“Where am I?” asked one young fellow who had been lifted to his place in a wagon, when insensible and apparently dying. “On your way _home_!” cried the General merrily. And the young soldier began to improve from that hour, and reached home in good health. Many of the volunteers had heard so much of Jackson’s violent and hasty temper, that they had joined the corps with a certain dread and hesitation, fearing not the enemy, nor the marches, nor diseases and wounds, so much as the swift wrath of their Commander. How surprised were they to find, that though there was a whole volcano of wrath in their General, yet to the men of his command, so long as they did their duty and longer, he was the most gentle, patient, considerate, and generous of friends. It was on this homeward march that the nickname of Old Hickory was bestowed upon Andrew Jackson by his men. First of all the remark was made by a soldier, who was struck with his wonderful pedestrian powers, that the General was _tough_. Next it was observed of him that he was as _tough as hickory_. Then he was called _Hickory_. Lastly the affectionate adjective _old_ was prefixed. And ever after he was known as Old Hickory. _James Parton_ (_Retold_) THE COTTON-BALES We have all heard tell that Andrew Jackson and his riflemen fought the Battle of New Orleans from behind cotton-bales. This is a mistake. Yet it is true that Old Hickory did commandeer a whole cargo of cotton-bales, and with them built a bastion in front of his guns. But at the very first bombardment, the balls from the British batteries knocked the bales in all directions, while wads from the American guns and spurting flames from the muzzles of the rifles set some of the bales afire. They fell smouldering into the ditch outside, and lay there sending up smoke and choking odours. When the bombardment was over, the American soldiers dragged the unburnt cotton-bales to the rear. They cut them open and used the layers of cotton for beds. AFTER THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS The British troops had retreated before the savage crackling of the Tennessee and Kentucky rifles. The American artillery, which had continued to play upon the British batteries, ceased their fire for the guns to cool and the dense smoke to roll away. The whole American Army crowded in triumph to the parapet, and looked over into the field. What a scene was gradually disclosed to them! The plain was covered and heaped with the British dead and wounded. The American soldiers, to their credit be it repeated, were appalled and silenced at the sight before them. Dressed in their gay uniforms, cleanly shaven and attired for the promised victory and triumphal entry into New Orleans, these stalwart men lay on the gory field frightful examples of the horrors of war. Strangely did they contrast with those ragged, begrimed, long-haired pioneer men who, crowding the American parapet, stood surveying the destruction their long-rifles had caused.