An Autobiography of Davy Crockett

by Stephen Brennan

  I was hardly done making my bow to these gentlemen before Mr. James M. Sanderson informed me that the young Whigs of Philadelphia had a desire to present me with a fine rifle, and had chosen him to have her made agreeable to my wishes. I told him that was an article that I knew somewhat about and gave him the size and weight.

  You can’t imagine how I was crowded to get through every thing. Colonel Pulaski called to take me in his carriage to the Naval Hospital, where they stow away the old sailors on dry land, and a splendid building it is; all made of marble. I did not like the situation, but I sup pose it was the best they could get with so much ground to it.

  From there we went to the Navy Yard and examined the largest ship ever made in the United States. She was what they called “in the stocks.”

  I then surveyed the artillery and the balance of the shipping, not forgetting to pay my respects to the officers of the yard, and then returned home with the colonel, where I was kindly treated, both in eating and drinking and so ended another day.

  The next morning the land admiral, Colonel Reeside, asked me to call on him and take a ride. I did so and he carried me out to the railroad and Schuylkill bridge. I found that the railroad was finished near a hundred miles into the interior of the State and is only one out of many, and yet they make no fuss about it.

  We drove in past the Girard school, that old man that gave so many millions to Philadelphia and cut out his kin with a crumb. Well, thinks I, blood is thicker than water and the remembrance of friends better than a big name. I’d have made them all rich and give away the balance. But maybe French people don’t think like me. This being my last night in Philadelphia, Dorrance gave me what they call a “pick knick” supper; which means as much as me and all my company could eat and drink and nothing to pay.

  I had forgot to say that I had spent part of the evening before this with Colonel Saint.

  NEXT morning, Wednesday the 29th, I was invited by Captain Jenkins of the steamboat New Philadelphia, to go on with him to New York. I accepted his offer and started. I saw nothing very particular along the Delaware river except the place where all the hard stone coal comes to; from the interior of Pennsylvania where, I am told, they have mountains of it. After some time, we got upon a railroad where they say we run twenty-five miles to the hour. I can only judge of the speed by putting my head out to spit, which I did and overtook it so quick that it hit me smack in the face. We soon arrived at Amboy and took the water again and soon came in sight of the great city of New York, and a bulger of a place it is. The num ber of the ships beat me all hollow and looked for all the world like a big clearing in the West with the dead trees all standing.

  When we swung round to the wharf, it was covered with people who inquired if I was on board; and when the captain told them I was, they slung their hats and gave three cheers.

  Immediately a committee came on board, representing the young Whigs, and informed me they were appointed to wait upon me and invite me to the American Hotel. I accepted their offer and went with them to the hotel where I was friendly received, conducted to a large parlor where I was introduced to a great many gentlemen.

  I was invited to visit the new and elegant fire-engine and took some refreshment with the managers and re turned in time to visit the Park theatre and see Miss Fanny Kemble play in grand style. The house was better filled and the fixings looked nicer than the one in Phila delphia; but any of them is good enough, if they have such pretty play-actors as Miss Kemble. In fact, she is like a handsome piece of changeable silk; first one color, then another, but always the clean thing.

  I returned home, as I am told all great folks do, after the lady actor was done and, sitting with my friends, the cry of “fire, fire,” struck my ear. I bounced from my chair and ran for my hat. “Sit down, colonel,” said one of the gentlemen, “it’s not near us.” “A’n’t you going to help put it out?” “No,” said he, laughing, “we have fire companies here and we leave it to them.” Well, to me this seemed queer enough, for at home I would have jumped on the first horse at hand and rode full flight bare-backed to help put out a fire.

  I forgot that I was in a city where you may live, as they tell me, years and not know who lives next door to you. Still, I felt curious to see how they managed and Colonel Jackson went with me. As it was late, the engines were only assembling when we got there but when they began to spirt, they put out a four story house that was all in a blaze in less than no time. I asked the colonel where they got so much water from. He said it was raised by the Manhattan Bank out of a charter got by Aaron Burr.

  Next morning I was invited by Colonel Mapes to walk down to some of the newspaper offices. I proposed to go to the Courier and Enquirer and Star offices: we did so. I like Webb, for he comes out plump with what he has to say. Mr. Noah has another way of using a fellow up: he holds him uneasy, laughs at him and makes other folks do so; teazes him roasts him, until he don’t know what ails him nor what hurt him, but he can’t help limping.

  We went into Pearl street and I could not help won dering if they had as many boxes and bags and things inside of the houses as they had out. Elegant place for a lame man to walk, for every one is like him; first up, then down-then one side, then another, like a pet in a squirrel box. Shortly we came to the Exchange, the place where the merchants assemble every day at one o’clock, to hear all they can and tell as little as possible and where two lines from a knowing correspondent, prudently used, may make a fortune.

  I had not been long here before I was surrounded and called on for a speech. I made many apologies, but none seem’d to hit right and I was so hard pressed that I had no corner to get into so, taking my stand upon the steps above them, I spoke awhile.

