land, cattle, and slaves. He was one of those hardy pioneers who were never content unless they were living away out in the woods, beyond the verge of civilization. Accordingly, in 1779, we find him near the head-waters of the Tennessee River, with all his family, bound for the western part of Tennessee, with a river voyage of two thousand miles before them.
Seldom has a little girl of eleven years shared in so perilous an adventure. The party started in the depth of a severe Winter, and battled for two months with the ice before it had fairly begun the descent of the Tennessee. But, in the Spring, accompanied by a considerable fleet of boats, the craft occupied by John Donelson and his family floated down the winding stream more rapidly. Many misfortunes befell them. Sometimes a boat would get aground and remain immovable till its whole cargo was landed. Sometimes a boat was dashed against a projecting point and sunk. One man died of his frozen feet; two children were born. On board one boat, containing twenty-eight persons, the small-pox raged. As this boat always sailed at a certain distance behind the rest, it was attacked by Indians, who captured it, killed all the men, and carried off the women and children. The Indians caught the small-pox, of which some hundreds died in the course of the season.
But during this voyage, which lasted several months, no misfortune befell the boat of Colonel Donelson; and he and his family, including his daughter Rachel, arrived safely at the site of the present city of Nashville, near which he selected his land, built his log house, and established himself. Never has a settlement been so infested by hostile Indians as this. When Rachel Donelson, with her sisters and young friends, went blackberrying, a guard of young men, with their rifles loaded and cocked, stood guard over the surrounding thickets while the girls picked the fruit. It was not safe for a man to stoop over a spring to drink unless some one else was on the watch with his rifle in his arms; and when half a dozen men stood together, in conversation, they turned their backs to each other, all facing different ways, to watch for a lurking savage.
So the Donelsons lived for eight years, and gathered about them more negroes, more cattle, and more horses than any other household in the settlement. During one of the long Winters, when a great tide of emigration had reduced the stock of corn, and threatened the neighborhood with famine, Colonel Donelson moved to Kentucky with all his family and dependents, and there lived until the corn crop at Nashville was gathered. Rachel, by this time, had grown to be a beautiful and vigorous young lady, well skilled in all the arts of the backwoods, and a remarkably bold and graceful rider. She was a plump little damsel, with the blackest hair and eyes, and of a very cheerful and friendly disposition. During the temporary residence of her father in Kentucky, she gave her hand and heart to one Lewis Robards, and her father returned to Nashville without her.
Colonel Donelson soon after, while in the woods surveying far from his home, fell by the hand of an assassin. He was found pierced by bullets; but whether they were fired by red savages or by white was never known. To comfort her mother in her loneliness, Rachel and her husband came to Nashville and lived with her, intending, as soon as the Indians were subdued, to occupy a farm of their own.
In the year 1788 Andrew Jackson, a young lawyer from North Carolina, arrived at Nashville to enter upon the practice of his profession, and went to board with Mrs. Donelson. He soon discovered that Mrs. Rachel Robards lived most unhappily with her husband, who was a man of violent temper and most jealous disposition. Young Jackson had not long resided in the family before Mr. Robards began to be jealous of him, and many violent scenes took place between them. The jealous Robards at length abandoned his wife and went off to his old home in Kentucky, leaving Jackson master of the field.
A rumor soon after reached the place that Robards Had procured a divorce from his wife in the Legislature of Virginia; soon after which Andrew Jackson and Rachel Donelson were married. The rumor proved to be false, and they lived together for two years before a divorce was really granted, at the end of which time they were married again. This marriage, though so inauspiciously begun, was an eminently happy one, although, out of doors, it caused the irrascible Jackson a great deal of trouble. The peculiar circumstances attending the marriage caused many calumnies to be uttered and printed respecting Mrs. Jackson, and some of the bitterest quarrels which the general ever had had their origin in them.
