Davy pays his father’s debts—The old man’s tears—Gets a suit of clothes—Calf love—Barks up the wrong tree—Finds another girl—Sweet plugs and snuff as evidences of affection—He is gaily deceived, and wants to die—Pretty Polly Finlay—Davy marries at last—Other events of the times—Moves to Lincoln County in 1809—Another move—Red Eagle and the Creeks—Three hungry braves—Tecumseh and Big Warrior—The Earthquakes of 1811.

The next year of Davy’s life was one of hard work and no pay. He had been at home but a short time when his father told him that if he would work for six months for a man named Abraham Wilson, Wilson would in return give up a note of John Crockett’s for thirty-six dollars. As a reward, Davy could thereafter work for himself, without waiting to become of age. The boy fulfilled the compact without missing a day, in a place where some of the roughest of the settlers made a practice of meeting to drink and gamble. At last the note was his, and the joy of his father at its surrender was Davy’s recompense.

It was always a satisfaction to Davy Crockett to know that his father was a man who honestly tried to pay his debts. The son appears to have had the same spirit. When he asked to be given work at the home of “an honest old Quaker, John Kennedy,” he found that the man held another note of his father for forty dollars. Davy was offered the note for another six months’ work, and with a keen desire to do his duty, and to ease his father’s burdens as much as he could, he disregarded his newly acquired right to work for his own account, and started in. At the end of the time he received the note, borrowed a horse, and went home for a visit.

“Some time after I got there,” Davy afterwards said, “I pulled out the note and handed it to my father, who supposed Mr. Kennedy had sent it for collection. The old man looked mighty sorry, and said to me that he had not the money to pay it, and didn’t know what he should do. I then told him I had paid it for him, and it was then his own; that it was not presented for collection, but as a present from me. At this he shed a heap of tears; and as soon as he got a little over it, he said he was sorry he could not give me anything, but he was not able, he was too poor.”

For two months, after going back to the Quaker’s, Davy worked to get something decent to wear. The last good clothing he owned had been left with Adam Myers, together with his seven dollars of hard-earned cash, when he had quit that troublesome person, a few days out from Baltimore. This was nearly three years ago, so it is easy to imagine the boy’s shabby appearance. About the time when Davy was able to spruce up and aspire to polite society of the kind about him, he fell in love with the Quaker’s niece, who had come on a visit from North Carolina, and who was much older than he. All the symptoms of what the mountaineers called “calf love” were forthcoming. He couldn’t keep out of the girl’s sight, yet nearly choked when he tried to talk to her. When he had reached the proper state of desperation, he acted with his usual headlong energy, and told the young lady that he would die without her. He says that the girl listened kindly enough, but told him that she was to marry a son of the Quaker.

Davy concluded that his troubles were mostly due to his lack of learning. He was now in his seventeenth year, with a record of four days at school. He soon arranged with the old Quaker’s son, who kept a school a mile or so away, to work for him two days in the week, for board and tuition, and go to school the other four days. This plan was followed for six months.

“In this time,” says Davy, in his later account of his boyhood, “I learned to read a little in my primer, to write my own name, and to cipher some in the first three rules of figures. And this was all the schooling I ever had in my life.”

Davy had now grown to be a stout young fellow, and as he had learned to use a rifle with great accuracy he became a successful hunter. This was to a great extent a warrant for his plans for securing a wife, and he laid siege to the heart of a pretty young girl whom he had known since his early days. His courting was done without the knowledge of the Quaker, with whom he was now living. In the evening, when all were asleep, Davy would let himself out of the up-stairs window, by means of a sapling, and ride ten miles to the girl’s home, always returning before daylight. She at last agreed to marry him, and the day was set.

Lovers were not then given to sentimental tokens of affection. A plug of sweet tobacco, or a bladder of snuff, for dipping, was quite the thing to show the state of a young man’s feelings. Flowers were nothing but “yarbs,” and the present of a bouquet of may-flowers or laurel-blossoms would have caused inquiry as to his sanity. The mountaineer took no more notice than the Indians of the beautiful things in nature.

