Throughout the spring of 1834, adoring fans gathered around Crockett wherever he went. They wanted to shake his hand or get his autograph on the title page of his book or a scrap of paper. He was glad to accommodate them and made it a point to tell his well-wishers that his book was the only true and honest account of his life and times. In one copy presented for signing, he wrote, “I David Crockett of Tennessee do certify that this Book was written by my self and the only genuine history of my life that ever has been written.”18
As proud as Crockett was of his best-selling autobiography, there were others who were equally pleased with the book’s tremendous success. The leadership of the Whig Party had become thoroughly persuaded that they had found the ideal remedy needed to rid the nation of King Andrew Jackson. All that remained was for them to convince Crockett.
THIRTY-THREE
JUST A MATTER OF TIME
BY THE SPRING OF 1834, Crockett was a best-selling author, congressman, and raconteur extraordinaire. Despite a failed personal life, he seemed as content as he had ever been. He had reached what Renaissance writer Michel de Montaigne described as the precise age of retirement for warriors.1
Nonetheless, over the next two years he would participate in two journeys that were more than eventful and would forever alter his legacy. Before he left on his first trip, Crockett spent some time in Washington with his old Tennessee friend Sam Houston. Both men had been early protégés of Old Hickory, and they remained on amicable terms even though Houston was still loyal to Jackson.
Houston, the hero of Horseshoe Bend, had himself enjoyed some success in politics but had been out of the mainstream since the spring of 1829, when his eleven-week marriage to nineteen-year-old Eliza Allen proved unworkable and suddenly ended. The emotionally depleted Houston had then abruptly resigned as the governor of Tennessee.2 He had journeyed across the Mississippi to Indian Territory, present-day Oklahoma, and lived with the Cherokees, who had, long before, adopted him and named him the Raven. There he married Diana Rogers, a mixed-blood Cherokee from a powerful family. Together they ran Wigwam Neosho, a trading post near Cantonment Gibson, the farthest military outpost in the United States, commonly called Fort Gibson but also known as the “Hell Hole of the Southwest.”3
Soldiers posted there called it the “Graveyard of the Army,” and spent their off-duty time playing cards, racing horses, drinking, and carousing with loose women. The Wigwam was located right on the Texas Road, and all kinds of travelers—rough traders, zealous missionaries, and passing settlers—stopped to have a look at the “late governor of Tennessee.”4 If they were lucky, he was sober, for Houston swilled great quantities of the Monongahela whiskey, cognac, and rum he illegally traded. Much to his embarrassment, Houston became known by a new name—Oo-tsetee Ar-dee-tah-skee, Big Drunk. The name was not even Cherokee but Osage, an obvious way of denying the white man his Cherokee identity.5
During a brief period of sobriety in 1832, Houston returned to Washington and stayed at the Indian Queen Hotel while tending to some business on behalf of the Cherokee. While staying there, he took offense when he spied a less than flattering reference to him in a newspaper story. The comments were attributed to William Stanberry, an anti-Jacksonian representative from Ohio. Houston—described as being as “mad as a fighting cock”—vowed vengeance.6 That came several days later, when a still fuming Houston happened upon Stanberry strolling along Pennsylvania Avenue. Houston accosted him with a hickory cane that had been cut from a tree at Jackson’s Hermitage. He savagely beat the Ohio lawmaker, who managed to pull a pistol and press it against his attacker’s chest; but the weapon misfired. This enraged Houston even more, and the caning intensified until a limp Stanberry was left bloody and bruised. News of the altercation quickly spread in the rough-and-tumble political maelstrom of the 1830s, and President Jackson quipped that he wished “there were a dozen Houstons to beat and cudgel the members of Congress.”7
Houston, however, was soon arrested and brought before the House of Representatives, charged with contempt of Congress. Francis Scott Key, the esteemed composer of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” was secured as his defense counsel, and Jackson footed the bill for a new suit of clothes for Houston, who usually wore colorful Cherokee dress or a rough buckskin coat.8 After four days of speeches and debate—which included Houston quoting the Apostle Paul and Shakespeare—and despite James K. Polk’s effort to defeat the measure, the House voted 106 to 89 for conviction. Houston received what was considered a slap-on-the-wrist reprimand and told to go and sin no more, at least when carrying a hickory stick. Junius Brutus Booth, the nation’s foremost Shakespearean actor and the father of a trio of famous stage performers, including future presidential assassin John Wilkes Booth, was in the gallery when Houston spoke. Afterward, as applause thundered through the crowded chamber in support of Houston, the elder Booth rushed to his side and embraced him, exclaiming, “Houston, take my laurels!”9
Two years later, in April of 1834, when Crockett and Houston—over a few horns—met in Washington, they more than likely recalled the famous caning incident, as well as other incidents from their past. By 1834 Houston had ended his self-imposed exile among the Cherokees in Indian Territory and made his first sorties south of the border, in the Mexican state of Texas, where he had begun acquiring property for himself and some of Jackson’s allies. He was back in Washington City on one of his periodic lobbying trips. Everywhere he went he spread the word of the disgruntled Anglo colonists in Mexico preparing to stage an uprising and wrest away Tejas and make it their own. During their time together, Houston told Crockett many of the stories about Texas that convinced him to go see it for himself eighteen months later.
