Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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True Devotion By SYLVER STROUT Second Prize History Story Andrew Jackson ' s general merchandise store of rough-hewn logs was the central gathering place for the small handful of back¬ woodsmen who happened to live so far from cultured circles as Lonesome Camp. Here, one day, seated on floor barrels and soap boxes, a group of rustic settlers were discussing the important topics of their neighborhood. “Well,” drawled one, “Jackson, you didn ' t have a great sight o ' trouble in being nominated ' for the governor’s chair of this ' ere state of Tennessee. The real fight an ' rub will come in gettin ' elected.” The storekeeper, a tall, lank, uncouth personage, with his shaggy red locks falling over his brow, and a queue tied with a strip of eelskin hanging down his back, kicked the heel of one heavy cowhide boot with the broad toe of the other and replied, “Yow, Pete, work or no work. I ' m going to be governor and the people ' ll have to elect me. My wife, though she don ' t say much, has set her heart on my being elected governor of Tennessee. And if she wants me to be governor. I’ll fight until I am.” “But,” put in a short, stubby fellow with large piercing eyes, “the people might not like the outcome of your duel with Dickinson. I ' m afraid, since he ' s laid up and injured for life, that the opinions of some might not exactly jibe with us that know you.” “Keep your tongue!” thundered Andrew Jackson. He didn ' t get as bad as he deserves. Any one who dares to say one word against my wife—,” the proprietor of the little store stood speech¬ less and choking with rage at thought of the daring words of Charles Dickinson, which had brought on their violent duel, in which the offender had received much the worst of it. When the man ' s fiery wrath had cooled down one of the company summoned courage to speak meekly. “Andy, I heard Charles Dickinson ' s brothers swear this morning to kill you, for 28

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worthy to touch even her painted likeness. He had vowed to be¬ come a traitor. He again heard a low voice say, “do your duty—but I know you will.” Then he remembered the commanding tones, “third tent, fourth row, new flag.” Gripping the locket firmly he went forward, “third tent, fourth row,” and found the flag, went back across the field. He joined the ranks. “Let ’em have it boys,” the Rebs were almost to the cannon’s mouth. The southern flag was flying, now it waves for an instant, it waves on the northern breastworks. But.only for an instant, for brave Armistead falls, not dead but like the southern confederacy, not yet dead but mortally wounded. Philips springs forward, plants the flag and hears the joyous shouts of his comrades. He sees it wave victorious, he smiles and kisses the miniature. Tears were coursing down the old man’s cheeks. He drew from his breast a flat locket, pressed a spring and there within, a tiny piece of a flag. A piece of the flag that waved victorious over Cemetery Ridge, the same flag that floated above President Lincoln when he gave his address that stilled the hearts of those present and stirs the patriotism of all who read or hear it. A tear dropped on the piece of flag. The old man picks it up tenderly. There looking up at him is the girl with the sunshine in her hair. 27

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their brother’s injuries; so be sure you always have your knives and pistols along with you in your belt.” “I can take care of myself and half a dozen besides,” Jack- son shouted, and to look at the set features of this rough-looking man who stood six feet and one inch in his stockings, his state¬ ment was not hard to believe. Soon he continued, You fellows just keep working for me, and when I’m governor there’ll be some nice, cozy corners for those who help to elect me.” That night when Andrew Jackson was walking down the village street, which was hardly more than a beaten forest road, two men rushed upon him from the darkness and drew their pistols and knives. Jackson, seeing that the two men were Charles Dickinson’s brothers, reached for his pistol. A bloody affray ensued, and Jackson’s shoulder was horribly slashed and shattered. He was utterly exhausted when he had put his two opponents to flight and friends bore him home. . For several days he lay weak and pale upon a bed of suffering. Then he heard that a dreadful and shocking massacre had taken place at Fort Mims and that the Creeks were committing the most awful ravages. Decisive action was necessary. There seemed to be no one to head the troops to repel the terriffic cruelty of the Indians. Andrew Jackson did not hesitate. In an instant he knew what had to be done. Haggard and feeble, he staggered from his sick bed and mustered together a band of two thousand resolute troops. One arm hung in a sling, and he was unable to mount his horse without assistance, when at the head of his army, he fondly, and affectionately bade good-bye to his wife who was the apple of his eye. For eleven days, Jackson, though suffering with his wounds and weak condition as a result of the fight with the two brothers, led his army thru the pathless wilderness, thru tangled forests and over wild ravines, to the Indian’s strongest fort at Horseshoe Bend. Here a successful attack was made upon the Indians and in a desperate, bloody battle, in which the carnage was awful, the power of the Creeks was broken forever. After this great victory Andrew Jackson led his men slowly back thru the wild rough country, homeward. His glorious suc¬ cess exalted him, for it would go a long ways in securing his elec¬ tion, and election time was near. But he felt the happiest when he thought of his wife’s rejoicing. How proud she would be at his triumph! 29