Part 11
The next morning Judge Baldwin, Judge Hemphill, John Sergeant, and others, called upon Davy, and afterwards he was invited to visit the Fairmount waterworks, then the pride of the whole State. He was astonished at the volume of water lifted by a “few wheels,” but even more so by the lavish use of the supply. He says that such scrubbing of steps and even of pavements he had never seen, and he strongly suspected the housemaids of having web feet. The next place visited was the Mint, and the sight of real money, as he calls it, stirred him to comment upon the flood of paper then in circulation. The statement made to Davy that the workmen were too much accustomed to handling coin ever to think of stealing it, was a “poser.” He had thought that such constant temptation was the most powerful cause of crime. During the forenoon a visit was made to the Asylum for the Insane, whereat Davy thanked God for the bounty and humaneness of the city in thus providing for the unfortunates within its walls. When the round of the city had been made, the time for the promised speech had nearly arrived. He says that he had made set speeches in Congress, when all his colleagues were against him, and further:
“I had made stump speeches at home, in the face of all the little office-yelpers who were opposed to me; but indeed, when I got in sight of the Exchange, and saw the streets crowded, I ’most wished to take back my promise, but I was brought up by hearing a youngster say, as I passed, ‘Go ahead, Davy Crockett.’ I said to myself, ‘I have faced the enemy; these are friends. I have fronted the savage red man of the forest; these are civilized. I’ll keep cool, and let them have it.’”
Davy went to the Exchange, and in a few moments stood before that great crowd, bowing in response to the continued cheering that delayed the possibility of his being heard. He says there were five thousand people in front of the building; it was Philadelphia exalting to the skies the symbolism of its dislike and hatred of Andrew Jackson, personified in “the wild man from the West.” For half an hour Davy spoke to the immense audience, and for an hour afterwards stood upon the steps of the Exchange, shaking hands with eager admirers.
Here is the spectacle of a man who had risen, as we have seen, from the lowly log-house settlement of the Western slopes, unschooled, unpolished, except by the rude processes of hardships and necessity, yet who could rise to such self-command as this. Thousands of men of the higher order of the educated fail when they try to think and talk at the same time. The possibilities that were in Davy Crockett’s pathway were without limit; a vision of political greatness hovered about his pillow in the midnight hours, and beckoned him onward in the glare of day. That he should thus be known by the people of the seaboard filled his soul with pride and his heart with hope. He forgot the bitter words he had spoken in honest wrath against what he believed to be the misdeeds of the administration of Andrew Jackson. Like one camping in the peaceful forest, unmindful of the stern and silent foe upon his trail, he rested in a contentment that was undisturbed by doubt. He looked forward to reëlection the next year, or to a gift from the people of even greater power. There is no sign of his honest nature being spoiled by so much attention. He was never blind to the possibility of deception in the adulation of the public, but the loud cheers of the men of the Quaker City rang true in his ears, and he believed them as sincere as himself.
In the evening Davy visited the Walnut Street Theatre, where he saw Jim Crow――“as good a nigger,” he says, “as if he was clean black, except the bandy legs.” After the theatre, Davy said that he thought his own people found quite as much pleasure in their own simple recreations as did the city folks in their more expensive and showy ones, and against anything the city could show he would put the fun of the all-night country dance.
“It would do you good to see our boys and girls dancing,” said he. “None of your straddling and mincing and sadying, but a regular sifter, cut-the-buckle, chicken-flutter set-to.” It is well, sometimes, to get another view of ourselves from such a standpoint as Davy’s.
The Philadelphia people, especially the politicians of the Whig party, outdid themselves in entertaining the hero of the hour. The next morning he was presented with a forty-dollar seal for his watch-chain. The design showed a “match race,” as he styles it, with two horses at full speed, and with the motto, “Go Ahead!” He thought it the finest seal he had ever seen, and says that after his return to Washington in June, the members of Congress almost wore it out in making impressions to send all over the country.
The seal had hardly been presented before Mr. James Sanderson was announced. He had come to ask Davy for his wishes and advice in procuring a rifle that the Young Whigs of the city desired to present to Colonel Crockett. Davy was perhaps more pleased with this gift than by any other that could have been offered him. He gave the specifications as to size, weight, and so on, and it was arranged that the rifle should be given to him on his way back to Congress.
On Tuesday Davy visited the Navy Yard and saw on the stocks the largest ship that had ever been laid down in the United States. He also visited the Schuylkill bridge, and was shown the railroad that had been extended a hundred miles into the State, “without making any fuss about it.” Upon seeing Girard College, he remarked that blood is thicker than water, and that he would have made his own kin rich first of all, and afterwards might have given away the rest. His last evening was the occasion for a “pick-knick” supper. He says this meant as much as he and his friends could eat and drink, with nothing to pay.
XVIII.