At home, however, he was one of the happiest of men. His wife was an excellent manager of a household and a kind mistress of slaves. She had a remarkable memory, and delighted to relate anecdotes and tales of the early settlement of the country. Daniel Boone had been one of her father's friends, and she used to recount his adventures and escapes. Her abode was a seat of hospitality, and she well knew how to make her guests feel at home. It used to be said in Tennessee that she could not write; but, "as I have had the pleasure of reading nine letters in her own handwriting," says Parton, "one of which was eight pages long, I presume I have a right to deny the imputation. It must be confessed, however, that the spelling was exceedingly bad, and that the writing was so much worse as to be nearly illegible. If she was ignorant of books, she was most learned in the lore of the forest, the dairy, the kitchen, and the farm. I remember walking about a remarkably fine spring that gushed from the earth near where her dairy stood, and hearing one of her colored servants say that there was nothing upon the estate which she valued so much as that spring." She grew to be a stout woman, Which made her appear shorter than she really was. Her husband, on the contrary, was remarkably tall and slender; so that when they danced a reel together, which they often did, with all the vigor of the olden time, the spectacle was extremely curious.
It was a great grief to both husband and wife that they had no children, and it was to supply this want in the household that they adopted one of Mrs. Donelson's nephews, and named him Andrew Jackson. This boy was the delight of them both as long as they lived.
Colonel Benton, so long in the United States Senate, himself a pioneer of the still remoter West, who knew Mrs. Jackson well and long, recorded his opinion of her in the following forcible language:
"A more exemplary woman in all the relations of life--wife, friend, neighbor, mistress of slaves--never lived, and never presented a more quiet, cheerful, and admirable management of her household. She had the general's own warm heart, frank manners, and admirable temper; and no two persons could have been better suited to each other, lived more happily together, or made a house more attractive to visitors. No bashful youth or plain old man, whose modesty sat them down at the lower end of the table, could escape her cordial attention, any more than the titled gentlemen at her right and left. Young persons were her delight, and she always had her house filled with them, all calling her affectionately 'Aunt Rachel.'"
In the homely fashion of the time, she used to join her husband and guests in smoking a pipe after dinner and in the evening. There are now living many persons who well remember seeing her smoking by her fireside a long reed pipe.
When General Jackson went forth to fight in the war of 1812, he was still living in a log house of four rooms. "And this house," says Parton, in a sketch written years ago, from which this is chiefly drawn, "is still standing on his beautiful farm ten miles from Nashville. I used to wonder, when walking about it, how it was possible for Mrs. Jackson to accommodate so many guests as we know she did. But a hospitable house, like a Third Avenue car, in never full; and in that mild climate the young men could sleep on the piazza or in the corn-crib, content if their mothers and sisters had the shelter of the house. It was not until long after the general's return from the wars that he built, or could afford to build, the large brick mansion which he named the 'Hermitage,' The visitor may still see in that commodious house the bed on which this happy pair slept and died, the furniture they used, and the pictures on which they were accustomed to look. In the hall of the second story there is still preserved the huge chest in which Mrs. Jackson used to stow away the woolen clothes of the family in the Summer, to keep them from the moths. Around the house are the remains of the fine garden of which she used to be proud, and a little beyond are the cabins of the hundred and fifty slaves, to whom she was more a mother than a mistress."
A few weeks after the battle of New Orleans, when Jackson was in the first flush of his triumph, this plain planter's wife floated down the Mississippi to New Orleans to visit her husband and accompany him home. She had never seen a city before; for Nashville, at that day, was little more than a village. The elegant ladies of New Orleans were exceedingly pleased to observe that General Jackson, though he was himself one of the most graceful and polite of gentlemen, seemed totally unconscious of the homely bearing, the country manners, and awkward dress of his wife. In all companies and on all occasions he showed her every possible mark of respect. The ladies gathered about her and presented her with all sorts of showy knick-knacks and jewelry, and one of them undertook the task of selecting suitable clothes for her. She frankly confessed that she knew nothing at all about such things, and was willing to wear any thing the ladies thought proper. Much as she enjoyed her visit, she was glad enough to return to her old home on the banks of the Cumberland, and resume her oversight of the dairy and the plantation.
Soon after the peace, a remarkable change came over the spirit of this excellent woman. Parson Blackburn, as the general always called him, was a favorite preacher in that part of Tennessee, and his sermons made so powerful an impression on Mrs. Jackson that she joined the Presbyterian Church, and was ever after devotedly religious. The general himself was almost persuaded to follow her example. He did not, however; but he testified his sympathy with his wife's feelings by building a church for her--a curious little brick edifice--on his own farm; the smallest church, perhaps, in the United States. It looks like a very small school-house; it has no steeple, no portico, and but one door; and the interior, which contains forty little pews, is unpainted, and the floor is of brick. On Sundays, the congregation consisted chiefly of the general, his family, and half a dozen neighbors, with as many negroes as the house would hold, and could see through the windows. It was just after the completion of this church that General Jackson made his famous reply to a young man who objected to the doctrine of future punishment.
