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THE^STORYOF 
 
 DAVID CROCKETT 
 
FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 FOR YOUNG READERS 
 
 Titles Ready 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON By Joseph Walker 
 
 JOHN PAUL JONES By C. C. Eraser 
 
 THOMAS JEFFERSON By Gene Stone 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN By J. Walker McSpadden 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN By Clare Tree Major 
 
 DAVID CROCKETT By Jane Corby 
 
 ROBERT FULTON By L N. McFee 
 
 THOMAS A. EDISON By L N. McFee 
 
 HARRIET B. STOWE By R. B. MacArthur 
 
 MARY LYON By H. O. Stengel 
 
 Other Titles in Preparation 
 
\^lf. if. if If. if^J 
 FAMOUS AME^ANS 
 
 "t THE>STOEY-OF * 
 
 * DAVID CROCKETT * 
 
 * BY * 
 
 * JANE COBBY * 
 
 * .-^ ' ^ — ^ * 
 
 V 
 
 
 BAESB <a, HOPKINS 
 
 NY- , N-J- 
 
 .• 
 
 /• • • • •X 
 
Copyright, 1922 
 BY BARSE & HOPKINS 
 
 PRIKTED IN- THE IT. S. A. 
 
 AUG -2 '22 
 
 ©CI.A677738 
 
PREFACE 
 
 "Be sure you are right, then go ahead," was 
 Davy Crockett's famous motto. Davy himself 
 lived up to it to the best of his ability, although 
 in those rough-and-ready pioneer days it was 
 not always easy to discover what was "right." 
 Crockett was born in East Tennessee, over a 
 century ago, when the country was little more 
 than a wilderness. His father was a tavern 
 keeper, and the boy early came in contact with 
 the roving characters who passed by. He was 
 bound out to a cattle drover headed for Vir- 
 ginia, and as a boy of twelve made his way back 
 home across hundreds of miles of wild country. 
 He grew up as a crack shot and a fearless 
 hunter, either of wild game or of Indians. He 
 was elected to Congress, where he made a 
 picturesque figure, but soon returned to the 
 frontier, his natural habitat. Then he went 
 down to Texas to help that State achieve its 
 independence. The whole world is familiar 
 with the story of the Alamo — ^how a handful of 
 men braved the Mexican Army until the last 
 defender was slain. One of the very last to 
 fall was Davy Crockett — facing the enemy to 
 the last. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 No hero in fiction ever led a more colorful 
 life — as the present writer shows. The story 
 is replete with adventure from first to last, but 
 is founded closely on fact. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Wan- 
 
 OHAPTEB 
 
 I. The Tavern Keeper's Son 
 
 II. Davy Sees a New World . 
 
 III. The Way Home . . . 
 
 IV. Davy Takes to Flight 
 
 V. An Account of Two Years* 
 BERING 
 
 VI. Davy Takes a Partner 
 
 VII. Davy Gets His Dander Up 
 
 VIII. A Redskin Behind Every Tree . 
 
 IX. Wresting a Home From the Wilder- 
 ness . ,. 
 
 X. Davy Prepares for Christmas 
 
 XI. Battling with the Mississippi 
 
 XII. Off for Texas 
 
 XIII. Adventure Aplenty 
 
 XIV, The Conquest of the Alamo 
 
 PAGE 
 
 9 
 17 
 29 
 38 
 
 46 
 55 
 69 
 76 
 
 92 
 106 
 120 
 134 
 146 
 165 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 David Crockett . . . . . . Frontispiece 
 
 From a rare portrait 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 Andrew Jackson . 88 
 
 From a painting from life, hy Jarvis 
 
 The Alamo, San Antonio, Texas .... 146 
 Scene of the famous defense against the 
 Mexican army 
 
 James Bowie . , . 166 
 
 Famous pioneer -fighter; one of the 
 defenders of the Alamo 
 
THE STORY OF DAVID 
 CROCKETT 
 
 THE TAVERN KEEPER^S SON 
 
 "Hi, there, you old varmint! Step up 
 there — ^get him, Shep, get him!" 
 
 Bellowing commands alternately to the 
 stragghng members of his half -wild herd of 
 cattle and the two shaggy dogs that yelped 
 and darted in and out among the slow-moving 
 hoofs, an elderly Dutchman tramped along a 
 lonely forest road in the Tennessee Mountains, 
 his own outcries, the hoof beats of the cattle and 
 the barking of the dogs breaking into the dense 
 stillness of the late autumn twilight. 
 
 Pausing a moment to wipe his brow after 
 topping a steep rise in the road, the drover's 
 eye was caught by the figure of a young lad, 
 twelve years old or thereabouts, perched in the 
 fork of a nearby tree. The old birds' nest 
 
 9 
 
10 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 which he had been investigating swung idly 
 in the chilly wind, while he gave the full atten- 
 tion of eyes and ears to the thundering herd. 
 
 *'Hi, son! Give a hand here, will you?" 
 called the old man. Without a word, and with 
 the agility of a panther, the boy leaped to the 
 ground and, seizing a stout stick, wielded it to 
 such effect that he soon had the herd going 
 at a lively trot. 
 
 "John Crockett's place around here?" in- 
 quired the drover, breathing heavily in the 
 effort to keep up with the light-footed lad. 
 
 "Yonder," answered the boy, pointing in a 
 direction at right angles to the road they were 
 traveling. A faint drift of blue smoke was 
 just visible above the close trees. 
 
 "You his boy?" continued the Dutchman, 
 eyeing with approval the wiry little figure 
 stepping briskly along the rough road. The 
 boy nodded. 
 
 "Fifth," he said shortly. 
 
 "Can you tell me the year you were born?" 
 went on the drover, jovially. 
 
 "In 1786," returned the boy, "on August 
 17th." 
 
 "And what do they call you?" pursued the 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 11 
 
 old man, with an interest that betokened more 
 than a desire to make conversation, 
 
 "Davy," answered the youngster, with no 
 undue civiUty. 
 
 Observing that he resented his questioning, 
 the Dutchman, who was not overfond of talk 
 himself, lapsed into silence, except for an 
 occasional: "Hi — hi, there." The minutes 
 slipped by as the road uncurled itself under the 
 hurrying feet of the odd cavalcade. 
 
 "We're 'most there," remarked the boy 
 suddenly, as an abrupt turn in the road ap- 
 peared. In a moment the stragglers of the 
 herd had rounded the curve, with a smart re- 
 minder or two from Davy's stick, and a rough 
 cabin could be seen just ahead through the 
 deepening gloom. It was larger than log 
 cabins were commonly built, but a rude-look- 
 ing place nevertheless, with lofty pines shadow- 
 ing the front door and crowding upon it from 
 the rear, except for a distance of a stone's 
 throw that had been cleared for a bit of plant- 
 ing. Xearby stood a long shed, open on one 
 side, and apparently designed for the shelter 
 of horses or cattle, for a couple of teamsters 
 were to be made out moving among the 
 
12 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 shadows, caring for their horses and arrang- 
 ing the wagons. 
 
 At the sound of tramphng hoofs, a brawny 
 figure appeared at the cabin door, outhned 
 against the light from a roaring fire which 
 could be seen beyond the doorway. 
 
 "Howdy, stranger," boomed the man, as 
 the drover approached. 
 
 "Welcome to Crockett's Tavern. Rough 
 and ready, that we are, stranger, and our 
 vittles are plain — ^but hearty. Eh — ^Davy, 
 lad," catching sight of his son, "it's a stout 
 stick I have for you if you don't turn your 
 hand before supper. Help the men there to 
 put up their horses — drive in the cattle for the 
 gentleman — spht up a log or two — sure, the 
 fire's goin' out this minute," and as small 
 Davy turned obediently to carry out these 
 numerous commands, the tavern keeper added 
 to his newly-arrived guest: "Make the fur 
 fly — that's the way to handle the young lads, 
 eh?" 
 
 "Keep them on the jump," agreed the 
 drover, making a movement toward following 
 Davy, who was driving the cattle toward the 
 shed. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 13 
 
 "Leave him be, leave him be," cried the 
 father, "he'll be tendin' them right enough. 
 Inside with you, Mr. " 
 
 "Siler," supplied the Dutchman, "Jacob 
 Siler, bound for Rockbridge, in the State of 
 Virginia." He entered the cabin as he spoke 
 and made straight for the fire, where he threw 
 himself down on a pile of bearskins. With his 
 wet and muddy boots stretched out to the 
 blaze, and heaving a sigh of deep contentment, 
 he drew a long, curved pipe from beneath his 
 homespun jacket, together with a pouch of 
 deerskin. His pipe filled, the weary traveler 
 leaned against the log wall, and gazed about 
 the room, through half-shut eyes, while he 
 puffed with evident enjoyment the tobacco 
 smoke forming thick rings about his head. 
 
 The room about which his gaze wandered 
 was rough and bare, but in contrast with the 
 fast gathering darkness and chill wind outside 
 it seemed a very haven of comfort to the tired 
 drover. The blazing pitch-pine on the rude 
 hearth (showing, contrary to the tavern 
 keeper's assertion, no immediate sign of being 
 burned out) sent clouds of aromatic smoke 
 eddying up to the chimney hole. A huge pot- 
 
14 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 fill of boiling meat swung from the blackened 
 crane and mingled its savory odor with the 
 smell of potatoes, bursting their jackets in the 
 bubbling water of the pot alongside it. At 
 the far end of the room a young girl was busily 
 engaged about a long table — a rough slab rest- 
 ing on log supports that were deeply embedded 
 in the hard-trodden earth that formed the 
 floor. 
 
 Not many minutes had passed before a loud 
 jangling resounded just outside the door, ap- 
 parently the summons to the evening meal, for 
 all hands at once trooped in. Without turn- 
 ing their eyes to the figure beside the fire, they 
 lost no time in bestowing themselves on the 
 benches around the table. Nor did the old 
 drover himself wait for further summons. 
 Knocking the ashes from his pipe and laying 
 it carefully on a ledge formed by the inter- 
 section of two logs, he stamped heavily across 
 the room and took a place at the table. 
 
 "Howdy," said the man nearest him. 
 **Howdy," replied the Dutchman, and seizing 
 the horn-handled knife and fork before him, 
 he prepared to make an onslaught on the heap- 
 ing wooden platterful of meat that was making 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 15 
 
 the rounds. Not a word was spoken through- 
 out the meal, except for an occasional demand 
 on the tavern keeper's wife, who was busy- 
 supplying the guests, for "another load of 
 journey cake," or more " 'taters." The "jour- 
 ney cake," as the corn-bread was called, dis- 
 appeared as fast as the loaves were brought 
 in from the little lean-to beyond the main room, 
 and the men pounced upon the steaming pota- 
 toes and chunks of meat as if they were starv- 
 ing, and indeed their long day of hard going 
 along the rough road had reduced them to a 
 state very like famishing. 
 
 Little Davy at one end, between a sister and 
 a brother, tackled the food as it went the 
 rounds with unabated vigor, until a dig from 
 his sister's elbow warned him that his share of 
 the evening meal had been exhausted. Rough 
 mountaineers and roving wagoners made ter- 
 rific inroads on the food that John Crockett 
 was able to supply for his table, and the charges 
 varying from fifteen cents to "two bits" 
 scarcely covered the cost of preparation. 
 Only too well the tavern keeper's family real- 
 ized the difficulty of feeding many mouths. 
 
 With a sigh Davy relinquished his seat at 
 
16 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 the table and withdrew to a corner by the fire, 
 where he busied himself with piling on fresh 
 logs and raking the embers till they stirred 
 into leaping flames. Though he did not dream 
 of such a thing, Davy had eaten his last even- 
 ing meal beneath his father's roof for many 
 weary weeks to come. 
 
II 
 
 DAVY SEES A NEW WORLD 
 
 The morning brought a threat of rain, that 
 overhung the woods with somber menace. 
 
 "Up, Davy lad, stir yourself!" cried the 
 tavern keeper, prodding the sleeping boy with 
 his foot none too gently. Davy was awake 
 instantly, as much because that is the way a 
 wilderness boy wakes all at once, as because 
 his father's boot was brought into action. In 
 the shed outside, the teamsters were already 
 busy with their horses, and Davy lent a will- 
 ing enough hand. As he buckled on the har- 
 ness, he caught sight of his father in earnest 
 talk with the drover of the night before, and 
 scraps of the conversation came to his ears. 
 
 "There's a likely boy," the Dutchman Siler 
 was saying. "I need a lively young fellow like 
 that to keep that there wild herd of mine on 
 the road." 
 
 "Where you aimin' to go?" inquired Davy's 
 father. 
 
 "Rockbridge, Virginia," answered the 
 
 17/ 
 
18 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 drover. "I'm makin' a move from Knox 
 County." 
 
 "Let's see," observed the tavern keeper, 
 "that there Rockbridge is somewhere around 
 the Natural Bridge, ain't it?" 
 
 "About three mile one side of it," replied 
 Siler. "Four hundred mile, all told, from 
 here." 
 
 "The lad's never been away from home," 
 Davy's father remarked. "He don't know 
 much about travelin' — on foot too." 
 
 Davy's heart gave a sudden sink, and a lump 
 came into his throat. So they were planning 
 to send him away! 
 
 But with the bowl of cornmeal mush and 
 milk that constituted his breakfast, Davy's 
 gloomy foreboding began to lighten. After 
 all, he loved the forest, and he had never asked 
 an>i;hing better than to roam all day, track- 
 ing the gray squirrel or the red fox. Nor had 
 he failed to note the fine rifle that the drover 
 had carried with him the night before. He 
 knew he could not carry the rifle himself, for 
 it was too heavy, but he knew how to shoot, 
 and perhaps the old Dutchman would let him 
 take a shot at a deer or a bear, if they met 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 19 
 
 one. Davy had never shot anything bigger 
 than a squirrel as yet, and that not more than 
 a half dozen times, for it was no easy task for 
 a small boy to handle a hunter's rifle, made 
 from an iron bar weighing somewhere around 
 fifteen pounds. The more he thought about 
 it, the more convinced Davy became that he 
 would get a chance to shoot big game on this 
 very trip, and his spirits rose accordingly. By 
 the time he was standing before the tavern 
 door, waving a last good-bye to his mother 
 and his sisters and brothers, his heart was 
 swelling with self-importance and confidence. 
 A great world was about to open before him, 
 the world of adventure and travel, and he 
 swung off down the road behind the stragghng 
 cattle with his head held high, and his moc- 
 casined feet striding forward with the easy, 
 rapid gait of the woodsman. 
 
 The drover left the boy strictly alone; he 
 was not talkative and the pace which Davy 
 set was not conducive to the art of conversa- 
 tion. Old Siler kept it up for a few miles, 
 then he called a halt. 
 
 "Now there, young fellow," he panted at 
 last, "just take it a bit easier, can't you? Lots 
 
20 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 of fine scenery around here. I kind of hate 
 to miss it by going too fast." 
 
 After that the little procession moved more 
 slowly, the cattle going at a steady trot, and 
 kept up to th6 mark by Davy's liberal use of a 
 stick. By and by his movements became en- 
 tirely mechanical, he put several yards between 
 himself and the drover, and gave himself over 
 to enjoying the charm of the wilderness. He 
 felt quite like an explorer. 
 
 "Hi, lad," called the drover, some time later, 
 "I reckon we could do with a bite of food. 
 Keep a lookout for a spring or a clear brook 
 and we'll rest a bit." 
 
 It was not long before Davy's sharp hearing 
 caught the tinkle of a stream, and he called 
 the attention of the drover to it; whereupon 
 the two made their way among the trees and 
 underbrush and found a little rippling brook 
 where they could drink long refreshing 
 draughts. They sat down upon the bank of 
 the stream, and the Dutchman took pieces of 
 dried venison from his deerskin pouch, divid- 
 ing it with Davy. It was not very appetizing 
 food, but there was little time to be wasted in 
 hunting for fresh game, preparing it and cook- 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 21 
 
 ing it over a fire, so they had to make the best 
 of what they had. As soon as the two travelers 
 had taken the edge from their hunger, they 
 set themselves to rounding up the cattle again, 
 and resumed their steady march along the 
 rough highway. Now a little drizzling rain 
 began to fall, and as the afternoon wore on 
 the wind rose, playing a melancholy air among 
 the bare, shifting branches. 
 
 When they reached a small open space 
 among the trees, the drover halted the proces- 
 sion. "I reckon we've found our night's lodg- 
 ing, Davy," he remarked. "I see a pile of 
 rocks yonder that ought to give us a sort of 
 shelter for the night." 
 
 They drove the cattle into the little natural 
 yard formed by the ring of trees, and left them 
 to their own devices. They could pick up 
 enough sustenance from the half -dead grass, 
 the drover knew, to keep up their endurance, 
 and instinct would warn them to huddle to- 
 gether when darkness fell. The old man then 
 sought shelter for the boy and himself, but 
 the rocky hillside which formed one side of 
 the open space was singularly barren of any 
 overhanging ledge. 
 
22 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "111 get some brush and we'll have a fire," 
 Davy said, confidently. But he was doomed 
 to disappointment. The rain had been falling 
 for several hours, and the leafless trees had 
 been no protection to the ground-covering of 
 brush and dead wood. 
 
 The dried venison served again for a 
 meal, which was shared by the dogs, and then, 
 weary beyond regard for the wet, Davy and 
 his employer cast themselves upon the ground. 
 Only the dogs, nesthng close, provided them 
 with a little warmth. Davy's cheek was 
 pressed against a rough, shaggy coat ; he could 
 feel the dog breathing and it gave him a sense 
 of security and comfort. He lay listening to 
 the night sounds for a few minutes; then his 
 walk of twenty miles took its toll, and he 
 dropped fast asleep. 
 
 Day broke brilliantly, as it is apt to do when 
 there is frost upon the air. At the first sign 
 of dawn, the drover was up, and while he fum- 
 bled for the dried venison in his pouch he 
 roused Davy, who was very weary still. A 
 drink of cool water from a nearby spring, 
 and several pieces of the dried meat, how- 
 ever, put him in fine fettle. He was one day 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 23 
 
 nearer his journey's end, he reflected, and it 
 was not raining. 
 
 Except for this fact, the day was very like 
 the one preceding. Tramp, tramp, over end- 
 less hillocks and broken boughs in the road, 
 through low marshland where the cattle tram- 
 pled the mire until it was knee-deep by the 
 time Davy and the drover had to cross, the 
 little procession wound its way. ISTo wayfarers 
 were passed along the road; only the red fox 
 and the soft-eyed deer watched them go, star- 
 tled in their hiding-places by the occasional 
 bellow of one of the cattle, by the dogs' bark- 
 ing, or the shouts of old Siler and Davy, when 
 one of the animals became contrary. 
 
 Toward night, the drover paused and went 
 forward into a thicket that fringed the road 
 at that point. 
 
 "Here, lad," he called to Davy, " 'pears like 
 that's an abandoned cabin, don't it? Reckon 
 we'll camp here for the night, boy. T 'ain't 
 often we'll find a spot just like this, and last 
 night wa'n't none too comfortable." 
 
 Together they urged the cattle over the tan- 
 gled underbrush, and turned them loose in 
 what had been the dooryard of the cabin. 
 
24 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 Then they started to inspect their own domain. 
 That took very httle time, for the cabin con- 
 sisted of one small room, without furniture of 
 any kind. There was, however, a fireplace at 
 one end, and Davy's eyes twinkled in anticipa- 
 tion of the cozy warmth they would soon enjoy. 
 
 "A bite of fresh game would taste good to- 
 night, wouldn't it?" observed the drover, look- 
 ing at the empty hearth. "You just scuttle 
 around a bit, Davy, and get the fire going, and 
 I'll see what the woods can offer us in the way 
 of supper." 
 
 Rifle in hand Siler departed, and Davy left 
 alone went out for dry leaves and the other 
 needfuls for a fire. Soon the drover came 
 back bearing a wild turkey gobbler, and Davy 
 eagerly searched for a forked stick, begging 
 for the boon of being allowed to hold it over 
 the fire. 
 
 It was a fine fat gobbler, and as it spluttered 
 over the flames it gave out an aroma that nearly 
 caused hungry Davy to seize it as it was, half 
 cooked, and sink his teeth into its appetizing 
 frame. It was not the first time that he had 
 cooked his own food out in the woods. 
 
 "Looks like that gobbler's done to a turn," 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 25 
 
 remarked the Dutchman, after what seemed 
 an interminable time, and Davy drew it back, 
 laying it upon a bed of fresh leaves which he 
 had prepared nearby. With his long hunting 
 knife, the drover proceeded to cut the bird into 
 edible proportions, and Davy's teeth sank into 
 the tender, juicy flesh with rapturous joy, the 
 instant he had a piece in his hand. For sev- 
 eral minutes there was silence in the cabin, 
 while the two travelers gave themselves up to 
 the full enjoyment of fine food after a ten- 
 mile tramp in the frosty air. 
 
 After that the days and the nights went by 
 in much the same fashion. The drover's party 
 managed to make fifteen or twenty miles a day, 
 for the most part — days that were varied 
 chiefly by the amount of food obtainable and 
 by the state of the weather. Frequently there 
 were streams to be forded, often the wind was 
 sharp ; there were many dreary rains and the 
 wilderness road was rough and often muddy. 
 It was with relief, therefore, that Davy and 
 old Siler drew up at last at a lonely cabin, 
 after twenty-five days of trudging and strug- 
 gle. They were made welcome by a man 
 named Hartley, who was Siler's father-in-law. 
 
26 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 and T)sivy was at first disposed to forget the 
 future in the joy of being certain of food and 
 rest. 
 
 "You're a good lad, Davy," Mr. Siler told 
 him one day soon after they arrived. "I 
 reckon I've treated you kind of square, haven't 
 I, boy?" 
 
 Davy nodded an affirmative. The Dutch- 
 man had been kind to him from the very be- 
 ginning, and he was not ungrateful. 
 
 "Well then," the old man pursued, "I reckon 
 you've found as good a place as any between 
 here and Knoxville. I suppose you'll be glad 
 to be staying, now that you're here, and your 
 father's expecting it, as you know. Here's 
 something for your trouble." 
 
 Davy took the five dollars that the drover 
 held out to him, but his heart was troubled. 
 He had expected to go home again as soon as 
 they reached Virginia, and now he was being 
 asked to stay where he was. Moreover, his 
 father seemed to have intended it, and Davy 
 had been taught obedience, frequently by the 
 aid of a hickory stick. He said nothing, there- 
 fore, about going home, but remained at the 
 Hartley cabin, helping with the cattle and do- 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 27 
 
 ing odd chores, of which there were plenty. 
 But he did not grow accustomed to his absence 
 from home; he missed the companionship of 
 his brothers, and the rough-and-tumble life of 
 the tavern. Five weeks passed in this way, 
 and then suddenly luck came rumbling up the 
 road, in the shape of three wagons loaded with 
 merchandise, and driven by a man named 
 Dunn and his two sons. David recognized 
 Dunn, he had traveled past his father's tavern 
 before this, and often stopped there for the 
 night. Slipping away from the two boys with 
 whom he had been playing along the road, 
 he followed the wagons until a bend in the 
 road hid them from the Hartley cabin. Then 
 he hailed the elder Dunn. 
 
 "Goin' my way?" he called airily, appearing 
 suddenly almost under the horses' feet. Dunn 
 reined in sharply. 
 
 "Whoa there!" to the not-unwilling horses. 
 Then, after a moment's scrutiny of the small 
 boy in the road : 
 
 "Davy Crockett — or I'm a liar!" he cried, 
 good-naturedly. "How'd you come here, 
 Davy? Folks moved?" 
 
