David Crockett: His Life and Adventures - Chapter 02 - Youthful Adventures

Chapter 2: Youthful Adventures

This chapter recounts Crockett’s early escapades, including trips to Baltimore, attempts to sail to London, and various misadventures. It delves into his romantic pursuits and challenges, showcasing his resilience and adventurous spirit. Summary by Dream Audiobooks.com

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
David Crockett. His Life and Adventures by John S. C Abbott,
Chapter two, Youthful Advengures. The wagoner whom David had accompanied
to Gerardstown, was disappointed in his endeavors to find a
load to take back to Tennessee. He therefore took a
load to Alexandria on the Potomac. David decided to remain

(00:24):
at Gerardstown till Myers should return. He therefore engaged to
work for a man by the name of John Gray
for twenty five cents a day. It was light farm
work in which he was employed, and he was so
faithful in the performance of his duties that he pleased
the farmer, who was an old man, very much. Myers
continued for the winter in teeming backward and forward between

(00:46):
Gerardstown and Baltimore. While David found a comfortable home of
easy industry with the farmer, he was very careful in
the expenditure of his money, and in the spring found
that he had saved enough from his small wages to
purchase him a suit of coarse but substantial clothes. He then,
wishing to see a little more of the world, decided
to make a trip with the wagoner to Baltimore. David

(01:09):
had then seven dollars in his pocket, the careful savings
of the labors of half a year. He deposited the
treasure with the wagoner for safe keeping. They started on
their journey with a wagon heavily laden with barrels of flour.
As they were approaching a small settlement called Ellicott's Mills, David,
a little ashamed to approach the houses in the wagon

(01:30):
and much bespattered clothes which he wore on the way,
crept into the wagon to put on his better garments.
While there in the midst of the flower barrels piled
up all around him. The horses took fright at some
strange sight which they encountered, and in a terrible scare,
rushed down a steep hill, turned a sharp corner, broke
the tongue of the wagon and both of the axle trees,

(01:50):
and whirled the heavy barrels about in every direction. The
escape of David from very serious injuries seemed almost miraculous,
But our little barbarian leaped from the ruins unscathed. It
does not appear that he had ever cherished any conception
whatever of an overruling providence, probably a religious thought had
never entered his mind. A colt running by the side

(02:12):
of the horses could not have been more insensible to
every idea of death and responsibility at God's bar than
was David Crockett, and he can hardly be blamed for this.
The savages had some idea of the great Spirit and
of a future world. David was as uninstructed in those
thoughts as are the wolves and the bears. Many years afterward,

(02:33):
in writing of this occurrence, he says, with characteristic flippancy
interlarded with coarse phrases, this proved to me, if a
fellow is born to be hung, he will never be drowned.
And further that if he is born for a seat
in Congress, even flower barrels can't make a mash of him.
I didn't know how soon I should be knocked into
a cocked hat and get my walking papers for another country.

(02:56):
The wagon was quite demolished by the disaster. Another was obtained,
the flower reloaded, and they proceeded to Baltimore, dragging the
wreck behind them to be repaired. There. Here, young Crockett
was amazed at the aspect of civilization which was opened
up before him. He wandered along the wharves, gazing bewildered
upon the majestic ships with their towering masts, cordage and sails,

(03:19):
which he saw floating there. He had never conceived of
such fancies before. The mansions, the churches, the long lines
of brick stores excited his amazement. It seemed to him
that he had been suddenly introduced into a sort of
fairy land. All thoughts of home now vanished from his mind.
The great world was expanding before him, and the curiosity
of his intensely active mind was roused to explore more

(03:41):
of its wonders. One morning, he ventured on board one
of the ships at a wharf, and was curiously and
cautiously peering about when the captain caught sight of him.
It so happened that he was in need of a
sailor boy, and, being pleased with the appearance of the lad,
asked David if he would not like to enter into
his service to take a voyage to London. The boy
had no more idea of where London was or what

(04:03):
it was, than of a place in the moon, but
eagerly he responded yes, for he cared little where he
went or what became of him, he was so glad
of an opportunity to see more of the wonders of
this unknown world. The captain made a few inquiries respecting
his friends, his home, and his past modes of life,
and then engaged him for the cruise. David, in a

(04:24):
state of high joyous excitement, hurried back to the wagoner
to get his seven dollars of money and some clothes
he had left with him. But Myers put a very
prompt veto upon the lad's procedure, assuming that he was
the boy's master, and declared that he should not go
to sea. He refused to let him have either his
clothes or his money, asserting that it was his duty
to take him back to his parents in Tennessee. David