A few days before the expected wedding, Davy set out, as he told his employer, for a hunt, deer being then numerous. Instead of hunting, he went to a shooting-match on the way to the girl’s home. Making a deal with another rifleman, who must have had a little money, they took chances in the shoot for a beef, and when it was over, Davy had won. After selling the prize, the partners each had five dollars, and with that in his pocket, and his head above the clouds, the boy went to claim his bride. Two miles from the girl’s home her uncle lived, and there he found her sister. As soon as he began to talk with her, he saw that something troubled her, and then the whole pitiful story came out: the girl had played with him, and was to be married the next day to another man. For a time Davy was speechless. His pride was hurt, and he turned homeward his “lonesome and miserable steps,” like a wounded animal, stricken with mortal pain. He was thought to be sick for several weeks, for he was too proud to tell his trouble, and in his story of suffering there is ample evidence of the strength of his attachment to those whom he loved.

For some time Davy was too low-spirited to care for anything, even hunting; but one day he took his rifle and set out for the woods. On his way home, he stopped at the cabin of a Dutch widow, whose daughter, he says, was “as ugly as a stone fence.” It was this girl, however, who pointed out to him how great a mistake he made in “mourning over the loss of a single fish, when the sea was full of others as good.” She told him of a pretty Irish lass who was to be at a reaping bee in a few days, and induced him to come, too. By the end of the evening the charms of Polly Finlay took possession of his thoughts and Davy found life more worth living. As in so many cases, the course of true love did not run smooth, for the girl’s mother had selected another suitor for her daughter, and she bitterly opposed Davy’s suit.

After some weeks of courting, Davy won the girl’s heart, but when he went to ask for his bride, the old lady ordered him out of the house. With the girl’s consent and the tacit permission of her father, the young man secured the services of a justice to marry him on the following Thursday, and made arrangements to have his wife received at the tavern kept by his own father. In Ellis’s story of Crockett’s life, he quotes the following from the records of Weakley County, Tennessee:

No record of this kind really exists, as Weakley County was not organized until 1823.

We do not know what the wedding fee was in those days, but it was probably in the shape of worldly goods of small value. As all sorts of pelts were used for currency, we may imagine Davy paying the justice in coon-skins or muskrat hides.

To obtain a horse, Davy had agreed to work six months, board and lodging free. By giving up his rifle, he came into possession of the animal before the time was up, and when he went to the Finlay cabin, he was able to tell the young woman that he would come for her on the day set, with a horse, saddle, and bridle. When the day came—a Thursday—Davy went to the Finlays’, accompanied by two brothers and a sister, a brother’s wife, and some others, and found a number of neighbors there waiting for the wedding.

Mrs. Finlay was up in arms, but Davy rode up to the door, and asked the girl, if she was ready, to “light on the horse he was leading.” He was displaying his usual determination, which ended in winning the day. After the bride had taken her seat on the led horse, and the party was about to leave, a parley was brought about by the girl’s father; the old lady melted at the thought of her girl being married away from home, and the wedding took place without further opposition.

What ceremonies the outsiders observed, Davy never related. He says that they were treated as well as could be expected. They were not subjects for a charivari, but it is likely that the free use of gunpowder, liquor, and vocalized mountain air must have made the night one to be forever remembered by the two young people who were made man and wife.

The next day Davy and his bride went to the Crockett tavern for a visit. The young wife’s going-away dress was a dark blue homespun, and at her throat was a scarlet kerchief that had been brought from Baltimore by her mother. She is said to have been a very pretty girl, with warm gray eyes and a tender smile. The girl’s parents gave them their blessing, together with two cows and two calves, and when the kind old Quaker, John Kennedy, had arranged for a credit of fifteen dollars at the store, they were able to get what they most needed for the cabin they had rented in the vicinity of John Crockett’s inn. Polly was skilled in the use of the loom, and for some years they managed to make a living on the rented land. The homestead system was not then in practice, and the settler was called a squatter, and seldom had any other tenure than the pleasure of the land-owner.

About the time Davy and his wife were making their new home pleasant, Lewis and Clark were returning to Washington from their expedition to the Pacific coast; Napoleon was forming his Confederacy of the Rhine, and becoming the terror of all Europe; and the alleged conspiracy of Aaron Burr was discovered and frustrated, though Burr still had the support of Henry Clay, who claimed him to be innocent. Two months after Davy’s wedding, Napoleon made his triumphant entry into Berlin, and was at the summit of his career. The insolence of English naval officers in disregarding the rights of American seamen found fruit in the War of 1812. Yet the most dramatic events of modern times scarcely drew the attention of the people of the western slope of the mountains. Only when some painted prophet from the tribes of the north or those with whom the French or the Spanish intrigued, went through the border-lands, leaving a trail of unrest and superstitious passion behind him, did the pioneers think of war. The Creeks and the Chickasaws had been peaceful for many years, but among the former tribe and its confederates a faction of the dissatisfied was slowly gaining ground. So little fear of the Indians prevailed that Davy Crockett did not hesitate to move from Jefferson County, to the region about fifty miles west of Lookout Mountain, near the Elk River, where there were all kinds of game, though bears were not as numerous as in the northwestern part of Tennessee. When Davy moved to this new home in Lincoln County, in 1809, he had two boys, both under two years of age. His wife’s father, with his own horse, helped the family in moving.

