Hunting in the “harricane”—His dream of a big black “nigger”—His dogs bark up the wrong tree—A bear as big as a bull—Davy’s trip to Jackson—Meets some former comrades-in-arms—His name again suggested for the Legislature—He becomes a candidate in hunting coat and coon-skin cap—He is elected a member from his new district—Votes against Jackson’s friend for United States Senator—Old Hickory puts a mark opposite Crockett’s name—In the next election Davy is defeated by Jackson’s influence—Returns to farming again.

Davy Crockett in his time was celebrated as the greatest bear-hunter that ever lived. The story of one of his hunts was probably read by almost every man, woman, and child, of his generation, in Tennessee. His own version is by far the best, and is now given word for word as he wrote it. First let the reader understand that Davy’s cabin was near the Rutherford fork of the Obion, on the east side, and just below the “harricane,” where either a great wind-storm or a not uncommon earthquake had laid most of the timber flat. East of the cabin, five or six miles, was the middle or main fork of the Obion. A look at the map will show very nearly the location of his home. The hunt began the morning after he had secured his precious keg of powder. Davy’s story is as follows:

“That night there fell a heavy rain, and it turned to sleet. In the morning all hands turned out hunting. My young man and a brother-in-law who had lately settled near me went down the river to hunt for turkeys, but I was for larger game. I told them I had dreamed the night before of having had a hard fight with a big black nigger, and I know’d it was a sign I was to have a battle with a bear; for in a bear country, I never know’d such a dream to fail. So I started to go above the harricane, determined to have a bear. I had two pretty good dogs and an old hound, which I took along. I had gone about six miles up the river, and it was then about four miles across to the main Obion; so I determined to strike across to that, as I had found nothing yet to kill.

“I got on to the river, and turned down it; but the sleet was still getting worse and worse. The bushes were all bent down and locked together, so that it was almost impossible to get along. In a little time my dogs started a large gang of old turkey gobblers, and I killed two of the biggest sort. I shouldered them up, and moved on, until I got through the harricane again, when I was so tired that I laid my gobblers down, to rest, as they were confounded heavy, and I was mighty tired.

“While I was resting, my old hound went to a log and smelt it awhile, and then raised his eyes towards the sky and cried out. Away he went, and my other dogs with him, and I shouldered up my turkeys again, and followed on as hard as I could drive. The dogs were soon out of sight, and in a very little time I heard them begin to bark. When I got to them, they were barking up a tree, but there was no game there. I concluded that it had been a turkey, and that it had flew away.

“When they saw me coming, away they went again, and, after a little time, began to bark as before. When I got near them, I found they were barking up the wrong tree again, as there was no game there. They served in this way three or four times, until I was so infernal mad that I determined, if I could get near enough, to shoot the old hound at least.

“With this intention, I pushed on the harder, till I came to the edge of an open prairie, and, looking on before my dogs, I saw in and about the biggest bear that ever was seen in America. He looked, at the distance he was from me, like a large black bull. My dogs were afraid to attack him, and that was the reason why they had stopped so often—that I might overtake them. They were now almost up with him, and I took my gobblers from my back and hung them up in a sapling, and broke like a quarter horse after my bear, for the sight of him had put new springs in me. I soon got near to them, but they were just getting into a roaring thicket, and so I couldn’t run through it, but had to pick my way along, and had close work at that.

“In a little while I saw the bear climbing up a large black oak tree, and I crawled on till I got within about eighty yards of him. He was setting with his breast to me, and so I put fresh priming in my gun and fired at him. At this he raised one of his paws and snorted loudly. I loaded again as quick as I could, and fired as near the same place in his breast as possible. At the crack of my gun, here he came tumbling down; and the moment he touched the ground I heard one of my best dogs cry out. I took my tomahawk in one hand and my big butcher-knife in the other, and ran up within four or five paces of him, at which he let my dog go and fixed his eyes on me. I got back in all sorts of a hurry, for I knowed that if he got hold of me, he would hug me altogether too close for comfort. I went to my gun and hastily loaded her again, and shot him a third time, which killed him for good.

“I now began to think about getting him home, but I didn’t know how far it was. So I left him and started; and in order to find him again, I would blaze a sapling every little distance, which would show me the way back; I continued this until I got within a mile of home, for there I knowed very well where I was, and that I could easily find my way back to my blazes. When I got home, I took my brother-in-law and my young man and four horses, and went back. We got there just before dark, and struck up a fire and commenced butchering my bear. It was some time in the night before we finished it; and I can assert, on my honor, that I believe he would have weighed six hundred pounds. It was the second largest I ever saw. I killed one, a few years afterwards, that weighed six hundred and seventeen pounds.

“I now felt fully compensated for my sufferings in going after my powder; and well satisfied that a dog may be doing a good business, even when he seems to be barking up the wrong tree.”

The bear referred to as weighing six hundred pounds was a fine specimen of the black bear of the East, but the white bears of Alaska are nearly twice as large. In 1909, near the western extremity of the Alaskan Peninsula, a white bear was killed by Dr. J. Wylie Anderson, of Denver, and Mr. Hornaday, the celebrated zoÖlogist, estimated its weight at twelve hundred pounds.

In the month of February, 1823, Davy went to Jackson, carrying a great quantity of skins to sell. Jackson was then a little cross-roads settlement, the county seat of Madison County, and about forty miles from Davy’s clearing. He was there only twenty-four hours before the skins were sold, and supplies of sugar, coffee, salt, powder, and lead were bought and packed in readiness for an early start for home the next day.