(04:45):
would gladly have fled from him and embarked without money
and without clothes, but the wagoner watched him so closely
that escape was impossible. David was greatly downhearted at this
disappointment and watched eagerly for an opportunity to obtain deliverance
from his bondage. But Myers was a burly teamster who
swung a very heavy wagon whip, threatening the boy with
a heavy punishment if he should make any attempt to

(05:07):
run away. After a few days, Myers loaded his team
for Tennessee, and with his reluctant boy, set out on
his long journey. David was exceedingly restless. He now hated
the man who was so tyrannically domineering over him. He
had no desire to return to his home, and he
dreaded the hickory stick with which he feared his brutal
father would assail him. One dark night, an hour or

(05:28):
two before the morning, David carefully took his little bundle
of clothes, and, creeping noiselessly from the cabin, rushed forward
as rapidly as his nimble feet could carry him. He
soon felt quite easy in reference to his escape. He
knew that the wagoner slept soundly, and that two hours
at least must elapse before he would open his eyes.
He then would not know with certainty in what direction

(05:48):
the boy had fled. He could not safely leave his
horses and wagon alone in the wilderness to pursue him,
and even should he unharness one of the horses and
gallop forward in search of the fugitive, David, by keeping
a vigilant watch would see him in the distance, and
could easily plunge into the thickets of the forest and
thus elude pursuit. He had run along five or six miles, when,

(06:09):
just as the sun was rising, he overtook another wagon.
He had already begun to feel very lonely and disconsolate.
He had naturally an affectionate heart and a strong mind,
traits of character which gleamed through all the dark clouds
that obscured his life. He was alone in the wilderness
without a penny, and he knew not what to do
or which way to turn. The moment he caught sight

(06:29):
of the teamster, his heart yearned for sympathy. Tears moistened
his eyes, and, hastening to the stranger, the friendless boy
of but thirteen years frankly told his whole story. The
wagoner was a rough, profane, burly man of generous feelings.
There was an air of sincerity in the boy which
convinced him of the entire truth of his statements. His
indignation was aroused, and he gave expression to that indignation

(06:52):
in unmeasured terms. Cracking his whip in his anger, he
declared that Myers was a scoundrel thus to rob a
friendless boy, and that he would lash the money out him.
This man, whose name also chanced to be Myers, was
of the tiger breed, fearing nothing, ever, ready for a fight,
and almost invariably coming off the conqueror. In his generous rage,
he halted his team, grasped his wagon whip, and, accompanied

(07:15):
by the trembling boy, turned back breathing vengeance. David was
much alarmed and told his protector that he was afraid
to meet the wagoner who had so often threatened him
with his whip. But his new friend said, have no fear.
The man shall give you back your money, or I
will thrash it out of him. They had proceeded but
about two miles when they met the approaching team of
Adam Myers Henry Myers. David's new friend, leading him by

(07:38):
the hand, advanced menacingly upon the other teamster and greeted
him with the words, you a cursed scoundrel. What do
you mean by robbing this friendless boy of his money?
Adam Myers confessed that he had received seven dollars of
the boy's money. He said, however, that he had no
money with him, and that he invested all he had
in articles in his wagon, and that he intended to
repay the boy as soon as they got back to Tennessee.

(07:59):
This settled the question, and David returned with Henry Myers
to his wagon and accompanied him for several days on
his slow and toilsome journey westward. The impatient boy, as
once before, soon got weary of the loitering pace of
the heavily laden team, and concluded to leave his friend
and press forward more rapidly alone. It chanced one evening
that several wagons met, and the teamsters encamped for the

(08:20):
night together. Henry Myers told them the story of the
friendless boy, and that he was now about to set
out alone for the long journey, most of it through
an entire wilderness, and through a land of strangers, wherever
there might chance to be a few scattered cabins. They
took up a collection for David and presented him with
three dollars. The little fellow pressed along about one hundred
and twenty five miles down the valley between the Allegheny

(08:43):
and the Blue Ridges until he reached Montgomery court House,
the region, then nearly three quarters of a century ago,
presented only here and there a spot where the light
of civilization had entered. Occasionally the log cabin of some
poor emigrant was found in the vast expanse. David, too
proud to beg when he had any money with which
to pay, found his purse empty when he had accomplished