 "No," exclaimed the boy. "I was a-helpin' 
 
28 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 of a drover with his cattle. He lives back 
 there," pointing to the bend in the road. "I 
 wish I could go back home, though." 
 
 "What's the matter — don't he treat you 
 right?" asked the kind-hearted Mr. Dunn. 
 
 Davy hastened to reassure him on the point. 
 "Oh, he's kind," he said, "but I've been won- 
 dering what they're doin' up home." 
 
 "WeU, I'm bound for Knoxville," Mr. Dunn 
 remarked. "We're spending the night about 
 seven miles along the road here. Now, in case 
 there was a young lad as wanted to be reach- 
 ing Crockett's Tavern, it would be a mighty 
 good thing for him if he caught up with 
 us before daylight to-morrow, because he could 
 follow along with these here wagons." 
 
Ill 
 
 THE WAY HOME 
 
 It was Sunday evening, and Davy found the 
 whole family out when he returned to the 
 Hartley cabin. He was glad of that, for his 
 heart beat so high that he was sure anyone 
 observing him must suspect something. 
 
 "I'll get to bed," he decided at once, "and 
 maybe get my sleepin' done before it's time 
 to start." But for a long time his busy mind 
 forbade sleep. 
 
 Then he heard the family returning, and 
 he lay, pretending sleep, long after they had 
 retired for the night. He hstened sharply for 
 the heavy breathing that would tell him when 
 the others were wrapped in slumber. 
 
 At last it reached his ears — ^the rhythmic 
 rise and fall of breath that betokened profound 
 sleep. Davy's hour had come ! Cautious as a 
 cat, he crept across the loft, on all fours. 
 Stealthily he began to descend the ladder, his 
 feet, in their soft moccasins, as soundless as 
 his bare hands. 
 
30 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 With nerveless fingers Davy undid the bar 
 that held the door, opened it a mere crack and 
 squeezed his slender body through, backward, 
 with his gaze intent on the interior of the cabin. 
 In a moment more he had drawn the door shut, 
 and his breath came with sharp relief as he 
 faced about — ^to confront a world white with 
 snow. The air was filled with the whirling 
 flakes, borne on a wintry gale, and already the 
 trees and bushes were weighted with their load 
 of clinging snow. Davy's feet were buried 
 above the ankle, but it never occurred to him 
 to turn back; he covered his hands as well as 
 he could with the folds of his leathern shirt, 
 and bending his head, stepped out bravely in 
 the direction of the big road. It was a half 
 mile from the cabin to the highway, and in the 
 darkness of the storm there was not a track 
 of any kind visible. 
 
 "Now to find the road," he thought confi- 
 dently. That was no easy matter, even for a 
 boy who had been reared in a practically track- 
 less wilderness. The heavy snowfall had ob- 
 scured every familiar landmark, but, as he 
 noted with satisfaction : 
 
 "This here snow is sure fiUin' up my foot- 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 31 
 
 prints fast. Won't the folks be surprised 
 when they wake up in the mornin' and find me 
 gone, without ever a mark to show which way; 
 I went?" 
 
 It did not take sharp-sighted Davy very 
 long to discover where the main highway 
 wound its tortuous way among the trees, for 
 the opening it made between the mighty trunks 
 told the forest boy where it lay. He turned 
 in the direction the wagons had taken a few 
 hours before and pushed on through the deep- 
 ening snow. 
 
 The howl of a distant wolf sounded through 
 the forest, but it was far away, Davy knew. 
 He shook his fist in the direction of the sound, 
 and wished aloud for the Dutchman's rifle. 
 But after a while the cold began to creep up 
 from his toes, along his sturdy legs, up, up, 
 numbing his senses and dulhng his brain. He 
 no longer thought of the cabin he had left, nor 
 his home, still hundreds of miles away, across 
 the dreadful wilderness; all his strength was 
 gathered into one burning determination — to 
 keep at bay the creeping cold until he should 
 reach the camp of the Dunns. His eyes glazed 
 under the strain of keeping the road clearly 
 
32 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 before him; he stumbled and fell more than 
 once, but his determination never wavered. 
 On he trudged — on — on 
 
 "Well, young feller," boomed the hearty 
 voice of old Dunn, as Davy rounded a turn 
 in the road and almost stumbled over the 
 wagoner, who was feeding his horses close to 
 the door of a wayside cabin. Davy's answer 
 was a groan as he toppled forward in the snow. 
 The old man picked him out of the drift, 
 where he lay almost buried, for the damp 
 whiteness was knee-deep by now. Within the 
 cabin there was a fire and warm food, presided 
 over by a motherly woman who had taken care 
 of the Dunns for the night. 
 
 "Oh, the poor lamb!" she cried at the sight 
 of little Davy's limp form. "Here, Jack," 
 to one of her own children, "heat some milk 
 while I rub his poor hands and feet." 
 
 The heat and the kindly ministrations of the 
 household soon had their effect. 
 
 "Let me go!" cried Davy, suddenly sitting 
 up. "Oh, has Mr. Dunn gone?" wildly strug- 
 gling to free himself from the buffalo robe 
 with which he had been covered. 
 
 "The Dunns are outside, getting the teams 
 
DAVID CROCKETT i SS 
 
 ready," answered the woman. "Here now, 
 take it easy. Rest a bit while you can and 
 drink this good hot milk." 
 
 "Well, lad, are you most ready?" in- 
 quired the old man, appearing in the cabin 
 door as Davy was swallowing the last of the 
 food with which he ha4 been supplied. With- 
 out a word, the boy thrust aside the wooden 
 platter which had served as his plate, and 
 stuffing a last chunk of corn-bread into his 
 mouth, he pulled on his beaver-skin cap. 
 
 For a hundred miles Davy moved on with 
 the wagons, sometimes beneath sunny skies 
 that made the world glaringly white, some- 
 times through sleet and driving storms that 
 numbed the hardened wagoners no less than 
 the small boy. But progress was slow. 
 
 "I could go twice as fast — if I didn't have 
 to wait for the wagons," Davy put in one day, 
 as a feeler, to Mr. Dunn. 
 
 "Is it daft ye've gone, Davy?" inquired the 
 old man solicitously. 
 
 "I'm wastin' a good deal of time, Mr. 
 Dunn," answered the boy, "and it ain't like 
 
34 FAMOUS AMERICAiyS 
 
 I was any use to you. I'm sure obliged for 
 all you've done for me, but I would like to be 
 gettin' home." 
 
 "And now, what would your father be 
 thinkin' of me, if I let you go traipsin' off 
 through the wilderness alone?" demanded his 
 benefactor. "Me, that's been tryin' to bring 
 you home safe, as a favor to a good friend?" 
 
 But Davy was not to be dissuaded. He 
 was "sure anxious to get home again," he re- 
 peated to all the Dunns' arguments, and at 
 last, seeing that there was no holding the boy, 
 and realizing that he would go without per- 
 mission if he could not go with it, they agreed 
 to let him start off on the following morn- 
 ing. Davy was jubilant; he reiterated all 
 through the rest of the day his thanks for the 
 kindness he had received at the hands of the 
 Dunns. Next morning his determination was 
 unshaken, and taking the deerskin pouch filled 
 with dried venison which his friends offered 
 him, he set out on his solitary journey. 
 
 It was true that he could move twice as fast 
 when he did not have to wait for the wagons; 
 before he had been walking very long he found 
 that they had been blotted, completely, from 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 35 
 
 the landscape. The world seemed suddenly 
 empty. 
 
 "Now, look a-here, Davy Crockett," he has- 
 tily adjured himself, "you've got to jSght your 
 way home; you just keep a stiff upper lip and 
 go like a good feller." 
 
 Go he did, after that, and his courage held 
 out for several hours. But the cold and the 
 prolonged exertion began to have its effect, 
 late in the afternoon, and, at the sound of a 
 rushing river, Davy's heart sank. 
 
 " 'Pears like I'll have to fight that old wild- 
 cat of a river," he thought, and shivered in 
 anticipation. But before many minutes had 
 passed, a horse and rider came into view, lead- 
 ing another horse, riderless but saddled and 
 bridled. 
 
 "Howdy, straggler," called the horseman 
 cheerily. 
 
 "The best o' luck to you," cried Davy, his 
 eyes on the extra horse. 
 
 "Where's the rest of yo're party?" inquired 
 the man, curiously, for small boys of twelve 
 roaming the winter forest were an uncommon 
 sight. 
 
 "I'm just Davy Crockett; I'm goin' home," 
 
36 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 explained the boy, adding that his father kept 
 a tavern between Jonesboro and Knoxville. 
 
 "'Way from out that-a-way!" exclaimed 
 the stranger. "Wall, I'll be shot! I'm a-goin' 
 yo're road, sonny," he said kindly, "and if yuh 
 eared now, to avail yo'self of that 'ar horse, 
 yo're quite welcome." 
 
 Davy needed no second hint. He mounted 
 the extra horse, his head held high, and proudly 
 seized the reins. After that the journey was 
 pleasantly smooth and uneventful, the horses 
 moving along steadily at a rapid walk. Davy 
 learned that his benefactor had been down to 
 Virginia to see some stock. He was very will- 
 ing to have a traveling companion on the way 
 back, and as he spun yarns about his adven- 
 tures the time passed swiftly. Several days 
 had slipped by when he finally announced that 
 their roads were about to part. 
 
 "But," he added, "I reckon you can find 
 yo're way hereabouts purty well. Yo're old 
 man's place is only about fifteen mile yonder." 
 
 At the crossroads Da\y thanked his com- 
 panion, slipped to the ground, and patted his 
 horse's nose. Then he turned up his own road, 
 and without a backward glance ran like a 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 37 
 
 young deer. He reached his father's cabin 
 that night. 
 
 "Well, Davy, you back?" was John Crock- 
 ett's greeting. "Shake a leg there and bring 
 in some wood." 
 
IV 
 
 DAVY TAKES TO FLIGHT 
 
 With the beginning of the next brief school 
 term, Davy and his brothers were on hand. 
 
 The schoolhouse, which they entered, puffing 
 lustily, a moment later, was a rude cabin with 
 a big fireplace. The floor was the solid earth, 
 the benches were rough slabs of wood with 
 wooden stakes for legs. A huge table formed 
 by a great slab three feet wide and resting on 
 hickory pegs stretched across the room, and 
 afforded space for the scholars to try their hand 
 at writing, when it chanced that the pens of 
 goose quills cut into shape by the master, a 
 sufficient quantity of poor ink, and some paper 
 were all available at the same time. 
 
 With much shuffling and gigghng the boys 
 scuttled into place. 
 
 "Jim Aiken," began the schoolmaster, call- 
 ing the roll. As his name was called, each boy 
 responded by rising. Davy Crockett's name 
 was very near the head of the list; Davy was 
 
 38 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 39 
 
 always quick to respond. This morning, how- 
 ever, as he started to rise swiftly to his feet, 
 one of his ankles was caught dexterously by a 
 lean bare foot thrust out from behind. He 
 was thrown completely off his balance, and 
 swung ignominiously forward into a row of 
 smaller boys, who promptly protested by vig- 
 orous struggles and loud cries. 
 
 "Silence!" roared Kitchen, laying his stick 
 to right and left without discrimination. When 
 order had been thus restored, Davy was com- 
 manded to step forward. 
 
 Blue eyes resentful, Davy approached as 
 bidden. 
 
 "I'll teach you to be playing your tricks on 
 me," said the master, in a cold fury, and with- 
 out delay he proceeded to "teach" Davy, by 
 means of the birch rod applied vigorously to 
 his quivering shoulders. The class was de- 
 lighted. Any suffering which did not directly 
 concern these forest lads w^as to be taken in 
 the nature of a show, and they enjoyed the 
 present performance immensely, especially 
 when Davy was finally thrown into a corner, to 
 stand there the rest of the morning with his 
 face to the wall. From the tail of his eye the 
 
40 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 angry lad observed the malicious grin on the 
 face of his enemy. Job Higgins. His was the 
 treacherous foot that had sent Davy sprawl- 
 ing across the benches, and Davy's heart 
 smoldered within him as he stood in his igno- 
 ble position throughout the long morning. 
 
 All day Davy nursed his wrath, and when 
 school was dismissed he was first out of the 
 door, and off down the road like a streak. He 
 was too wary to attempt revenge within sight 
 of the schoolhouse, and he was well out of 
 earshot of the master before he ambushed him- 
 self in a thicket. 
 
 *'The old turkey-cock will be goin' by in a 
 minute," he exulted. 
 
 Sure enough, it was but a few minutes be- 
 fore he caught sight of Job Higgins, strutting 
 along the road, brimful of joy on account of 
 the trouble he had given to Davy Crockett. 
 Several smaller boys accompanied him, and he 
 was boasting loudly of what he was going to do 
 to "that little weasel, Crockett," on the mor- 
 row. Unsuspecting, he came on, till he was 
 opposite Davy's hiding place, when, with a 
 howl that struck terror to the heart of his 
 enemy, Davy leaped from the thicket like a 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 41 
 
 catamount, landing square on the big boy's 
 shoulders. Teeth, nails, agile heels and sturdy- 
 fists dug relentlessly into his opponent, while 
 Davy proceeded to take all desire for "strut- 
 tin' " out of him. The small boys looked on, 
 applauding Davy's efforts. 
 
 "Go it, Davy!" they shrieked delightedly. 
 "Smash his nose!" 
 
 "Lemme go!" cried the bully as Davy 
 promptly acted upon the advice of his audi- 
 ence. "Aw — lemme up," for Davy now had 
 his victim prostrate on the ground, and was 
 pummeling his head with all the strength of his 
 furious young fists. 
 
 "Had 'nuff?" gasped the victor, between 
 blows. 
 
 " 'Nuff," whined the big boy, and Davy, 
 panting from his exertions, but full of the glory 
 of victory, rose to his feet and stood breathing 
 hard, while the vanquished slunk off down the 
 road. His brothers had been interested spec- 
 tators of the end of the fight, and now they 
 proceeded to give vocal proof of their admira- 
 tion of Davy's fighting qualities. 
 
 "He won't be seein' any thin' but stars for 
 a week," chuckled one. 
 
42 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "You shore took a piece out of his ear, 
 Davy," said another. All the way home the 
 boys talked about the great fight, and the glory 
 that would ever after be Davy's. But before 
 they reached the lonely tavern by the roadside 
 a disquieting thought had arisen. 
 
 "Bobcats and alligators, Davy!" exclaimed 
 the oldest boy suddenly, as they rounded the 
 last turn in the road. "What '11 old Kitchen 
 do to you when he hears of it?" 
 
 Davy made up his mind quickly. "I won't 
 go back to school," he declared stoutly. 
 
 "The old man'll take the hide off o' you," 
 replied his brother. Davy realized that only 
 too well. "I'll go out with you, and come back 
 at night, and stay in the woods all day," he 
 announced. The others were doubtful of the 
 result of this conduct, but Davy would listen 
 to no doubts. 
 
 For several days all went well. Davy left 
 the tavern each morning with his brothers, and 
 returned with them each night, but he spent 
 the interval in the depths of the woods, stalk- 
 ing game. 
 
 Then one day came the explosion. John 
 Crockett received a note, brought by one of the 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 43 
 
 pupils from the schoolmaster, in which he in- 
 quired why Davy had not been sent to school. 
 
 "Here, y' young toad!" called the elder 
 Crockett, "what's this about not bein' in 
 school? What about the fine 'coon skins I'm 
 after payin' the master to learn yuh readin' n' 
 writin'?" 
 
 Davy was silent, measuring the distance to 
 the cabin door with his eye. His father caught 
 the glance, and seized him roughly by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Answer me!" he roared. 
 
 "I'm afraid to go to school," said Davy, be- 
 ginning to tremble with apprehension. "I 
 licked a boy, and the schoolmaster will be cook- 
 in' me up to a crackhn' in no time." 
 
 "I'll give yuh an eternal sight worse trounc- 
 in' if yuh don't start for school this minute," 
 cried the father, red in the face and breathing 
 furiously. 
 
 "I can't go!" wailed Davy. "Don't send 
 me back — aw, don't send me. I'll work, I'll — 
 oh," he begged, as John Crockett stepped out- 
 side the door, and began cutting a stout hick- 
 ory switch, "oh, don't send me, I'll do any- 
 thin' you want, oh — oh I" 
 
U FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 With a last despairing shriek Davy fled 
 through the door, for his father was coming 
 toward him, stick in hand. Turning swiftly 
 into the road in a direction away from the 
 schoolhouse, Davy fled nimbly down the 
 rough highway, closely pursued by his angry 
 father. Davy was a good runner, but old 
 Crockett had great strength and endurance, 
 and his feet were winged by his towering pas- 
 sion. The race continued for nearly a mile, 
 when the road led up a steep hill. Davy, flying 
 ahead, gained the top and shot down the other 
 side. Before his father could get well started 
 on the incline, he dashed headlong into the 
 bushes at the side of the road, and hid him- 
 self deftly among the underbrush. A few min- 
 utes later he both heard and saw his father, 
 panting hard, go past, and he remained hid- 
 den until the old man had returned the way 
 he came, discouraged from further chasing by 
 having lost sight of the boy. 
 
 When he was safely out of the way, Davy 
 emerged once more, and fearful to go home 
 again, he pushed on down the road. Twilight 
 found him still trudging onward, but close to 
 the cabin of a man he knew. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 45 
 
 "Howdy, Mr. Cheek," he said affably, ap- 
 pearing suddenly in that worthy settler's door- 
 way. 
 
 "Hello, Davy, that you?" answered his host. 
 "Step in and have a bite." 
 
 Jesse Cheek's family was just sitting down 
 to the evening meal, and Davy was glad 
 enough to join them in their repast. He kept 
 his ears wide open, and soon gathered that the 
 man of the house was on the point of starting 
 for Virginia with a drove of cattle. 
 
 "I've had some experience in drivin' cattle, 
 myself," remarked Davy. "I'd be pleased to 
 go with you, Mr. Cheek, and help you out." 
 
 Under the questioning of the settler Davy 
 was led to tell of his adventures on his pre- 
 vious trip to Virginia, and the upshot of the 
 matter was that Davy was engaged to go along 
 with Jesse Cheek and his cattle to Front Royal, 
 on the Shenandoah River, a couple of hundred 
 miles further into Virginia than Davy's pre- 
 vious trip had taken him. Before they started, 
 another of the Crockett boys, tired of the rough 
 tavern and anxious to see the world, had joined 
 the little party. 
 
AN ACCOUNT OF TWO YEARS WANDERING 
 
 Spring had smiled upon the Tennessee val- 
 leys, and the sweet arbutus had been tempting 
 the industrious bees all day as a lanky, large- 
 boned boy of about fifteen swung along the old 
 road to Crockett's Tavern. His sandy hair 
 fell in thick locks almost to his shoulders and 
 was brushed back behind his ears. A straight 
 nose, a wide, generous mouth, and merry blue 
 eyes made up a countenance that was whim- 
 sical and engaging. 
 
 Drawing near, the boy hesitated for a mo- 
 ment, and then stepped up boldly to the tavern 
 door. A young man was just coming out. 
 
 "Howdy," began the youth. "Might I be 
 havin' a word with the tavern keeper?" 
 
 "He's yonder," returned the young man. 
 "Is it a shake-down for the night you are look- 
 in' for?" 
 
 "It is," said the boy, "and I can turn a hand 
 to any thin'." 
 
 46 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 47 
 
 "None more welcome than you then," said 
 the other heartily. "Step in. Supper will be 
 on the table this minute." 
 
 The sandy-haired boy gratefully stepped in- 
 side, his sharp eyes roving the assembled com- 
 pany. There were several teamsters around 
 the immense fireplace, smoking their pipes and 
 cracking their rough jokes. The lad moved, 
 unnoticed, into a corner, and sat watching the 
 tavern keeper's wife and her daughters pre- 
 paring supper. But a few minutes had passed 
 before the table was ready, and all drew up for 
 the evening meal. There was a stronger light 
 around the table than had shone in the strange 
 boy's corner ; as he came forward and took his 
 place one of the girls of the household caught 
 sight of his face, and she studied it intently, as 
 though struck by the features. As for the lad, 
 as soon as he observed the girl's scrutiny, he 
 blushed fiery red and dropped his eyes uneas- 
 ily to the food before him. 
 
 "It's Davy, Mother!" shrieked the girl, run- 
 ning around the table and throwing her arms 
 about the lad's stalwart shoulders. "It's my 
 lost brother, come home again!" and she burst 
 into happy tears. 
 
48 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "Davy!" cried the tavern keeper's wife, a 
 weary, work-worn woman who had never 
 known aught but hard times. 
 
 "Is it you, Davy lad?" She came closer 
 and gazed into the embarrassed eyes of the 
 wanderer. 
 
 "I'm that same Davy," he said, with a chok- 
 ing throat. 
 
 The old tavern keeper came in and slapped 
 him on the back. 
 
 "Sit you down and give us the news," he 
 said jovially. "It's nigh on two years since 
 you gave me the slip, Davy," he added. 
 
 "We took you for dead," put in one of the 
 girls. "Since Jim here came back with the 
 news that you'd gone to Virginny, we heard 
 never a word of what had become of you." 
 
 Davy was deeply touched. He had not real- 
 ized that his parents and his brothers and sis- 
 ters must have worried during his long ab- 
 sence; when he had thought of home he had 
 visioned also the hickory stick with which his 
 father had threatened him. Now, apparently, 
 the long-deferred punishment was to be aban- 
 doned, and his heart swelled in gratitude at 
 the warmth of his reception. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 4^ 
 
 "Well, the vittles do be coolin'," announced 
 his mother briskly, "time enough for tellin' 
 tales after supper's done." 
 
 Davy, like all the rest of the company, was 
 hungry enough to tackle beef on the hoof, and 
 he was glad of the opportunity to devote him- 
 self exclusively to feeding. Everybody fell to 
 with great gusto, and the boiled beef and 
 "chicken fixin's" disappeared with unbehevable 
 rapidity. 
 
 After supper Davy was the center of attrac- 
 tion. "Let's hear some o' yo're goin's on, me 
 young buck," said one of the teamsters. 
 
 "Yes, Davy, me boy, let's hear what you've 
 been doin' with yourself," his father joined in. 
 
 Davy was confused at being the target for 
 their attention, and he tried to shrug it off. 
 
 "There warn't enough happened to me to 
 shake a stick at," he declared. 
 
 But the assembly was not to be put off. 
 
 "That don't go," cried John Crockett. 
 "Where'd you get to after you left Jesse 
 Cheek?" 
 
 The brother who had accompanied Davy and 
 their neighbor Cheek to Virginia, had returned 
 shortly after and told of meeting Davy on the 
 
50 FAMOUS AMERICAlSrS 
 
 road, hired out to another teamster, and bound 
 for northern Virginia. 
 
 "We did a heap o' travelin'," Davy admitted. 
 "We went along o' Mr. Cheek to more places 
 than I know'd the name of — Blue Ridge 
 Springs, Lynchburg, Orange Court House, 
 and I don't know what all, to Front Royal on 
 the Shenandoah. Mr. Cheek sold his drove 
 there and I left with his brother to come back 
 home. 
 
 "The brother was the orneriest varmint 
 you'd see in a month's walk," he continued, get- 
 ting warmed up at the recollection of his 
 wrongs in that quarter. "He had a horse, and, 
 thinks I, hell be lettin' me ride part o' the 
 way; but the mean critter took care to ride 
 all the time, and never to tie, and in three 
 days I got disgusted and told him to go ahead, 
 and I would come when ready. I had about 
 four dollars in my pocket and I took pains not 
 to catch up with him again." 
 