TRAVELLING HARD
Davy visits New York City――His astonishment at the sight of the shipping――Davy wants to run to every fire――He visits Peale’s Museum――“Whole rows of little bugs and such-like varments”――Dined by the Young Whigs of New York――The first of May was moving day――Meets Albert Gallatin, whose house is being demolished to make room for the Astor Tavern――Visits the Five Points, and sees an artillery parade at the Battery――A rifle match at Jersey City――His journey is continued to Boston by way of Hell Gate and Providence――Davy is welcomed at the Tremont Tavern――Visits Faneuil Hall, Bunker Hill, the Constitution, and is the guest of the Young Whigs――Makes a speech to a meeting in front of the State House, and visits Lowell――Davy is given a broadcloth suit made from Mississippi wool――He returns to Washington――The news from Texas in 1834.
The next day――the 29th of April, according to his story――Davy went to New York, by steamboat up the Delaware, thence by rail to Perth Amboy, and then again by boat. He says New York was certainly “a bulger,” and especially was he astonished by the forest of masts at the wharves. At the dock he was met by a committee and a crowd anxious to see him. After three cheers had been given and repeated, a committee representing the Young Whigs escorted him to the American Hotel, where many New Yorkers had gathered to meet him.
That afternoon Davy was taken to see the new fire-engine, and then saw Fanny Kemble play at the Park Theatre. He pays an honest tribute to that charming actress, when he says, “She is like a handsome piece of changeable silk: first one color and then another, but always the clean thing.”
While here, a sudden alarm of fire was heard. Davy jumped for his hat, and almost had to be held by his friends to keep him from rushing into the street. He told them that many a time he had ridden bareback to fires in his own neighborhood, and the city’s indifference to such exciting happenings was hard for him to understand.
During the 31st Davy visited some of the newspaper offices, among them those of the _Courier_, the _Enquirer_, and the _Star_. Then he saw Pearl Street, making his way with much dodging about through the boxes that covered the sidewalks. His party next took in the Stock Exchange, and before he left he made a speech from the steps leading down to the main floor. Returning to the hotel for dinner, he visited with friends until they all decided to go to Peale’s Museum. This, says Davy, was “over my head.” He makes no attempt to describe what he saw, but was filled with wonder at seeing “whole rows of little bugs and such like varments” set up in boxes, and could not see why they should be thought worthy of exhibition.
From the Museum Davy went to the City Hall, where he met the Mayor, who had once been a tanner, and Davy remarked to him that they “had both clumb a long way up from where they started.” Before leaving the City Hall he was invited to dine at Colonel Draper’s, where he met Major Jack Downing, then a great celebrity.
Next came an invitation to sup with the Young Whigs. “Well, now,” says Davy, “they had better keep some of these things for somebody else to eat, thinks I, for I’m sure I’m as full as a young cub.” But the invitation was accepted. After Judge Clayton, of Georgia, had made a speech that “made the tumblers hop,” Colonel Crockett was formally toasted as “the undeviating supporter of the Constitution and the Laws.” He responded to the toast in a short speech, in which he referred to the impossibility of plowing a straight furrow towards the cow that kept moving about. If he had followed Jackson, he said, his furrow would have been as crooked as the one made by the boy who had plowed all the forenoon after that kind of a cow.
The next day was the 1st of May, and while driving about in a barouche with Colonel S. D. Jackson, he was astonished at the number of loads of furniture he saw in the streets. When told that it was moving-day, he remarked that it would take a good deal to get him out of his own log-house; such restlessness was beyond his understanding. They then drove to the Five Points, which Dickens said could be backed, in respect to wretchedness, against Seven Dials or any other part of St. Giles’s. The sight of so much squalor and misery made Davy wonder what could induce human beings to stay in such places, instead of “clearing out for a new country, where every hide hangs by its own tail.”
As Davy walked back to the American Hotel, after leaving the Colonel, he was introduced to Albert Gallatin, the celebrated scholar, volunteer soldier, suppressor of the Whiskey Insurrection, and Jefferson’s Secretary of the Treasury. The old veteran of seventy-three, straw hat in hand, was also “moving,” Davy says. He pointed out to him the house he was leaving, which was about to be torn down, with others, to be replaced by a big tavern to be built by John Jacob Astor, and to cover a whole square. Before Davy left, a day or so later, he saw the roofs of the houses torn off by the workmen. The big tavern was the famous Astor House.
Some time during the same day, a new flag was hoisted at the Battery, then the favorite promenade of the fashionables of the city. Davy was invited, and witnessed a parade of the artillery, under command of General Morton, formerly of the Revolutionary army. An entertainment followed, in which eating and drinking played the usual prominent part. Davy seems to have been greatly pleased with the Battery and its views of the bay and islands about. “It is a beautiful meadow of a place,” he says, “all measured off, with nice walks of gravel between the grass plats, full of big shade trees, and filled with people and a great many children, that come there to get the fresh air that comes off the water of the bay.”