"I thank God," said this youth, "I have too much good sense to believe there is such a place as hell."
"Well, sir," said General Jackson, "I thank God there is such a place."
"Why, general," asked the young man, "what do you want with such a place of torment as hell?"
To which the general replied, as quick as lightning: "To put such rascals as you are in, that oppose and vilify the Christian religion."'
The young man said no more, and soon after found it convenient to take his leave.
Mrs. Jackson did not live to see her husband President of the United States, though she lived long enough to know that he was elected to that office. When the news was brought to her of her husband's election, in December, 1828, she quietly said: "Well, for Mr. Jackson's sake" (she always called him Mr. Jackson) "I am glad; for my own part, I never wished it."
The people of Nashville, proud of the success of their favorite, resolved to celebrate the event by a great banquet on the 22d of December, the anniversary of the day on which the general had first defeated the British below New Orleans; and some of the ladies of Nashville were secretly preparing a magnificent wardrobe for the future mistress of the White House. Six days before the day appointed for the celebration, Mrs. Jackson, while busied about her household affairs in the kitchen of the hermitage, suddenly shrieked, placed her hands upon her heart, sank upon a chair, and fell forward into the arms of one of her servants. She was carried to her bed, where, for the space of sixty hours, she suffered extreme agony, during the whole of which her husband never left her side for ten minutes. Then she appeared much better, and recovered the use of her tongue. This was only two days before the day of the festival, and the first use she made of her recovered speech was to implore her husband to go to another room and sleep, so as to recruit his strength for the banquet. He would not leave her, however, but lay down upon a sofa and slept a little. The evening of the 22d she appeared to be so much better that the general consented, after much persuasion, to sleep in the next room, and leave his wife in the care of the doctor and two of his most trusted servants.
At nine o'clock he bade her good-night, went to the next room, and took off his coat, preparatory to lying down. When he had been gone five minutes from her room, Mrs. Jackson, who was sitting up, suddenly gave a long, loud, inarticulate cry, which was immediately followed by the death rattle in her throat. By the time her husband had reached her side, she had breathed her last.
"Bleed her," cried the general.
But no blood flowed from her arm.
"Try the temple," doctor.
A drop or two of blood stained her cap, but no more followed. Still, it was long before he would believe her dead, and when there could no longer be any doubt, and they were preparing a table upon which to lay her out, he cried, with a choking voice:
"Spread four blankets upon it; for if she does come to she will lie so hard upon the table."
All night long he sat in the room, occasionally looking into her face, and feeling if there was any pulsation in her heart. The next morning when one of his friends arrived, just before daylight, he was nearly speechless and utterly unconsolable, looking twenty years older.
There was no banquet that day in Nashville. On the morning of the funeral, the grounds were crowded with people, who saw, with emotion, the poor old general supported to the grave between two of his old friends, scarcely able to stand. The remains were interred in the garden of the Hermitage, in a tomb which the general had recently completed. The tablet which covers her dust contains the following inscription:
"Here lie the remains of Mrs. Rachel Jackson, wife of President Jackson, who died the 22nd of December, 1828, aged 61. Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her temper amiable, her heart kind; she delighted in relieving the wants of her fellow-creatures, and cultivated that divine pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods; to the poor she was a benefactor; to the rich an example; to the wretched a comforter; to the prosperous an ornament; her piety went hand in hand with her benevolence, and she thanked her Creator for being permitted to do good. A being so gentle and so virtuous, slander might wound but not dishonor. Even death, when he tore her from the arms of husband, could but transport to the bosom of her God."
Andrew Jackson was never the same man again. During his presidency he never used the phrase, "By the Eternal," nor any other language which could be considered profane. He mourned his wife until he himself rejoined her in the tomb he had prepared for them both.
Of all the blessed things below
To hint the joys above,
There is not one our hearts may know
So dear as mated love.
It walks the garden of the Lord,
It gives itself away;
To give, and think not of reward,
Is glory day by day.
And though sometimes the shadows fall,
And day is dark as night,
It bows and drinks the cup of gall,
But gives not up the fight.
For One is in the union where
The mine is ever thine,
Whose presence keeps it brave and fair,
A melody divine.