 "Great snakes, boy!" cried one of the team- 
 sters. "Yuh don't mean yuh cut loose like 
 that in the middle o' the woods?" 
 
 "Oh, he'd done it before," put in John 
 Crockett. "He tried comin' home alone from 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 51 
 
 half-way to Virginny when he warn't Gut 
 twelve." 
 
 Davy was encouraged by this unwonted ad- 
 miration. 
 
 "I was bound I wouldn't travel along o' 
 such an ornery critter," he declared, "and be- 
 fore I know'd just how I'd get back, I met up 
 with a jolly good fellow from Greenville, Ten- 
 nessee. He had a wagon and was bound for 
 Gerardstown, in Virginny, and he p'inted out 
 that I might as well go along o' him, because 
 he was comin' straight back to Tennessee after- 
 ward. I thought about it some, and he was 
 such a jolly fellow that I decided to go with 
 him. We journeyed on slowly, but merrily 
 enough. I thought o' home often, and wished 
 to be back, but I thought o' Dad here and I had 
 the f eelin' that his dander was up for sure, and 
 his spite would be hangin' on to him like a 
 turtle does to a fisherman's toe. So, thinks I, if 
 I go back in a hurry he'll be givin' me the 
 devil in three or four ways. 
 
 *'It was while I was travelin' back with this 
 fellow, by the name of Adam Myers, that Jim 
 come along the road and urged me to come 
 home, so pleadin' that I shed tears to hear 
 
52 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 him, but the thought o' the promised whippin' 
 came slap down on every thought o' home, and 
 I determined that, hit or miss, make or break, 
 I would just hang on to my journey. We 
 went ahead, but when we got to Gerardstown, 
 old Myers couldn't get a load back, and he 
 concluded to wait and run his team back and 
 forth between there and Baltimore. I got 
 work with an old farmer, at plowin' and the 
 like, and he gave me twenty-five cents a day, 
 so that when spring come round I could get 
 me some decent clothes. 
 
 "I was gettin' pretty perky about then, and 
 I took it into my head to have a look at Balti- 
 more, o' which I heard a good many tales, and 
 I was wild to see the sort o' place it was, and 
 the kind o' folks that lived there. I gave old 
 Myers the balance of the money I had for safe 
 keeping, which as I recollect, was about seven 
 dollars, and started out with him on the load 
 o' flour he was haulin'. 
 
 "We went along in a merry fashion, and 
 pretty soon we got nearin' a place called Elli- 
 cott's Mills. I was minded not to be passin' 
 the houses with my old, dirty, mud-spattered 
 clothes on me, so I crept up among the flour 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 53 
 
 bar'ls to put on my new suit. But as bad 
 luck would have it, while I was in there we 
 were met by some wheel-barrow men, who 
 were workin' on the road, and the horses took 
 a scare and away they went, like they had seen 
 a ghost. They made a sudden wheel around, 
 and broke the wagon tongue slap, short off, as 
 a pipe-stem; and snap went both of the axle- 
 trees at the same time. 
 
 "Well, we put our load in another wagon and 
 went on to Baltimore. When I saw all them 
 big ships I wanted to go to London, but the 
 wagoner wouldn't let me off. So I worked my 
 way back. 
 
 "But I had my troubles afterward all right 
 enough. I got down the valley between the 
 Alleghany and the Blue Ridge until I come 
 to Montgomery Court House, when I found 
 my last cent was gone. Not bein' a beggar, 
 I hired out to a man for five dollars for a 
 month and when the time was out, I bound 
 myself to a hatter by the name of Elijah Grif- 
 fith. I agreed to work four years, but at the 
 end of eighteen months I found myself out in 
 the cold again, for the hatter's shop went to 
 pieces for debt, and the shopkeeper left the 
 
54 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 country. I was left, of course, without any 
 money, for I had received nothing, and I had 
 but few clothes, and them very indifferent 
 ones. But I worked around again on farms 
 until I could collect a little money and some 
 clothes, and then I cut out again for home." 
 "You shore had a roundabout way o' get- 
 tin' back," observed John Crockett. 
 
VI 
 
 DAYY TAKES A PARTNER 
 
 Adventure failed to find Davy Crockett for 
 a year after he returned to his father's tavern. 
 But he made good use of the respite to pay 
 off a couple of John Crockett's debts, of which 
 there were a-plenty, though the old man was 
 honest at heart and sincerely desirous of meet- 
 ing his obligations. 
 
 "Would you be wishful to go free, Davy?" 
 he asked one day soon after the young man's 
 return, meaning, would Davy like to be re- 
 leased from the obligation, in force at that 
 time, to work for his father until the age of 
 twenty-one, when he would be at liberty to 
 strike out for himself and keep whatever wages 
 he could earn. 
 
 "Because," the elder Crockett went on, "I'd 
 be givin' you your freedom, if it might be that 
 you'd be willin' to work out a note that that 
 rascal of an Abe Wilson holds against me," 
 
 55 
 
56 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 Davy knew of Abraham Wilson, an unprin- 
 cipled, dissipated neighbor, at whose house 
 there was constant drinking and gambling. 
 
 "How long would I stay?" he inquired. 
 
 "A matter o' six months; the note's for 
 thirty-six dollars. Then you'd be free as the 
 air," wheedled the father. 
 
 Davy was sorry for the old man, whose trou- 
 bles had been more nimierous than his years. 
 
 "I'll do that," he agreed, and immediately 
 set out to fulfil the contract. So well did he 
 succeed, that at the end of the six months, the 
 dissolute Wilson tried his best to get him to 
 remain as his helper. 
 
 "It's high wages," Davy reflected to him- 
 self, considering the offer. "But a heap o' bad 
 company put in their time here. I should be 
 gettin' a bad name if I stayed, as nobody could 
 be respectable that would live here. I'd better 
 be makin' tracks for home." 
 
 Next day he accepted his father's note, and 
 set out for the little wayside tavern. Old 
 John Crockett was mightily pleased when the 
 paper which released him from Wilson's power 
 was put into his hand, and he consented readily 
 when Davy announced that he was going "to 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 57 
 
 cast an eye around among the neighbors for 
 somethin' to turn a hand to." 
 
 His path led to the home of an old Quaker, 
 by the name of John Kennedy, who had re- 
 cently moved from North Carolina. The new- 
 comer was kindly, as his rule of life bade him 
 be. 
 
 "Thou'rt a strong young lad," he said, eye- 
 ing Davy's sturdy frame approvingly. "I'll 
 warrant thy hand holds a steady ax. And 
 these acres need just such a brawny caretaker." 
 
 "I'll be doin' whatever's needful for two 
 shillin' a day," offered Davy. But the Quaker 
 was cautious. 
 
 "I'll take thee for a week's trial," he agreed. 
 
 Taking up the offer light-heartedly, Davy 
 worked industriously all the week, felling 
 trees, caring for the livestock, and turning a 
 hand to whatever was required of him. At 
 the end of his probation, the Quaker came out 
 one morning, and seating himself upon a tree 
 which Davy had felled the day before, he ob- 
 served : 
 
 "Thou'rt a good worker, lad, and thy father 
 ought to take pride in his son. Now, I've 
 an offer for thee. That same John Crockett 
 
58 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 owes me a matter of forty dollars, and I hold 
 his note for it. But I'd be willing to deliver 
 it, if I had thee to work for me for six months." 
 
 Davy turned his eyes to the far horizon. He 
 had his freedom, it was true; there was no 
 need for him to discharge his father's debt. 
 He was certain that, if he did work out the 
 note, none of the money would be coming to 
 him, for his father was so poor — so poor ! That 
 was it. Just because he was poor, and work- 
 worn and discouraged — and his father, Davy 
 decided he must help him. 
 
 "I'll take you up, Mr. Kennedy," he said. 
 
 Six months later, Davy Crockett rode up 
 to the Crockett tavern, iSfteen miles from the 
 Kennedy homestead. The horse he rode was 
 a borrowed steed, to be sure, but the rider was 
 none the less merry-hearted for that. 
 
 "Howdy, Dad," he shouted in his hearty, 
 rough voice, bursting into the little cabin, 
 where the family was gathered around the fire. 
 It was Sunday evening, and there were no 
 guests at the tavern. 
 
 "Here's a bit of paper my old Quaker sent 
 me to give you," said Davy, who had not been 
 home for the whole six months. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 59 
 
 John Crockett held out a trembling hand 
 for the paper. His head drooped dejectedly; 
 the lines and furrows in his face seemed to 
 deepen. 
 
 "I can't pay it," he said. "I haven't got the 
 money; I can't get it noways. I don't know 
 what I c'n do." 
 
 "Hi, Dad! Eiz up and flap your wings," 
 cried Davy, slapping the old man on the shoul- 
 der. "The note's yours, a present from me. 
 I paid it with six months' o' labor. An' if I 
 know'd the first letter in the book I'd read the 
 paper for you." 
 
 His father stared at him a moment, then the 
 tears gathered in his eyes, and he faltered out 
 his thanks. 
 
 "That's more'n I ever expected, Davy, you 
 payin' this after I give you your freedom and 
 all. I wisht I could pay you even a little bit o' 
 the money; I shore do wish it. But I can't; I 
 haven't any money at all." 
 
 Davy assured his father that he cared noth- 
 ing for the money, and announced his intention 
 of returning to the Quaker's home to earn 
 enough to get him some new clothes. 
 
 "My last new suit was left with that old var- 
 
60 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 mint, Adam Myers, when I ran away from him 
 down Baltimore way, and that was nigh three 
 year ago," he remarked. 
 
 Pretty Polly Finlay was a mirthful maiden 
 of seventeen, who lived about fifteen miles 
 away from the Quaker's home. Davy met her 
 at a reaping frolic, and thereafter her warm 
 gray eyes and tender smile haunted him. The 
 courtship continued for many weeks, hindered 
 by the girl's mother, helped by various acci- 
 dental happenings, among which was a great 
 wolf hunt. 
 
 Wolves roamed the forests in great numbers, 
 and were a source of constant trouble to the 
 settlers. In the winter, when the snow was 
 hard, they hunted in huge packs, furious with 
 hunger. Their howls filled the dark hours of 
 the night; their stealthy footsteps followed 
 travelers, seeking a chance to attack, for the 
 wolf is a coward, and will not fight openly un- 
 less driven to it. Wolf hunts were common, 
 when the neighbors would combine for miles in 
 every direction, starting out at the same time to 
 hunt tlirough the woods, so that the wolves 
 escaping one hunter, might be driven into 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 61 
 
 range of others scattered here and there. 
 
 David Crockett was ever ready for a hunt of 
 any kind. When the wolf hunt was announced, 
 therefore, he was on hand with his rifle, and 
 plunged recklessly into the woods. The bark- 
 ing of the dogs which some of the settlers had 
 brought with them died away gradually in the 
 distance as the forest deepened about him. It 
 was early winter; the trees were bare and the 
 wind was sharp ; a light snow had drifted down 
 upon the fallen leaves. Davy strode along, 
 confident, as he ever was when surrounded by 
 his native wilds. But he was in a part of the 
 woods he had never traversed before, and it 
 had, apparently, no settlers. He walked 
 briskly for a long time, hearing nothing, seeing 
 nothing but forest sounds and sights. Mean- 
 while the sky had clouded ; snow was in the air. 
 
 "Well, now, who'd expect an old wildcat like 
 me to be gettin' lost?" he asked himself in sur- 
 prise. "If there was sun, now, or even moon,^ 
 I'd soon be findin' what direction I ought to 
 travel. Let's see if I can glimpse a cabin, or 
 a curl of smoke." 
 
 With that he selected a tall tree, and climbed 
 nimbly high among the branches. His keen 
 
62 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 eyes searched the distance, but there was no 
 sign of a break in the forest ; no curling smoke 
 to indicate a settler's home. 
 
 "I reckon it's time I was stragglin' home," 
 he murmured whimsically as he slid down the 
 tree-trunk ; and he started away in the direction 
 that he thought most likely to lead home. For 
 six or seven miles he trudged onward, growing 
 more bewildered with every step, and casting 
 anxious glances at the darkening sky, for night 
 was coming on by this time. Suddenly he heard 
 a crackling in the bushes, very faint, very far 
 away. Instantly his rifle was in position; he 
 was sure it was a wolf — the long sought wolf 
 that had led him so many miles astray. But as 
 his finger found the trigger, the: 3 flashed into 
 Davy's mind the old admonition of his father : 
 "Look mighty hard before you shoot ; it may be 
 a man you see, but you can always get a man." 
 Davy looked mighty hard in the gathering 
 gloom, and this second glance caused him to 
 lower his weapon and with a sharp exclama- 
 tion, plunge off into the bushes after the fleeing 
 figure that he had recognized as a woman's. 
 It was a hard chase for a minute; the flying 
 figure was far ahead, and evidently believed 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 63 
 
 itself pursued by an enemy. When he was 
 within hearing distance, Davy shouted : 
 
 "Hi — hi, there. Miss Greased Lightnin'!" 
 
 At the sound of his voice the woman turned, 
 and waited for him to come up. 
 
 "David Crockett!" she shrieked joyously 
 when his brawny figure strode from the 
 bushes. 
 
 "Polly!" cried David, stiff with surprise. 
 
 Polly ran to him and clung to his arm. "I've 
 been out in the woods all day," she cried, the 
 tears starting again in her pretty eyes. "I 
 went out to hunt one of father's horses, and I 
 got lost. Oh, David, what would have become 
 of me if you hadn't been here! Did you come 
 out to look for me?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said David, honest in spite 
 of his desire to tell the girl he had rescued her 
 on purpose. "And what's more, I'm lost, too, 
 and I nearly shot you for a wolf when I saw 
 you streaking it along like all wrath." 
 
 With that he put an arm about the girl, his 
 eyes full of the joy of being able to protect her 
 and half carrying her thus, they continued their 
 uncertain way through the woods. Presently 
 they struck a path. 
 
64 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "I reckon this leads somewhere," observed 
 David, and they set out to follow it. It did lead 
 to a cabin home, and before the night had 
 really set in, Polly and David had been wel- 
 comed by the settler and his wife who lived 
 there, and had been offered refreshment and 
 shelter, which were always open to any friend, 
 known or unknown, in the wilderness. They 
 learned that they were far from their respec- 
 tive homes; Polly was seven miles from hers, 
 and David ten miles from the Kennedy home. 
 When morning came the two parted to return 
 to their own dwellings, but David was now 
 head over heels in love with pretty Polly, and 
 determined to win her for his wife. He had 
 already bargained with the Quaker to work for 
 six months in order to pay for a horse, for he 
 felt that, before marriage, he should acquire 
 some property, in order to give him more stand- 
 ing. That, he knew, was the reason for Polly's 
 mother's opposition to the match — his penniless 
 condition. But lack of money had never yet 
 deterred him from whatever he wanted to do; 
 he resolved that nothing in the world would 
 keep him from getting Polly, barring Polly 
 herself. Consequently he threw in his rifle, and 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 65 
 
 asked the old Quaker to call it square and de- 
 liver him his horse. 
 
 Rich though he felt himself with a fine horse 
 to call his own, David found great difficulties 
 in his way when he started preparations for his 
 wedding. He went to his father's tavern, and 
 made arrangements to have his bride received 
 there. Then he rode gaily to the home of his 
 intended wife, to ask her parents for her hand. 
 Mrs. Finlay was not glad to see him; she had 
 other plans for Polly, which included the hope 
 of a richer husband — it would have been hard 
 to find a poorer one than Davy ! She promptly 
 ordered the gallant suitor out of the house. 
 
 "You're willin' to take me, Polly?" asked 
 David, furious at his reception, of the slim 
 girl cowering in fear against the cabin walL 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Then I'll be comin' next Thursday," de- 
 clared Davy, "and I'll bring a horse, saddle 
 and bridle for you, and you must be ready to 
 come along o' me. For we'll be married, Polly, 
 but I won't be married in this house." 
 
 "Ye shan't get my girl," shrilled the mother 
 after him, as he turned away from the door and 
 mounted his horse. 
 
66 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "But I know I shall, if somebody else don't 
 get her before Thursday," thought David to 
 himself. 
 
 Sure enough, when Thursday dawned, a 
 bright sun looked down upon a gay enough 
 wedding party winding its way on horseback 
 through the dim forest. It consisted of the 
 intended bridegroom, his eldest brother and his 
 wife, another brother and a sister, besides two 
 other young men, neighbors of the Crocketts. 
 This company proceeded to within two miles 
 of the Finlay home, when it was met by a large 
 crowd of folk from the surrounding country, 
 who had heard of the approaching wedding and 
 the opposition of the bride's mother. Davy 
 was popular for miles around, because of his 
 genial ways and generous nature, and was ad- 
 mired besides for his skill and daring in all the 
 backwoods games and feats of strength. His 
 friends wanted to lend him their support and 
 sjTiipathy, and also not to miss anything that 
 might be going on. Some rode horseback, some 
 were afoot, and all mingled together the im- 
 posing company swept up the road to Polly 
 Finlay's humble home. Weddings were per- 
 haps the most popular social events in the year 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 67 
 
 1804. Davy rode at the head. He clattered 
 up to the cabin door, and without any attempt 
 at dismounting, pushed it wide and shouted 
 within : 
 
 "Are you ready, Polly?" 
 
 Poor Polly, who had had no chance to pre- 
 pare a wedding gown even if it were possible 
 for her to have one, falteringly answered, as 
 she came forward: 
 
 "Yes, David." 
 
 *'Then light on this horse I'm leadin','' com- 
 manded her determined fiance, and the maiden 
 meekty obeyed. With a shout of triumph 
 David flicked his horse wdth the reins, and the 
 whole party turned, preparatory to following 
 the pair to the home of the justice of the peace. 
 Mrs. Finlay stood abashed. She had supposed 
 David would come alone, and she meant to give 
 him such a tongue lashing as would prevent 
 him from ever returning to her home. But the 
 sight of so many neighbors had taken her 
 aback. She knew their sympathies were not 
 with her, and she dared not begin a tirade 
 against the sturdy David with everyone looking 
 on and listening. She was a woman of strong 
 impulses, and after all, David was a likely 
 
68 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 young fellow, even if he hadn't a penny to his 
 name. 
 
 *'Wait/' she commanded suddenly, extend- 
 ing a hand to the departing couple. "I can't 
 bear to see Polly goin' off to get married away 
 from home," she explained; "she's the first 
 child I ever had to marry, and I don't want to 
 lose her. But get down and come in ; I'll do the 
 best I can for you." 
 
 With that, David, whose anger was quickly 
 cooled, lifted his little bride from her horse, and 
 sent off post-haste for his parson. The mar- 
 riage was performed at once, and the bride and 
 groom rode away to the Crockett cabin, amid 
 the shouted good wishes of the assembled com- 
 pany. 
 
 "I've gotten my wife," exulted David. "I 
 need nothing more in the whole world." 
 
VII 
 
 DAVY GETS HIS DANDER UP 
 
 "Davy, Davy!" called Polly Crockett one 
 morning, running out of a rather dilapidated 
 cabin on the banks of a little stream. 
 
 "Whoa, there, Polly girl," returned Davy 
 imperturbably, looking up from his leisurely 
 preparation of some deerskins which he in- 
 tended for tanning. "What's the disturbance? 
 Old Sharpnose the b'ar got one o' the young 
 'uns?" Old Sharpnose was a bear that had 
 been raiding neighboring pig-pens for several 
 weeks past, and the surrounding region had 
 been considerably worked up over his depreda- 
 tions. 
 
 "Davy," whispered Polly, who was now close 
 beside him, "I just saw an Indian hiding in the 
 bushes." 
 
 David was alert on the instant, though he 
 refused to show excitement by look or word. 
 
 "Shucks, girl," he said, taking Polly's arm, 
 
 69 
 
70 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "a friendly Injun in the woods don't mean 
 much." 
 
 He walked toward the cabin door, neverthe- 
 less, his mind busy with the tales that had been 
 drifting through the border of late; tales of 
 discontent among the Creeks; half -substanti- 
 ated stories of plundered homes, stolen cattle 
 and missing children. 
 
 David and Polly had been married now for 
 several years; it was the year 1813, and David 
 was nearly twenty-seven years old ; there were 
 two little boys in the household. The family 
 lived far away from the old Crockett tavern, 
 for Davy had found that, far from needing 
 nothing more in the world when he had secured 
 his wife, he needed more than he had ever 
 dreamed necessary for his growing family; he 
 had moved twice, therefore, farther and farther 
 into the wilderness, in order that he might get 
 a settler's title to some land, in a region where 
 game was plentiful. He had finally chosen 
 a site on a stream known as Bean's creek, ten 
 miles below what is still Winchester, in Ten- 
 nessee. 
 
 Scarcely had Davy and Polly reached the 
 cabin door, when a lone figure appeared in the 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 71 
 
 clearing. It was not an Indian, but a traveler 
 from Virginia, seeking new lands for home, and 
 at the invitation of the Crocketts, he remained 
 at their cabin for the night. He had heard 
 vague rumors, in his travels, of discontent 
 among the Creeks in Alabama, parties of 
 whom occasionally strayed over the Tennessee 
 border. 
 
 "Old Tecumseh's out for blood," the traveler 
 declared, sitting on the cabin doorstep after 
 supper. "He's one bad Indian too," he went 
 on. "Have you-all heard that he's a British 
 agent?" 
 
 "Well, I did hear some talk," acknowledged 
 Davy. 
 
 "You see it's this-away," continued the vis- 
 itor. "The British are leadin' our seamen a 
 mighty lively dance on the ocean; takin' them 
 off our ships and puttin' them into the King's 
 service, they do say. There's got to be war; 
 and the British are lookin' to this here Tecum- 
 seh to stir up the Indians ag'in us." 
 
 Davy and Polly were spellbound. Great 
 events in the outside world had hitherto passed 
 them by. They lived a life of their own; in 
 the forest, of the forest. War seemed a remote 
 
72 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 thing, despite the occasional mutterings of 
 trouble that had come to their ears. 
 
 David Crockett was greatly impressed by 
 the tale of the chance traveler, and a few weeks 
 later his vague fears were confirmed. He had 
 ridden the ten miles to Winchester, to trade 
 some skins for household supplies, and he came 
 upon an excited throng in the middle of the 
 little settlement. Men, women and children 
 were grouped about a tall man, who was talk- 
 ing loudly, with wild gestures. 
 
 *'The red cut-throats!" he was shouting as 
 Davy drew near. "Murderin' dogs, every 
 mother's son o' them!" 
 
 "What's wrong, stranger?" inquired Davy, 
 pushing his way through the throng. 
 
 "There's been a massacre at Fort Mims," 
 returned the man. "More than five hundred 
 white folk, mutilated or dead — mostly both. 
 It was only a week ago, on August 30th." 
 
 Davy's heart sank ; he knew nothing of war- 
 fare ; brave though he was, he had never hunted 
 anything but the wild animals of his native 
 woods; he had lived among peaceful Indians, 
 and the furious beat of the tom-tom and the 
 war whoop of savages had been merely tales to 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 73 
 
 him, terrifying tales though they were. 
 
 "Let's hear the way of it, stranger," he in- 
 vited. 
 
 Eagerly the center of attention, he began his 
 story once more. It was a tale of horror and 
 bloodshed. 
 
 A gasp of horror went up from the crowd 
 surrounding the speaker, and many of the 
 women wept openly at the picture of cruel war- 
 fare, Davy felt his hands clench, and the blood 
 leave his face. But it was the pallor of rage, 
 not of fear that overspread his features. 
 
 "Did you escape?" he asked the stranger. 
 
