“Well, let him come,” said the Prothonotary. “I would not walk up to the cross-roads to see him,” and the face of the old Whig grew stern with determination.
“You will let me take Jimmy, will you not, to see the old General?”
“O, yes, you can take him,” the politic use of General instead of President having relaxed, somewhat, the stern features of the sturdy Scottish face.
“He’s coming! He’s coming! Hurrah! Hurrah! Here he comes,” shouted voice after voice of the great crowd assembled on the morrow, from valley and mountain, Uncle Will leading off at last, with the regular old-fashioned continental “Hip, Hip, Hurrah,” with three-times-three.
Martial music, of the old revolutionary sort, rang out, with fife and drum, as President Jackson, who had just been succeeded by Martin Van Buren, after serving from 1829 to 1837, stepped from his carriage, and after a hearty greeting, spoke a few incisive words, as only the old hero could.
A boy seven years old was held above the crowd, just before him, by the strong arms of Uncle Will. The General saw the large, wondering eyes, and the eager face, patted him on the head, saying, “I am glad to see you, my noble lad.”
The boy was James G. Blaine.
The impression of that moment remains to this hour. Little did General Jackson think he was looking into the face of a future candidate for the presidency.
The National Road over which the congressmen and presidents, and the great tide of travel from the west and south, passed to and from Washington, was near his father’s door.
This National highway, built by the government before the days of railroads and steam-boats, was a strong band of union between remote sections of the country. It was a highway of commerce as well as of travel, and formed one of the chief features in the country, so rapidly filling up after the fearful storms of war were over and the settled years of peace had come.