“I do think within one year that it [Texas] will be a Sovereign State and acting in all things as such,” Houston wrote on April 24, 1834, to James Prentiss, a New York land speculator who in 1830 founded one of the first of two land companies to speculate in Texas. “Within three years I think it will be separated from the Mexican Confederacy, and will remain so forever…. Texas, will be bound to look to herself, and to do for herself—this present year, must produce events, important to her future destiny…. The course that I may pursue, you must rely upon it, shall be for the true interests of Texas.”10
Later that day, after Houston wrote to Prentiss about the untapped potential of Texas, he somehow managed to convince Crockett to come along with him to meet a young woman who was then apparently the toast of European capitals and the talk of Washington City. That afternoon the two Tennesseans paid a social call on Octavia Claudia Walton, the consummate Southern belle who, at the time, was considered the most vivacious and talented hostess in America. She was the paternal granddaughter of George Walton, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, and the daughter of George Walton Jr., a territorial governor of Florida.11 Besides impeccable English, she spoke seven languages, including Seminole, and could sing, dance, and play the guitar and piano. As an adolescent she had charmed Lafayette with her French conversation, and after Edgar Allan Poe met her in Baltimore, he was inspired to write “Octavia,” a poem of unrequited love.12 During her travels around the globe she was received by Queen Victoria and Pope Pius IX, presented to Napoleon III, and dined with Robert and Elizabeth Browning. Some of her admirers included U.S. presidents and Edwin Booth, Washington Irving, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.13
If there was any truth to the story that Houston was attempting to court Walton, it is a loss that no record has been found of the visit between them. It is known that both men signed Octavia’s autograph book, but Crockett did not relate any details in his autobiography, and if Houston had an amorous interest in the young woman he failed to forge any meaningful relationship. “I take great pleasure in recording my name in Miss Octavia Walton’s Album as a testimonial of my respects for her Success through life and I hope she may enjoy the happiness and pleasures of the world agreeable to her expectation as all Ladys of her sterling worth, merits,”14 Crockett scrawled in the
book. Walton took the album with her in 1835, when her family relocated to Mobile, Alabama. George Walton Jr. later served as mayor of Mobile and his daughter met and married Dr. Henry S. Le Vert, an esteemed French physician.15
On April 25, following their visit with Octavia Walton, both Crockett and Houston took their leave of Washington City. After spending several days together, Crockett undoubtedly was impressed with Houston’s prolific stories of the immense opportunity that waited in the vastness of Texas, where game was plentiful, the weather tolerable, and land could be had at little cost. All that remained was to wrest it away from the Mexicans, who had abolished slavery and placed many restrictions on the Anglo colonists who left the United States to become Mexican citizens. Later that day Houston struck for the Southwest, all the while, as he wrote to a friend, “making plans for the liberation of Texas.”16
When Crockett left Washington, Congress was still in session. With Houston’s seductive talk of Texas still resonating, Crockett faced the first of his back-to-back trips. He plunged into a three-week book promotional tour of several major eastern cities—Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, Newport, Boston, Lowell, Providence, and Camden. During the whirlwind journey, he would travel for the first time on a sailing vessel and also enjoy his first ride on a train. He would be courted by political allies, both toasted and skewered by the press, talk himself hoarse at banquets, and wear out his hand signing autographs. From the start he had to have known that his tour would not go unnoticed by anyone, especially his political enemies. It was an error in judgment for which Crockett would pay dearly.
