APPENDIX C: HIS GOINGS AND COMINGS
Andrew Jackson, unfortunately, did not keep a journal or diary and thus leave behind him a record of his movements from day to day; but from the extensive files of his correspondence it is possible to patch together an accurate record of his goings and comings after he started living at the Hermitage.
Jackson was essentially a home-loving man; his letters are full of unmistakably sincere evidences of it. But in spite of his dislike for being away from home, he did a powerful lot of traveling from time to time. In February, 1822, Mrs. Jackson wrote: “In the thirty years of our wedded life ... he has not spent one-fourth of his days under his own roof.”
Jackson’s first notable absence from home after he moved to the Hermitage was when on that bright May day in 1806 he kissed Rachel goodbye and, together with his seconds, rode soberly off to the rendezvous across the Kentucky line where he was to meet Mr. Charles Dickinson, the gay young Nashville blade who had signed his death warrant by provoking a duel with the up-and-coming young lawyer. Dickinson was a famous crack shot, and when Jackson rode away from home that morning he had every reason to fear that he would never see the Hermitage again. But two days later his friends brought him home—alive but severely, almost fatally, wounded. Rachel fluttered over him and nursed him back to health, gladdened by his safe return though saddened by the tragic outcome of the affray.
It was not until 1813 that Jackson, now a major general of militia, left home to head the abortive expedition of the Tennessee militia and volunteers to Natchez in the early stages of the War of 1812. As a result of either a stupid blunder or a malicious conspiracy (Jackson naturally believed the latter) his troops were ordered by the Secretary of War to be discharged at Natchez—500 miles from home. But Jackson, with characteristic fire and steadfastness, defied the Secretary and insisted on marching his men back up the Natchez Trace to Tennessee so that they could be mustered out at home. It was on this painful homeward march that he shared the privations of his men with such fortitude that he gained the everlasting nickname of Old Hickory; and this was his first step up the ladder of fame. He left the Hermitage in January a commonplace backwoods militia officer; he came back in April a hero.
He was to stay at home but a few months, it developed, but during that time he managed to disable himself by getting involved in an inexcusable knock-down-and-drag-out fight with Tom and Jesse Benton from which he emerged with a nasty wound in his shoulder which was exasperatingly slow about healing. He was at home in bed when the summons came in October from Governor Blount to call out the militia and march to Alabama to avenge the bloody massacre of the Fort Mimms garrison by the Creeks. His doctor at his bedside was aghast when the Governor’s message was read, and instantly volunteered the professional opinion that Jackson was not physically able to lead his men in the proposed campaign. “The devil in hell he’s not!” exclaimed the wounded General as he crawled out of bed and called for his uniform. And he did forthwith proceed with his duties as commanding officer of the militia-men, although he frequently had to be supported in his saddle during the early days of the campaign.
He was away on the enterprise against the Creeks until April, 1814, at which time he returned to the Hermitage in abominably miserable health and sadly in need of rest and recuperation. By September, however, he was up and off again on the extended campaign which began in Florida and wound up in the successful defense of New Orleans.
After his decisive defeat of Pakenham’s army in January, 1815, he returned home in May; but in October, 1815, he was off to Washington to receive the congratulations of the President and the plaudits of the people. He returned home early the next year, writing ahead to have his overseer instructed that he was on the way and “will expect that my house will be prepared in such a way as will prevent the northern blast from entering,” He was also careful to drop the reminder that “we will want something good to eat and drink on our arrival.” Soon after his return he started out for New Orleans, by way of Mobile, to attend a celebration in the Crescent City in honor of his great battle.
After this he was at home uninterruptedly for about two years—until January, 1818, when he went to Florida for his second campaign there. In June he returned home and stayed there until the following January when he and Rachel went on a trip to Washington and the Eastern cities. It was primarily a political trip, occasioned by the attacks launched by Jackson’s enemies in Congress who sought to squelch him politically by raising questions as to his conduct in Florida. But the official report of the inquiry conducted was a complete exoneration of Jackson, and he proceeded on a tour of triumph to Philadelphia, New York and Baltimore. In New York he was given the freedom of the city in a gold box, and Tammany Hall held a banquet in his honor. Rachel’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at all the honors shown her general. In February they went back home; and it was in the following summer that work was started on the new Hermitage.
