On the battle-field was found a dead mother with her arms clasped about a living child. The babe was brought into camp, and Jackson asked some of the Indian women to care for it. "No!" said they, "all his relations are dead; kill him too." The baby was cared for at General Jackson's expense till the campaign was over, and then carried to the Hermitage, where he grew to young manhood as a petted son. The general and his wife gave him the name of Lincoyer. In his seventeenth year he died of consumption, sincerely mourned by his devoted friends.
Following the battle of Talluschatches, General Jackson moved against Talladega, and, after a bloody conflict, rescued one hundred and fifty friendly Creeks. Returning to camp, he found starvation staring him in the face. The men were becoming desperate; yet he kept his cheerfulness, dividing with them the last crust. One morning a gaunt, hungry-looking soldier approached General Jackson as he was sitting under a tree, eating, and asked for some food, saying that he was nearly starving.
"It has been a rule with me," said the general, "never to turn away a hungry man, when it is in my power to relieve him, and I will most cheerfully divide with you what I have." Putting his hand in his pocket, he drew forth a few acorns. "This is the best and only fare I have," he said, and the soldier was comforted.
Many of the men had enlisted for three months only, and were impatient to return home. Finally, the militia determined to return with or without the general's consent. Jackson heard of their intention, and at once ordered the volunteers to detain them, peaceably if they could, forcibly if they must. Then the volunteers, in turn, attempted to go back, but were met by Jackson's firm resolve to shoot the first man who took a step toward home.
"I cannot," he said, "must not believe that the 'Volunteers of Tennessee,' a name ever dear to fame, will disgrace themselves, and a country which they have honored, by abandoning her standard, as mutineers and deserters; but should I be disappointed, and compelled to resign this pleasing hope, one thing I will not resign—my duty. Mutiny and sedition, so long as I possess the power of quelling them, shall be put down; and even when left destitute of this, I will still be found in the last extremity endeavoring to discharge the duty I owe my country and myself." That one word, "duty," was the key-note of Jackson's life. It was his religion—it was his philosophy.
With all Jackson's kindness to his men, they knew that he could be severe. John Woods, a boy not eighteen, the support of aged parents, was shot for refusing to obey a superior officer. That he could have been spared seems probable, but Jackson taught hard lessons to his undisciplined troops, and sometimes in a harsh manner.
In seven months the Creeks had been utterly routed; half their warriors were dead, and the rest were broken in spirit. Weathersford, their most heroic chief, the leader at the Fort Mims massacre, sought General Jackson at his camp.
"How dare you," said Jackson, "ride up to my tent, after having murdered the women and children at Fort Mims?"
"General Jackson, I am not afraid of you," was the reply. "I fear no man, for I am a Creek warrior. I have nothing to request in behalf of myself. You can kill me, if you desire. But I come to beg you to send for the women and children of the war party, who are now starving in the woods. Their fields and cribs have been destroyed by your people, who have driven them to the woods without an ear of corn. I hope that you will send out parties, who will conduct them safely here, in order that they may be fed. I exerted myself in vain to prevent the massacre of the women and children at Fort Mims. I am now done fighting. The Red Sticks are nearly all killed. If I could fight you any longer, I would most heartily do so. Send for the women and children. They never did you any harm. But kill me, if the white people want it done."
"Kill him! kill him!" shouted several voices.