Davy again moved in 1810, this time to Franklin County, settling ten miles below Winchester. Deer were abundant, wild turkeys were found in every forest, and it was an easy matter to supply food for his family. At times some of the Creeks strayed up from the Coosa country across the Alabama line, and were always treated with courtesy. But after Davy’s last shift, the Alabama Indians were not always friendly. The United States Government had secured a right-of-way for a highway across Alabama into the Tombigbee region, into which the settlers had begun to go in great numbers. The sight of such an influx of whites had alarmed the Creeks, and Red Eagle, or Weatherford, was the leader of those who now planned to go to war, if necessary, for the preservation of their ancient hunting-grounds. Red Eagle was hardly one-fourth Indian, his father having been a Scotch trader, his mother the Creek princess Sehoy, the daughter of a Scotchman named McGillivray. Red Eagle was also known as Weatherford, after his father, Charles Weatherford.

Soon after Davy Crockett settled in Franklin County, there came to his cabin three Creeks, whose manner was not to his liking. They were evidently “spying upon the land,” and one of them, who wore a head decoration made of twenty or thirty silver florins, asked for food.

“Injun hungry, Injun heap hungry! Walk long time, no eat. White man make ’um supper!”

Davy went into his cabin, conferred with his wife, and soon reappeared with a large piece of corned beef, which he intended to boil in the kettle that hung from a tripod of stakes in front of the door. The braves took a look at the meat, held a short consultation, and their leader spoke again:

“Salt meat no good. White man eat ’um, Injun no eat ’um.” Then he pointed to a fine fat calf that was the pride of the family, and said:

“No eat ’um corn’ beef. Injun kill ’um calf. Eat ’um calf!”

Davy shook his head in refusal of the plan proposed, and reached for his rifle, which was always at hand. The Indian spokesman thereupon made another suggestion:

“Kill ’um calf: white man half—Injun half,” right hand across his body—“Injun half.”

While the Indians were making this effort at compromise, with nothing to lose in any event, Polly Crockett untied the calf, led it into the cabin, and shut the door. The three braves went scowling away.

During the year 1811 the great chief Tecumseh, acting as an agent of the British, travelled from the lake region to Florida, where he succeeded in persuading the warlike Seminoles to promise help in fighting the whites. On his way south, he visited the Chickasaws in western Tennessee, and although these Indians did not listen with favor to his plans, his visit created an uneasy feeling among the few settlers in their country. In October, Tecumseh, with thirty naked braves, marched into the Tookabatcha town, while Colonel Hawkins was holding a Grand Council for the purpose of placating the war party among the Creeks. As long as Colonel Hawkins remained, Tecumseh was silent, but after his departure, the renowned chieftain soon won the majority of the Creek nation to his side.

It was in October, 1811, that Tecumseh resumed his journey to the north, with the assurance of Red Eagle’s readiness to make war when the time should be ripe. In November, the next month, the battle of Tippecanoe was fought, and General Harrison defeated the Indians, who were commanded by Elskwatawa, the Prophet, brother of Tecumseh.

Before leaving the Creek country, Tecumseh quarrelled with the chief Big Warrior, who refused to join in his schemes. Tecumseh told him, so the tradition runs, that when he reached Detroit he would stamp upon the ground and all the houses in Tookabatcha would fall to the ground. Some writers, mentioning this threat, seem to be in doubt regarding the promised earthquake, but on the midnight of December 15, 1811, after the arrival of Tecumseh in the north, earthquakes along the Mississippi valley suddenly began. The town of New Madrid disappeared, the face of the country was much changed, and what is known as Reelfoot Lake, fifty miles long and very wide, was formed close to the main river. Of this lake there is more to tell in a later chapter.