In 1821 Jackson was appointed Governor of Florida by President Monroe and, accompanied by Rachel and little Andrew, he set out for Pensacola to take over his new office. From Nashville to Pensacola today is a comfortable day’s ride in an automobile over hard-surfaced roads; but then the trip between the two cities was by a long, round-about way. A steamboat carried the new governor and his little family to New Orleans—down the Cumberland, the Ohio and the Mississippi—from whence they proceeded coastwise to Mobile, and then on overland to the outskirts of Pensacola where Jackson took up his headquarters in a suburban villa and began his interminable palaver with the Spanish governor. When they left Nashville the Jacksons evidently had every intention of making a protracted stay in the new territory, as they made elaborate arrangements in advance. The family carriage was repaired and refurbished (to the extent of $300 worth) and this coach was taken along for the use of the governor and his lady in Pensacola. A tutor was engaged to look after the boys left at home—little Hutchings and Lincoya. But the experience of the Jacksons in Florida was far from satisfactory. Diplomacy was not the General’s long suit, and his patience was soon exhausted by the long-drawn-out exchange of notes with the slippery Spaniards. Rachel and little Andrew found the hot weather and the mosquitoes uncomfortable and annoying—so much so that the boy was sent back home at the first opportunity. Furthermore, the pious Rachel was shocked at the worldliness of the citizens of Pensacola, especially their failure to observe the Sabbath according to her Presbyterian lights. Her appeal to the General resulted in his edict announcing that “it is desired by Mrs. Jackson and ordered by General Jackson” that the Sabbath be strictly observed; but, despite this moral victory, she was never happy while there. Early in October the General and Rachel left Pensacola, never to return, and started back home. They stopped in New Orleans long enough for Rachel to buy a handsome sideboard and some other mahogany furniture for the new house (the General improving the opportunity to lay in a modest supply of wines and liquors) and in November they were back in the Hermitage again.
Now Jackson had another long visit at home, for it was not until two years later in 1823, that he was elected to the United States Senate and had to go to Washington to serve in that capacity for the second time in his life.
In going from Nashville to Washington, a trip Jackson made frequently in the course of his life, he had the choice of two modes of travel. One was by steamboat: Down the Cumberland to the Ohio, and then up that stream to Wheeling or Pittsburg and overland through Cumberland, Maryland, to Washington. More favored, however, was the overland route, generally eastward from Nashville through Lebanon, Liberty, Sparta, Crossville and Kingston to Knoxville in East Tennessee, then up through Abingdon, Salem, Charlottesville and Fredericksburg in Virginia, following much the same route as the automobile highway of today.
When elected to the Senate in 1823 he set out on horseback on the overland route and pursued his equestrian course as long as the weather permitted. Then he stabled his horses at a wayside tavern and finished the journey by stage-coach. He returned to the Hermitage late in May, 1824, by the steamboat route, sending his servant, George, overland to pick up his horses and take them back home. When he returned to the next session of the Senate, after spending the summer and fall at the Hermitage, he took Mrs. Jackson with him and followed the overland route by way of Lexington, Kentucky, arriving in Washington on December 5th, 1824, “after a continuous travel of 28 days.” This was just after the November election in which he had received the plurality of the electoral votes for President and he had every expectation of remaining in Washington to be inaugurated in March. The House of Representatives, however, elected John Quincy Adams President; and in October, 1825 Jackson resigned from the Senate and returned overland to Tennessee, muttering objurgations on the fraud and corruption by which he thought he had been tricked out of the Presidency.
Following his successful Presidential campaign in 1828, which included a trip to New Orleans in January with Rachel to attend the celebration of the anniversary of the battle, he left Nashville by steamboat and proceeded to Wheeling where he was met by a handsome, brand-new coach drawn by four white horses, and in this regal equipage he made his entry into Washington.
During his eight years as President, Jackson pursued the plan of returning to the Hermitage for a summer vacation in alternate years. The summer of 1829 he spent in Washington, too busy with the duties of his new office to get away for a rest; but in 1830 he returned to the Hermitage by steamboat and spent about two months at home. He paid a visit to Tyree Springs, then a fashionable summer resort near Nashville; and also found time during the summer to arrange for a parley at Franklin, Tennessee, with the six chiefs of the Cherokee Indians, with whom he concluded a treaty for the removal of the tribe west of the Mississippi.
He left the Hermitage on September 1st in his coach, and spent 24 days on the overland trip back to Washington. In the summer of 1831 he went, in company with his old friend Judge Overton, to the Rip Raps in Hampton Roads, near Norfolk. Both the old gentlemen were in bad health at the time, and they went to the rocky little island at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay for the beneficial effects of the sea bathing; but, unfortunately, there is not preserved a picture of Old Hickory in his bathing suit enjoying the Virginia surf.