  I returned to the hotel where I found a great many gentlemen waiting to see the wild man from the far West. After spending some time with them, I was taken to Peak’s museum. I shall not attempt to describe the curiosities here; it is above my bend. I could not help, however, thinking what pleasure or curiosity folks could take in sticking up whole rows of little bugs, such like varmints. I saw a boy there that had been born with out any hands or arms and he took a pair of scissors in his toes, and cut his name in full and gave it to me. This I called a miracle.

  From thence I went to the City Hall and was intro duced to the mayor of the city and several of the alder men. The mayor is a plain, common-sense-looking man. I was told he had been a tanner: and that pleased me, for I thought both him and me had clumb up a long way from where we had started and it is truly said, “Honor and fame from no condition rise.” It’s the grit of a fellow that makes the man.

  On my return, I received an invitation from Colonel Draper to dine with him, informing me also that the rale Major Jack Downing was expected to be there. When the hour arrived, I started to walk there, as it was but a short distance. On my way I saw a white man who was in a great rage, cursing a white man-servant. I stopped and said to him, “Hellow, mister! If you was to talk that way to a white man in my country, he’d give you first rate hell.” He looked at me and said nothing but walked off. Sure enough, when I got to Colonel Draper’s I was in troduced to the major. We sat down to a splendid dinner and amused ourselves with some good jokes. But as this was a private party, I don’t think it gentlemanly to tell what was said at this time and especially as this was not the only communication I had with the major. One ob servation, however, was made by him and I gave him an answer which could not offend anybody. “Colonel,” says he, “what d’ye sort o’ think about gineral matters and things in purticlur?” Knowing him to be a Yankee, I tried to answer him in his own way. So says I, “Major, the Ginneral’s matters are all wrong but some purticklar things are very well such, for instance, as the honor I have in dining with you at Colonel Draper’s.” “Good,” says the major, “and well talk about them there matters some other time.” “Agreed,” says I, “major, always at your sarvice.”

  I found a large company waiting for me when I got back to the hotel and invitation to
sup with the young Whigs. Well now, thinks I, they had better keep some of these things to eat for somebody else, for I’m sure I’m as full as a young cub. But right or wrong, I must go in. There I met the honorable Augustus S. Clayton of Georgia, and was right glad to see him, for I knew I could get him to take some of the speaking off of me. He speaks prime and is always ready and never goes off half-cock.

  Upwards of one hundred sat down to supper. They were going to toast me but I told some of them near me to toast Judge Clayton first; that there should be more rejoicing over one that was lost and found again, than over ninety and nine such as me that had never strayed away. They did so and he made a speech that fairly made the tumblers hop. He rowed the Tories up and over Salt River.

  Then they toasted me as “the undeviating supporter of the constitution and laws.” I made a short speech and concluded with the story of the “Red Cow” which was, that as long as General Jackson went straight, I followed him; but when he began to go this way and that way and every way, I wouldn’t go after him like the boy whose master ordered him to plough across the field to the red cow. Well, he began to plough and she began to walk and he ploughed all forenoon after her. So when the master came, he swore at him for going so crooked. “Why, sir,” said the boy, “you told me to plough to the red cow and I kept after her but she always kept moving.”

  Next morning being the first day of May, I went to some of the newspaper offices, read the news, and re turned to take a ride with Colonel S. D. Jackson in an elegant barouche. We drove up to the city and took a view of the improvements and beautiful houses in the new part. By the time we returned down Broadway, it seemed to me that the city was flying before some awful calamity. “Why,” said I, “Colonel, what under heaven is the matter? Everybody appears to be pitching out their furniture and packing it off.” He laughed and said this was the general “moving day.” Such a sight nobody ever saw unless it was in this same city. It seemed a kind of frolic, as if they were changing houses just for fun. Every street was crowded with carts, drays, and people. So the world goes. It would take a good deal to get me out of my log-house but here, I understand, many persons “move” every year.

  Having alighted and taken some refreshment, I asked Colonel Webb to go with me to the “Five Points,” a noted place near the centre of the city. This is the place where Van Buren’s warriors came from during the election, when the wild Irish, with their clubs and bludgeons, knocked down every one they could find that would not huzza for Jackson. However, I had a great curiosity to see them and on we went, the major and me, and in the midst of that great city we came to a place where five streets all come together and from this it takes the name of the “Five Points.” The buildings are little, old, frame houses and looked like some little country village. The houses all had cellars and as that day was fashionable to move, they were moving too. The streets looked like a clearing in my part of the world, as they were emptying and burning the straw out of their beds. It appeared as if the cellars were jam full of people and such fiddling and dancing nobody ever before saw in this world. I thought they were the true “heaven-borns.” Black and white, white and black, all hugemsnug together, happy as lords and ladies, sitting sometimes round in a ring with a jug of liquor between them. I do think I saw more drunken folks, men and women, that day than I ever saw before. This is part of what is called by the Regency the “glorious sixth ward;” the regular Van Buren ground-floor. I thought I would rather risk myself in an Indian fight than venture among these creatures after night. I said to the colonel, “God deliver me from such constituents or from a party supported by such. In my country, when you meet an Irishman, you find a first rate gentleman but these are worse than savages. They are too mean to swab hell’s kitchen.” He took me to the place where the elec tion was held. It appeared to me that all the place round was made ground and that there was more room in the houses under ground than above and I suppose there must have been a flood of rain during the election, which forced those rats out of their holes. There is more people stowed away together here than any place I ever saw. I heard a story, and it is asserted to be true, that about here, some years ago, a committee visited all the houses to see how they were coming on. One house, that was four stories high and four rooms on a floor, had sixteen fami lies in it and four in the garret, which was divided into four parts by a streak of charcoal. An old lady that was spinning up there was asked how they made out. She said pretty well and that they would be quiet enough if it was not for the old woman in the opposite corner, she took boarders and they often made a noise. I believe it is true. What a miserable place a city is for poor people: they are half starved, poorly clothed and perished for fire. I sometimes wonder they do not clear out to a new country where every skin hangs by its own tail but I suppose they think an hour’s indulgence in vice is sweet enough for the bitter of the rest.

