“At last I told them I was like a fellow I had heard of not long before; he was beating on the head of an empty barrel near the road-side, when a traveller, passing along, asked him what he was doing that for? The fellow replied that there had been some cider in that barrel a few days before, and he was trying to see if there was any then; he said if there was, he couldn’t get at it. I told them there had been a little bit of a speech in me a while before, but I believed I couldn’t get it out.”
Having in this way set the crowd to roaring with laughter, Davy told them a few stories, then took the first chance to say that he was as dry as a powder-horn. A great cheer rose as he led the way to the stand where rum, apple and peach brandies, cider, and buttermilk were to be had.
Then came the country dances, the name being a popular rendering of the French term contre-danse, and the figures the same as might have been seen—before the Revolution—in the gay court of Louis the Fourteenth; as Davy, thoroughly at home, took his part in the extravagant features of the frolicsome reels and riotous quadrilles, he made votes by the hundred, and when the day of the election came about he had two-thirds of all those cast.
[IX.]
A CABIN IN THE WILDERNESS
Davy builds a mill and distillery—Along Shoal Creek—A tidal wave in politics—Another one in Shoal Creek leaves Davy without a dollar—The year 1822 sees Davy seeking a new home on the Obion River—Encounter of his party with floods—The story of the flat-boat’s trip up the Obion—Davy builds a cabin in the wilderness—A great day for deer—The passing of the red man—Davy returns to the Obion with his whole family—Risks his life for a keg of powder at Christmas time—He is now loaded for bears.
While Davy Crockett was rapidly becoming known to the people of his State, he was planning to increase his income by building a large distillery, and a mill for grinding corn, with an addition for the manufacture of powder. He had saved enough money partly to pay for it, and built it in a great measure with his own hands. After the mill began its output, Mrs. Crockett acted as miller when Davy was absent. She is said to have been able to lift the bags of corn about, as well as the men who brought them could. The tourist to-day will look in vain for the site of the mill. Where the great wheel turned slowly beneath the weight of the waters of the creek, and the rumble of the millstones startled the traveller with the sound of distant thunder, the rhododendron now opens its gorgeous buds, and the laurels cover the waste places with a measureless profusion of delicate flowers. Among the hemlocks close to the quiet stream, the thrush and the cat-bird sing their liquid scores, and the redbird and the scarlet tanager vie with the Kentucky and blue-winged yellow warblers in the glory of their April dress. All things are changed in these old places of the world, until we climb the mountains to its top, and see the far blue ranging crests that blend at last with gentle skies, unchanging and unchanged.
When Davy set out for Nashville, to take his seat as a member of the Legislature, he had finished his mill, but still owed for labor and material. The mill was worth three or four thousand dollars, and besides that, he owned several able-bodied slaves, and more than the usual stock of goods and chattels. He saw prosperity and honors assured, and his soul was full of faith in the future. The Legislature that came together after the elections of 1821 was composed of the class that represented the men of the frontier, rather than the aristocracy that had hitherto monopolized both the wealth and the honors of the State.
In the same year, William Carroll, who had so bravely commanded the rear guard of Jackson’s forces at Enotachopco Creek, was a candidate for the Governorship. He represented, as did Davy, the men who paid rentals to monopolists, and taxes to the State that favored the wealthy in the filling of remunerative offices. When Carroll’s enemies accused him of having let his note go to protest, they threw a boomerang that slew them in its sudden homeward flight; for Carroll’s friends made it known that he had lost everything in going security for them in dire financial straits. His opponent, Ward, was cold and unapproachable. To him a man from the cane-brakes or the windowless cabins of the mountains was little better than the savages just beyond. In Phelan’s history of Tennessee, there is mention of a sarcastic letter printed in the Nashville Clarion over the signature “A Big Fish.” In this the supposed Big Fish, or Big-Bug, as the aristocrat was then often called, gave the reasons why he could not vote for Carroll. He said that Carroll was born of poor parents, and had never learned the rudiments of Latin and Greek; as a boy and a young man, he had plowed and reaped and cleared the land; he had always been handy at log-rollings, country weddings, and huskings; he had gone to the wars, instead of staying home to save the wealth that was needed for the Governor’s position; he could not support the dignity of the great office with fine dinners, splendid carriages, liveried servants, and state balls; he was too ready to shake hands with the ragged soldier because they had fought on the same fields. A man who was not above such low-born loons was not fit to command the votes of the educated and the men of the higher classes.