(09:05):
this small portion of his journey. In this emergence, he
hired out to work for a man a month for
five dollars, which was at the rate of about one
shilling a day. Faithfully he fulfilled his contract, and then,
rather dreading to return home, entered into an engagement with
the hatter Elijah Griffith, to work in his shop for
four years. Here he worked diligently eighteen months without receiving

(09:27):
any pay. His employer then failed, broke up, and left
the country again. This poor boy, thus the sport of fortune,
found himself without a penny, with but few clothes, and
those much worn. But it was not his nature to
lay anything very deeply to heart. He laughed at misfortune
and pressed on, singing and whistling through all storms. He

(09:48):
had a stout pair of hands, good nature, and adaptation
to any kind of work. There was no danger of
his starving and exposures which many would deem hardships, were
no hardships for him. Undismayed, he ran here and there,
catching at such employment as he could find, until he
had supplied himself with some comfortable clothing and had a
few dollars of ready money in his purse. Again, he

(10:10):
set out alone and on foot for his far distant home.
He had been absent over two years, and was now
fifteen years of age. He trudged along day after day,
through rain and sunshine, till he reached a broad stream
called New River. It was wintry weather, the stream was
swollen by recent rains, and a gale then blowing was
plowing the surface into angry waves. Teams forded the stream

(10:33):
many miles above. There was a log hut here, and
the owner had a frail canoe in which he could
paddle an occasional traveler across the river. But nothing would
induce him to risk his life in an attempt to
cross in such a storm. The impetuous boy, in his
ignorance of the effect of wind upon waves, resolved to
attempt to cross at every hazard, and notwithstanding all remonstrances.

(10:55):
He obtained a leaky canoe which was half strained upon
the shore and pushed out on his perilous voyage. He
tied his little bundle of clothes to the bows of
the boat that they might not be washed or blown away,
and soon found himself exposed to the full force of
the wind and tossed by billows such as he had
never dreamed of before. He was greatly frightened, and would

(11:15):
have given all he had in the world to have
been safely back again upon the shore. But he was
sure to be swamped if he should attempt to turn
the boat broadside to the waves in such a gale.
The only possible salvation for him was to cut the
approaching billows with the bows of the boat. Thus he
might possibly ride over them, though at imminent peril every
moment of shipping a sea which would engulf him and

(11:36):
his frail boat in a watery grave. In this way,
he reached the shore two miles above the proper landing place.
The canoe was then half full of water. He was
drenched with spray, which was frozen into almost a coat
of mail upon his garments. Shivering with cold, he had
to walk three miles through the forest before he found
a cabin at whose fire he could warm and dry

(11:57):
himself without any unnecessary He pushed on until he crossed
the extreme western frontier line of Virginia and entered Sullivan County, Tennessee.
An able bodied young man like David Crockett, strong athletic,
willing to work, and knowing how to turn his hand
to anything, could in the humblest cabin find employment which

(12:17):
would provide him with board and lodging. He was in
no danger of starving. There was at that time but
one main path of travel from east into the regions
of the boundless West. As David was pressing along this path,
he came to a little hamlet of log huts, where
he found the brother whom he had left when he
started from home eighteen months before with the drove of cattle.

(12:39):
He remained with him for two or three weeks, probably
paying his expenses by farm labor and hunting. Again, he
set out for home. The evening twilight was darkening into
night when he caught sight of his father's humble cabin.
Several wagons were standing around, showing that there must be
considerable company in the house. With not a little embarrassment,
he ventured in. It was rather dark. His mother and

(13:03):
sisters were preparing supper at the immense fireside. Quite a
group of teamsters were scattered around the room, smoking their
pipes and telling their marvelous stories. David, during his absence
of two years, had grown and changed considerably in personal appearance.
None of the family recognized him. They generally supposed, as
he had been absent so long, that he was dead.

(13:24):
David inquired if he could remain all night. Being answered
in the affirmative, he took a seat in a corner
and remained perfectly silent, gazing upon the familiar scene and
watching the movements of his father, mother, and sisters. At length,
supper was ready and all took seats at the table.
As David came more into the light, one of his sisters,
observing him, was struck with his resemblance to her lost brother.

