Benjamin Boyd was an Irishman, as was Andrew Jackson. He was a coppersmith by trade, got drunk occasionally, and was drunk on the night of the fire. He was somewhat chagrined at the idea of Jackson appropriating his suggestion of a bucket-line to the creek; and after Jackson had succeeded in doing what he could not do, and, as Boyd said, was “strutting around giving orders,” the two men met near the creek. Boyd said to Jackson, “I have seen and fought fires in Philadelphia before you were born,” and continued to growl at Jackson, who ordered him to “get in line or get out of the way.” Boyd, who was a fearless man, made some insolent reply, when Jackson, seizing a bucket of water, threw its contents on the irate Irishman, and passed along the line, leaving Boyd swearing, “By the Holy Virgin, I’ll whip you before you leave this town!” John Chester, with whom Boyd lived and died at Jonesboro, made him go to his little house, which stood in the corner of Chester’s yard; and this ended the matter.[Q] “Jackson’s bucket brigade” has often saved property in the ancient town, within the century, now almost rounded out, that followed its organization and first service. FOOTNOTES: [Q] My greatgrandfather, Robert Johnston Chester, brought Benjamin Boyd from Limerick, Ireland, to America. My grandfather, John Chester, brought him from Carlisle, Pennsylvania, to Jonesboro, in December, 1796. Boyd was then an old man. I am the possessor of one of Boyd’s books, an “Arithmetick,” “printed in Belfast, Ireland, by James Magee, at the Bible and Crown, Bridge street,” in 1775. CHAPTER X. _ANDREW JACKSON, THE MAN._ Andrew Jackson was a more courageous man, as well as a much greater man, than many of his most ardent admirers knew of. At the time of his duel with Avery, if the version which I believe to be true is correct, he was afraid of public opinion--that is, he believed that, if he made an explanation, somebody might think that he feared Avery, and so, rather than run the risk of being suspected of cowardice, he was willing to give Avery a chance to kill him. But later in life he had outgrown this, and had no master except his convictions of duty, his own sense of right and wrong. He did not care what anybody might believe or suspect him of, so long as his course had the approval of his judgment and his conscience.