 "No, I was not even there, but I passed that 
 way a short time after it was over. I fell in 
 with a man who had been one of the unfortu- 
 nates at the fort. He told me that not more 
 than a dozen people escaped. It was he who 
 led the few who got away out of the fort, by 
 cutting a hole in the picketing. They had to 
 run straight into the Indian lines, and it's a 
 marvel how any of them came out alive. This 
 Dr. Holmes, which is his name, ran like mad 
 for the woods, v/ith the bullets flying all around 
 him. The savages pursued him, but he man- 
 aged to hide in a hole left by a tree that had 
 
74 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 been uprooted by a storm. When the Indians 
 had given up the hunt for him, he stole away 
 at night and wandered for a long time before 
 he found anyone to take him in." 
 
 As he finished, David Crockett leaped into 
 his saddle and with his right arm upraised, he 
 cried to the bystanders : 
 
 "I've licked wildcats and killed bears but I've 
 never split an Indian's head with his own toma- 
 hawk. That's what I'm goin' to do now, till 
 this here right arm's mighty tired." 
 
 A cheer went up from the throng as he rode 
 away, post-haste toward home with the terri- 
 ble news. 
 
 Polly saw his excitement as soon as he came 
 in sight. 
 
 "Whatever's the matter, Davy?" she asked, 
 terror-stricken. He told her the story, and it 
 lost nothing in the telling. 
 
 "There's a big war comin', Polly," he fin- 
 ished, "and I'll be goin' to it with the first." 
 
 "Oh, Davy!" cried his little wife, "it won't 
 come to that?" 
 
 But it did. Only a few days later, a general 
 meeting of the militia was called at Winchester, 
 and volunteers were called for. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 75 
 
 "I'm on my way to Winchester," said Davy, 
 on the day of the meeting. "They'll be wantin' 
 volunteers. It's a duty I owe my country. 
 Buck up, Polly, there's my brave girl." 
 
 Poor Polly turned away to her spinning 
 wheel, and began to weave. But her hands 
 shook at her work, and the heavy tears blinded 
 her so that she could hardly see. David bent 
 over her for a moment, his arm around her 
 shoulders. Then he went out into the autumn 
 sunlight, mounted his horse, and rode away in 
 the direction of Winchester. 
 
VIII 
 
 A KEDSKIN BEHIND EVERY TREE 
 
 "We've shore got 'em cooked to a cracklin' 
 this time; the Indians in that there town are 
 bound for another country." 
 
 David, with a handful of volunteers, was dis- 
 cussing a proposed attack on an Indian vil- 
 lage eight miles away. The volunteer army, 
 nine hundred strong, was encamped at Ten 
 Islands, on the Coosa River, where a fort had 
 been built. Several weeks had passed since the 
 first Indian scare, and Andrew Jackson, by 
 popular acclaim, had been chosen as the leader 
 of the white men against the red. There had 
 been as yet no real fighting, but plenty of hard- 
 ship and near-starvation for the little army, 
 which strengthened rather than lessened the de- 
 termination of the volunteers to show the In- 
 dians their mettle. Now that they were on the 
 verge of a real conflict, the talk ran wildly on 
 the coming excitement. It was nearly day- 
 break; the start was about to be made. 
 
 76 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 77 
 
 "We'll give 'em what-for, eh, boys?" cried 
 Davy as the order to march came. He was 
 twenty-seven now, sturdy as one of the mighty 
 trees around him, and had a full beard. He 
 was yet to know fear. 
 
 The force included a party of friendly Cher- 
 okees, and two friendly Creeks who were to act 
 as scouts. These Indians wore white feathers 
 on their heads, and deer tails, in order to pre- 
 vent them for being mistaken for the enemy. 
 As the attacking party neared the town, the 
 order was given to divide, so as to surround 
 the place. Davy was with the cavalry, which 
 went to the right of the line of march, while 
 those on foot turned to the left. Both lines 
 had passed around the town and met on the far 
 side, completely enclosing it, without detection 
 from those within, when a company of rangers 
 was sent to bring on the affray. As they 
 neared the town, the Indians saw them. In a 
 long quivering cry, a yell burst from every 
 red throat. Grasping their rifles, the savages 
 ran at the handful of whites, whom they evi- 
 dently believed to be the whole force with which 
 they had to deal. 
 
 "Hold your fire!" cried David, to a fellow 
 
78 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 beside him who was taking aim. "Wait till 
 they are closer." 
 
 The other dropped his rifle and stood, shoul- 
 der to shoulder with Davy, watching as the 
 rangers fell slowly back, decoying the Indians 
 into the hands of the main line. Believing they 
 had the rangers on the run, the Indians boldly 
 pursued, until they were confronted with the 
 sudden gleam of bristling rifles. 
 
 "Now!" cried Davy, and he and his com- 
 panion took careful aim and fired, at the same 
 moment that nearly every other rifle exploded 
 on that side of the town. The aim of both 
 men was true; two Indians toppled and fell 
 headlong. The sound of their triumphant yell 
 died away in a gurgle, as bullets spat around 
 them in every direction. Many red men fell 
 on the instant ; the others fired one volley, and 
 turning, fled for the shelter of their town. The 
 mighty cordon of volunteers closed in swiftly, 
 and the desperate firing of the Indians was of 
 no avail. The advance of the paleface could 
 not be stopped. 
 
 Davy, who was among the first to rush into 
 the town, saw many a warrior throw down his 
 weapon in token of surrender, while through 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 79 
 
 the hail of bullets rushed the squaws, crying 
 for mercy. They seized the white men's coats, 
 and hung on. These were taken prisoners, 
 along with the warriors who surrendered. 
 
 Meanwhile Davy Crockett was counting. 
 **Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six!" 
 he shouted excitedly. "Forty-six Injuns just 
 ran into that house; come on, boys, let's get 
 'em!" 
 
 Like a flash he had a whole company on his 
 heels as he led the way to the place of refuge. 
 There was a squaw sitting in the door with a 
 bow in her hand, and as they approached she 
 braced it with her foot, slipped an arrow into 
 place and let it fly. It struck a man whose 
 name was Lieutenant Moore. 
 
 "Fire!" cried one of the men, enraged at his 
 death, and a moment later the squaw rolled into 
 the dust, her body riddled with twenty bullets. 
 After that there was no mercy for the Indians ; 
 the white men shot them down like dogs, and 
 someone set fire to the house containing the 
 forty- six warriors. 
 
 When the count was taken, it was found that 
 a hundred and eighty-six of the Indians had 
 been killed or taken prisoners, while only five 
 
80 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 of the white men had lost their hves. The army 
 returned to their fort, which they called Fort 
 Strother, and next day Davy was one of a 
 party sent back to see if there was any food in 
 the town, for the army had been for several 
 days on half rations. 
 
 A few nights later, while the fort, still half- 
 starved, was wrapped in slumber, the watch 
 was startled by a voice from the forest : 
 
 "No shoot!" it cried. "Injun friend. No 
 shoot!" 
 
 Permission was given for the "friend" to 
 advance, the guard meanwhile watching the 
 forest closely. But one Indian only appeared, 
 and he begged to be sent to "Captain Jackson." 
 As no information could be obtained otherwise, 
 he was conducted to the general while the sol- 
 diers, awakened by the clamor, waited fear- 
 fully to hear of an approaching attack. 
 
 Instead, an order came in a few minutes. It 
 was: "Prepare to march at once." 
 
 Within an hour the army was moving across 
 the Coosa River and in the direction of the 
 friendly Creek town of Talladega. Davy 
 chanced to be near the runner, who had been 
 supplied with a horse. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 81 
 
 *' What's the matter?" he asked him. *^Red 
 Sticks after you?" 
 
 The runner nodded. "Heap big army," he 
 explained. "Won't let us have food — say we 
 must come fight paleface." 
 
 From the talk that soon drifted through the 
 ranks, Davy learned that a hundred and fifty 
 friendly Creeks, living in the little town of 
 Talladega, were being besieged by eleven hun- 
 dred Red Sticks, who demanded that they join 
 the war party against the whites. They had 
 been given three days to surrender, and in the 
 meantime the besiegers camped outside, believ- 
 ing that their victims would be starved out by 
 that time. The runner who had reached Fort 
 Strother had disguised himself as a hog, in 
 order to escape through the lines of the Red 
 Sticks. 
 
 Friendly Indians led the white men to the be- 
 sieged fort, and by sun-up the forces were di- 
 viding as before, in order to surround the town 
 and the besiegers as well. 
 
 "Not a Red Stick in sight," murmured 
 David as he marched on. He took up his po- 
 sition with the rest, and watched while Major 
 Russell, detached from the rest, was sent for- 
 
82 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 ward with his company, along with Captain 
 Evans, and another small group to bring on the 
 attack. As these men passed the fort, the top 
 of it was lined with the friendly Indians of the 
 town, who stood crying : 
 "How-dy-do, brother? How-dy-do?" 
 The whites had just passed by the town, 
 when the Indians on the palisade broke into a 
 stream of words in their own tongue, pointing 
 and gesticulating frantically. The officers, ig- 
 norant of their language, continued their way 
 toward a high meadow that half encircled the 
 town. As he watched, David saw two Indians 
 jump from the palisade, and run to the horses 
 of the leaders, pointing excitedly in the direc- 
 tion of this meadow. The party halted; next 
 moment the Red Sticks were upon them, a 
 thousand screams of fury filling the morn- 
 ing air as they rushed across the half -moon 
 meadow, which was in reality the high bank of 
 a stream. Beneath the shoulder of this bank, 
 amid the heavy thickets, the savages had been 
 in hiding. Armed with a few guns, and their 
 own bows and arrows, the enraged Red 
 Sticks charged on their foe. Their naked 
 bodies seemed to be ablaze in the light of the 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 83 
 
 rising sun, smeared as they were with scarlet 
 paint. 
 
 David, with his comrades beside him, pressed 
 forward to meet the oncoming horde, as Rus- 
 sell and Evans, abandoning their horses, led 
 their men swiftly inside the fort. The savages 
 came on yelling at every step, until the crackle 
 of a rifle effectively stopped a cry here and 
 there. Confronted with a furious onslaught of 
 lead many turned to flee, only to be met by an- 
 other wall of shining barrels closing in on 
 them from the rear. The cordon of foot and 
 horse which had been thrown around the town 
 was doing effective work; the savages fell like 
 hail on a summer's day. At last, in a frenzy, 
 the survivors charged upon a part of the line 
 that was made up of drafted militia; it broke 
 the ranks, and the Indians escaped. When the 
 dead were counted, it was found that four 
 hundred had fallen. Fifteen whites were car- 
 ried off the battlefield and laid in one grave, 
 and two more died of their wounds. 
 
 The army was pitiably small; there were less 
 than a thousand whites, in addition to two 
 hundred and fifty friendly Cherokees and 
 Creeks, when Davy set out with a company of 
 
84 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 spies to lead the way for the army through the 
 treacherous forest. 
 
 They pushed their way to the Horseshoe 
 Bend of the Tallapoosa River. 
 
 "Indians!" cried Davy one morning, observ- 
 ing the print of a moccasin in the soft earth. 
 
 "Maybe it's just a hunter," suggested Jim 
 Hart, who had elected to go with Davy. 
 
 "Maybe it's a hunter a-huntin' our scalps," 
 returned Davy scornfully. A few feet further 
 on his words were justified. Many traces of 
 moccasins were still fresh along the river bank 
 and there were the remains of a huge bonfire, 
 with the bones of animals scattered about, 
 showing where the Indians had feasted. The 
 scouts turned their horses about, and rode 
 swiftly back to warn the army. 
 
 Night had come on by the time the warning 
 had been given, and it was decided to strike 
 camp, though there was every prospect of an 
 attack. Anxious straining into the darkness 
 could avail nothing; it was best to take a rest 
 when the opportunity offered. 
 
 Davy prepared to take his sleep with the 
 others ; he had ridden far, and, like all the army, 
 he was but scantily nourished. The country 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 85 
 
 at large seemed indifferent to the war on the 
 Alabama nations, and supplies for the army 
 were impossible to obtain. The Red Sticks, 
 on the other hand, were being furnished with 
 firearms and ammunition by the British, for 
 the War of 1812 was raging, and it was a Brit- 
 ish advantage when part of the Americans were 
 occupied with local wars with the Indians. 
 
 As he wrapped himself in his blanket for 
 the sleep that he felt certain would soon be dis- 
 turbed, Davy cast a longing glance toward the 
 great forest wall. But it presented only a 
 black impenetrable front to his gaze, and the 
 red men whom Davy felt near remained hid- 
 den in its mysterious depths. 
 
 Night was at its blackest, just before the ap- 
 proach of day, when the ominous note of the 
 Indian war whoop struck into the conscious- 
 ness of the sleeping soldiers. On the heels of 
 the long-drawn cry came the crack of half a 
 dozen rifles, as the Red Sticks took aim at 
 the camp's sentinels. They rushed back, as the 
 others, roused to action, sprang to their feet, 
 rifles ready and eyes keen to pierce the dark- 
 ness. The camp was made in the form of a 
 hollow square; therefore the soldiers were be- 
 
86 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 tween the fires and the forest. Hurriedly some 
 of the men threw fresh logs across the glaring 
 coals. "We'll catch sight of the Indians in 
 the blaze," they said confidently. Crack ! crack ! 
 went the report of many rifles. The whites 
 dodged and fired into the woods ; bullets buried 
 themselves in the ground, sang about their 
 ears. Davy and George Russell fought side 
 by side, but they fought an invisible foe. 
 
 "Them Indians are mighty wary," observed 
 Davy during a short lull. "I ain't caught sight 
 o' one yet, have you, George?" 
 
 "Nary a one," replied George. "The var- 
 mints are pickin' us out pretty well though, by 
 the light o' these fires." As he spoke, Davy 
 heard the swish of a bullet, and a soft sigh. 
 George threw up his hands and sank to the 
 ground. With set teeth, Davy turned from 
 his stricken friend and fired furiously into the 
 darkness. He reloaded his gun with terrible 
 swiftness and fired again and again, but no 
 sound came from the forest, nothing to show 
 that any of the bullets found their mark. All 
 around him, his comrades dropped, but no bit 
 of winged lead found Davy Crockett, and he 
 fired gallantly on until the dawn reddened the 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 87 
 
 sky. Then like magic, the rain of bullets from 
 the forest ceased, and the trees stood out gray 
 and gaunt in the light of the coming day, but 
 no painted warrior was to be seen, slinking 
 through the underbrush. It was as if no battle 
 had ever been, except for the wounded men. 
 Four had been killed outright, and many had 
 been hurt. George Russell was among the lat- 
 ter, and Davy embraced him rapturously when 
 he found that the bullet which caught him had 
 gone clean through his leg. 
 
 "You'll be peggin' away in no time, y' young 
 wildcat, you," he told him confidently, and 
 George smiled feebly in answer. 
 
 "Here, Davy," called one of the men, "give 
 us a hand here with a shovel. We'll get these 
 poor boys under ground afore the Injuns get 
 a chance to scalp 'em." 
 
 Davy lent a willing hand, and soon there was 
 a hole deep enough for the bodies of the four 
 dead men. They covered them over with earth, 
 and made a huge bonfire on top, so that the 
 Indians might not guess where they were 
 buried. Then they hastily set to work cutting 
 down young trees, in order to make long, flexi- 
 ble poles. These they bound together with 
 
88 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 ropes of deerskin, which they carried, rolled 
 into balls, for just such a purpose. When a 
 strong litter had thus been made, it was fas- 
 tened between two horses, one at each end, and 
 on this a wounded man could be fairly comfor- 
 table. The four were disposed of in this fash- 
 ion, and the army began its retreat. 
 
 All this time the forest had been silent with 
 a menacing calm. The men were now tired 
 out with their hard fighting, and General Jack- 
 son hoped to get them away from the danger 
 of attack before they should be surprised once 
 more. 
 
 Davy rode over the rough, narrow way, jest^ 
 ing and telhng funny stories for the benefit of 
 George, who needed all the consolation he 
 could get, in Davy's estimation. 
 
 "Yes," Davy was saying, "the major in- 
 sisted that he'd seen two balls o' fire, right on 
 the limb over our heads " 
 
 Crack ! Leaving his story unfinished, Davy 
 whirled around in the direction of the creek he 
 had just crossed. About half the army was 
 safely across, but a horde of Indians had risen 
 from behind stumps and trees, and fallen upon 
 the rear guard with a heavy shower of lead. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 89 
 
 The scene was wildly confused. Major Rus- 
 sell, who had been left behind when the march 
 started, in order to gather information about 
 the movements of the Indians, was now visible, 
 with his party of scouts, hotly pursued by a 
 host of yelling savages. In one glance Davy 
 took in the situation : the savages had chosen a 
 perfect moment for their attack; the artillery- 
 men were in an open field, surrounded by the 
 forest; it was on these men that the Indians, 
 themselves safe in the woods, began to direct 
 their heaviest fire. With every crack of their 
 rifles, almost, a white man fell prostrate, and 
 to Davy's horror he saw that panic had seized 
 the ranks of the whites. He saw two colonels 
 fleeing for their lives with their men behind 
 them, leaving the rear guard, only twenty-five 
 men, under Colonel Carroll, surrounded by 
 the howling savages. His eyes narrowed as 
 he saw one of the colonels, crazed by fear, 
 riding past General Jackson himself, and he 
 saw the lunge that Jackson made at him with 
 his sword, but missed him as he sped by. 
 
 Next instant Davy had thrown caution to 
 the winds and, riding frantically, he threw 
 himself in with Major Russell and his scouts, 
 
90 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 who were rushing aross the stream to aid the 
 rear guard. Meanwhile the artillerymen had 
 succeeded in dragging their one six-pound can- 
 non to the top of the hill which formed the bank 
 of the creek. 
 
 "Ha, you red varmint!" exulted Davy, as a 
 shot from his rifle laid low an oncoming 
 savage. His exultation was premature. As 
 the redskin's death cry quivered on the air, 
 Davy turned to confront two more, hideously 
 painted, with cold ferocity in their eyes. He 
 took careful aim at the rude painting of a 
 beaver on a savage breast, and the nearer of 
 the two Indians fell forward on his face. But 
 there was no time to reload, the second war- 
 rior was close, tomahawk upraised; another 
 spring 
 
 Davy whipped his own tomahawk from his 
 belt, and before the savage could spring, he 
 was upon him, fighting with the fury of a wild- 
 cat at bay. The Indian was too quick for the 
 first blow that Davy aimed at his head; he 
 jumped aside, and swung his tomahawk; Davy, 
 furious that his first blow had been lost, put all 
 his strength in a leap toward the Indian as the 
 blow descended; his own head struck the 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 91 
 
 Indian's upraised arm, sending the hatchet 
 whirling from his grasp ; with bhnd rage Davy 
 struck with his own tomahawk at the same 
 time, hardly knowing where his blow fell; he 
 gazed, stupefied with surprise, as the warrior's 
 head rolled at his feet. 
 
 But there was no time to waste in idle won- 
 der. Hastily reloading his rifle, Davy looked 
 around for another foe. The sound of hailing 
 grapeshot caught his attention, and he saw with 
 satisfaction that the artillerymen had turned 
 their Cannon on the Indians below the high 
 bank of the creek, spreading death and terror. 
 They took to their heels and ran for the woods, 
 and Davy with the other scouts pursued them, 
 shooting at every step. When the Indian dead 
 were counted, one hundred and eighty-nine 
 were found on the scene of battle; twenty vol- 
 unteers had been killed and seventy-five were 
 wounded. The way was now clear for Jack- 
 son's retreat to the Coosa River, and he fell 
 back without any further encounters. 
 
IX 
 
 WRESTING A HOME FROM THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Several years had elapsed since the close of 
 the Creek War, and Davy's return to his little 
 family on Bean's Creek. He had lived with 
 his wife and children happily for a couple of 
 years, and a little girl had been added to the 
 family circle, when Polly, the loyal little wife 
 whom he loved so well, took sick and died. 
 Davy struggled on a while with the aid of his 
 brother, but he felt that his children needed a 
 mother. So he chose the widow of a comrade 
 who had served with him in the war, and 
 together they founded a new home on Shoal 
 Creek, in the extreme southern part of Ten- 
 nessee, about eighty miles from the little cabin 
 on Bean's Creek. 
 
 This place was a short way from the eastern 
 boundary of a section which had recently been 
 purchased from the Chickasaw Indians. 
 
 There was no law or order there when Da\y 
 
 92 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 93 
 
 and his family arrived, but as more people 
 moved out from other settlements, and many 
 outlaws fled across the border, it became neces- 
 sary to establish some system of law. So the 
 people got together and appointed magistrates, 
 for enforcing the restrictions that were neces- 
 sary, and Davy Crockett was chosen to be a 
 justice of the peace. Davy knew no law, but 
 he had a keen sense of right and wrong; 
 his decisions were always just, and his fellow 
 settlers accepted them. Although he could not 
 write well enough to sign his name when he was 
 appointed, Davy practiced constantly until he 
 was able to make a creditable showing. 
 
 He was elected colonel of a regiment by his 
 admiring neighbors, and this was followed, in 
 1821, by election to the state legislature. On 
 his return from Nashville, where the legisla- 
 ture met, Davy found his grist mill in 
 ruins, because of a freshet, and decided to 
 have a look at the Obion River region, which 
 he had heard of as a place abounding in game. 
 It was in this part of the country that Davy, 
 Abram Henry, and Davy's son found them- 
 selves, after tramping a hundred and fifty 
 miles through the wilderness. 
 
94 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 One morning the exploring party were on 
 their way at dawn. 
 
 "Look, Father," cried the boy, after they 
 had proceeded for some time in silence. 
 "There's a tree split in half, and each half is on 
 a different side of that big hole." 
 
 "That's a queer thing, now," replied Davy. 
 "I reckon that's the work o' some o' them earth- 
 quakes I've heard about; if it wa'nt the work o' 
 the first one itself." 
 
 "What first one. Father?" 
 
 "Why, I reckon we're mighty near the heart 
 o' that wild country they call the ^Shakes'," 
 explained Davy. "Long about ten years ago, 
 Tecumseh, chief o' the Shawnees, had a quarrel 
 with some of the southern Indians, about goin' 
 to war with the whites. That was the very war 
 your dady was in," he told the boy. "Well, 
 when Tecumseh went away, he said that he 
 would stamp on the ground, and houses would 
 fall. I don't know whether he stamped or not, 
 but anyhow long about this time there were 
 earthquakes along the Mississippi. A whole 
 town disappeared — that was New Madrid, and 
 the river overflowed its banks and made new 
 lakes. Reelfoot Lake, which I reckon is fifty 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 95 
 
 miles or so from where we are now, appeared 
 at that time. Where a great forest of pine had 
 stood one day, there was a lake fifty miles long 
 the next, and the tops o' some of the tallest 
 trees were showin' above the water." 
 
 "Do they have earthquakes now?" asked the 
 boy, regarding the landscape fearfully. 
 
 Davy was undisturbed. "Oh, now and 
 then," he said. "But they don't do any damage 
 to speak of now. These here harricanes lyin' 
 everywhere about are the work o' these shakes." 
 
 Abram and the young boy could well believe 
 it. The country through which they were now 
 passing was almost impenetrable in spots, large 
 forest trees lay twisted and tangled with each 
 other, and covered with dense underbrush that 
 had sprung up since the monarchs of the 
 wilderness had been torn from the earth. The 
 region was wilder than any Davy had ever 
 seen, and he realized why the Indians feared to 
 rear their wigwams there. For many years the 
 region had been uninhabited, a fact which ac- 
 counted for the great abundance of game 
 which appeared as they made their way on 
 and on through the underbrush. 
 