(13:47):
Fixing her eyes upon him, she in a moment, rushed
forward and threw her arms around his neck, exclaiming, here
is my brother David. Quite a scene ensued. The returning
prodigal was received with as much affection as could be
expect in a family with such uncultivated hearts and such
unrefined habits as were found in the cabin of John Crockett.
Even the stern old man forgot his hickory switch, and David,

(14:10):
much to his relief, found that he should escape the
long dreaded whipping. Many years after this, when David Crockett,
to his own surprise and that of the whole nation,
found himself elevated to the position of one of our
national legislatures, he wrote, but it will be a source
of astonishment to many who reflect that I am now
a member of the American Congress, the most enlightened body

(14:30):
of men in the world, that, at so advanced an age,
the age of fifteen, I did not know the first
letter in the book. By the laws and customs of
our land, David was bound to obey his father and
worked for him until he was twenty one years of age.
Till that time, whatever wages he might earn belonged to
his father. It is often an act of great generosity
for a hard working farmer to release a stout lad

(14:52):
of eighteen or nineteen from this obligation and to give him,
as it is phrased, his time. John Crockett Oda neighbor
Abraham Wilson, thirty six dollars. He told David that if
he would work for mister Wilson until his wages paid
that sum, he would then release him from all his
obligations to his father, and his son might go free.
It was a shrewd bargain for the old man, for

(15:14):
he had already learned that David was abundantly capable of
taking care of himself, and that he would come and
go where and when he pleased. The boy, weary of
his wanderings, consented to the arrangement and engaged to work
for mister Wilson for six months, in payment for which
the note was to be delivered up to his father.
It was characteristic of David that whatever he undertook engaged

(15:35):
in with all his might. He was a rude, coarse boy.
It was scarcely possible, with his past training that he
should be otherwise, But he was very faithful in fulfilling
his obligations. Though his sense of right and wrong was
very obtuse, he was still disposed to do right so
far as his uncultivated conscience revealed it to him. For

(15:56):
six months, David worked for mister Wilson with the utmost
fidelity and zeal. He then received the note, presented it
to his father, and before he was sixteen years of age,
stood up proudly his own man. His father had no
longer the right to whip him, his father had no
longer the right to call upon him for any service
without paying him for it. And on the other hand,

(16:16):
he could no longer look to his father for food
or clothing. This thought gave him no trouble. He had
already taken care of himself for two years, and he
felt no more solicitude in regard to the future than
did the buffalo's calf or the wolf's whelp. Wilson was
a bad man, dissipated and unprincipled, but he had found
David to be so valuable a laborer that he offered

(16:37):
him high wages if he would remain and work for him.
It shows a latent underlying principle of goodness in David
that he should have refused the offer. He writes, the
reason was it was a place where a heap of
bad company meant to drink and gamble, and I wanted
to get away from them, for I knowed very well
if I stayed there, I should get a bad name,

(16:57):
as nobody could be respectable that would live there. About
this time a Quaker somewhat advanced in years, a good
honest man by the name of John Kennedy, emigrated from
North Carolina, and, selecting his four hundred acres of land
about fifteen miles from John Crockett's, reared a log hut
and commenced a clearing. In some transaction with Crockett, he

(17:17):
took his neighbor's note for forty dollars. He chanced to
see David, a stout lad of prepossessing appearance, and proposed
that he should work for him for two shillings a day,
taking him one week. Upon trial. At the close of
the week, the Quaker expressed himself as highly satisfied with
his work, and offered to pay him with his father's
note of forty dollars for six months labor on his farm.

(17:38):
David knew full well how ready his father was to
give his note, and how slow he was to pay it.
He was fully aware that the note was not worth
to him the paper upon which it was written, but
he reflected that the note was an obligation upon his father,
that he was very poor and his lot in life
was hard. It certainly indicated much innate nobility of nature
that this boy, under these circumstances, should have accepted the

(18:00):
offer of the Quaker. But David did this. For six months,
he labored assidiously, without the slightest hope of reward, excepting
that he would thus relieve his father, whom he had
no great cause either to respect or love, from the
embarrassment of the debt. For a whole half year, David
toiled upon the farm of the Quaker, never once during
that time visiting his home. At the end of the term,

(18:22):
he received his pay for those long months of labor
in a little piece of rumpled paper upon which his
father had probably made his mark. It was Saturday evening.
The next morning, he borrowed a horse of his employer
and set out for a visit home. He was kindly welcomed.
His father knew nothing of the agreement which his son
had made with mister Kennedy. As the family were talking