The Whigs carefully choreographed every stop along the way. Although the name “Whig” had been in use for at least two years, it was formally adopted as the official name of the party just eleven days before the start of Crockett’s tour.17 Whig leaders fully expected Crockett to attract even more disenfranchised voters to their ranks from the anti-Jackson forces, including former members of the National Republican Party who supported states’ rights, Democrats who disagreed with Jackson over the Second Bank of the United States, northern industrialists, and southern planters.
Several months before the book tour, a delegation of Whigs from Mississippi had asked Crockett if he would consider running for president of the United States. They wished to offer his name as a candidate in 1836.18 The Mississippians told Crockett they wanted a candidate as popular as Jackson in the west to offset the anticipated Democratic contender, Martin Van Buren of New York. They promised “to go the whole hog” for Crockett.
“You speak in the strongest possible terms of my fitness for the office of President of the United States, and a discharge of its duties,” Crockett wrote in response to the Whig offer. “In this you may be right, as I suspect there is likely something in me that I have never yet found out. I don’t hardly think, though, that it goes far enough for the Presidency, though I suppose I could do as the ‘Government’ has done—make up a whole raft of Cabinet Ministers, and get along after a manner…. It is the way with all great men, never to seek or decline office. If you think you can run me in as President, just go a-head. I had a little rather not; but you talk so pretty, that I cannot refuse. If I am elected, I shall just seize the old monster party by the horns, and sling him right slap into the deepest place in the great big Atlantic sea.”19
Besides their mutual hatred of Jackson and his inner circle, the Whigs and Crockett shared few other interests. Still, the party leadership believed that the best alternative to Jackson and his probable successor, Martin Van Buren, was, indeed, Crockett. While he may have been guided by a different set of interests and philosophies than the mercantile-oriented Whig Party, Crockett also saw his Whig alliance as a chance to finally get his land bill passed in Congress. As others have said, Crockett may have been politically naive, but he was not a fool simply seeking public praise and acting as a Whig puppet. He wanted to sell books and make some money.
Everywhere Crockett went on the tour, there were large and adoring crowds of well-wishers. Many of these admirers were drawn by Crockett’s colorful personality, others invited by local Whig Party officials. From the first night of the tour, spent at Barnum’s Hotel in Baltimore, where a dinner was held in Crockett’s honor, his official hosts were Whig friends. They made up a large part of the crowd when he delivered a speech beneath the imposing white marble statue of George Washington perched atop a 160-foot column at Mount Vernon Place. The same was true the next morning when a large delegation of Whigs escorted him to a waiting steamer that took him across Chesapeake Bay. Crockett then boarded a train to Delaware City and cruised up the Delaware River to Philadelphia. In the City of Brotherly Love, he drew larger crowds than even the two-headed kitten on display in a nearby hotel lobby, where the creature was predicted to “turn out a first rate mouser.”20
The Whigs in Philadelphia definitely knew how to host a shindig worthy of a possible presidential contender. Just days before Crockett’s arrival, the party sponsored what was called a “Jubilee in honor of the triumph of the Whigs of New York in defense of the Constitution and laws.”21 The gala event was held at Powelton, Col. John Hare Powel’s country estate, situated on the west bank of the Schuylkill River near the city waterworks. It was a grand affair carefully planned by a committee of 100 faithful Whigs, who wisely arranged for a moratorium on tolls for the day at the bridges. Stores and factories were closed throughout the city, and as a result more than 60,000 celebrants showed up at the jubilee. Refreshment stands scattered all around the grounds were stocked with barrels of ale and cider, 500 hams, 1,000 beef tongues, and great servings of cheese and bread.22
Some Philadelphia Whigs were still nursing hangovers by the time Crockett arrived. He was met at the wharf by a throng and then whisked in a fancy carriage drawn by four bays to his quarters at the United States Hotel, undoubtedly chosen because it stood just across Chestnut Street from the United States Bank, which had earned the ire of Old Hickory and his followers.