  Coming home, I took notice that the rear of the City Hall was of brown stone while the front and sides were of white marble. I asked the Colonel why that was so. He said the Poor House stood behind when they built the Hall. That is like many a great man: if he gets a fine breast to his jacket, he will make the back of fustian and like thousands of great people, who think that any thing will do for poor folks to look at or eat or wear. Another thing seemed queer to me and that was a bell hanging outside of the steeple of the Hall: It was so big that they could not get it in and rather than lose the money, they hung it outside, never reflecting that even a backwoodsman must laugh at such a Dutch blunder.

  On the same walk I was introduced to the honorable Albert Gallatin. He had an old straw hat in his hand, and like every body else, was “mooving” and said he was sorry not to have more time to be acquainted with me. He pointed to the house he was leaving and said it and several others were to be torn down to build a big tavern. It was a very fine house, fit for any man to live in but in, a few hours I saw men on the top of it and before the next evening the daylight was through it. This tavern is to be near the park and is building by John Jacob Astor. It is to cost seven hundred thousand dollars and covers a whole square. Mr. Astor, I am told, begun business in New York as a dealer in furs and is now worth millions. Lord help the beavers and otters! They must have most got used to being skinned by this time. And what a meeting of friends and kin there must have been in his ware house. “Farewell,” said the otter to the beaver, “I never expect to see you again, my dear old friend.” “Never mind, my dear fellow,” said the beaver, “don’t be too much distressed, we’ll soon meet at the hatter’s shop.”

  This day a new flag was to be hoisted down on the Battery and I was invited to attend. The artillery, under command of General Morton, paraded and he invited many of his friends to be present. Among the rest, the mayor, Gideon Lee, was there and he addressed the people. Among other things, he told them that that flag-staff was placed where the old one stood when the British evacuated New York; that they left the flag flying and greased the pole so that it could not be climbed up but at last a sailor got up and tore it down and hoisted the American flag in its place; and when he came down, the people filled his hat with money.

  General Morton is a revolutioner and an officer in the society of old soldiers called the “Cincinnati Society” and wears its badge on his breast. He gave an entertain ment to his friends on this occasion; for you must know that nobody thinks any thing well done in this place with out eating and drinking over it.

  This battery a’n’t a place, as its name looks like, for keeping and shooting off cannon. It might have been so, long ago; but it is a beautiful meadow of a place, 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. This is a beautiful place and you can see Long Island and Staten Island and many others from it. Here is likewise Castle Gar den and the bridge that Van Buren wanted to drown the president off of, when him and Major Jack most fell in. The fact i
s the plan was well enough but General Jackson did not know of it. It was concluded, you see, that the president should make all his big secretaries and Colonel Reeside go before, and him come after and then slam should go the bridge, with the old fellow on it. But he went foremost and when it fell, they didn’t catch any but Governor Cass, secretary of war and he only lost his hat and wig, which they say the porpusses carried off and gave to the sea serpent so that he might be on their side in the next oyster war.

  After all this, I went that same day to see my young friend Walden and enjoyed myself with some friends till evening.

  When I got back to the hotel, I found the bill for the Bowery theatre and it stated I was to be there. Now I knew I had never given the manager any authority to use my name and I determined not to go. After some time, I was sent for and refused and then the head manager came himself. I told him I did not come for a show; I did not come for the citizens of New York to look at, I come to look at them. However, my friends said it would be a great disappointment and might harm the managers and so I went and was friendly received. I remained a short time and returned. So ended the first day of May, 1834, and I should like to see any body who saw more sights in once waking up. In fact, when I got to bed and begun to think them over, I found it would take me to daylight so I just broke off and went to sleep.

  Next morning, Colonel Mapes told me he was re quested to invite me to come over to Jersey City to see some shooting with a rifle. In the mean time, I had been very kindly invited by Captain Comstock to go that day, at half-past three o’clock, with him to Boston. I con cluded to go, as I might never have another opportunity, and it took only eighteen hours to go there.