 "I hear as how the Indians are takin' up 
 
96 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 this place as a huntin' ground again," ob- 
 served Abram, "and I reckon it's a good 
 huntin' ground — all o' that. Thar, Davy," he 
 added, as they came into a somewhat open 
 space, "thar's the very spot for yo're home." 
 
 Davy slapped Abram on the back. "'That's 
 the spot!" he cried delightedly. The place 
 which lay before them was indeed the embodi- 
 ment of all that Davy had stipulated was 
 necessary to his comfort. They were on a high 
 bank, beneath which the Obion River wound a 
 tortuous way; the little plateau would need 
 but scant clearing, and the wilderness rose 
 solidly at their backs. 
 
 After spending considerable time in admira- 
 tion of the site, Davy announced that they'd 
 best be making a call upon their neighbors. 
 He knew that a family named Owens lived in 
 the vicinity, and judged that their cabin was 
 still about seven miles away, for he had been 
 given directions before he left the settlement 
 at Shoal Creek. 
 
 "Might as well hobble the horse out to graze 
 until we get back," he announced, suiting the 
 action to the word. Then securing a pole, he 
 led the way to the river, for the Owens' cabin 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 97 
 
 was on the other side. It was late in spring, 
 and the Obion was in flood; it had overflowed 
 its banks for a half mile on both shores. 
 
 "Looks cold," said Davy, pausing on the 
 brink, and stepping gingerly into the water. 
 "It is cold," he added, "but I reckon we'll just 
 have to take to it like so many beavers." 
 
 Thereupon he plunged ahead, feeling with 
 his pole as he went, to get the depth, and the 
 others followed. The going was extremely 
 slippery and uncertain. Davy put his pole too 
 far ahead, and the next instant he was standing 
 in water up to his neck. 
 
 "Shucks, now," he cried, "who'd have 
 thought there was a hole plumb in the middle 
 of this meadow?" 
 
 He was more careful after that, and when 
 they reached other sloughs, as they did many 
 times after, he took his tomahawk and cut down 
 small trees, which he laid across the hole, and 
 used as bridges. Frequently the boy, being 
 smaller than the other two, had to swim where 
 his father and Abram were able to wade. 
 
 The first half mile accomplished, Davy per- 
 ceived from the rush of the water that they 
 were standing on the edge of the river's chan- 
 
98 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 nel. A large tree had fallen into the water 
 from the other side, but it did not reach across. 
 However, there was another tree on the side of 
 the travelers. 
 
 "I wonder if I can fell that, so's to reach the 
 other?" asked Davy, eyeing the distance doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 "Well, Davy, I reckon if anybody can do 
 that, you can," returned Abram, who had the 
 greatest admiration for Davy's hardiness. 
 
 Thereupon they set to work with Davy's 
 tomahawk at the tree trunk, taking turns at 
 hacking away until it was nearly ready to fall. 
 Then Davy took charge exclusively, and he 
 made every blow of his ax tell. As good luck 
 would have it, the tree fell in the right place, 
 and formed just the bridge they needed to 
 bring them to the other tree. 
 
 But they were not by any means out of the 
 water when they reached the far side of the 
 river channel. As on the opposite bank, the 
 stream had overflowed, in many places to a 
 great depth, and all the performance had to be 
 gone over with. They tried for firm footing; 
 they stumbled again and again; they waded 
 when they could and swam when they had to, 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 99 
 
 and at last sighted dry land. It was as wel- 
 come as ever the coast to a mariner, after a 
 long sea voyage. 
 
 Now they set off briskly along the old 
 Indian trail that wound through the woods. It 
 was not much further to the Owens' cabin, 
 Davy was sure. 
 
 "Here, Sonny, take my hand," he said to the 
 boy, as he climbed over a pile of brush, and 
 turned back to aid his son, following in his foot- 
 steps. The boy did so, and Davy was startled 
 to find the hand was burning hot. He glanced 
 at him sharply, and found he was shaking with 
 a chill. 
 
 "Now, now, this will never do," said Davy, 
 in distress, "No time for fever now. Sonny." 
 But his heart was very anxious, though the 
 words were light, and it was with the greatest 
 relief that he saw at last the Owens' home 
 straight ahead. Mr. Owens, whom Davy 
 knew, and several other men were just leaving 
 the cabin. Upon seeing the three drenched 
 and bedraggled wanderers, they stopped in 
 surprise. When Davy was recognized, Mr. 
 Owens welcomed him and his companions, and 
 at once the whole party returned to the cabin. 
 
100 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 Mrs. Owens bustled forward at their en- 
 trance. 
 
 "My, my!" she exclaimed, like the good, 
 motherly soul she was, "whatever did you go 
 and get your deaths of cold for ? Heap up the 
 iire, Father, and let's get these folks het up 
 right away." 
 
 Overflowing with sjmipathy and kindness, 
 she offered the men dry clothing and warm 
 food, and took Davy's son completely under 
 her wing. He was wrapped in blankets, plied 
 with hot drinks, and fussed over until Davy's 
 heart nearly burst with gratitude, for his old- 
 est son was the apple of his eye. 
 
 "Your kindness to my little boy does me ten 
 times as much good as anything you can do 
 for me, ma'am," he told her, whole-heartedly. 
 
 The men with Mr. Owens, Davy discovered, 
 were boatmen. They had brought a flat-bot- 
 tomed boat up the Obion from the Mississippi, 
 and were bound for McLemore's Bluff, a point 
 a hundred miles further on the river, although 
 only thirty by land, as the river was continually 
 winding. The crew were to receive a bonus of 
 five hundred dollars if they landed their 
 boatload of articles for trade at this point, as it 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 101 
 
 was to be a proof that the river could be navi- 
 gated that far. The whole party now hung 
 around the cabin until after supper, when 
 Da\y and Abram went down to the boat to 
 spend the night, leaving Davy's boy under the 
 care of Mrs. Owens. 
 
 Morning found the river much lower than it 
 had been the day before, and although the boat 
 got along as far as the "harricane," Mr. Owens 
 had mentioned, it was discovered that there was 
 not sufficient water to float the boat across the 
 great mass of trees that had blown down, chok- 
 ing the river from shore to shore. 
 
 "Can't get through here to-day, boys," ob- 
 served Da\^ after several unsuccessful at- 
 tempts to get by had been made. "Got to wait 
 for rain now. You fellows might as well come 
 down to my site and help me slap up a cabin." 
 
 The boatmen good-naturedly agreed to this, 
 and Davy and Mr. Owens led the way to the 
 little plateau seven miles down the river. 
 While a couple of the men busied themselves 
 with smoothing down a space of fifteen by 
 twenty feet which would serve as the floor, the 
 rest were in the forest, choosing straight- 
 trunked trees, felling them with their sharp 
 
102 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 axes and cutting them into logs of suitable 
 length. They notched the logs at the ends, and 
 dragging them to the selected spot, began to 
 pile them up to make the walls. Mr. Owens 
 had brought along his auger; with this holes 
 were bored in the logs which had been cut 
 through on one side of the cabin, in order to 
 make a door. This space was about three feet 
 wide, and split logs were fastened lengthwise 
 against the cut ends by means of wooden pegs, 
 hammered into the auger holes. The roof was 
 soon in place ; long poles were laid on top, and 
 lashed in place with deerskin thongs. Over 
 these spht pieces of log and heavy bark were 
 laid. A window was made in the same fashion 
 as the door, and an opening at one end was left 
 for the chimney. This was constructed last, of 
 logs piled up outside; the fireplace inside was 
 formed by slabs of stone laid at the sides and 
 back. Cracks and openings were now chinked 
 up with clay, and Davy's new home was com- 
 plete. The men all returned to the boat, Davy 
 with them, and he bargained to go with them 
 to their landing place, in return for some sup- 
 plies — four barrels of meal, one of salt, ten 
 gallons of spirits, and a piece of bacon. With 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 103 
 
 these he stocked his cabin, and sent Abram and 
 his son to stay there until he returned. 
 
 It rained a bit that night, and next morning 
 the boatmen decided to try their luck once 
 more. Armed with long poles, with which they 
 pushed the boat along when it would have 
 stopped in the sluggish stream, they reached 
 the "harricane" again, and finding it still im- 
 passable, stopped for the night. At daylight 
 Davy rose, announcing that he was going to 
 kill a deer while they were waiting for a flood 
 to carry them over the obstruction. 
 
 With his rifle in his hand, Davy set off in 
 high spirits. 
 
 "This is sure a game country, anyways," he 
 murmured to himself, as he brought down a 
 splendid buck before he had gone many paces 
 into the wilderness. He slung the deer across 
 his shoulders and started back to the boat. 
 
 "Hello, a herd of elks!" he cried, stopping 
 suddenly in his tracks. The trail was there, 
 plain enough, evidently a whole herd had 
 passed a short time before. Davy had never 
 had much experience with elks; they had fled 
 into deeper recesses long before he had learned 
 to use the rifle in his early home. He promptly 
 
104 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 hung his deer in a tree, where it would be safe 
 from prowling animals, and set out on the elks' 
 trail. 
 
 "Well, I'll be shot — this is sl game country!" 
 he commented under his breath a moment later, 
 as two more very large and splendid bucks 
 appeared before his eyes. He pulled the trig- 
 ger, and one of the animals dropped where it 
 stood. The other, apparently grief-stricken 
 for the fate of its companion, refused to take to 
 flight, but stood beside the lifeless form. 
 Hastily reloading, Davy brought down the 
 loyal creature. The two bodies he hung on a 
 limb, as he had done the first one, and contin- 
 ued on the trail of the elks. 
 
 It was long after midday before he had a 
 sight of the elks, but before he came within 
 shooting distance, they dashed off. Un- 
 daunted, Davy kept up the chase until evening 
 was coming on, when he discovered that he was 
 almost faint from hunger. 
 
 "Halloa — halloa — halloa!" cried Davy into 
 the twilight. 
 
 "Halloa!" echoed the woods in answer. 
 
 "The consarned flat-bottom's got off, and 
 no mistake," cried Davy. He was very much 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 105 
 
 worn out, very hungry and exceedingly anx- 
 ious to spend the night on board the boat, and 
 not in the depths of the lonely forest. He 
 fired his gun, and an answering report came 
 back from the distance. 
 
 It was dark by this time, and Davy was 
 almost too tired to move. But he set out to 
 crawl along the "harricane," through briers 
 and brambles and berry bushes, all growing 
 over the fallen and half- submerged timber in a 
 way that made it a torment to try to get along. 
 
 "No soundin's for me to-night," he told him- 
 self firmly. With that he raised his voice once 
 more, and the boatmen, who were not far off, 
 heard him and sent out a skiff to search for 
 him. Guiding them with his voice, they soon 
 located the torn and bruised hunter, and 
 brought him back to the boat. 
 
 "I reckon I want sewin' up, all over," ob- 
 served the weary deer-slayer, as he tried to 
 swallow the food they brought him. "And I'ni 
 so tired I can hardly work my jaws." 
 
 He slept as soundly as man ever did that 
 night. 
 
X 
 
 DAVY PEEP ARES FOR CHRISTMAS 
 
 "Davy!" called Mrs. Crockett, "Davy!" 
 
 Striding along several paces ahead, with his 
 rifle on his shoulder, and guiding a pack-horse 
 with one hand, Davy was marching through 
 the autumn woods, singing at the top of his 
 voice. It took several repetitions of Mrs. 
 Crockett's call before he heard her. 
 
 "Stop singing a minute, for mercy's sake, 
 Davy!" she said then. "Anybody'd think you 
 had something to sing for, to hear you. Come 
 back here and fix this pack; it's slipping." 
 
 Abandoning his own horse to the care of 
 one of the children, Davy retraced his steps 
 along the narrow trail. His wife, w^ho was 
 leading the other pack-horse, added an unnec- 
 essary touch of color to the riotous woods, in 
 her dress of homemade linsey, dyed bright 
 scarlet. 
 
 Davy eyed her in great surprise. 
 
 106 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 107 
 
 "Why, Mother," he said, "you're not gettin' 
 tired o' trampin', are you?" 
 
 "Oh, Davy, it's been a long, long way," she 
 sighed. "I don't feel as if I could stand an- 
 other night in the woods — especially if it rains. 
 It looks cloudy, too." 
 
 "Well, now, you won't have to," returned 
 Davy cheerfully. "We're within a couple of 
 dozen paces of the house this minute," and as 
 he adjusted the pack, he took his wife by the 
 arm. 
 
 The hazy gold of the day was fading as the 
 little procession reached its destination. The 
 "couple of dozen paces" had stretched them- 
 selves out until even Davy's blithe spirit began 
 to droop. A hundred and fifty miles through 
 the wilderness, over hills and prairies and 
 streams was not a journey to be attempted by 
 the faint-hearted. 
 
 "Here we are. Mother!" cried Davy, who 
 had taken the lead again. "See our golden 
 ears a-wavin' in the breeze?" He seized the 
 youngest child in his great arms and swung 
 him above his head. 
 
 "Well, well, you've got a comfortable sight 
 o' corn, Davy," remarked his wife. "It grew 
 
108 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 better'n I'd think, with no care or anything." 
 "It's fine, rich soil," explained Davy. 
 "After I'd helped those fellows with the boat to 
 land their stuff up the river at McLemore's 
 Bluff, one o' them came back with me and 
 helped me clear the land. We just cut down 
 the trees and set fire to the field, and then we 
 got sharp sticks and made holes for the corn. 
 It didn't take but mighty little time, and now 
 you see we've got corn enough for the winter 
 growing between the charred stumps." 
 
 Mrs. Crockett was glad of that. Starting 
 life afresh in an unbroken country, many miles 
 from the little settlement she had called home, 
 was a difficult task at best. 
 
 "Here, Sonny, we'll lug this plunder inside 
 first," said Davy to one of the boys when the 
 tired horses stopped before the cabin door. 
 The blankets, the few rough table utensils, 
 some clothing, and the loom constituted the 
 household "plunder" which the Crockett fam- 
 ily had considered necessary to bring, and very 
 little time was required to set the wheels of 
 domestic machinery running. Davy and his 
 boys went to work the following morning on 
 furniture for the cabin. A table was a neces- 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 109 
 
 sity, but was provided easily enough after a 
 few hours' labor. A good-sized tree was 
 felled, and the trunk split into half. These 
 halves were split again, lengthwise, so as to 
 make two rough planks, which were laid side 
 by side and fastened together with wooden 
 pegs, driven through the two joined edges. 
 Hickory stakes driven into holes made by an 
 auger formed the legs, and completed what 
 was a serviceable table, at least. Davy also 
 went the length of providing a few chairs for 
 his family, and fashioned a bedstead, making 
 the frame of the hewn logs, and in place of the 
 modern spring, roping in the open space with 
 deerskin thongs. But further than this Davy 
 would not go; the children of the family were 
 provided with bearskins for couches, and in- 
 deed, they had never known any other fashion 
 of "going to bed." 
 
 It was now late October, and for several 
 weeks Davy, having gathered in his corn, de- 
 voted himself to providing his family with 
 meat for the winter. Deer and bear were 
 plentiful; in fact, the whole countryside 
 swarmed with all kinds of wild animals, except 
 buffaloes, which had departed further west. 
 
110 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 As Christmas drew near, the Crockett family 
 rejoiced in a plentiful larder of dried and 
 jerked and salted meat, sufficient corn to last 
 if used with care, and fine warm clothing of 
 deerskin, fringed and brightly colored, or 
 rough linsey, woven and fashioned by Mrs. 
 Crockett herself. But Davy's stock of powder 
 was running low. 
 
 "Here we are in the mouth o' Christmas," 
 observed Davy one morning, "and I haven't 
 enough powder to fire off my Christmas guns." 
 
 "It's a pity you didn't get that keg of pow- 
 der your brother-in-law brought out with him," 
 returned Mrs. Crockett, who was at work at 
 her loom. The brother-in-law referred to had 
 lately moved out to the same region, and built 
 his home on the opposite side of the river, about 
 six miles west of the Crockett cabin. 
 
 "It's never too late to mend," retorted Davy, 
 "I'll go after it this verj^ day." 
 
 "What! With the ground covered with 
 snow, and the river flooded with slush? You'd 
 have to walk a mile in icy water up to your 
 waist, to get across." 
 
 Davy rose and went to the cabin door, where 
 he stood looking out at the wintry scene. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 111 
 
 "I've no powder to hunt with," he said, after 
 a bit. * 'What's the good of living in a game 
 country if you've no powder? Besides we'd 
 starve without I kill more varmints. The dried 
 stuff won't last all winter." 
 
 "Might as well starve as for you to get your 
 death," answered his wife. "You'll freeze or 
 get drowned, and where'U I be then, with all 
 the children?" 
 
 "Shucks, Mother. I can take care o' my- 
 self," and Davy began to lace on a pair of 
 deerskin moccasins. Making a bundle of some 
 extra clothing, including shoes and stockings, 
 he fastened his powder horn, with the remains 
 of his powder, around his waist, picked up his 
 riile, and turned a bright smile of farewell upon 
 his family. 
 
 "Take care o' yourselves," he bade them, 
 "and when I get back we'll have a bang-up 
 Christmas celebration." 
 
 Outside, Davy found that the snow was 
 about four inches deep — just enough to make 
 the going wet and cold. It was a quarter of a 
 mile to the river, and Davy was not reassured 
 when he saw it nearby. 
 
 "Looks like the ocean I saw down Baltimore 
 
112 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 way," he thought, as he waded out. Over the 
 channel of the river lay a huge log, which pro- 
 vided easy crossing, but at the other end Davy 
 was forced to take to the water again. He 
 waded on until he came to a deep slough, which 
 he had known of before ; it was wider than the 
 river itself, and he had often crossed it on a 
 log; now the log was nowhere in sight. But 
 Davy knew where it must lie, because when the 
 water was lower there was a little island close 
 beside it, with a sapling growing there, and 
 the sapling was still visible for about six feet. 
 
 "Now what shall I do?" he meditated, star- 
 ing at the sapling, which was quite out of his 
 reach. He had sounded the water with a pole 
 and found that it was a dozen feet in depth. 
 
 "Never saw so many sloughs before in all 
 my life," said Davy, whose pleasure in wading 
 icy streams was vanishing with every step. 
 "Now I wonder can I make that floating log?" 
 
 A floating log is a precarious foothold at any 
 time; for a man already chilled to the bone, 
 whose feet have become nerveless lumps, it is 
 next to impossible to leap upon it and step 
 lightly along its surface. But Davy was equal 
 to mounting the bobbing log, although he could 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 113 
 
 not control its tendency to roll over. By the 
 time he was well in the middle of the slough, 
 with deep water all around him, the ancient 
 tree trunk was listing badly. Next moment 
 Davy found himself up to the neck in an ice- 
 bath. With the instinct of the woodsman, he 
 had flung up his arms, holding aloft his rifle 
 and his extra clothing as he fell, and now he 
 sputtered on for several yards, still with his 
 hands high above his head. Without attempt- 
 ing to regain his footing on the treacherous 
 log which had turned completely over, he 
 struggled on until he found himself on safe 
 ground at last, with no more water to cross. 
 
 "Five mile to go yet," thought Davy, his 
 teeth knocking together and his dripping gar- 
 ments stiffening in the chilling air. With un- 
 bending fingers he started to pull off the wet 
 clothes, his feet buried in the freezing snow, 
 and a sharp wind cutting at his wet skin. It 
 was with great difficulty that he managed to 
 get himself into his dry clothing, and he hung 
 the now frozen garments he had taken off on 
 the limb of a tree, to be picked up again on 
 his way home. 
 
 "Now for a good, stiff run to get the old 
 
114 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 blood goin'," he thought confidently. But, to 
 his surprise, he found that he could not run; 
 the best he could do was to take a step of about 
 six inches' length. Davy was more nearly 
 frozen than he had ever been in his life. He 
 had a dogged determination, however, and he 
 continued to put one foot before the other, 
 however slowly and painfully ; despite the fact 
 that his whole being cried out for rest — ^rest in 
 the snow. On he made his way, his grim will 
 battling with his nerveless body; over the 
 unbroken snow, through the silent, whitened 
 woods. Gradually the use of his limbs re- 
 turned to him, and he went on a httle faster; 
 then a little faster still; but the five miles 
 stretched interminably, and evening had come 
 before there was any sign of a habitation. At 
 last a faint light showed in the distance ; Davy 
 was not quite certain that his eyes were not 
 deceiving him ; then he made out the dark out- 
 lines of his brother's cabin, and the dim light 
 filtering through the tiny window at the side. 
 With the barrel of his rifle he rapped on the 
 cabin door, in a final effort that left him sway- 
 ing against the door jamb. 
 
 "Well, I'll be shot I" exclaimed his brother. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 115 
 
 opening the door and just saving Davy from 
 falling inside. He assisted him over the sill 
 and to a seat at the fire. Seeing that Davy- 
 was exhausted, he busied himself for a while 
 with bringing him round. Davy's wet shoes 
 were pulled from his feet, and warm blankets 
 were thrown around him. Supper was just 
 ready, and after a few swallows of hot soup 
 Davy's stupor began to lighten. 
 
 "What possessed you to go swimmin' a day 
 like this?" inquired the owner of the house. "I 
 never knew you were so all-fired fond o' baths, 
 Davy." 
 
 Davy grinned in returning animation. In 
 short phrases he sketched the day's experience 
 for the family, explaining that he wanted pow- 
 der to fire off his Christmas guns, and didn't 
 feel as if it would be Christmas without that 
 form of celebration. His brother was amazed 
 at what he called Davy's foolhardiness, but as 
 he talked he kept Davy's plate supplied with 
 warm and savory food, and Davy cared little 
 for anyone's opinion of his conduct. 
 
 Next morning, he woke to the music of an 
 icy gale playing round the little lonely cabin. 
 He lay and listened to the shrieks and moans 
 
116 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 of the winter wind, snugly wrapped in bear- 
 skins, with his feet to the glowing fire. 
 
 "Reckon that there bath didn't do me no 
 harm," he observed later, rising from his com- 
 fortable bundle of fur. He stretched his tall 
 frame and tossed one of the children above his 
 head to prove it. 
 
 "Well, you can't be goin' home to-day," 
 responded his brother. "Just put your nose 
 outside that door and see how piercing cold 
 it is." 
 
 It was bitterly cold, as Davy himself ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 "I might as well stay here for a day, and 
 maybe the water '11 be frozen over," he said. 
 "But I'll take a turn in the woods, anyhow, if 
 I can't go home. It's a long time since I had 
 any powder to spare, and I'd kind o' like the 
 feel o' shootin' somethin' to-day." 
 
 Despite the protests of his host, Davy 
 departed, and was soon out of sight in the 
 depth of the wind-swept forest. He returned 
 in a couple of hours, bowed beneath the weight 
 of two deer, and thoroughly satisfied with the 
 day's work. That night the wind grew colder 
 still ; it whirled the snow about the little cabin, 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 117 
 
 and fiercely assaulted the well-chinked spaces 
 between the logs. 
 
 "It would be plain foolishness for you to try 
 to get out to-day," Davy's brother assured him 
 in the morning. "The river'U be frozen over, 
 but not hard enough to bear you." 
 
 Davy admitted the truth of that. He went 
 out hunting again, and pursued a bear all day, 
 but was not able to catch up with it. The fol- 
 lowing day blew in to the tune of a falling 
 temperature, that impelled his host to beg 
 Da^y not to attempt departure in such bitter 
 weather. But Davy's patience was at an end. 
 
