The first in that rush was a young Lieutenant, Sam Houston.[5] As he led the way across the breastwork, a barbed arrow struck deep into his thigh. He tried to pull it out, but could not. He called to an officer, and asked him to draw it out. The officer tugged at its shaft twice, but failed. “Try again!” shouted Sam Houston, lifting his sword, “and if you fail this time, I will smite you to the earth!” The officer, with a desperate effort, pulled out the arrow. A stream of blood gushed from the wound. Sam Houston recrossed the breastwork to the rear, to have it dressed. A surgeon dressed it and staunched the flow of blood. Just then Andrew Jackson rode up to see who was wounded. Recognizing his daring lieutenant, he forbade him to return to the fight. Under any other circumstances, Sam Houston would have obeyed without a word. But now he begged the General to allow him to go back to his men. General Jackson ordered him most peremptorily not to cross the breastwork again. But Sam Houston was determined to die in that battle or win fame for ever. And soon after, when General Jackson called for volunteers to storm a ravine, Sam Houston rushed into the thick of the fight, and the next minute he was leading on his men. He received two rifle-balls in his right shoulder, and his left arm fell shattered at his side. At last, exhausted by the loss of blood he dropped to the ground. He eventually recovered; and the military prowess and heroism which he had displayed throughout this battle, secured for him the lasting regard of Old Hickory. _Retold from the “Life of Sam Houston”_ WHY JACKSON WAS NAMED OLD HICKORY When Andrew Jackson, with his Tennessee riflemen, was camping at Natchez waiting for orders to move on to New Orleans, he received a despatch from the War Department. It ordered him to dismiss his men at once. Jackson’s indignation and rage knew no bounds. Dismiss them without pay, without means of transportation, without provision for the sick! Never! He himself would march them home again through the savage Wilderness, at his own expense! Such was his determination. And when his little Army set out from Natchez for its march of five hundred miles through the Wilderness, there were a hundred and fifty men on the sick-list, of whom fifty-six could not raise their heads from the pillow. There were but eleven wagons to convey them. The most desperately ill were placed in the wagons. The rest of the sick were mounted on the horses of the officers. General Jackson had three fine horses, and gave them up to the sick, himself briskly trudging on foot. Day after day, he tramped gayly along the miry roads, never tired, and always ready with a cheering word for others. They marched with extraordinary speed, averaging eighteen miles a day, and performing the whole journey in less than a month. And yet the sick men rapidly recovered under the reviving influence of a homeward march.