She had always preferred the quiet of her own home and had resented the demands which fame made upon her husband. Her friends, though, were greatly elated for her sake, as well as for the General’s. John H. Eaton, writing her from Washington, December 7, 1828, said:
“The storm has now abated—the angry tempest has ceased to howl. A verdict by the American people has been pronounced of that high and grateful character, that for the honor of your husband, you cannot but look back upon the past as an idle fading vision carrying in it nothing substantial—nothing that should produce to you one moments feeling, or a moments pain. No man has ever met such a triumph before.... The Ladies from distance—from remote parts of the Union will be here—brought essentially and altogether on your account and to manifest to you their feelings and high regard: they will be present to welcome and congratulate you....” (Bassett, Vol. III p. 449.)
Nashville ladies were already busy doing their part to honor her—they were preparing a handsome wardrobe for her to carry to Washington with her, and the entire town was arranging a magnificent celebration for December 23, the anniversary of the night battle at New Orleans. Jackson leaders in Washington, Philadelphia, and other important places were preparing elaborate programs honoring the president-elect ... but on December 22 the rejoicing was turned into mourning. Rachel Jackson quietly slipped beyond the reach of cruel tongues.
Her illness came suddenly and unexpectedly a few days before the anticipated celebration. There are many versions of its origin. Some say that while in Nashville she was resting at the Nashville Inn and accidentally overheard some unpleasant remarks about her part in the past campaign. Others carry the story still farther and say that she wept and that, in returning to the Hermitage, she stopped her carriage at a creek to bathe her swollen eyes, and thus caught a cold. There could have been little shock connected with anything which she may have overheard, for she had been familiar with the attacks made on her throughout the past campaign. One thing which may be accepted as certain is that in some way she caught cold. Wise quotes a young Dr. Heiskell, of Winchester, Virginia, who was just starting as a physician in the neighborhood, and was the first doctor to reach her, as saying: “We learned that she had caught cold and pleuritic symptoms supervened upon her constitutional nervous affections. She was sitting smoking her corncob pipe when she caught her last malady....”
Wise further explains that “a pipe was prescribed by her physician for her phthisis, and she often rose in the night to smoke for relief.” Whatever the explanation of the pipe may be, its only importance was its use in the caricatures used by her husband’s opponents in the presidential campaign. She had long been subject to the bronchial trouble which was, undoubtedly, the chief cause of her death.
No words can describe the tragedy which stalked at the Hermitage during her illness. The General would not leave her side. The servants stood about in stricken silence, with the exception of old Hannah, who nursed her, and the few who were allowed to perform little duties to assist her. Friends and relatives gathered—and on the late afternoon of the twenty-second her condition seemed greatly improved. She had persuaded General Jackson to lie down on a sofa in the next room in order that he might be rested for the coming celebration—which, she insisted, he must attend. He obeyed and Mrs. Jackson was removed from her bed that it might be prepared for the night. As she sat in a chair, supported by the arms of the faithful Hannah, she suddenly uttered a cry and her head fell forward.... The General rushed to her and for a time, neither he nor his stricken household would believe that she was dead. At his command they placed her upon a table, the physician made an effort to bleed her, and they worked with her for hours before the desperate old man could understand that there was no hope. All night he remained by her side.
Early on the morning of the twenty-third the citizens of Nashville were informed of her death. It was ordered that on the following day, from one until two o’clock, the hour set for her funeral, that the church bells be tolled. The scene was rapidly changed from one of festivity to deep mourning, and on the next day the road was crowded with people on their way to the Hermitage to pay their last respects to a sainted woman. The Reverend William Hume preached her funeral sermon.
A gentleman from Philadelphia who was present wrote to a relative:
“Such a scene I never wish to witness again. The poor old gentleman was supported to the grave by General Coffee and Major Rutledge. I never pitied any person more in my life. The road to the Hermitage was almost impassable, and an immense number of persons attended the funeral. The remains were interred in the lower part of the garden. I never before saw so much affliction among the servants in the death of a mistress. Some seemed completely stupified by the event; others wrung their hands and shrieked aloud. The woman who had waited on Mrs. Jackson had to be carried from the ground....”
The funeral service was, in fact, delayed because she had thrown herself upon her mistress’ grave and refused to move. General Jackson would not allow her to be torn away by force, but waited patiently until her associates could persuade her to allow them to remove her.