“The Colonel is a ‘wig,’” quipped a newspaper reporter, describing Crockett’s arrival and his attendance at the popular minstrel show Jim Crow.
He has declared himself if so briefly and emphatically…. He was received and followed by a great number of enthusiastic admirers, who roared and shouted with much energy and fervor. When [Crockett] arrived at his hotel, the koon-killer in imitation of Henry Clay, came out upon the portico, bowed graciously, and smiled encouragingly upon the devoted multitude. He did not speak, but there was that in his eye which promised that the colonel would go ahead, and accordingly, after dispatching with western energy, several cups of tea, he proceeded without a sign of trepidation to the Walnut Street theatre to see Jim Crow. The house was full and peal after peal of applause greeted the city’s guest. Jim Crow bowed to Crockett, and Crockett bowed to Crow.23
Jim Crow featured Thomas “Daddy” Rice, the most admired black-face comedian of the day. During his stay, Crockett also was given special tours of the U.S. Mint, the waterworks, the Navy Hospital, and the insane asylum. He gave his stock anti-Jackson speech at several stops, but one of his more rousing addresses was delivered at the newly opened Philadelphia Stock Exchange. A crowd of men in high top hats pushed and shoved for the best vantage point in order to see the famous frontiersman. Crockett rose to give his address and the roar diminished. When he spoke the entire assembly fell silent, each of them eager to hear every word.
“Seven months ago this was the most flourishing country in the world,” Crockett told them.
Look at it now; and what do you see? You behold your commerce suspended your laborers wandering about for employment; your mechanics starving; and above all you see the best currency in the world deranged; And gentlemen, what is all this for? To gratify the will of a superannuated old man; a man whose popularity, like the lightning of heaven, blasts and withers all that comes within its influence! His leading object, in all the mischief he has done, has been to destroy the best monied institution on earth. But, gentlemen, will y
ou submit to this experiment?24
The response was a great cry of “Never! Never!” Everyone present knew that Crockett was, of course, referring to President Jackson. “It is clear that he is fishing for the Presidency,” one newspaper reported.
After meeting with his publishers about more print runs of the autobiography, Crockett departed Philadelphia for New Jersey and New York City, where his Whig handlers afforded him a royal welcome at the train station before escorting him to his plush accommodations at the American Hotel. Crockett’s activities ranged from taking in a ribald burlesque show and delivering a speech at the New York Stock Exchange to dining with famed humorist and writer Seba Smith, the creator of Major Jack Downing, a fictional Crockett-like character. After a quick tour of Gotham’s notorious Five Points slum—a Sixth Ward haven for Van Buren supporters and the most squalid neighborhood in the city—Crockett cracked that he “would rather risque [sic] myself in an Indian fight than venture among those creatures after night.”25
Crockett was fascinated by what he witnessed at Peale’s Museum of Curiosities and Freaks. He was mesmerized by the performance of a ventriloquist who also was an accomplished magician who made money disappear and then reappear—a feat that Crockett pointed out was best accomplished by Old Hickory.26 All of the eclectic collection of exhibits—most of which eventually ended up in the hands of showman P. T. Barnum—were on display for Crockett’s inspection. He had seen nothing like it ever before: copies of the works of Leonardo da Vinci and other old masters, collections of snuff boxes, medals, whales’ teeth, and Seneca Indians in traditional regalia. One of the featured freaks was a five-year-old-girl who weighed 250 pounds, the kind of display of human curiosities typical of the era. The menagerie also included a rhinoceros, a two-headed calf with six legs, and an assortment of live rattlesnakes, tigers, and, much to Crockett’s delight, bears.27 The curators breathed collective sighs of relief when assured that their famous guest was not armed.
David Crockett: The Lion of the West Page 27