(18:42):
together round the cabin fire, David drew the note from
his pocket and presented it to his father. The old
man seemed much troubled. He supposed mister Kennedy had sent
it for collection. As usual, He began to make excuses.
He said that he was very sorry that he could
not pay it, they had met with many misfortunes, and
that he had no money, and that he did not
know what to do. David then told his father that

(19:05):
he did not hand him the bill for collection, but
that it was a present from him, that he had
paid it in full. It is easy for old, broken
down men to weep. John Crockett seemed much affected by
this generosity of his son, and David says he shed
a heap of tears. He, however, avowed his inability to
pay anything whatever upon the note. David had now worked

(19:27):
for a year without getting any money for himself. His
clothes were worn out, and altogether he was in a
very dilapidated condition. He went back to the Quakers and
again engaged in his service, desiring to earn some money
to purchase clothes. Two months thus passed away. Every ardent,
impetuous boy must have a love adventure. David had his.

(19:47):
A very pretty young quakeress of about David's age, came
from North Carolina to visit mister Kennedy, who was her uncle.
David fell desperately in love with her. We cannot better
describe this adventure than in the unpa Us diction of
this illiterate boy. If one would understand this extraordinary character.
It is necessary thus to catch such glimpses as we
can of his inner life. Let this necessity atone for

(20:11):
the unpleasant rudeness of speech be it remembered that this
reminiscence was written after David Crockett was a member of Congress.
I soon found myself head over heels in love with
this girl. I thought that if all the hills about
were pure chink, and all belonged to me, I would
give them if I could just talk to her as
I wanted to. But I was afraid to begin, for
when I would think of saying anything to her, my

(20:33):
heart would begin to flutter like a duck in a puddle,
And if I tried to outdo it and speak, it
would get right smack up in my throat and choke
me like a cold potato. It bore on my mind
in this way till at last I concluded I must
die if I didn't broach the subject. So I determined
to begin and hang on a try, and to speak
till my heart would get out of my throat one
way or to other. And so one day at it

(20:55):
I went and after several trials, I could say a little.
I told or how I loved her, that she was
the darling object of my soul and body, and I
must have her, or else I should pine down to
nothing and just die away with consumption. I found my
talk was not disagreeable to her, but she was an
honest girl and didn't want to deceive nobody. She told

(21:16):
me she was engaged to her cousin, a son of
the old Quaker. This news was worse to me than war, pestilence,
or famine. But still I knowed I could not help myself.
I saw quick enough my cake was dough, and I
tried to cool off as fast as possible, but I
had hardly safety pipes enough, as my love was so
hot as mighty nigh to burst my boilers. But I

(21:38):
didn't press my claims any more, seeing there was no
chance to do anything. David's grief was very sincere and
continued as long as is usually the case with disappointed lovers.
David soon began to cherish some slight idea of the
deficiency in his education. He had never been to school
but four days, and in that time he had learned
absolutely nothing. A young man, a Quaker, had opened a

(22:01):
school about a mile and a half from mister Kennedy's.
David made an arrangement with his employer by which he
was to go to school four days in the week
and worked the other two days for his board. He
continued in this way for six months, but it was
very evident that David was not born for a scholar.
At the end of that time, he could read a
little in the first primer with difficulty. He could make

(22:23):
certain hieroglyphics which looked like his name. He could also
perform simple sums. In addition subtraction and multiplication. The mysteries
of division he never surmounted. This was the extent of
his education. He left school, and in the laborious life
upon which he entered, never after improved any opportunity for
mental culture. The disappointment which David had encountered in his

(22:45):
love affair only made him more eager to seek a
new object upon which he might fix his affections. Not
far from mister Kennedy's there was the cabin of a
settler where there were two or three girls. David had
occasionally met them, boy as he was, for he was
not yet eighteen. He suddenly and impetuously set out to
see if he could not pick from them one for

(23:05):
a wife. Without delay, he made his choice and made
his offer, and was as promptly accepted as a lover.
Though they were both very young and neither of them
had a dollar still, as those considerations would not have
influenced David in the slightest degree, we know not why
they were not immediately married. Several months of very desperate
and satisfactory courtship passed away. When the time came from

(23:26):
the nuptials of the little Quaker girl, which ceremony was
to take place at the cabin of her uncle, David
and his girl were invited to the wedding. The scene
only inflamed the desires of David to hasten his marriage day.
He was very importunate in pressing his claims. She seemed
quite reluctant to fix the day, but at last consented

