Davy’s place in politics—He is elected for a second term—His opposition to President Jackson—After two terms in Congress, he is defeated by a contemptible trick—The influence of the Murrell gang is felt—Two years in retirement—Writing his autobiography—The Middle Fork camp-meeting—The wildcat hunter from the Wolf Creek Branch—At a shooting-match—The generosity of Davy—He is elected by a large majority.

During his first term in Congress, in 1828 and 1829, Davy seems to have been lined up with the Jackson faction, which was opposed to the Adams administration, then allied with the friends of Henry Clay. In 1828 Andrew Jackson was elected President by a remarkable percentage of the electoral college, and Davy Crockett, one of his former scouts, watched him as he rode to the Capitol, dismounted, and with lifted hand swore loyalty to the nation that had chosen him for the highest place in its power to give. How many have pictured the rude simplicity of such a proceeding—the rugged soldier, the sorry steed! Their democratic souls have been much deceived. Jackson’s horse was the finest that could be found in Kentucky or Tennessee. He wore no uniform, but in his broadcloth coat and ruffles he sat his saddle like a king, more stately, more exemplary of power, than many of his successors who have been seated upon the velvet cushions of landaus.

There was a rattling of dry bones in the Departments as Old Hickory swept from power and position hundreds of the appointees of his predecessors. The now familiar cry, “To the victors belong the spoils,” became the slogan of his followers. Davy seems to have had no place in the crowd that fawned about their master’s feet. He may have seen the ill-mannered mob that thrust aside the doorkeepers of the White House at the public receptions, invaded the parlors and dining-rooms, climbed upon the satin upholsteries, and fell upon the refreshments like the locusts of Egypt, “filling the houses, and eating the residue of that which escaped”; but of his two years’ term he has written hardly a hundred words. He went back to his cabin home, conducted another campaign, and was again elected by an overwhelming majority of nearly 3,600 votes.

During Davy’s second term, in 1830 and 1831, Jackson urged the removal of the Cherokees and other Indian tribes from the lands east of the Mississippi. Davy did not see the relentless power of advancing civilization behind the unquiet of the frontier, and the impossibility of resisting the impulse towards the separation of the whites and the aborigines, and voted against the removal, in spite of strenuous urging by those who favored it. It was of this vote that he has said:

“I would rather be honestly and politically damned than to be hypocritically immortalized.”

Returning again to his district, in 1831, he found, as he says, the storm raised against him. He was accused of the unpardonable sin of turning against Jackson.

“I was hunted down like a wild varment,” he has told us, “and in this hunt every little paper in the district, and every little pin-hook lawyer, was engaged.” He was accused of receiving pay for sessions from which he was absent, and his wrath was kindled by these charges of dishonesty in doing what every other Congressman had done. His district was “gerrymandered,” and all the political weapons of his opponents were set to work. In the language of the cowboy of a later generation, “they wore their guns, and they wore ’em mighty low.” Davy was beaten by a smart and entirely unscrupulous scheme. He says that the “little four-pence-ha’penny limbs of the law” gave notice all over the district of dates upon which Crockett would appear to explain his actions in Congress and his reasons for his opposition to Jackson. When crowd after crowd gathered at the time and place announced, the absence of Crockett—entirely unaware of the trick that was being played—was laid to his fear of facing the issues raised. He was afraid, the “four-pence-ha’penny lawyers” cried, and the disappointed voters went to their homes stirred with doubt and resentment. When the votes were counted in August, Davy was in the majority in seventeen counties, but in Madison County, the home of the Murrell outlaws and their allies, his opponent had enough to overcome all that Davy had in the rest of the district.

