Famous American Statesmen

by Sarah Knowles Bolton

But the following year he resigned his position, glad to be, as he supposed, out of official life. He was, however, too prominent to be allowed to remain in private life, and was elected to a judgeship of the Supreme Court of Tennessee. As he had made it a rule "never to seek and never to decline public duty," he accepted, on the small salary of six hundred dollars a year. While many other men in the State were more learned in the law than Jackson, yet the people believed in his honesty and integrity, and therefore he was chosen. Quick to decide and slow to change his mind, in fifteen days he had disposed of fifty cases, says James Parton, in his entertaining life of Andrew Jackson.

After six years, longing for a more active life, Jackson resigned, and was made major-general of the militia of the State. This position was given, not without opposition, he receiving only one more vote than his chief competitor. That one vote, perhaps, led to New Orleans and the Presidency. This office was in accordance with his natural tastes. Since boyhood, he had loved the stir and command of battle, and believed he should like to conquer an enemy as he had met and conquered every obstacle that lay athwart his path.

As there was no war in progress, he continued his law practice. But, not satisfied with this alone, he became a merchant, trading with the Indians, selling blankets, hardware, and the like, and receiving in return cotton and other produce of the country. In the panic of 1798, he became financially embarrassed, but, true to his manly nature, he worked steadily on till every dollar was paid. He sold twenty-five thousand acres of his wild land, sold his home, and moved into a log house at the Hermitage, seven miles out from Nashville, and preserved for himself the best thing on earth, a good name. So honest was he believed to be, when a Tennessean went to Boston bankers for a loan, with several leading names on his paper, they said, "Do you know General Jackson? Could you get his endorsement?"

"Yes, but he is not worth a tenth as much as either of these men whose names I offer you," was the response.

"No matter; General Jackson has always protected himself and his paper, and we'll let you have the money on the strength of his name." And the loan was granted.

Honest and just though he was, he permitted his own fiery nature, or a perverted public opinion, to lead him into acts which tarnished his whole subsequent career. Quick to resent a wrong, he was morbidly sensitive about the circumstances of his marriage with Rachel Robards. When they were married, in 1791, they supposed that the divorce, applied for, had been granted, but they learned in 1793, two years afterward, that it was not legally obtained till the latter date. They were at once remarried, but the matter caused much idle talk, and, as General Jackson came into prominence, his enemies were not slow to rehearse the story. The slightest aspersion of his wife's character aroused all the anger of his nature, and, says Parton, "For the man who dared breathe her name except in honor, he kept pistols in perfect condition for thirty-seven years." And, as duelling was the disgraceful fashion of the times, Jackson did not hesitate to use his pistols.

In 1806, when he was thirty-nine, one of those miscalled "affairs of honor" took place. Charles Dickinson, a prominent man of the State, in the course of a long quarrel, had spoken disparagingly of Mrs. Jackson, and he was therefore challenged to mortal combat. Thursday morning, May 29, he kissed his young wife tenderly, telling her he was going to Kentucky, and "would be home, sure, to-morrow night." He met Jackson on the banks of the Red River. The one was tall, erect, and intense; the other young, handsome, an expert marksman, and determined to make no mistake in his fatal work.

Dickinson fired with his supposed unerring aim, and missed! The bullet grazed Jackson's breast, and years later was the true cause of his death. Jackson took deliberate aim, intending to kill his opponent, and succeeded. The ball passed quite through Dickinson's body. His wife was sent for, being told that he was dangerously wounded. On her way thither she met, in a rough emigrant wagon, the body of her husband. He had "come home, sure, to-morrow night"—but dead! He was deeply mourned by the State, which sympathized with his wife and infant child. General Jackson made bitter enemies by this act. Rachel had been avenged, but at what a fearful cost!

Eighteen years had gone by since Jackson's marriage. He had received distinguished honors; he had been a Representative, a Senator, a Judge of the Supreme Court of the State, a Major-General of the militia, but one joy was wanting. No children had been born in the home. Mrs. Jackson's nephews and nieces were often at the Hermitage, and he made her kindred his own; but both loved children, and this one blessing was denied them. In 1809, twins were born to Mrs. Jackson's brother. One of these, when but a few days old, was taken to the Hermitage, and the general adopted him, giving him his own name, Andrew Jackson.

Ever after, this child was a comfort and a delight. Visitors would often find the general reading, with the boy in the rocking-chair beside him or in his lap. Hon. Thomas H. Benton, in his "Thirty Years' View," tells this story: "I arrived at his house one wet, chilly evening in February, and came upon him in the twilight, sitting alone before the fire, a lamb and a child between his knees. He started a little, called a servant to remove the two innocents to another room, and explained to me how it was. The child had cried because the lamb was out in the cold, and begged him to bring it in, which he had done to please the child, his adopted son, then not two years old. The ferocious man does not do that! and though Jackson had his passions and his violence, they were for men and enemies—those who stood up against him—and not for women and children, or the weak and helpless; for all whom his feelings were those of protection and support."