(23:47):
and says David, I thought, if that day come, I
should be the happiest man in the created world, or
in the moon, or anywhere else. In the meantime, David
had become very fond of his rifle and had raised
enough money to buy him one. He was still living
with the Quaker. Game was abundant, and the young hunter
often brought in valuable supplies of animal food. There were

(24:07):
frequent shooting matches in that region. David, proud of his skill,
was fond of attending them, but his Quaker employer considered
them a species of gambling which drew together all the
idlers and vagrants of the region, and he could not
approve of them. There was another boy living at that
time with the Quaker. They practiced all sorts of deception
to steal away to the shooting matches under the pretense

(24:29):
that they were engaged in other things. This boy was
quite in love with a sister of David's intended wife.
The staid member of the society of Friends did not
approve of the rude courting frolics of those times, which
frequently occupied nearly the whole night. The two boys slept
in a garret in what was called the gable end
of the house. There was a small window in their
rough apartment. One Sunday, when the Quaker and his wife

(24:52):
were absent attending a meeting, the boys cut a long
pole and leaned it up against the side of the
house as high as the window, but so that it
would not attract any attention. They were as nimble as catamounts,
and could run up and down the pole without the
slightest difficulty. They would go to bed at the usual
early hour. As soon as all was quiet, they would
creep from the house, dressed in their best apparel, and

(25:15):
taking the two farm horses, would mount their backs and
ride as fast as possible ten miles through the forest
road to where the girls lived. They were generally expected
after spending all the hours of the middle of the
night in the varied frolics of the country courtship, they
would again mount their horses and gallop home, being especially
careful to creep in at their window before the dawn

(25:35):
of day. The course of true love seemed for once
to be running smoothly. Saturday came, and the next week,
on Thursday, David was to be married. It so happened
that there was to be a shooting match on Saturday
at one of the cabins not far from the home
of his intended bride. David made some excuse as to
the necessity of going home to prepare for his wedding,

(25:56):
and in the morning set out early and directed his
steps straight to the shooting. Here he was very successful
in his shots, and won about five dollars. In great
elation of spirits, and fully convinced that he was one
of the greatest and happiest men in the world, he
pressed on towards the home of his intended bride. He
had walked but a couple of miles when he reached
the cabin of the girl's uncle. Considering the members of

(26:18):
the family already his relatives, he stepped in very patronizingly
to greet them. He doubted not that they were very
proud of the approaching alliance of their niece with so
distinguished a man as himself, a man who had actually
five dollars in silver in his pocket. Entering the cabin,
he found a sister of his betrothed there. Instead of
greeting him with the cordiality he expected, she seemed greatly embarrassed.

(26:41):
David had penetration enough to see that something was wrong.
The reception she gave him was not such as he
thought a brother in law ought to receive. He made
more particular inquiries. The result we will give in David's language.
She then burst into tears and told me that her
sister was going to deceive me, and that she was
to be married to another man the next day. This

(27:01):
was as sudden to me as a clap of thunder
on a bright, sunshiny day. It was the capstone of
all the afflictions I had ever met with, and it
seemed to me that it was more than any human
creature could endure. It struck me perfectly speechless for some time,
and made me feel so weak that I thought I
should sink down. I, however, recovered from the shock after
a little and rose and started without any ceremony or

(27:23):
even bidding anybody good bye. The young woman followed me
out to the gate and entreated me to go on
to her father's and said she would go with me.
She said the young man who was going to marry
her sister had got his license and asked for her.
But she assured me that her father and mother both
preferred me to him, and that she had no doubt
if I would go on, I could break off the match.
But I found I could go no farther. My heart

(27:45):
was bruised and my spirits were broken down. So I
bid her farewell and turned my lonesome and miserable steps
back again homeward, concluding that I was only born for hardship, misery,
and disappointment. I now began to think that in making me,
it was entirely forgotten to make my mate, and that
I was born odd and should always remain so, and
that nobody would have me. But all these reflections did

(28:09):
not satisfy my mind, for I had no peace day
or night. For several weeks. My appetite failed me, and
I grew daily worse and worse. They all thought I
was sick, and so I was, and it was the
worst kind of sickness, a sickness of the heart and
all the tender parts produced by disappointed love. For some time,
David continued in a state of great dejection, A lovelorn