His next visit home was in the summer of 1832, when the place was lightened by the presence of young Andrew and his new bride. General Jackson left Washington on July 23rd and arrived at the Hermitage on August 15th, by the overland route. In September he visited Tyree Springs; but he was back in the White House October 19th, the return trip also being made by what was then known as “the Virginia route.”
In June of 1833 Jackson took his celebrated trip to New York and New England—the famous occasion on which Harvard College conferred an LL.D. degree on the old warrior—but he was at the Rip Raps, enjoying the sea baths, in July and August.
It was not until August, in the summer of 1834, that he made his next trip to the Hermitage; and by this time he was beginning to feel the crushing weight of the Presidency on his shoulders. Writing back to a friend in Washington he announced his arrival home “worn down with ill health, bad roads and heat of weather;” but he also spoke of the pleasure he was deriving from the company of his son’s two little children—little Rachel “as sprightly as a little fairy, and as wild as a little partridge,” to whom he had brought a doll from Washington; and the infant Andrew III whom he described as “a very large, fat boy” and later referred to as “a veritable Hercules.”
One of his Washington friends wrote him during the summer expressing the hope that “in the cool and refreshing shades of your own lawns and the domestic quiet of your own hospitable mansion you will be enabled to forget, for a while at least I hope, the trouble and toil of your official station.” President Jackson doubtless did try to forget the cares of office while he was vacationing at home; but that he was not unmindful of the political possibilities of the overland journey homeward is shown in a letter he wrote back to Van Buren: “I found on my whole journey everything to cheer us; prosperity everywhere and all gratified and happy on the prospects of a circulating and stable metallic currency, and particularly the gold coin, which many had not for years seen a piece of before we presented them in payment of our bills.” And then he adds naively: “I had taken the precaution to lay in as many half eagles as paid our bills on our passage.”
The question of hard money, it will be recalled, was an acute issue in the summer of 1834; and it is not surprising that Jackson, the consummate politician, had been sufficiently foresighted to provide himself with enough gold coins to use in paying his bills as he took the thousand-mile overland trip from Washington to Nashville through Virginia and Tennessee. What an unparalleled opportunity it was for the champion of hard money to demonstrate to the people that he was its very personification; and it is not hard to form a mental picture of the old General’s breezy gusto as he slapped down his ten-dollar gold pieces on the small-town tavern counters and watched the favorable reaction of the pop-eyed citizens. As a matter of fact, gold coins were very scarce at this time and in order to furnish a supply of them Jackson had started the mint to turning out half-eagles at the rate of $20,000 a day; and while he was at the Hermitage in August there was sent to him from Washington the first eagle struck from a new die that had just been made.
In September, 1834, he started on the long drive back to Washington, accompanied by Major Donelson and Mr. Randolph. Before starting out, however—for these were the days of Spartan simplicity and unashamed frankness—he took the precaution to write to Major Lewis, who was spending the summer in the White House: “Have the House in readiness to receive us; and say to the chamber maid to have all our beds clear of bed buggs.”
The summer of 1835 was spent again at the Rip Raps, going there in July and spending 41 days.
He was especially anxious to get back to the Hermitage in the summer of 1836 to see his new house, but it took him 25 days to get there via the Virginia route. He left Washington on July 10th, but seven days later had only reached Salem, Virginia, from which point he wrote his son: “I am thus far on my way to the Hermitage, but from the state of the roads there can be no calculation made when we may reach there. It took us 7 hours today to travel 10 miles, and in the streets of Salem broke a singletree and the fore akle of the carriage,” It was not until August 4th that he reached the Hermitage “exhausted with bad roads and continued rains and my horses broke down.”
This time he left the coach at the Hermitage and returned to Washington by steamboat early in September. He and Major Donelson had an engagement to meet Mr. Van Buren in Washington and make an excursion to Niagara Falls to wind up the vacation season; but on account of his wife’s illness Major Donelson did not return with the General and the trip to the Falls was abandoned.
When in March, 1837, Jackson surrendered to Martin Van Buren what he had come to regard as “a dignified office of abject slavery,” he rode on the new Baltimore & Ohio Railroad from Washington to the end of the road at Ellicott’s Mills, Maryland, where he took the stagecoach to Wheeling and there embarked on the steamboat for Nashville. There was a public demonstration at Cincinnati when the boat landed there, another at Louisville and another when he reached home. But at last he was back in the quietude of the Hermitage he loved so well; and from then until his death his traveling was confined to occasional trips to Nashville, a few visits to Tyree Springs, and a brief campaign tour he took with his protege, James K. Polk, when he was a candidate for governor in 1839.