 "I reckon I'll be goin', and all the blasts in 
 creation won't stop me," he drawled. "My 
 family's without meat, and I'll get home to 'em 
 or die a-tryin'." 
 
 In vain the others pointed out that there 
 must be sufficient dried meat at home to last 
 for some days to come; that the water would 
 be frozen solid in a few days, or fall back into 
 its natural channel. Davy couldn't wait. With 
 his keg of powder and his rifle, he departed as 
 cheerfully as if no dangers lay in his path. His 
 brother watched him go, with long, easy strides, 
 until the forest wall shut him from sight. 
 
118 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 From the top of a hill Davy saw the river 
 below him, and it looked a sheet of ice as far 
 as he could see. The five mile tramp through 
 the forest, cold though it was, had only served 
 to send his blood racing through his veins, for 
 he was hardy through and through. Cautiously 
 he stepped out on the frozen surface of the 
 river, but he had gone only a few steps when 
 the ice broke. Then for a while he tried break- 
 ing it with his tomahawk ahead of him, so that 
 he could wade. 
 
 "It's a sight better than thinkin' I'm safe 
 and then gettin' thrown in every other step," 
 he assured himself. He waded on until he 
 reached the treacherous log that had over- 
 turned with him on his former trip ; now it was 
 frozen tightly in place, and he could make use 
 of it with impunity. All went well now, until 
 he came to the deep slough where he had 
 crossed on the submerged log. Here the cur- 
 rent was swift, and the water could not freeze. 
 Davy found the log, and crossed on it as be- 
 fore, balancing in several feet of icy water. 
 He climbed the sapling against which he had 
 lodged the forked tree trunk, and leaving his 
 rifle in the tree, he crawled along the lodged 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 119 
 
 sapling with the keg of powder, and deposited 
 it on the far side. Then he returned for his 
 rifle, and crept back once more. By this time 
 he was so nearly frozen that further effort 
 seemed impossible; but he struggled through 
 the rest of the water, keeping his gun high and 
 his powder dry. His stiffened fingers could 
 hardly unloosen his rifle when he at last reached 
 the shelter of his own cabin. 
 
 "Mercy sakes, Davy!" cried his wife, when 
 he opened the door. "We'd given you up for 
 dead." 
 
 "I'm not quite dead, but mighty nigh it," 
 returned Davy, speaking with difficulty, "but 
 I've got my powder, and that's what I went 
 for." 
 
XI 
 
 BATTLING WITH THE MISSISSIPPI 
 
 *'That makes thirty thousand staves we've 
 got ready/' said Davy to his helpers. All day 
 they had been busy bundling up the split oak 
 logs that were to load Davy's two boats, bound 
 for New Orleans. 
 
 "We'll be able to get off in the morning, no 
 doubt o' that," he added. He edged near to 
 the blazing fire about which all hands were 
 gathered, and lay contentedly staring up at 
 the starry sky. 
 
 Davy was feeling prosperous. His pro- 
 posed venture in lumber was about to turn out 
 well, he believed ; with the boats and their loads 
 ready, and the broad river upon which to float 
 them down to market, he felt that failure was 
 out of the question. Many of the men who had 
 helped to build the boats and cut the staves 
 were determined to accompany Davy on his 
 trip, and everybody was looking forward to a 
 
 120 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 121 
 
 good night's rest in preparation for the start 
 next day. 
 
 "You're the greatest bear hunter in the 
 country, ain't you, Davy?" observed one of the 
 men presently. "How many bears 'd you-all 
 kill this last year?" 
 
 "A hundred and five," said Davy promptly. 
 "Killed forty-seven of 'em last month alone." 
 
 "Great snakes!" exclaimed the other. 
 "That's some record. Tell us one o' your ex- 
 citin' adventures, Davy. You must've had a 
 heap." 
 
 Davy considered. "Well — there was one 
 about a week after New Year's ; that was some 
 lively hunt. I'd just got home the week be- 
 fore, havin' killed fifteen bears right out this 
 way. But a neighbor o' mine, whose name is 
 McDaniel, was out o' meat and wanted me to 
 go along back with him and hunt some more. 
 So, not likin' to be done out o' any good bear 
 fights, I went along," grinned Davy. 
 
 "I reckon there aren't many you miss," put 
 in one of the listeners. 
 
 "Not if I can help it. Well, the first day 
 out we got three. Next morning I left my 
 son at the camp, for he had come along o' us. 
 
122 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 and McDaniel and I started on toward the 
 harricane. When we'd gone about a mile, we 
 started a very large bear, but we got along 
 mighty slow on account of the cracks in the 
 earth occasioned by the earthquakes. We, 
 however, made out to keep in hearing of the 
 dogs for about three miles, and then we come 
 to the harricane. Here we had to quit our 
 horses, as Old Nick himself couldn't have got 
 through it. By this time several of my dogs 
 had got tired and come back; but we went 
 ahead on foot for some little time in the harri- 
 cane, when we met a bear comin' straight to 
 us — not more'n twenty or thirty yards off. I 
 started my tired dogs after him, and McDan- 
 iel went after them, while I went on to where 
 my other dogs were. I had seen the track o' 
 the bear they were after, and I know'd he was 
 a screamer. I followed on to about the mid- 
 dle o' the harricane, but my dogs pursued him 
 so close that they made him climb an old stump 
 twenty feet high. I got in shootin' distance, 
 and fired, but bein' in such a flutter from run- 
 nin', I couldn't hold steady; however, I broke 
 his shoulder, and he fell. McDaniel come up 
 just then havin' followed my trail, and I left 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 123 
 
 him to butcher the bear, and went after our 
 horses, and brought them as near as the na- 
 ture o' the ease would allow. I got our bags, 
 and after we'd skinned the bear, and fleeced 
 off the fat, we carried it to the horses in several 
 loads, and when we started back we had a 
 heavy pack of it on each one. We went on 
 till about sunset, when I thought we must be 
 near our camp, so I hollered and my son an- 
 swered me, and we moved in that direction. 
 Just then I heard my dogs make a warm start 
 again; I jumped off my horse and gave him 
 to my friend, and said I'd follow them. He 
 went on to camp and I went after my dogs, 
 runnin' with all my might, until night come on. 
 The woods were rough and hilly, and all cov- 
 ered over with cane. 
 
 **Now I had to go more slowly, and kept 
 fallin' over logs and into the cracks made by 
 earthquakes, so I was scared I'd break my gun. 
 After three miles or so I came to a big creek, 
 and waded it. It was knee-deep and mighty 
 cold, but I was all wet with sweat from run- 
 nin', and didn't feel it much. On the other 
 side I listened for my dogs, and found they 
 were barkin' all the same in the one place. 
 
124 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 so I know'd they mustVe treed him. I pushed 
 on in the direction o' the noise, till I found a 
 hill ahead too steep to climb, so I backed and 
 went down the creek till I come to a hollow, 
 and took up that hill I got to a place where I 
 could climb the hill. 
 
 "I got to the dogs right after that, and 
 found they'd treed a bear in a large forked 
 poplar, and it was settin' in the fork. I could 
 see the lump, but not plain enough to shoot 
 good, as there was no moon, so I set to huntin' 
 dry brush to make a light, but I could find 
 none. But I could find that the ground was 
 torn mightily to pieces by big cracks. 
 
 "Finally I thought I could shoot near 
 enough by guess, so I pointed at the lump and 
 fired away. But the bear clomb up higher, and 
 got out on a limb. Then I loaded up and fired 
 again, but the old fellow didn't move. While 
 I was loadin' for a third shot, the first thing 
 I know'd, the bear was down among my dogs, 
 and they were fightin' all around me. I had 
 my big butcher knife in my belt, and I had a 
 pair o' dressed buckskin breeches on. So I 
 stood determined to defend myself as well as 
 I could. I stood there for some time, and now 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 125 
 
 and then I could see a white dog I had, but the 
 rest of 'em, and the bear, I couldn't see at all. 
 They kept on fightin', sometimes in three feet 
 o' me, but at last the bear got down in one o' 
 the cracks that the earthquake had made in the 
 ground, about four feet deep, and I could tell 
 the bitin' end o' him by the hoUerin' o' my 
 dogs. So I took my gun and pushed the muz- 
 zle about, till I thought I had it against the 
 main part of his body, and fired; but it was 
 only the fleshy part of his foreleg. With this, 
 he jumped out o' the crack, and they all had 
 another hard fight around me. Then the bear 
 was forced into the crack again." 
 
 "Too bad it was so miserable dark," ob- 
 served one of the audience. 
 
 "It was sure dark," continued Davy. "I 
 had laid down my gun and now I started hunt- 
 in' for it, and while huntin' I got hold of a 
 pole, and decided to punch the bear with that. 
 When I'd punch, the dogs'd jump in on him, 
 but he'd bite, and they'd jump out. I con- 
 cluded, as he was takin' punchin' so patiently, 
 that he might lie still enough for me to get 
 down in the crack, and feel around till I could 
 get the right place to dig him with my butcher. 
 
126 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 I jumped in, and my dogs got down before 
 me, and the bear kept his head toward them. I 
 got along up to him easy, and felt for his shoul- 
 der with my hand. Then I made a lunge with 
 my long knife, and stuck him through the 
 heart at which he just sank down, and I 
 crawled out in a hurry. In a little while my 
 dogs crawled out too and seemed satisfied, 
 which was the way they've always had o' tell- 
 in' me they had finished him. 
 
 "By this time I was beginnin' to feel the 
 cold, but I managed to get my bear out o' the 
 crack after many hard trials, and I butchered 
 him, and laid down to try to sleep. But my fire 
 was very bad, and I couldn't find anything that 
 would burn well; my leather breeches and 
 everything else I had on were wet and frozen. 
 Then I concluded I'd freeze if I didn't warm 
 myself in some way. So I got up, and hollered 
 awhile, and then I would just jump up and 
 down with all my might, and throw myself in 
 all sorts o' motions. But all this wouldn't do, 
 and my blood was all the time gettin' colder, 
 and the chills were comin' all over me. I was 
 so tired I could hardly walk, but I thought I'd 
 do the best I could to save my life, and then, 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 127 
 
 if I died, nobody would be to blame. So I 
 went to a tree about two feet through, and not 
 a limb on it for thirty feet, and I would climb 
 up it to the limbs, and then lock my arms to- 
 gether around it, and slide down to the bot- 
 tom again. This made the insides o' my arms 
 feel mighty good and warm again. I kept it 
 up till morning, and how often I clomb up and 
 slid down my tree I don't know, but I reckon 
 at least a hundred times. When I got back 
 to camp McDaniel and my son were just giv- 
 in' me up for lost." 
 
 "Sufferin' wildcats, Davy!" cried the man 
 next to him, "I reckon I wouldn't gone down 
 after that bear — not if I could get all the bears 
 in the woods." 
 
 "Oh, well," replied Davy, "it's always been 
 my way to go ahead once I get started on a 
 thing." 
 
 It was now growing late, and everybody de- 
 cided that the time for sleep had come. They 
 wrapped themselves warmly in blankets and 
 skins, and soon were asleep, and Davy, at least, 
 dreamed rosy dreams of success on the morrow, 
 when he would "go ahead" with his boats. 
 
 Early in the morning all hands were at work. 
 
128 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 doing the last minor things that always have 
 to be done, but everything was soon pro- 
 nounced ready. The boats were built of strong 
 timber, were caulked and pitched, and each 
 was fitted with a small hatchway house over 
 the entrance of the cabin underneath it. Each 
 boat had a well, so that the water that leaked 
 in could be baled out, and each was steered with 
 a long oar, at the stern, sometimes assisted by 
 poles. 
 
 "All ready, boys?" called Davy, when he had 
 seen to all the details, and was waiting to push 
 off. 
 
 "All ready," the joyful shout came back, 
 and next moment the two boats were floating 
 gently down the Obion. 
 
 "Clear sailin', eh, boys?" cried Davy, seeing 
 himself already wealthy from the results of his 
 project. It was not far to the place where the 
 Obion joined the Mississippi, and soon the 
 boats had turned into the great yellow flood, 
 a mile wide, that rolled swiftly along in the 
 exuberance of the early spring freshet. The 
 great bare woods bordered the stream on either 
 shore, broken here and there by gloomy, sod- 
 den swamps, and the woodsmen, who had had 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 129 
 
 little to do with water, were appalled at their 
 situation, as they were called upon every min- 
 ute to avoid islands and negotiate the various 
 windings of the river. 
 
 "This is the first time I ever see such a river," 
 muttered Davy, who with a pole in his hand 
 was helping the crew to pass a particularly dis- 
 agreeable island. Davy in truth had never seen 
 the Mississippi before. 
 
 "There we go again!" cried one of the men, 
 as he tried to keep his boat from bumping into 
 the other, and failed, just as they had con- 
 stantly failed to keep them apart. Davy was 
 exasperated. 
 
 "Here, we'll lash 'em together," he shouted 
 above the uproar of the waters and the bawling 
 of the men. 
 
 Lashing made matters a little worse, if any- 
 thing; the boats were now so unmanageable 
 that steering was an impossibility. Everyone 
 was stiff and sore and badly scared, but there 
 was nothing to do but keep trying to guide the 
 vessels down the river. Toward night they 
 drew near to some boats from the Ohio, and 
 when these landed for the night, Davy tried to 
 
130 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 land his outfit too. But his boats refused to 
 be brought to a stop. 
 
 "Better go on and run all night," shouted a 
 man from one of the Ohio boats, and willy- 
 nilly Davy took his advice, for he could do 
 nothing else. 
 
 They were now floating sideways, he real- 
 ized, and the boat he was in was behind the 
 other. Suddenly there was a rush of feet on 
 the deck above, and Davy could hear the men 
 pulling with all their might; before he could 
 dash to the companionway there was a crash, 
 as the boat rammed into an island and lodged 
 broadside in a large raft like drift or timber. 
 As soon as the boat struck, Davj^ dashed for 
 the hatchway which came right through the top 
 of the boat, and was the only way of getting 
 out of the cabin, except for a small hole in the 
 side, which the men had used to put their arms 
 through in order to dip up water, before the 
 boats had been lashed together. As he reached 
 the hatchway, Davy was hurled back by a tor- 
 rent of water, pouring through with all the 
 strength of the river behind it. Moreover, the 
 boat had careened madly, and now the hatch- 
 way was turned down in such a way that it was 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 13f 
 
 in vain that Davy strove to force his way 
 against the raging torrent pouring headlong 
 from above. 
 
 "The hole in the side!" was the thought that 
 flashed into his mind in his great danger, and 
 he struggled to reach that. But it was too 
 small. In desperation he stuck both his arms 
 through, the water rising around him and 
 already above his waist. 
 
 "Pull me out or pull me in two!" he roared 
 to some of the crew whom he could see just out- 
 side. It was neck or nothing, and there was 
 not a minute to lose. 
 
 The men seized Davy's arms, and pulling 
 with all the violence their sturdy frames could 
 muster, they jerked him through the tiny aper- 
 ture. 
 
 "Jump in' painters!" he gasped, when he 
 found himself sprawling on the driftwood with 
 the rest of the crew, "I feel like a skinned rab- 
 bit." 
 
 Skinned he literally was ; he had been wear- 
 ing a shirt with no coat when the crash came, 
 and both the shirt and most of the skin on his 
 back had been torn off; furthermore he was 
 barefooted, as were two of the others. 
 
132 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "There's nothin' to do but set here and wait 
 for sunrise," one of the men observed presently, 
 as they all settled themselves as comfortably 
 as possible on the huge pile of driftwood which 
 was edged against the little island. The boats, 
 which had been riven apart from each other 
 in the crash, now pursued their headlong way, 
 undeterred by the water they had taken in, ex- 
 cept for the fact that one at least was not float- 
 ing rightside up. So much Davy saw dimly, 
 as he sat and took stock of his numerous aches 
 and smartings. 
 
 "Them was sure wild boats," remarked one 
 of the men; "I'm mighty glad to be on some- 
 thin' that don't move." 
 
 "I reckon I am too," said Davy, "even if 
 I do look like a pretty cracklin' ever to get to 
 Congress." (He had hopes of reversing his 
 previous defeat at the polls when another 
 election day should come around.) 
 
 "We've lost all our loadin'," he mused later 
 on, as they all sat waiting for the dawn, with 
 the chill winds blowing over them. "We've 
 lost all our clothes, too, 'cept what we've got 
 on, but I've just had such a mighty marvelous 
 escape that somehow I feel happier than I 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 133 
 
 ever did before, just a-settin' here on this drift; 
 I feel prime." 
 
 As the sun rose they saw a boat coming down 
 the river, and joyfully hailed her. One of the 
 men stripped off his red shirt and waved it 
 from a pole. The ship sent out a skiff and 
 brought Davy and his men aboard, and car- 
 ried them all down to Memphis. There Davy 
 met a merchant whom he had known before, 
 and this kind-hearted friend fitted out the 
 whole party with hats, shoes, shirts and what 
 money they needed. Thereupon the members 
 of the crew parted, Davy and one of the men 
 going to Natchez to see if they could learn 
 anything of their runaway boats. They heard 
 that one of them had been seen about fifty 
 miles from where the crash occurred, and an 
 effort had been made to land it, but without 
 success. 
 
 "I'm not surprised, knowin' the hard-head- 
 edness o' them boats," declared Davy. "Fur- 
 thermore, I haven't much mind to try any more 
 boating." 
 
 Leaving the mystery of the wild craft un- 
 solved, he went home to the little cabin on the 
 Obion. 
 
XII 
 
 OFF FOR TEXAS 
 
 Davy had not been misled by his dreams of 
 a seat in Congress; the very smnmer after he 
 had returned home in 1826, a failure at boat- 
 ing, he offered to run for Congress again and 
 his nomination was accepted. Now, Davy had 
 no money with which to conduct a campaign, 
 but he had a light heart, and a good friend 
 who advanced him the little he needed to go 
 about the district and make friends. At that 
 time the people in the West and South had 
 gro^vn restless under the legislation of what 
 they called "silk stocking" men — men who had 
 culture and refinement, rather than ability to 
 make their way in the wilderness, as many of 
 these southwestern people had had to do. Davy 
 had been dubbed: "The man from the cane," 
 and tales of his bear hunting, his fearless man- 
 ner of expressing his opinions, and his poverty 
 had gone through the whole nation, ever since 
 
 134, 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 135 
 
 his reelection to the state legislature from a 
 district in which he was, at that time, practi- 
 cally unknown. 
 
 Davy caught the popular fancy. He had 
 two opponents. Colonel Alexander, and Gen- 
 eral William Arnold. At one place where 
 the rival candidates were to address a meet- 
 hig, Davy had to speak first. Colonel Alex- 
 ander followed him, and when General 
 Arnold spoke he occupied his time in explain- 
 ing why Colonel Alexander should not be 
 elected, entirely ignoring the fact that Davy 
 was also a candidate. While he was speaking 
 a large flock of guinea-hens came along, and 
 made so much noise that the general was 
 obliged to ask someone to shoo them away. As 
 soon as General Arnold finished speaking, 
 Davy jumped up on the stump, and in his 
 merry way addressed his opponent : 
 
 "Well, General, you are the first man I 
 ever saw that knew the language of fowls. 
 You had not the politeness even to allude to 
 me in your speech. But when my little friends 
 the guinea-hens came up, and began to holler : 
 'Crockett, Crockett, Crockett!' you were un- 
 generous enough to drive them all away." 
 
136 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 At this the crowd burst into roars of laugh- 
 ter, for the guinea-hen's call does sound very 
 much like "Crockett," and Davy knew that 
 he had won the day. Repeated happenings of 
 this sort won him the election, when the time 
 came, for he beat his competitors by twenty- 
 seven hundred votes. 
 
 His motto: "Be sure you're right, then go 
 ahead," became quoted from one end of the 
 country to the other. 
 
 Borrowing enough money to take him to 
 Washington, Davy left behind him his native 
 wilderness, and entered on a new life. The 
 way of the politician he found highly enjoy- 
 able, and rude and untrained as he was, he had 
 a splendid brain, and in his new surroundings 
 he began to blossom out in unexpected mental 
 powers. With his hearty good nature and gen- 
 erous ways, Davy could not help but be pop- 
 ular, though his manners so smacked of the 
 backwoods that many funny tales at his ex- 
 pense went the rounds. One of them con- 
 cerned his visit to President John Quincy 
 Adams, and his subsequent attendance at a 
 presidential dinner-party. A witty newspa- 
 perman printed an account of this affair. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 137 
 
 which, it was claimed, was Davy's own story of 
 the event. The article was reprinted in every 
 newspaper in the United States, and Davy 
 finally had to deny publicly that he had written 
 any such story. 
 
 All this laughter at Davy's expense served 
 to keep him before the public eye, however, 
 and he was the most talked-of man in the coun- 
 try. When his term expired he was reelected. 
 Meanwhile a new president had taken the 
 chair, Andrew Jackson, whom Davy had first 
 admired, when he came, as State's Attorney, 
 to the lonely tavern kept by old John Crockett. 
 He had served under him in the Creek War, 
 and now he was called upon to serve under him 
 in political life. But Davy was not a man who 
 would allow his own interests to influence his 
 actions, and when the President urged the re- 
 moval of the Indian tribes from the lands east 
 of the Mississippi, where many still lingered, 
 Davy refused to back the measure. Turning 
 against Jackson was at that time considered 
 -ilmost traitorous, for the people were heart 
 and soul for ^^Old Hickory." Davy felt the 
 result of his opposition at the next election in 
 1830, for he was defeated and had to return 
 
138 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 home. He spent the next two years on the 
 Obion hunting bears, but political life still 
 beckoned him, and he accepted the nomination 
 and was again elected to Congress at the end 
 of that time. He served from 1833 to 1835. 
 
 But Davy was a real woodsman, and the 
 constant strain of life in Washington began to 
 tell upon his health. His doctors advised him 
 to take a trip, and in obedience to their wishes, 
 and a desire of his own to see the North and 
 East, he decided to make a tour of the cities of 
 Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York and 
 wind up with a visit to New England. His 
 journey was one of the bright spots in his 
 career. Everywhere the people came out in 
 great crowds to meet him and cheer for him, 
 and visions of becoming president began to fill 
 his brain. 
 
 The disappointment was all the keener then, 
 when at the next election Davy found himself 
 beaten out of his place in Congress. His rosy 
 dreams toppled to the dust, and he returned 
 to his little home. There he resumed his deer- 
 skin hunting shirt, and took down "Old 
 Betsey" from the wall. But hunting bears had 
 lost its savor. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 139 
 
 "My country no longer requires my serv- 
 ices," he told his wife sadly, one day. "I have 
 made up my mind to go to Texas. I have a 
 new row to hoe, a long and rough one, but 
 come what will, I'll go ahead." 
 
 Mrs. Crockett was grief-stricken, 
 
 *'Texas!" she cried. "Full of Mexican cut- 
 throats." 
 
 "I'll help to beat 'em back," returned Davy. 
 "Texas ought to be free of Mexican rule — it's 
 full o' fightin' men, ready to take a jSghtin' 
 chance. I'll cut out and quit the States until 
 honest men shall have a chance to work their 
 way to the head of the heap." 
 
 Davy had made up his mind, and, as on 
 many previous occasions, once he had decided 
 to do a thing, that thing he would do. A few 
 days later he Stood in the doorway of his lit- 
 tle cabin, wearing a clean hunting-shirt and 
 a new fox-skin cap with the tail hanging down 
 behind. In his hand he carried a new "Betsey," 
 which had been presented to him as a gift from 
 the Philadelphians when he was visiting that 
 city. 
 
 It was a cold morning and a film of frost was 
 smeared over the land around the little cabin. 
 