(28:31):
swain of seventeen years. Thus disconsolate, he loved to roam
the forest alone, with his rifle as his only companion,
brooding over his sorrows. The gloom of the forest was
congenial to him, and the excitement of pursuing the game
afforded some slight relief to his agitated spirit. One day,
when he had wandered far from home, came upon the
cabin of a Dutchman with whom he had formed some

(28:53):
previous acquaintance. He had a daughter who was exceedingly plain
in her personal appearance, but who had a very active
mind and was a bright, talkative girl. She had heard
of David's misadventure and rather unfeelingly rallied him upon his loss. She, however,
endeavored to comfort him by the assurance that there were
as good fish in the sea as had ever been
caught out of it. David did not believe in this

(29:15):
doctrine at all as applied to his own case. He
thought his loss utterly irretrievable, and, in his still high
appreciation of himself, notwithstanding his deep mortification, he thought that
the lively Dutch girl was endeavoring to catch him for
her lover. In this, however, he soon found himself mistaken.
She told him that there was to be a reaping
frolic in their neighborhood in a few days, and that

(29:37):
if he would attend it, she would show him one
of the prettiest girls upon whom he ever fixed his eyes.
Difficult as he found it to shut out from his
mind his lost love, upon whom his thoughts were dwelling
by day and by night. He very wisely decided that
his best remedy would be found in what doctor Chalmers
calls the expulsive power of a new affection. That is,

(29:57):
that he would try and fall in love with some
other girl as soon as posis. His own language in
describing his feelings at that time is certainly very different
from that which the philosopher or the modern novelist would
have used, but is quite characteristic of the man. The
Dutch maiden assured him that the girl who had deceived
him was not to be compared in beauty with the
ones she would show to him. He writes, I didn't

(30:19):
believe a word of all this, for I had thought
that such a piece of flesh and blood as she
had never been manufactured and never would again. I agreed
with her that the little varmint had treated me so
bad that I ought to forget her, and yet I
couldn't do it. I concluded that the best way to
accomplish it was to cut out again and see if
I could find any other that would answer me. And

(30:39):
so I told the Dutch girl that I would be
at the reaping and would bring as many as I
could with me. David seems at this time to have
abandoned all constant industry and to be loving about with
his rifle, thus supporting himself with the game he took.
He traversed the still but slightly broken forest in all directions,
carrying to many scattered farmhouses. Intelligence of the approaching reaping frolic,

(31:01):
he informed the good Quaker with whom he had worked
of his intention to be there. Mister Kennedy endeavored to
dissuade him. He said that there would be much bad
company there, and there would be drinking and carousing, and
that David had been so good a boy that he
should be very sorry to have him get a bad name.
The curiosity of the impetuous young man was, however, by
this time too much aroused for any persuasions to hold

(31:22):
him back. Shouldering his rifle, he hastened to the reaping
at the appointed day. Upon his arrival at the place,
he found a large company already assembled. He looked around
for the pretty girl, but she was nowhere to be seen.
She chanced to be in a shed frollicking with some
others of the young people, but as David, with his
rifle on his shoulder, sauntered around, an aged irishwoman full

(31:43):
of nerve and volubility caught sight of him. She was
the mother of the girl and had been told of
the object of David's visit. He must have appeared very boyish,
for he had not yet entered his eighteenth year, and
though very wiry and athletic, he was of slender frame
and rather small in stature. The irishwoman hastened to David,
lavished upon him compliments, respecting his rosy cheeks, and assured

(32:05):
him that she had exactly such a sweetheart for him
as he needed. She did not allow David to have
any doubt that she would gladly welcome him as the
husband of her daughter. Pretty soon the young, fresh, blooming,
mirthful girl came along, and David fell in love with
her at first sight. Not much formality of introduction was necessary.
Each was looking for the other. Both of the previous

(32:26):
loves of the young man were forgotten in an instant.
He devoted himself with the utmost assiduity to the little
Irish girl. He was soon dancing with her after a
very vigorous double shuffle, as they were seated side by
side on a bench, intensely talking. For David Crockett was
never at a loss for words, The mother came up and,
in her wonderfully frank mode of match making, joculously addressed

(32:48):
him as her son in law. Even David's imperturbable self
possession was disturbed by this assailment. Still, he was much
pleased to find both mother and daughter so favorably disposed
towards him. Rustic follocking continued nearly all night. In the morning, David,
in a very happy frame of mind, returned to the Quakers, and,
in anticipation of soon setting up farming for himself, engaged

(33:10):
to work for him for six months for a low
priced horse. End of chapter