About this time the outlaws and cut-throats that afterwards came under the leadership of John A. Murrell were haunting the highways of the southwestern part of Tennessee. Now and then stories of murders by Indians were heard with suspicion by the wise; there were white murderers as well as red ones, they thought. Even Davy had little desire to stay any longer than necessary in that vicinity; for the fact that he was now worth robbing might become known to the outlaws, who watched for victims with the keen vision and cruelty of the wolves that howled at night in the dark shadows of the pines. But the evening was before him, and a man who had worked and hunted for six months, as he had, might be expected to look for recreation. He wanted to hunt up some of the men whom he had known in the Creek War, and before long he had found enough of them to make a quorum in the bar-room, whose tallow candles threw a dull glow across the muddy street. If Davy had gone to bed after getting ready to start, his future would have been different, and his history might never have been of especial interest to the world.

While Davy and his fellow-soldiers were busy talking over old times, others came in, among them three prominent candidates for nomination for the Legislature in that district, which included eleven counties. One of these was Doctor Butler, nephew by marriage to General Jackson. Some one said to Davy:

“Crockett, here are three candidates for the Legislature. You ought to offer also, seeing that you know the ropes so well.”

Davy was in doubt as to the man’s sincerity, but he may have had this thought in mind himself. He seems to have had no idea of trying to run, for he told the man that he lived forty miles from a settlement, and had no intention of electioneering. He went home the next morning, with his little boy, and took up his usual round of duties.

About a week afterwards a stranger appeared at the edge of the little clearing of six or seven acres, in the midst of which the smoke curled peacefully from the great “mud-and-sticks” chimney of the Crockett home. He came to the door, which almost always stood open, even in the coldest weather, this being the usual custom in that part of the country, and when he was seated before the leaping flames of the fireplace, he took a paper from his pocket and read aloud the announcement of Davy’s offering for the nomination. Davy heard it with the same suspicion as that with which he had heard the suggestion at Jackson, but the fact that the announcement would look genuine to the public put him on his mettle. It was time to begin the spring work on his little wilderness farm, but for this he hired a young man, and at once set out to feel the public pulse. Everywhere he went his fame as a bear-hunter, and as the member from the cane-brakes, had gone before him. The three men whom he had met at Jackson had settled their affairs by caucus. Doctor Butler had been named, and the others were working for him. To these men, Davy’s electioneering was a huge joke: he lived a three days’ tramp through the wilderness from any public highway; he was a poor man, still a rough backwoodsman, and appeared as little to be feared by his opponents as did Andrew Jackson at first in the eyes of the “silk stockings” of the Old Dominion, who had so nearly monopolized the statesmanship of the nation. As the campaign went on, the news that Davy Crockett would be at a meeting brought out of the woods men who had been there so long that they were like the Butler County man who had to be blindfolded to get him on the cars. Whether it was a barbecue, a shooting-match, corn-husking, log-rolling, or any other of the usual out-of-doors gatherings, Davy, dressed in homespun and wearing a coon-skin cap, and always with his rifle in hand, was the object of attention and admiration.

When he met his opponents he told them that he had little money to use in electioneering. Plenty of tobacco-twist and a jug of liquor would be his best weapons. His young man and the coon-dogs on the Fork would tree and capture all the coons needed to furnish funds for the supplies, but in a pinch he could “go a-wolfing,” kill a wolf, and get three dollars of the State Treasury money for the scalp, to keep him “along on the big string.” His way of talking was more suited to the frontier than to the halls of state; but the voters were with him on election day, and with three candidates against him Davy came out with two hundred and forty-seven more votes than all the others together. The news of his election to the Legislature in a district to which he had just removed, after serving as a Representative from another part of the State, made him famous within the boundaries of Tennessee and even beyond.

When the first session of the Legislature took place, it chose a new United States Senator to succeed John Williams, whose term was about to close. Senator Williams was up for reËlection, and it was evident that the opposition could not beat him with their candidate. In this emergency, they appealed to Andrew Jackson to allow his name to be used against Williams. At that time Jackson was the most talked-of candidate for the Presidency of the United States, but he was not unwilling to become a member of the Senate while biding his time, and he entered into the contest at Nashville, receiving ten more votes, in the joint session of the Legislature, than Colonel Williams. Davy Crockett was one of the twenty-five who voted against Andrew Jackson. Referring to this matter, Davy said, in later years:

“Voting against the old chief was mighty up-hill business to all of them except myself. I never would, nor never did, acknowledge that I was wrong; and I am more certain now that I voted right than ever. I told the people it was the best vote I ever gave; that I had supported the public interest, and cleared my conscience in giving it, instead of gratifying the private ambition of a man. I let the people know, as early as then, that I wouldn’t take a collar round my neck.”

Thus early in his career as a statesman Davy became the political enemy of Jackson. It is not likely that he ever forgave the General for his attempt to force his volunteers to stay longer than they had enlisted for. Jackson was for a tariff, and Davy’s party, locally, were against it. He was looking towards the fulfillment of their wishes, and had no way to avoid a vote against Old Hickory, who without doubt put a mark opposite the name of Crockett, for the purpose of remembering him and punishing him when a chance came about.

Davy Crockett is said to have been the first prominent Whig in Tennessee. His prominence began with his second election as a State representative, and while still in that capacity he was talked of as a possible Congressman. In 1824 the first tariff law was passed by the Congress of the United States, and Tennessee was not in favor of it. Davy was at last persuaded to run for Congress, and made an up-hill fight for the prize. Cotton rose in price after the tariff law was passed, and the planters and merchants were so elated with their sudden prosperity that they gave Colonel Alexander, Davy’s opponent, credit for having helped them by his actions as a Congressman. He was elected by two votes only over Davy, who never felt entirely satisfied that the count was fair. There was nothing to do but to go back to work again as a farmer, with an eye to any speculation that he might be able to undertake. Some of his adventures during the year 1825 will be told in the next chapter.