Early the next morning Davy visited Thorburn’s renowned seed-store, and from there went to a rifle match in Jersey City. There he hit a quarter at forty yards, off-hand, with a strange gun, and made other shots that sustained his reputation as a marksman. He was used up with sight-seeing, and was glad to go to Boston at the invitation of another new-made friend, Captain Comstock, in command of one of the Long Island steamboats. On the way to the dock they drove around through South and Front Streets. Here the queen clippers of the world lay moored, with their bowsprits high above the pavements, and their rigged-in jib-booms almost touching the buildings along the water-front.
At three o’clock the steamer _Providence_ sailed with Davy on board, but not until a crowd of people had come to see him off. He responded with many bows, and the ship slipped out of the dock amid the cheers of the multitude. The passengers then gathered about him, and before their curiosity was satisfied the city was out of sight. As they passed through Hell Gate, a large, full-rigged British ship was seen coming in from the other side. This sight was an object lesson as to the need of coast defenses.
Davy was a good sailor, and walked the decks off Point Judith the next morning, without being seasick in the least. The sun came up like a ball of fire, and Davy says that it looked as it was brand-new. The sight of many stone fences amused him greatly, and he remarked that one of his cows would pitch over a dozen of that kind, “without flirting her tail.”
At Providence, where they landed about noon, another crowd greeted him. Refusing an invitation to stop at that city, Davy took his seat in the fast stage for Boston. “The driver was ordered to go ahead,” says Davy, “and sure enough he did. It was forty miles to Boston, and we run it down in four hours.” The stony nature of the land was a source of surprise to Davy, accustomed to the rich alluvium of Tennessee. He says the stones covered the earth as thick as Kentucky land-titles, and he wondered why the Lord hadn’t sent the Pilgrims better pilots.
Arrived in Boston, Davy landed at the Tremont House, which he calls a tavern, kept by Mr. Boyden.
“Mr. Boyden did not know me,” says Davy, “nor me him; but when I told him my name, where they put it on the bar-book, he treated me like an old friend, and continued to do so all the time I was there. He gave me a good room and a nice bed, and attended to me the kindest in the world. I had seen a great many fine taverns; but take this in and out, and Tremont House is a smart chance ahead.”
The first day in Boston was the occasion of a visit to Faneuil Hall, where General Davis showed Davy the arms and cannon of the State militia. The complete order, and the realization of the possibility of sending out the troops at a few minutes’ notice, deeply impressed the former scout.
“General Davis informed me,” he says, “that this was the house that was called the Cradle of Liberty. I reckon that old King George thought they were thundering fine children that was rocked in it, and a good many of them; and that no wonder his red-coats were licked, when the children came out with soldier clothes on and muskets in their hands. God grant that the liberty bough on which this cradle rocks may never break!”
At Roxbury, Davy was given a rubber hunting-coat, something entirely novel to him. This coat he afterwards took with him when he went to Texas. He next visited the good ship _Constitution_, and the battleground of Bunker Hill, where the great monument was already begun.
“I felt like calling them up,” he said, “and asking them to tell me how to help best to protect the liberty they bought for us with their blood; but as I could not do so, I resolved on that holy ground to go for my country, always and everywhere.” These were no idle words that Davy spoke.
Out of many invitations to dinner offered by the hospitable citizens, Davy chose that of the Young Whigs, at which a hundred were present. This was perhaps the crowning festivity of his journey.
Another day was taken up in viewing The Commons, in climbing to the dome of the State House, and in entertaining with one of the Western speeches a great crowd in front of that building. He declined an invitation to visit Harvard. In telling of this, he says that he would run no risk of having LL.D. tacked on to his name. “There had been one doctor made from Tennessee already, and I had no wish to put on the cap and bells.” This is a reference to Jackson.
Everywhere he went Davy found new evidences of friendship and hospitality. In Lowell, Mr. Lawrence presented to him a fine piece of broadcloth made from Mississippi wool. There was also another dinner here, as well attended as that given by the Young Whigs at Boston.
When Davy called for his score at the Tremont House, before leaving for New York, he was told that he was an honored guest, and that there was nothing to pay. He was warmed through and through with New England hospitality, and left Boston with a heart full of gratitude. His return to Washington, by way of Providence, New York, and Philadelphia, was uneventful, except that his pocket-book was stolen at Camden, with one hundred and sixty dollars in money, a sum of much importance in a time when money was hard to get. Tired out with his continuous round of pleasure, Davy was glad to get back to his seat in Congress, where he was welcomed by his fellow-members as a man who had reaped special honor and distinction from the exclusives of the older States. He was in Washington but a few days before Congress adjourned.