140 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 Davy looked at his wife and children standing, 
 a silent group behind him, and felt a sensation 
 around his eyelids that he had never known 
 since the long ago day when he returned, a 
 lanky boy of fifteen, to his father's tavern after 
 two years of wandering. 
 
 "It's freezin' outside," he said a trifle trem- 
 ulously, "but I do believe there's some thawin' 
 around my eyelids." 
 
 With that he was off, following the winding 
 course of the Obion. His little girl ran after 
 him and stood watching until he turned and 
 seeing her, waved a last farewell. The next 
 moment the forest had closed upon him, and 
 the little girl ran into the cabin with the tears 
 streaming down her face. 
 
 Traveling steadily southwestward, Davy 
 found himself, after many weeks, on board a 
 little steamboat writhing its way along the Red 
 River, bound for Natchitoches, in Louisiana. 
 No sooner were the paddle-wheels in motion 
 than Davy observed a crowd of passengers 
 eagerly gathered about something that he 
 could not see, so he drew near to find out 
 what was going on. Seated on a chest in the 
 middle of tha crowd was a tall, lanky fellow. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 141 
 
 who was running a gambling game known as 
 thimble-rig. 
 
 "Who'll bet he can name the thimble with 
 the pea under it?" he was asking as Davy- 
 came up. 
 
 One of the bystanders promptly bet a shill- 
 ing that he could, and the lanky one shuffled 
 the thimbles and the pea for a moment and 
 then called upon the man to choose his thim- 
 ble. When the man who was running the game 
 lifted the thimble, there was no pea there, al- 
 though the one who had made the bet had seen 
 it plainly disappear beneath that particular 
 thimble. Davy watched a while longer, and 
 shilHngs continued to be bet and lost with un- 
 abated zeal for some minutes. Finally Davy, 
 who knew that the trick lay in the lanky fel- 
 low's sleight of hand, placed a bet himself, 
 but insisted on lifting the thimble. Of course, 
 the pea was there, and the whole crowd burst 
 into wild shouts of laughter. 
 
 The disconsolate gambler, his occupation 
 gone, sought out the man who had ruined his 
 business. Davy, strongly opposed to gam- 
 bling, seized the opportunity to give the stran- 
 ger a piece of hi^ mind. 
 
142 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "It's a burlesque on human nature," he told 
 him, "that an able-bodied man with a full share 
 of good sense should debase himself so. How- 
 can you stand bein' indebted to such a pitiful 
 way o' makin' a livin'?" 
 
 "But what's to be done. Colonel?" said the 
 gambler, who had learned from the other pas- 
 sengers that he had been exposed by no less 
 a personage that Colonel Davy Crockett, ex- 
 congressman. 
 
 "I'm in the slough of despond," he continued, 
 "up to the very chin. A miry and slippery 
 path to travel." 
 
 "Then hold your head up, before the slough 
 reaches your lips." 
 
 "But what's the use?" answered the other. 
 "It's utterly impossible for me to wade 
 through; and even if I could, I should be in 
 such dirty phght, that it would defy all the 
 waters in the Mississippi to wash me clean 
 again. No," he added, despairingly, "I should 
 be like a live eel in a frying pan. Colonel, sort 
 of out of my element, if I attempted to live 
 like an honest man at this time of day." 
 
 "It's never too late to become honest," re- 
 turned Davy warmly. "But even admit what 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 143 
 
 you say to be true — that you cannot live like 
 an honest man^ — you have at least the next best 
 thing in your power, and no one can say nay 
 to it." 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 "Die like a brave one. Most men are re- 
 membered as they died, and not as they lived." 
 
 "You are right ; but how is this to be done?" 
 
 "Come with me to Texas; cut aloof from 
 your degrading habits and associates, and in 
 fighting for freedom, regain your own." 
 
 The gambler was deeply moved. Putting 
 his thimbles with which he had been playing 
 into his pocket, he rose and walked up and 
 down for a few minutes. Then he turned, his 
 eyes full of a new fire, and seized Davy's hand. 
 
 "By heaven, I will try to be a man again! 
 I will live honestly, or die bravely. I will go 
 with you to Texas." 
 
 "Good for you, Thimblerig!" cried Davy, 
 shaking his hand with hearty vigor. 
 
 A few days later the little steamer arrived 
 at Natchitoches, and Davy and his new friend 
 set about getting a couple of the tough little 
 Mexican mustangs which were captured wild 
 on the plains of Texas and sold very cheaply. 
 
144 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "These lowlands are said to produce forty 
 bushels of frogs to the acre, every year," ob- 
 served Thimblerig, as they walked along the 
 river. 
 
 "There does seem to be plenty of 'em," an- 
 swered Da\y, endeavoring to keep from step- 
 ping upon them, as they hopped in all 
 directions. Just then a clear and musical voice 
 was raised in song, and looking toward the 
 sound, the two travelers saw a graceful young 
 man of about twenty-two, in a fringed hunt- 
 ing shirt, and carrying a rifle in his hand. 
 Across his shoulders was slung a hunting 
 pouch, and his face was burnt so darkly that 
 he looked very much like an Indian. 
 
 "Howdy, Colonel Crockett," he called 
 cheerfully as he drew near. 
 
 Davy was sure he had never seen him before. 
 
 "Howdy," he returned. "Looks like a close 
 shootin' rifle you've got there." 
 
 "It is," replied the stranger, "and I know 
 you're wondering who I might be. I've come 
 all of ten days' journey to meet you here, for 
 I'm going with you to Texas. I've heard 
 you're half horse, half alligator, and a little 
 touched with snapping turtle, and can wade 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 145 
 
 the Mississippi, leap the Ohio, ride a streak of 
 lightning, and slide down a honey locust and 
 not get scratched, so I figured I'd like to see 
 you when your dander was up." 
 
 Davy burst into a loud laugh. "I'm that 
 same Davy Crockett you've heard of," he 
 cried, "and I'm right glad to meet you ! Thim- 
 blerig here and I are goin' to start after the 
 Mexican dogs as soon as we get horses." 
 
 Next day the three started for Nacogdoches, 
 in Texas. The strange young man had by this 
 time explained that he was a bee-hunter, a 
 calling which was not unusual in that part of 
 the country. The prairies were covered with 
 flowers, and great swarms of bees were con- 
 stantly at work, storing honey in the hollow 
 trees of the forest. Both the honey and the 
 wax could be sold to the Mexicans, who formed 
 most of the population of Texas. The bee- 
 hunter, of course, knew all the trails and paths 
 by which it was possible to travel, so his addi- 
 tion to the party was considered most happy. 
 
XIII 
 
 ADVENTURE A PLENTY 
 
 The route lay along a rough trail that fre- 
 quently lost itself on the prairie, or was to be 
 followed only by means of blazed trees. When 
 they reached Nacogdoches, they stopped to 
 procure fresh horses, for they had already trav- 
 eled a hundred and twenty miles into Texas, 
 and there were still two hundred miles ahead 
 of them, before they should arrive at San An- 
 tonio, in the very heart of Texas, where the 
 main body of Texans was located. Great 
 news awaited the newcomers. 
 
 "The Alamo has been surrendered. Looks 
 like an easy road to freedom, eh?" said one of 
 the inhabitants to Davy. 
 
 The Alamo was on the San Antonio River, 
 just outside of the town of San Antonio. It 
 was a Mexican fortress, and had recently been 
 garrisoned by several hundred Mexican sol- 
 diers, ignorant natives who insulted the col- 
 
 146 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 147 
 
 onists who had come into this frontier land 
 from Kentucky and Tennessee. Hatred be- 
 tween the men from the States and the Mexi- 
 cans who claimed the soil had continued to 
 grow over many years. 
 
 "Who captured the Alamo?" inquired Davy. 
 Like all the men of the Southwest, he reahzed 
 that it was only a question of time until Texas 
 should come under American rule, but he 
 knew, too, that considerable fighting would 
 have to come before that happened. The 
 Alamo had always been the center of fierce 
 strife. 
 
 "General Burleson," replied the stranger, 
 to Davy's question. "He led a handful of 
 Texans against the Alamo and captured both 
 the fortress and the town, San Antonio." 
 
 This news was the signal for much rejoicing 
 among the three comrades, and they resolved 
 to push on to the scene of victory early the 
 next morning. They put up at the only inn the 
 village afforded and were up almost with the 
 sun. Standing before the door, with his head 
 uncovered, Davy made a little speech : 
 
 "I will die, if I must, with my *Betsey' in my 
 arms," he said. "No. I will not die! I'll 
 
148 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 grin down the walls of the Alamo, and we'll 
 lick up the Mexicans like fine salt." 
 
 With these words ringing on the morning 
 air, the three men leaped to the backs of their 
 little ponies, and set out for the forest, their 
 long legs almost touching the ground as they 
 bestrode the stocky little beasts. The way led 
 through vast canebrakes, where the slender 
 reeds were thirty feet high, and bowed together 
 to form a canopy under which they rode. The 
 trail was so narrow that only one horse at a 
 time could pass, and the cane forests were 
 swarming with game, so that Davy found it 
 very hard to keep on his way. 
 
 The second day out, a fierce storm came up 
 just as they were preparing to rest for the 
 night, and the bee-hunter urged them to stop 
 at the cabin of a poor white woman whom he 
 knew in the neighborhood. She made them 
 welcome, though her means of entertainment 
 were scanty, and the three were outside secur- 
 ing their horses for the night when Davy heard 
 the sound of someone approaching. 
 
 "Who's there?" he cried into the darkness, 
 reaching for his rifle, which stood against the 
 cabin wall. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 149 
 
 "Two rangers bound for the front," drawled 
 a voice with a merry lilt to it. They wore 
 hunting knives, and in the light from the cabin 
 door he perceived that one of them was an 
 Indian, clad in deerskin, and that the other 
 wore a sailor's round jacket and tarpaulin hat. 
 But it was his face which riveted Davy's at- 
 tention. It was heavily bewhiskered, so that 
 very little showed except his nose and his eyes, 
 and across his forehead there was a deep scar, 
 apparently from a sword-cut. A similar scar 
 was on the back of one of his hands, and alto- 
 gether he was the most sinister-looking crea- 
 ture that Davy had ever seen. 
 
 "So you're bound for the front?" inquired 
 the bee-hunter. "We're headed that way our- 
 selves, and we'll be glad enough of an addition 
 to our party." 
 
 "Suits me," returned the sailor, "here. Jack, 
 we'll invite the folks to supper," and he seized 
 the bag which the Indian carried and turning 
 it upside down, produced a brace of rabbits. 
 This was a welcome sight to Davy's hungry- 
 eyed party, and soon supper was prepared, 
 consisting of fried bacon and rabbit, with 
 onions. \ 
 
150 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 '^Old Whiskers has been a pirate, I reckon," 
 the bee-hunter whispered to Davy while prep- 
 arations were going on, and Davy was quite 
 ready to beheve it. 
 
 "Somehow, I don't relish sitting down to a 
 meal with that party," observed Thimblerig, 
 in an undertone, indicating the alleged pirate 
 with his thumb. But he miscalculated the 
 pirate's hearing abihty. That terrifying look- 
 ing individual drew his long hunting knife from 
 its sheath, and laying it beside his plate, re- 
 marked gently: 
 
 "Stranger, I think you had better take a seat 
 and have some supper." 
 
 Thimblerig glanced at the knife, and then at 
 the pirate's impassive and partly hidden coun- 
 tenance, and quietly seated himself at the table. 
 
 Next morning the whole party set out, the 
 two strangers going afoot. The prairie was 
 almost treeless, and was abloom with flowers. 
 During the early hours the men shot a couple 
 of turkeys, and by noon the three horsemen, 
 who had already left the pedestrians behind, 
 were ready for a good meal. With a hot fire 
 blazing before them, they were all seated on 
 the grass while their turkeys broiled, when 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 15t 
 
 they were startled to see the bee-hunter gaze 
 intently upward, apparently at nothing. 
 
 "What is it?" cried Davy. 
 
 Without a word, the bee-hunter sprang to his 
 feet and ran off at top speed, steering a zig- 
 zag course across the prairie. 
 
 "Must be a bee," observed Thimblerig. 
 "These bee-hunters get mighty skillful in chas- 
 ing 'em to their hives." 
 
 The little party around the fire watched until 
 the running figure grew small as a rabbit in the 
 distance, and finally faded from sight. Then 
 they turned their attention to their dinner, and 
 soon made a meal that as Thimblerig said, was 
 "worthy of bigger men." 
 
 "Hark," said Davy, suddenly. "Is that 
 thunder?" 
 
 There was indeed a distant rumbling on the 
 air, but it was continuous, and the sky was 
 cloudless. The camp fire had been built on the 
 top of a httle rise on the prairie, for they were 
 in a rolling country and not on the open plain. 
 Soon a huge black cloud became visible in the 
 distance, very close to the ground, and sweep- 
 ing onward with tremendous speed. Even as 
 they first saw it, the men began to perceive 
 
152 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 that a cloud of dust accompanied the blacker 
 cloud, and the rumbling became louder with 
 every second that passed. 
 
 "What can that all mean?" cried Davy. 
 
 "Burn my old shoes if I know," replied 
 Thimblerig, jumping to his feet. 
 
 "Look at the horses scared plumb to death," 
 said Davy, and sure enough, the tough little 
 mustangs were shivering as though with a chill. 
 Davy and Thimblerig rushed to their aid, and 
 striking off their hobbles, brought them up 
 into the little grove at the top of their emi- 
 nence. Now the black cloud was almost upon 
 them. 
 
 "Buffaloes!" shouted Davy, who had never 
 seen a whole herd in all his life. There were 
 hundreds of them, which had been stampeded 
 by something probably miles away, and now 
 they were rushing headlong, blindly following 
 their leader, and rending the air with their 
 bellowing. 
 
 Davy's heart stood still for a second. He 
 saw that the buffaloes were not to be stopped 
 in their wild flight. 
 
 "Not while they've got a leader, anyways," 
 he thought. "I've heard that somewhere," and 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 153 
 
 he raised his rifle and aimed at the great black 
 bull who was a few feet ahead of the rest. 
 
 Crack ! A spurt of flame and smoke, a roar 
 from the bull, and in a second he had swerved 
 sharply around the foot of the little hill on 
 which the men were standing, and darted off, 
 wounded and roaring, with the whole herd 
 Plundering behind him. 
 
 For a moment Davy was astonished at the 
 result of his stratagem. Then he hastily re- 
 loaded, and leaping to his horse's back, he gave 
 chase over the uplands of the prairie. 
 
 At the end of an hour Davy found that spur 
 him as he would, he could not make his horse 
 gain upon the buffaloes, and he decided to re- 
 turn to his friends. Disdaining to follow the 
 buffalo tracks back over the way he had come, 
 he turned his mustang to the west and pro- 
 ceeded at a steady trot for an hour longer. 
 Then he discovered that he was lost. 
 
 "Poor Thimblerigl" he muttered, " he won't 
 know how to take care of himself at all." 
 
 Disturbed by this thought, he continued to 
 ride on, until his attention was attracted by a 
 herd of a hundred wild horses, grazing on the 
 prairie. Rousing the racing instinct of his own 
 
154 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 animal, only recently captured from its wild 
 mates, Davy led oflf in a long chase that only 
 ceased when the last of the herd disappeared 
 on the horizon. Then, observing that his mus- 
 tang was about to drop, apparently from ex- 
 haustion, he slipped to the ground, and allowed 
 the poor creature to roll at ease on the grass. 
 
 Night was now approaching, and Davy cast 
 around for a place to spend the night. There 
 was a large tree, blown down by the side of a 
 stream, and its top branches were closely en- 
 twined. 
 
 "That might make a good, snug little nest 
 for me," he thought, working his way along 
 the tree trunk to the top. A low growl brought 
 him to a halt. 
 
 "That means, 'Stranger, these apartments 
 are already taken,' I reckon," said Davy aloud. 
 In a flash he had his rifle leveled on a pair of 
 brilliant eyes that pierced the gloom. The re- 
 port of the gun was followed by a low growl, 
 and Davy was dismayed to find that his shot 
 had glanced off the forehead of an immense 
 panther. Davy began a judicious retreat, but 
 the panther, doubly enraged at the rifle shot, 
 sprang through the air like a whirlwind before 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 155 
 
 Davy had gone back three steps. Davy struck 
 out with the barrel of his rifle, but the panther 
 cared nothing for that, and wheehng around, 
 sprang again. Now Davy had his hunting 
 knife in his hand, having thrown his useless 
 gun away, and as the panther seized on his 
 left arm, he buried the knife in its side, just as 
 the animal sank his fangs into the flesh of his 
 arm. The panther loosed his hold for an in- 
 stant, then, smarting with his wounds, he 
 pressed onto Davy again. Davy's attempt to 
 blind him with the knife resulted in merely 
 scratching the panther's nose, and served to 
 increase his fury. He shook his head, growled, 
 and, showing his teeth, sprang again, just as 
 Davy's foot caught in a vine, and he sprawled 
 on the ground. Instantly the panther was on 
 his fallen foe; he seized Davy's right thigh in 
 his teeth, and seemed to care little for the 
 knife, pressing into his ribs, or for Davy's 
 twisting his tail as hard as he could, with his 
 left hand. 
 
 "My leg's a goner," thought he, strug- 
 gling to hurl the animal down the bank into 
 the stream, for their scuffling had brought them 
 to the edge of the bank. He stuck his knife 
 
156 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 as deeply as he could into the creature's side, 
 and summoned all his strength to throw him 
 over. But the panther sensed his intention and 
 resisted fiercely, all the while tearing at his 
 leg. At last the fight had been pushed so close 
 to the edge that the panther lost his balance, 
 and rolled over and over down the bank. In 
 the fall, he dragged Davy with him, but for- 
 tunately the latter fell on top, with the pan- 
 ther's neck a fair mark for his knife. Without 
 waiting to draw a breath, he aimed one des- 
 perate blow at the animal's neck, and as the 
 knife sank deep, the great creature struggled 
 for a minute or two and then died. 
 
 Davy was exhausted from the fight and 
 his injuries, but he crawled back to the tree- 
 top, possession of which had cost him so dearly, 
 and soon he had fashioned a snug nest for him- 
 self among the branches, with the dry moss 
 which had festooned the boughs of the tree for 
 softness, and his horse blanket wrapped 
 around him for warmth. 
 
 The sun was high in the heavens when he 
 awakened, stiif and sore from his wounds, and 
 hungry as he had a right to be. He peered 
 over the bank and saw the panther lying dead. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 157 
 
 and felt a thrill of gratitude that he had con- 
 quered the beast, instead of being conquered 
 himself. Then he began to look about for his 
 pony, but to his surprise it was nowhere to be 
 found. 
 
 "The consarned critter's disappeared with- 
 out leaving trace of hair or hide," he muttered 
 after an extended search, and he set out to get 
 his breakfast. Soon his eyes were gladdened 
 by the sight of a flock of wild geese, on the 
 bank of the httle river, and he shot a fine fat 
 gander, stripped him of his feathers, built a fire 
 and had his prize roasting in the least time pos- 
 sible. He had brought along a little tin cup, 
 and a package of ground coffee, in the small 
 pack which he had fortunately removed from 
 his horse before he had turned it loose for the 
 night, and with these aids, he was soon making 
 a hearty breakfast. 
 
 His meal over, Davy began to follow the 
 stream. 
 
 "Maybe it'll lead me to a trail," he thought, 
 mentally consigning his runaway pony to an 
 unhappy end. 
 
 "Now what?" he added, a moment later, as 
 the sound of horses' hoofs came faintly, but in 
 
158 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 great numbers, over the plain. He was not 
 long in doubt. Off on the horizon he perceived 
 a band of mounted Indians, and as they drew 
 nearer he saw that they were painted and 
 decked with plimies, and all riding at top speed, 
 with their spears glittering in the sunhght, and 
 their long hair streaming to the wind as they 
 rode. 
 
 Da^y stood still on the bank of the stream. 
 He was more astounded than frightened, for 
 he had never seen such an array of Indians. 
 The Comanches were splendid horsemen, and 
 when mounted, they controlled their steeds so 
 perfectly that it was hard to distinguish be- 
 tween animal and man. 
 
 The whole band swept up like a whirlwind, 
 and dividing into two semicircles, had sur- 
 rounded Davy before he quite knew what they 
 intended to do. Instinctively he grasped his 
 rifle, then realizing that he could not resist he 
 lowered it, while the chief springing from his 
 horse advanced to meet him. 
 
 "He's got his eye on my rifle," Davy 
 thought, observing the direction of his eyes, 
 and at once a plan to save it from confiscation 
 leaped into his mind. The Comanches, though 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 159 
 
 warlike, had been friendly with the white men, 
 and had mingled with them freely. 
 
 "Is your nation at war with the Americans?" 
 asked Davy. 
 
 "No," said the chief, "they are our friends." 
 
 "Where," said Davy, "do you get your 
 spear-heads, your blankets and your knives?" 
 
 "From our friends the white men." 
 
 "Well," said Davy, "do you think that if you 
 were passing through their country, as I am 
 passing through yours, they would rob you 
 of your property?" 
 
 "No," replied the chief, "they would feed 
 and protect me. And the Comanche will do 
 the same by his white brother." 
 
 Davy drew a breath of relief. He was not 
 to be forced into an unequal struggle to re- 
 tain his beautiful rifle. 
 
 Meanwhile, a couple of warriors had discov- 
 ered the dead panther, and now came up, chat- 
 tering in Spanish. From their gestures Davy 
 knew they were talking about the many knife 
 wounds the animal bore, and he hastened to 
 give an account of the fight the night before, 
 brandishing his hunting-knife, leveling his 
 rifle, and showing the lacerations in his own 
 
160 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 flesh to make the Indians understand what 
 had happened. The chief was surprised and 
 dehghted. 
 
 "Brave hunter, brave man!" he cried 
 repeatedly. "Brave hunter — be Indian's 
 brother." 
 
 Davy at first did not understand what was 
 meant, but finally the chief made it clear that 
 he was inviting him to become a son of the 
 tribe, an honor which Davy politely refused. 
 He explained the circumstances which led to 
 his present situation in the desert, and the chief 
 chuckled when Davy explained that he had 
 thought his horse so exhausted that he prob- 
 ably would not last through the night, and he 
 had not thought it necessary to hobble him. 
 The mustang, the Indian explained, is a wily 
 animal, and doubtless Davy's horse had been 
 shamming fatigue and had seized the first 
 opportunity to run wild. 
 
 Despite his disappointment at Davy's re- 
 fusal to join the tribe, the chief offered to 
 escort him as far as the Colorado River, and 
 providing him with a fresh horse, the whole 
 party set oflf across the prairie with Davy in 
 their midst. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 161 
 
 The Colorado was reached on the second 
 day, and they followed the course of the stream, 
 looking for the place where the San Antonio 
 trail crossed. As they rode along, they saw 
 in the distance a thin spiral of smoke showing 
 above the trees, and as they drew near they 
 spread out in a circle and with loud whoops 
 closed in on the spot from which the smoke was 
 ascending. Davy, who was riding beside the 
 chief, was astonished to see his old friend the 
 gambler, sitting by his solitary fire, engaged 
 in playing with his thimbles, on the crown of 
 his hat. When he looked up, at the first yell, 
 he staggered to his feet, trembling from head 
 to foot, and too terrified to speak a word. 
 Davy rode forward, and jimiping to the 
 ground, seized him by the hand. 
 
 "Thimblerig!" he shouted joyfully, "I was 
 afraid you mustVe perished, all by yourself." 
 
 Thimblerig gave a frightened glance at 
 Davy's warlike escort. 
 