In Mark Twain’s “Life on the Mississippi,” he has told a story of the methods of the Murrell gang, a story too sickening for repetition. The existence of such a fraternity of criminals had a great influence upon the history of Texas and its neighbors, the United States and Mexico. Under the great cottonwoods in the swamps of Madison County, men met who had plundered and burned ships and cut throats all the way from CuraÇoa to the Bahama Banks and Barnegat; who had both filled and emptied the unspeakable barracoons of the slave-trade on the Guinea coast; who had been midnight assassins in Paris and Madrid, brigands from the ruins of the Appian Way, pirates from every maritime nation of the globe; and always besides, there was the more or less gentlemanly gambler of the Mississippi river-boats, ready to lead or follow where there was promise of plunder. There were secret signs, passwords, and grips, relay stations on their highways of crime, and everywhere confederates who ranked with the first citizens in unsullied reputations and sober living. The gang sold slaves trained to run away, to be sold again and then again, until led into the tangled pathways of some reeking swamp, to die the death of a dog at the hands of men who left no danger of detection overlooked. In 1835 their operations as gamblers upon the great river, and as robbers and swindlers along its shores, led to their being driven out of the jurisdiction of the courts and vigilance committees of the frontier. They went to Texas, because there was no other place to which they dared to go. Here their reckless habits infused new life into the discontent already existing among the colonists, and hastened the inevitable conflict that was so soon to occur.

During the years 1832 and 1833, Davy was a private citizen, but he was by no means an idle one. If he still hunted the bears of the “harricane” at his back door, he tells nothing in regard to such pursuits. His time was taken up in writing the story of his own life, and in planning for the next election. That he wrote his autobiography in the two years mentioned is shown by the work itself. His constant reference to the removal of the “deposites” from the United States Bank is good proof that much of the book was written after the date of the removal.

In his canvass of his district for votes, while fighting his way back to Washington, Davy found his lessons in history and national questions of great assistance. His easy familiarity with the names of famous statesmen, his crude painting of Eastern life and manners, and his new self-possession in speaking before a crowd, all served to awaken the admiration and win the support of a people who loved the spectacular in politics. His readiness to pit himself against all comers, in everything from oration to sharp-shooting, made him an attraction at every public gathering. The story of the Middle Fork camp-meeting has not yet faded from the memory of the men who lived upon its banks.

It was a splendid summer afternoon, when Davy rode into an open place in the forest, twenty miles east of his cabin, where two or three hundred men and women had come to listen to the exhortations of the “rider,” a long, ungainly preacher.

He was about to lead in a hymn when a rough and red-nosed man with a bottle of whisky in his pocket, leaped upon the rock and levelled his rifle in the faces of the astonished people.

“The first man sings has got to fight!” he yelled. “I’m the wild-cat hunter from the Wolf Creek branch of the Rutherford Fork. I’ve et up all the Injuns, bears, an’ wildcats ez fur ez the Big Sandy, an’ I’m dying hungry now fur hymn-books an’ preachers an’ folks thet sings.”

He stopped, glared at the astonished old “rider,” then took out the bottle and drank a half-dozen swallows with a gurgling sound. Some one spoke in the crowd. “Shut up!” he yelled, lifting his bottle and waving it above the shrinking women and children below. “Shut up an’ git out o’ sight before ye see the wildcat hunter eat the preacher, hide and hair!”

There was the crack of a rifle, and the bottle was shattered into fragments, dashing the raw liquor into the rowdy’s eyes and cutting his face with bits of glass. When he could see, Davy Crockett’s gun was almost touching his nose.

“Hand the preacher your gun,” said Davy, “stand where you are, and sing like all possessed. If you don’t, we’ll make you eat a wildcat for sure. All right, preacher, go ahead!”

After the singing was over, the wildcat hunter hung about, trying in vain to recover his gun, and finally departed in discreet silence as the daylight faded in the west.

Many of Davy’s admirers became acquainted with him at the barbecues and shooting-matches that were frequent during his campaigns. With so little diversion in their narrow lives, the frontiersmen flocked to such meetings from far and near, bringing their wives and children, and driving before them the cattle to be put up as prizes for the marksmen. Davy was always ready for such a competition, and was never obliged to content himself with the “hide and tallow.” The usual method in such matches was to sell several chances on each animal. The best marksmen took their choice of the several parts of the beef, the order of their choosing to be fixed by the result of the match. The one making the lowest score took the hide and tallow as a consolation.

The score of such a match was kept about as follows: each man handed the judges a burnt board, rubbed down nearly to the sound part of the wood. On this circles of one half-inch, one inch, and one and a half inches, were made with a pair of dividers or the ruder compasses of the carpenter. Each man shot the agreed number of times at his own board, at from fifty to sixty yards’ distance, “toeing the mark” made by the judges. Upon many an occasion Davy divided up his winnings with the men who had been unsuccessful.

Davy won this election after much hard work on the stump.