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fallen logs. In the middle of the night, to cheer them up, he asked one of the men to sing a comic Irish song, and the laughter that followed acted like a tonic upon their weary frames.
Another story reminds us of Marion's sweet potato feast with the British officer. Harrison had captured four British officers and asked them to take supper with him. To the surprise, and somewhat to the disgust, of the Britons, the best he had to offer them was beef, roasted in the fire, and eaten without bread or salt.
The war ended, Harrison was elected in 1816 to represent Cincinnati in Congress, and there proved that he was as good a speaker as he was a soldier. He was voted a gold medal for his services in the war. In 1824 he was elected a member of the Senate, and in 1828 was sent as minister to the republic of Colombia, but was recalled by President Jackson in the following spring. After that he passed years in private life on his farm at North Bend, on the Ohio River. Though a great man in the eyes of his countrymen, he was content to take up the simple duties of farm life, and when one of his relatives left him a whiskey distillery, he refused to accept it, though at a great loss to himself.
His temperance principles would not permit him to make and sell liquid poison.
In 1836 the Whigs of the country took up this North Bend farmer as their candidate for President, and gave him seventy-three electoral votes, though he was defeated by Van Buren. He ran again in 1840, this campaign being the most original and spectacular in the history of the Presidency. Van Buren was again his opponent, and early in the campaign the Baltimore Republican made the slurring remark that if some one would pension General Harrison with a few hundred dollars and give him a barrel of hard cider he would sit down in his log cabin and be content for the rest of his life.
The foolish slur proved the keynote of the campaign. Log cabins and hard cider were the ammunition of the Whigs. In every city and every village and at the country cross-roads log cabins were built and enough hard cider was drunk to float a battleship. Scores of campaign songs were written and sung, “Old Tippecanoe being the burden. A disgusted Democrat said that from the opening of the canvass the whole Whig party went on a colossal spree on hard cider, which continued until Harrison was installed as President in the White House; he being triumphantly elected, with an electoral vote of two hundred and thirty-four against sixty for Van Buren.
Harrison was now sixty-eight years old, and was far from strong. He wore no hat or overcoat while delivering his inaugural address, and felt the effect of his imprudence, despite his long seasoning in hardships. To the weakening effect of the severe cold which he caught was added the persistent annoyance of office-seekers, who buzzed around him like pestilent bees and almost drove him frantic. The result of all this was an attack of pneumonia, and he died on the 4th of April, 1841, just one month after his inauguration. He was the first President to die in office, and an immense concourse attended his funeral, his remains being interred near his home at North Bend, Ohio.
SAMUEL HOUSTON, THE WINNER OF
THERE are few of us who have not read, with bounding pulses, the story of the heroic defence of the Alamo, and with bitter indignation of the martyrdom of the heroes by the base Santa Anna. This was a spirit-stirring episode in the history of the Texan struggle for independence, in which the leading figure was General Samuel Houston, or Sam Houston, as he preferred to be called. The story of this hero, which we have next to tell, was one full of the elements of romance. Half Indian and half American in his career, he ended by making himself famous in American history.
In the early days of the republic of the United States the wild region of Kentucky and Tennessee was the paradise of the hunter and the pioneer. Thither came hundreds of the strong, hardy, adventurous sons of the older settlements, and with them came a Virginia matron with her nine fatherless children, one of them, Samuel Houston, born near Lexington, Virginia, in 1793
A daring, impulsive, roving fellow was young Houston. He was only thirteen when his mother settled in a new home on the banks of the Tennessee River, then the boundary between the frontiersmen and the sayages. Beyond it lay the country of the Cherokee Indians, and among these the adventure-loving boy soon learned to rove. During much of his boyhood, indeed, he fairly lived with the redmen, learning their language and falling into their ways of life. He lived among them in later years also, as we shall state farther on, and they grew to look upon him as one of their chiefs and leaders.
In this regard there is an interesting anecdote extant. In 1846, when Houston was in Washington as a member of Congress, a party of forty Cherokee braves was brought to that city by General Moorhead. These sons of the wilds looked about them with suspicion and distrust, but when their eyes fell upon Houston their expression changed. They ran to him, hugged him like bears in their brawny arms, and with high delight greeted him as father."
Houston, as we have said, was a stirring and daring fellow, with a hand in all that was going on. When General Jackson called for volunteers in the war with the Creeks, he, then in his early manhood, joined the ranks, and was desperately wounded in the war that followed. He remained in the army until 1818, rising from private to second lieutenant, then left the army, studied law, and soon began to practice, making Nashville his home. To all appearance he had a quiet life before him, but the Fates decided otherwise.
The bright young lawyer rose rapidly in his profession, soon had a large practice, was elected district attorney, and in 1823 was chosen to represent his district in Congress. Four years he spent in Washington, as a national legislator, and made himself so popular in the State that in 1827, when thirty-four years of age, he was elected governor of Tennessee. His progress had been remarkably rapid; he had become one of the leading men in the State; he might aspire to any position; but now came an event that changed the
whole current of his life and sent him adrift as a wanderer among his old friends, the Indians.
The trouble came from marriage. He was by no means the first man who came into difficulty through getting a wife, but his was of a peculiar kind and led to a strange result. He married in 1829, his bride being Miss Eliza Allen, a young lady of excellent family and of the highest character. What was the trouble between the governor and his wife no one knew, but the union proved short and unhappy. less than three months they separated. Society was filled with excitement. For a governor thus quickly to set aside his wife was unprecedented and stirred up the whole State. Reports of various kinds rose and spread. The people of the State divided into two parties, one for Governor Houston, the other for his wife, and popular feeling was highly strained. The lady's friends charged the governor with odious faults; his friends supported him as warmly; ignorance of the real cause of the separation trebled the excitement that prevailed.
Meanwhile Houston kept silent, not offering a denial of any calumny, not seeking to vindicate himself in any particular or permitting his friends to speak for him. Whatever the mystery, he would not permit a word to be said in his presence that cast a shadow on the lady's character. Silence was preserved on both sides, and the public was left to rumor and conjecture.
In the end, the situation grew so painful that Houston could bear it no longer. He determined to forsake the haunts of civilization and seek the wilderness. He resigned his office as governor and left the city for the forest, taking refuge among his old friends, the Cherokees. In his boyhood days, while a rover among