The year 1834 is memorable for the election of Abraham Lincoln as a member of the Illinois Legislature, and for the emancipation of all slaves in the British colonies. The presence of General Sam Houston in Texas had begun to lead to results. Already the Americans in that part of Mexico had taken the bit in their teeth, and were running things as if they recognized no other authority than their own. They could not go back, nor did they wish to cross the great strip of sand and trickling water called the Grand River of the North. They purposed to rule to the Rio Grande’s banks, and every man who went to Texas from the States carried a gun, lots of ammunition, and words of cheer.
XIX.
THE RIFLE “BETSY”
The adjournment of Congress――The rifle “Betsy” is presented to Davy at Philadelphia――Meets Daniel Webster and others at the Fish-House Club――He is given a supply of hunting powder by Mr. Dupont――The fast line to Pittsburg, by rail and canal――Charles Dickens’ notes on the same route――Davy foretells the greatness of the Smoky City and the Keystone State――The voyage down the Ohio River――The greatest crowd that Louisville had ever seen――Arrival at Mills’ Point, and the homeward drive through the wilderness――The baying of the hounds at the sight of their master――More news from Texas――The expulsion of the gamblers from Mississippi――The adventurers flock to the Rio Grande――Another year at Washington――Davy returns over the mountain trail――Begins another campaign.
When Congress adjourned, about the 1st of July, 1834, Davy went to Philadelphia, intending to return to the Obion by way of the “Fast Line” of stages, canals, and steamboats between Harrisburg and Louisville. After he arrived at the United States Hotel, a committee waited upon him, and at an hour set for the event he was given the rifle which had been made for him under John M. Sanderson’s direction. In reply to the speech of presentation, Davy used these memorable words:
“If it should become necessary to use her in defense of liberty, in my time, I will do as I have done before; and if in the struggle I am buried in the dust, I will leave her in the hands of some one who will honor your present, in standing for our country’s rights.”
The rifle was a fine specimen of the best Pennsylvania workmanship, and accompanying it were a tomahawk, hunting-knife, and all the accoutrements that went with a gun.
During the next few days Davy spoke at the Fourth of July performance in the Chestnut Street Theatre, met Daniel Webster and other celebrities at the Fish-House club on the Schuylkill, and received a present of half a dozen canisters of the best brand of Dupont’s powder from Mr. Dupont in person. He then started for Pittsburg. Arriving at Harrisburg by rail, he took up his quarters upon the canal-boat which Dickens has minutely described in the chapter ending with this mention of the stuffy cabin of the best packet on the line:
“No doubt it would have been a thought more comfortable if the driving rain, which now poured down more soakingly than ever, had admitted of a window being opened, or if our number had been something less than thirty; but there was scarcely time to think as much, when a train of three horses was attached to the tow-rope, the boy upon the leader cracked his whip, the rudder creaked and groaned complainingly, and we had begun our journey.”
Two and a half days were used up in going to the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains. Between the western end of the canal and the other, or western, side of the mountains, there was then a railway, over which the cars, or coaches, were hauled by stationary engines, there being five inclines, or switch-backs, on each side. From this railway the trip continued by another canal, and upon the evening of the fourth day Davy found himself for the first time in the Smoky City. He was enthusiastic over the future of the State. He saw in Pittsburg a perfect workshop, increasing every year in extent, beauty, and population.
His voyage down the Ohio was enlivened by salutes from the citizens of various towns, by speaking at Cincinnati, and by the gathering of the largest crowd that Louisville had ever known. Dickens gives this description of the voyage down the Ohio:
“A fine broad river always, but in some parts much wider than in others; and then there is usually a green island, covered with trees, dividing it into two streams. Occasionally we stop for a few minutes, maybe to take on wood, maybe for passengers, at some small town or city (I ought to say city, every place is a city here), but the banks are for the most part deep solitudes, overgrown with trees, already in leaf and very green. For miles, and miles, and miles, these solitudes are unbroken by any sign of human life or trace of human footstep; nor is anything seen to move about them but the blue-jay, whose color is so bright and yet so delicate, that it looks like a flying flower. At long intervals, a log cabin, with its little space of cleared land about it, nestles under a rising ground, and sends its thread of blue smoke curling up into the sky. It stands in the corner of the poor field of wheat, which is full of great unsightly stumps, like earthly butchers’-blocks. Sometimes the ground is only just now cleared: the felled trees lying yet upon the soil, and the log house only this morning begun. As we pass this clearing, the settler leans upon his ax or hammer, and looks wistfully at the people from the world. The children creep out of their temporary hut, which is like a gipsy tent upon the ground, and clap their hands and shout. The dog only glances round at us, and then looks up into his master’s face again, as if he were rendered uneasy by any suspension of the common business, and had nothing more to do with pleasures. And there is still the same, eternal foreground.”