 "It's all right," cried Davy. "The chief 
 has been a good friend to me," and he described 
 how he had been rescued from the depths of 
 the prairie, where he was wandering, without 
 a horse, and stiff from the panther wounds. 
 
162 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 The spot where the gambler had been found 
 was close to the San Antonio trail, so, as Davy- 
 no longer needed a guide, the Comanches said 
 farewell, and with Davy's words of gratitude 
 ringing in their ears, they wheeled and rode 
 away over the plain. 
 
 Shortly afterward, the bee-hunter returned 
 with a plump turkey, and the reunited friends 
 were joyously cooking their supper when they 
 heard the neighing of a horse. 
 
 "The Comanches!" exclaimed Thimblerig, 
 who had not gotten entirely over his scare. 
 
 "No," said Davy, who had keen eyesight. 
 "It's the pirate and his Indian." 
 
 Sure enough, the two rode up in another mo- 
 ment, and seeing their former companions, 
 they offered to join them for the rest of the 
 way. 
 
 Next morning the five crossed the river, and 
 pushed on rapidly toward the Alamo. They 
 were within twenty miles of San Antonio when 
 they observed a party of fifteen armed horse- 
 men, riding furiously toward them. 
 
 "These fellows are goin' to have something 
 to say," said Davy, "or I reckon they wouldn't 
 be ridin' at such top speed. We're kind of out- 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 163 
 
 numbered, and it looks as if we'll have to fix 
 up some fortifications." 
 
 He led the example, by slipping from his 
 horse, and using the animal as a rampart. The 
 others followed, just as the Mexicans reined in 
 their steeds. 
 
 ''Surrender!" cried the leader, in Spanish. 
 
 "They're ordering us to surrender," ex- 
 plained the pirate, who knew Spanish. "We'll 
 have to have a brush with those blackguards. 
 Let each one single out his man for the first 
 fire. They are greater fools than I take them 
 for, if they give us a chance for a second shot. 
 Colonel, just settle the business with that talk- 
 ing fellow with the red feather. He's worth 
 any three of the party." 
 
 "Surrender, or we fire!" repeated the leader, 
 in his native tongue. 
 
 "Fire away!" shouted the pirate, also in 
 Spanish. 
 
 Next moment there was a terrific report, as 
 the fifteen horsemen fired simultaneously, and 
 before the smoke had cleared away the five 
 travelers, behind their horses, had each selected 
 his man and fired. The ranks of the fifteen 
 scattered like straw before the wind, and leap- 
 
164 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 ing to their horses, the fighting men pursued 
 them as they disappeared in a cloud of dust. 
 Several of the mustangs were to be seen run- 
 ning wild, and Davy was sure that some of 
 their bullets had taken effect. The chase was 
 hot abandoned until the battlements of the 
 Alamo were in sight, flying an immense flag of 
 thirteen stripes, with a large white star of five 
 points, surrounded by the letters "Texas" — 
 the independent flag which the Texan rangers 
 had unfurled after they succeeded in driv- 
 ing the Mexicans from the fort. 
 
 As Da\y and his companions rode up to the 
 gates, they were challenged by the sentinel. 
 
 "I'm that same Davy Crockett," explained 
 the colonel, "come to give the Texans a help- 
 in' hand on the high road to freedom." 
 
 Instantly the gates swung open, while the 
 news flew like wildfire from man to man within 
 the fortress. 
 
 "Three cheers for Davy Crockett! Three 
 cheers for Crockett and his scouts!" cried the 
 determined rangers, and Davy's heart warmed 
 to hear them. 
 
XIV 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF THE ALAMO 
 
 "Somethin's stirrin', boys," observed Davy 
 Crockett, who, with a dozen of the rough rid- 
 ers from the Alamo, were watching from a 
 nearby hill for signs of approaching Mexicans. 
 It was Washington's birthday, in 1836, sev- 
 eral weeks after Davy's triumphant entry into 
 the Texan stronghold, and the intervening 
 days had been passed in anxious waiting for 
 an attack by Santa Anna, leader of the Mexi- 
 cans, and his men. 
 
 "That's a mighty swift moving cloud of 
 dust," agreed the bee-hunter, who was one of 
 the party. "I wouldn't be surprised — yes, 
 there they are — " he broke off excitedly as 
 the flash of bayonets, gleaming in the morning 
 sunlight, suddenly burst through the rolling 
 dust-cloud that had been moving among the 
 hills. At the same time faint, but bold bugle 
 notes were wafted to the straining ears of the 
 watchers. 
 
 "They're not more than twenty miles away," 
 
 165 
 
166 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 cried Davy, whirling his horse around and 
 using his heel on the animal's ribs. Instantly 
 the others were after him, and they tore along 
 the trail to the fortress at top speed. 
 
 "The Mexicans are coming, the Mexicans 
 are coming!'' they cried, as they dashed 
 through the gates. Colonel Travis, who com- 
 manded the Texan forces, and Colonel Bowie, 
 after whom the famous bowie knife was named, 
 were at the gates to receive the tidings. 
 
 "It's war — and no quarter," said Travis. 
 "No use trying to hold on to the town, we'll 
 be overwhelmed with numbers. But we'll de- 
 fend the Alamo to the last extremity." 
 
 "Liberty — or death!" shouted Davy's little 
 band of scouts, waving their hats in the air. 
 
 Immediately orders were issued for the de- 
 fenders of the fortress to gather within its 
 gates, and hastily the Texans and their sym- 
 pathizers quitted the town. Altogether there 
 were not more than two hundred, including 
 a few women and children, who filed into the 
 Alamo, determined to withstand the whole 
 Mexican army. 
 
 "You still have time to escape," Travis told 
 them, as they gathered together in a Uttle 
 
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 ii 
 
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 JAMES BOWIE 
 
 Famous pioneer fighter; one of the defenders 
 
 of the Alamo 
 
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DAVID CROCKETT 167 
 
 knot, just ivithin the gates. "Now is your 
 chance, boys. Who will stand by me to the 
 last?" 
 
 One man only turned away; the others stood 
 firm, with lifted heads and eyes flashing cour- 
 age, and the colonel knew that he could rely 
 upon his little garrison to the very end. The 
 gates were barred, the surplus supplies of food 
 and ammunition which had been carried to the 
 fortress a few days before were looked over, 
 and then the flag of Texas was raised to the 
 battlements. As the white star in its blue field 
 gleamed out from the thirteen stripes, red and 
 white, the whole company stood with bared 
 heads and tingling blood while the bee-hunter 
 sang a song of his own composition — a tribute 
 to Texas and her defenders : 
 
 "Up with your banner, Freedom, 
 
 Thy champions cling to thee; 
 They'll follow where'er you lead them. 
 
 To death, or victory!" 
 
 Three cheers by the whole garrison followed, 
 
 and drums and trumpets joined in to carry 
 
 their note of defiance to the approaching foe. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Mexicans, the hosts of Santa 
 
168 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 Anna, had drawn near, and now, with eagle- 
 topped banners flying and drums rolling, they 
 entered the town of San Antonio, sixteen hun- 
 dred strong, infantry, artillery and cavalry. 
 At once a blood-red banner was raised over the 
 town, and the Texans, undaunted though they 
 were, knew in their hearts that their peril was 
 very great. Soon a demand came to Colonel 
 Travis. 
 
 "Surrender," it read, "without condition, or 
 we will put every man to the sword.'* 
 
 For reply, the gallant colonel sent a can- 
 non-shot into the town. War was on in ear- 
 nest — and there was but little food and ammu- 
 nition at the Alamo. The firing began that 
 very afternoon, but the Texans kept under 
 cover and no damage was done. At night 
 Colonel Travis sent an appeal for aid to Col- 
 onel Fannin, who was beheved to be in camp 
 about a hundred miles away. The old pirate 
 volunteered to go on this journey, and Davy 
 and his friends watched him slip away into the 
 darkness with mingled feelings. 
 
 "I was never one to sit around waitin'," ob- 
 served Davy wistfully. "I'd like to be out 
 there, a-dodgin' the Mexican serpents. But 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 169 
 
 I'm needed right here — I know that/' and he 
 sought his quarters for the night. 
 
 Early next morning the fort was awakened 
 by the noise of a new battery, stationed on the 
 river bank not more than three hundred and 
 fifty yards from the wall. The cannon roared 
 all day, breaking a piece off the parapet, here 
 and there, more often burying the deadly shot 
 safely within the thick adobe walls. The Tex- 
 ans had fourteen cannon distributed at various 
 points around the fort, but it was believed that 
 the rifles could be used to greater advantage, 
 and with less waste of powder, as well as with 
 less danger to the men, from the wild shots 
 sent by the Mexicans from behind every pro- 
 tecting tree and shrub. So all day long the 
 long American rifles cracked, and the Mexi- 
 can cannon boomed — but it was the riflemen 
 who found their mark. 
 
 *'Seems to me them greasers are wastin* a 
 lot o' good ammunition," drawled Davy, stroll- 
 ing over to Thimblerig, who was engaged in 
 his game of thimbles. 
 
 "They sure are," returned Thimblerig. "I'm 
 thinkin' o' doin' a little work myself, in a min- 
 
170 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 ute. I've just been restin' my muscles a bit 
 with a little diversion." 
 
 "I laid off for ten minutes or so," said Davy. 
 "I hate like p'isen to let any of that black- 
 hearted gang get away, but I was gettin* 
 cramped." 
 
 Thimblerig's reply was a groan. A three- 
 ounce ball had glanced from the parapet and 
 struck him on the breast. Davy tore open his 
 shirt and rapidly ran his fingers over the 
 wound. 
 
 "You're not dead yet, by a long shot," he 
 told his friend, "but I reckon it hurts some, 
 eh? Hold still a minute." 
 
 Whipping out his long hunting knife, Davy 
 proceeded to do a bit of surgery. His work 
 was far from painless, but highly effective. 
 A moment later the leaden ball lay in Thimb- 
 lerig's hand. 
 
 "Drill a hole through it, and carry it for a 
 watch seal," recommended Davy, cheerfully. 
 
 "No!" responded Thimblerig, wrathfully. 
 "May I be shot six times if I do. That would 
 be makin' a bauble for an idle boast. No, 
 Colonel, lead is gettin' scarce, and I'll lend it 
 out at compound interest." 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 171 
 
 Next morning Davy was awakened before 
 daylight by the sound of a rifle occasionally 
 popping over the place where he was sleeping. 
 Through the gloom he could just make out the 
 figure of Thimblerig, mounted alone on the 
 battlement. 
 
 "What are you doin' there?" shouted Davy, 
 amazed at this early activity. 
 
 **Payin' my debts," returned Thimblerig 
 calmly, "interest and all." 
 
 "And how do you make that out?" 
 
 "IVc nearly got through; stop a minute, 
 Colonel, and I'll close the account," and the 
 marksman clapped his rifle to his shoulder and 
 blazed away into the gloom. Next moment he 
 had jumped down from the wall. 
 
 "That account's settled," he remarked with 
 satisfaction. "Them chaps will let me play 
 out my game in quiet next time. Look over 
 the wall. Colonel, and you'll see how; I've been 
 payin' my debts." 
 
 Davy climbed up, and gazed over the battle- 
 ments, and discovered four Mexicans lying 
 dead on the plain outside. 
 
 "That's how I paid my debts," explained 
 Thimblerig. "I run that grape-shot they sent 
 
172 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 me into four rifle balls, and I was up bright 
 and early so's to get a chance to pick off the 
 stragglers." 
 
 "I reckon you gave 'em more than you owed 
 'em for that shot in the chest," Davy chuckled 
 as the two went off in search of something to 
 eat. 
 
 "You're a good shot, Thimblerig," remarked 
 Davy on the way, "but that bee-hunter is about 
 the quickest on the trigger, and the best rifle 
 shot we have in the fort." 
 
 "Barrin' yourself, Colonel," answered the 
 other. 
 
 "Why, I've seen him bring down eleven of 
 the enemy," Davy went on, "and at such a dis- 
 tance that we all thought it would be a waste 
 of ammunition to attempt it." 
 
 Day by day the shooting went on ; the Mexi- 
 cans fell steadily under the well-aimed fire 
 from the Alamo, and their return shots took 
 no toll from the besieged. But food was grow- 
 ing scarce, and escape from the garrison was 
 out of the question. The Texans waited hope- 
 fully for relief from Colonel Fannin, but 
 it failed to come. Davy, who was keeping a 
 diary of events, wrote one day: 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 173 
 
 "Last night our hunters brought in some 
 corn, and had a brush with a scout from the 
 enemy beyond gunshot of the fort. They put 
 the scout to flight, and got in without injury. 
 They bring accounts that the settlers are flying 
 in all quarters in dismay, leaving their posses- 
 sions to the mercy of the ruthless invader, who 
 is literally engaged in a war of extermination 
 more brutal than the untutored savage of the 
 desert could be guilty of. Slaughter is indis- 
 criminate, sparing neither age, sex nor condi- 
 tion. Buildings have been burnt down, farms 
 laid waste, and Santa Anna appears deter- 
 mined to verify his threat, and convert the 
 blooming paradise into a howling wilderness. 
 For just one fair crack at that rascal, even at 
 a hundred yards' distance, I would bargain to 
 break my 'Betsey,' and never pull trigger 
 again. My name's not Crockett if I wouldn't 
 get glory enough to appease my stomach for 
 the remainder of my life." 
 
 February waned and March blew in — still 
 the Texans, entrenched in their stronghold, 
 continued to pick off the enemy. Three hun- 
 dred were killed in one week. But new men 
 arrived to take their places, and it was evident 
 
174 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 that Santa Anna had enough material at his 
 disposal to wear out a much larger American 
 garrison. Meanwhile, Colonel Bowie had fal- 
 len ill of typhoid fever and was lying helpless 
 in his bed. 
 
 Yet while starvation stalked them grimly 
 and sickness hovered in its wake, the little band 
 of patriots turned in, night after night, always 
 hopeful that the morrow would see help ad- 
 vancing to the Alamo, and when morning 
 dawned and the daily round of shot and shell 
 began again, they fought painstakingly, guard- 
 ing themselves, making every ball tell. 
 
 "Had a little sport this morning," remarked 
 Davy one morning at breakfast. "The enemy 
 got a piece of ordnance planted within gun- 
 shot o' the fort last night, and the first thing 
 this mornin' they commenced a brisk cannon- 
 ade, point-blank against the spot where I was 
 snorin'. I turned out pretty smart, and 
 mounted the rampart. The gun was charged 
 again, and a fellow stepped out to touch her 
 off, but before he could use the match I let 
 him have it, and he kneeled over. A second 
 stepped up, snatched the match from the hand 
 of the dyin' man, but Thimblerig here handed 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 175 
 
 me his rifle and the next instant the second 
 Mexican was stretched beside the first. A 
 third came up to the cannon, and Thimberhg 
 handed me another gun, so I fixed him off in 
 like manner. A fourth, and then a fifth 
 seized the match, and I used 'em both the same 
 way, and then the whole party gave it up as 
 a bad job, and rushed off to the camp, leavin' 
 the cannon ready charged where they had 
 planted it. Then I came down to eat." 
 
 *'That place where you were firin' is one o* 
 the snuggest stands in the whole fort," de- 
 clared Thimblerig. *'I never fail to pick off 
 two or three stragglers before breakfast, when 
 I'm perched up there." 
 
 *'Yes, I've seen you up there mighty reg- 
 ular," returned Davy, as they reached for their 
 rifles and started back to their posts. 
 
 All day they aimed with care, and their 
 rifles blazed defiantly whenever a Mexican 
 showed himself from behind a tree or a fence. 
 At sunset Davy stood at an angle of the para- 
 pet; the cannon, after a day of spluttering, 
 were silent, and the plain lay peacefully await- 
 ing the dusk. Suddenly there was the sound 
 of horses' hoofs, and Davy strained his eyes 
 
176 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 in the direction of a man running desperately, 
 followed at a little distance by a dozen of the 
 Mexican cavalry. 
 
 "The pirate!" he cried, pointing with his 
 gun. Thimblerig, the bee-hunter, and the In- 
 dian hunter had recognized the running figure 
 almost at the same time ; together they rushed 
 to the gate of the stockade, threw it open, and 
 ran to the aid of the old man. They could see 
 that the Mexicans were pressing him close; 
 then, to their surprise, he stopped suddenly, 
 and raising his rifle, shot in the midst of 
 his pursuers. One of the enemy fell from his 
 horse. Turning, the pirate made again for 
 the fort, but the others were on his heels, and 
 evidently enraged, he suddenly clubbed his gun 
 and rushed forward, striking right and left. 
 The Mexicans were plainly astonished and fled 
 like sparrows, just as the detachment of res- 
 cuers came running up. They promptly gave 
 chase to the fleeing enemy, too excited in the 
 heat of the moment to be cautious ; another sec- 
 ond, and their retreat was cut off by a second 
 detachment of Mexican cavalry. Davy rose to 
 the occasion. 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 177 
 
 ^'Nothing is to be done but to fight our way 
 through!" he cried. "Go ahead!" 
 
 "Go ahead. Colonel!" shouted his compan- 
 ions in unison, and they dashed against the 
 horsemen. It was a bloody conflict. There 
 were about twenty Mexicans, who held their 
 ground for Bve minutes ; then a rescuing band 
 was seen emerging from the gate of the fort 
 and the Mexicans wheeled around and fled. 
 Eight of their comrades lay dead upon the 
 field, but their deaths were not cheaply 
 bought. The pirate and the bee-hunter were 
 both mortally wounded, and Davy had re- 
 ceived a saber cut on his forehead. 
 
 The little band was helped within the fortress 
 gates, where the old pirate breathed his last 
 without speaking a word. The bee-hunter died 
 at midnight. 
 
 The next day was the fifth of March. No 
 relief had come ; none was now expected. "In 
 case the enemy should carry the fort, fight to 
 the last gasp, and render their victory even 
 more serious to them than to us," said Colonel 
 Travis, in a last exhortation to his men. He 
 was answered by three cheers. 
 
178 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 "Well, the long wait is nearly over," said 
 Davy, that afternoon, to Thiniblerig. 
 
 "What do you mean?" cried that spirited 
 fighter. 
 
 "Haven't you seen the proclamation?" de- 
 manded Davy. "Someone over in the city has 
 just sent a Comanche arrow into the fort, 
 carrying a copy of the order issued by the Mex- 
 ican general to attack us. Santa Anna will 
 command the attack in person." 
 
 Thimblerig smiled grimly. "Yes, it's nearly 
 over, Davy," he said softly. Then the two 
 men, like all the others in the garrison, went 
 about the last tasks of seeing that the stockades 
 were safe, the cannon loaded, powder horns 
 filled and bullets made ready. There was little 
 talking; but the silence rang with the unspoken 
 word — resistance. 
 
 That night the Texans slept but little, and 
 their sentries watched intently through all the 
 hours of darkness. It was still moonlight, and 
 not yet three o'clock in the morning, when the 
 word came that the Mexican camp was astir. 
 The Americans, waiting, listening, heard the 
 tramp of many horses' feet; then they saw the 
 gleam of bristling bayonets. The enemy was 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 179 
 
 drawn up before the fort, and only awaited the 
 signal to attack. 
 
 Morning dawned; Sunday morning, March 
 6, 1836, glorious with the promise of spring. 
 Davy took his place upon the wall, and looked 
 to his powder and his bullets. Every other 
 American did the same. And as they looked 
 they heard the note of the bugle that was to 
 let loose the enemy upon them; heard the 
 hoarse cries of commanding ofScers, and raised 
 their rifles as the combined forces of Santa 
 Anna, two thousand five hundred strong, 
 swept across the plain, urged on by the fierce 
 martial music of the army bands. 
 
 Under the first fire of the defenders the 
 Mexicans, advancing in three columns on the 
 north, east and west, fell back. The rain of 
 bullets and the hail of grape was too hot to be 
 borne for a moment or two. Then reenforce- 
 ments came up behind the men who first 
 charged the fort, and then more came and 
 more. Steadily those in front were pushed 
 outward — outward, until at last they had 
 reached the shelter of the Alamo walls. Here 
 they had a little protection from the cannon 
 above their heads, but they provided a splendid 
 
180 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 mark for the rifles. Already nearly three hun- 
 dred had fallen, and the firing went on, seem- 
 ingly without a pause. Never had men loaded 
 and fired, loaded and fired, so swiftly, so 
 accurately, so desperately. The assaulters 
 tried to scale the walls; they were too high. 
 Only on the north, the side of the stockade, 
 where the walls were lower, was there a hope 
 of climbing over. The ladders were brought. 
 Still, the Texans fired on. Davy, bringing 
 down a Mexican with ahnost every shot, heard 
 a groan, and saw something fall from the 
 nearby corner of the parapet. Here Colonel 
 Travis had been commanding a cannon, above 
 a small breach which had been made. Davy 
 gave a quick glance below. Travis lay dead; 
 there was no one to take his place; every man 
 was doing his utmost. Another moment and 
 the Mexicans swarmed over the wall. 
 
 Now there was no longer time to load and 
 fire. Swinging their rifles like clubs, the 
 Americans fell back, fighting at every step, 
 dropping, one by one, as the countless sword 
 thrusts went home. The Mexicans pressed 
 on, crowding them into the barracks. It was 
 here that Colonel Bowie lay, too ill to rise from 
 
DAVID CROCKETT 181 
 
 his bed. A throng of bloodthirsty Mexicans, 
 hurtling into the room, were met by a blast 
 from the colonel's rifle, then his pistol, as he 
 lifted his feverish hands in a last eflfort. 
 Daunted, the enemy paused at the door, and 
 fired on the gallant American from that point 
 of vantage. Then with a cry of triimiph they 
 dashed in, to gloat over his body collapsed 
 upon the bed. Bowie was dying but not dead. 
 His weakened fingers touched the handle of 
 his famous knife; the touch sent a sudden 
 strength into his veins. With a final rush of 
 fury he whipped the knife into the air and sank 
 it into the breast of the Mexican who had 
 reached him first, and fell back — dead. 
 
 Meanwhile the remaining handful of Amer- 
 icans were fighting with their backs to the 
 walls, their hunting knives in their hands, aim- 
 ing deadly blows even as they fell to the 
 ground. Davy Crockett was one of the last 
 alive. He stood in a corner of the fort, fighting 
 like a wounded tiger. In one hand he grasped 
 the remnants of his beloved "Betsey," and in 
 the other his hunting knife, now red to the hilt. 
 At his feet lay a pile of Mexicans — twenty in 
 number — some dead, some dying. Nearby lay 
 
182 FAMOUS AMERICANS 
 
 also poor Thimblerig, his knife buried in the 
 throat of a Mexican, whose hair he clutched in 
 his left hand. He had fought beside Davy till 
 a bullet had found his heart. 
 
 But Davy's work was done. Blood was 
 streaming from the great saber cut in his fore- 
 head, and he was swaying from weakness, as a 
 new force of Mexicans closed in upon him. He 
 struck out; a rain of sword-cuts fell upon his 
 tired body; he dropped in his tracks. The 
 furious cowards mangled his face and limbs as 
 he lay, but he did not care; his indomitable 
 heart was still. On his brow was a frown, but 
 his lips were curled in a smile of scorn. He 
 had "gone ahead" all his hfe, he was irtill 
 "going ahead," when his life ended. 
 
 The rising sun saw the triumphant Mexican 
 tri-color floating above the Alamo, but it saw, 
 too, five hundred Mexicans dead within the 
 fort, their bodies mingled with the one hundred 
 and sixty-six Aiiiericans who had avenged 
 themselves manyfold as they fell. 
 
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