Introducing Hax

“It’s too dang hot to get up!”

Hax Gillespie’s morning call to arms rang out.  The first sergeant would nudge Hax with one boot and the rest of the men were up in a flash.  Hax, however, preferred to continue his repose.

“Come back when breakfast’s up.”

The sergeant would haul him bodily to his feet and throw him toward the others’ formation and he would grumble his way into line.   The same thing happened every morning because Hax never gave up.  It was seldom that he shut up, either.

“Yeah, Grandaddy Hax was quite a character.”  The accent which flowed with these words from Henry Gillespie seemed to roll across the ground.  Henry was my roommate’s maternal grandfather and James had mentioned him numerous times, but this was our first meeting.  Since I liked stories it looked as though it could turn into an interesting morning, if we only had the time.

“Definitely a character. Hax was drafted into the War of 1812, you see,” Henry continued. “He was dragged from his farm in Tennessee and marched through Alabama, Florida, and Mississippi to the Battle of New Orleans by Old Hickory himself.” He paused here to take a breath then continued. “I never knew him, of course, but my grandfather was his grandson and Hax’s antics created a lot of family tales.  He was a character.”

James McAnally and I had been roommates since a computer stuck us randomly together in our freshman year.  Our friendship had a pretty rocky beginning, we essentially hated each other at first sight, but in time all of those differences became the defining characteristics of our closeness.  We moved into an apartment off campus with two other guys in our junior year and remained in the same location now, nearly a year past graduation.  I had visited his parent’s home with him many times but never in the presence of his grandfather who seemed to be, much like his ancestor, quite a character.  James’ little brother had died a few days before in a car crash and funerals have a funny way of bringing out the extremes in people, good or bad.  Henry Gillespie seemed intent on bringing smiles and laughter to everyone around him and whether that was simply his character or the extreme brought on by grief it was difficult to tell.

“From all the tales I was told, Hax wasn’t much for discrmination, he pretty much hated everything.  My grandfather always said that it was his way of loving people but that his one true joy in life was grumbling about everything else.  Grumbling, that was the word he always used when he spoke of Hax’s behavior and said that he never grumbled about people although he often did so about their actions and the results.”  Another lengthy pause ensued. 

“Papaw, do you suppose that any of the stories are true, or just tales to get a few laughs?”  James asked.

“I think most of them were true, within limits.”  Henry said.  “I don’t doubt that most, maybe all, have been stretched a good bit but there’s a solid base of truth to it all.  My grandfather was more like his descriptions of Hax than he might have cared to admit; he grumbled too.  I think the trait runs pretty solidly in the family.  Kate!” He called sharply, “This coffee is too cold. Bring me another cup if you don’t mind.”  There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it.

“Yes, dad.”  James’ mother replied as she brought the pot.  The same twinkle was in her eye and James himself chuckled a little.  It’s hard to get eye twinkles and chuckles from people who’ve lost a son or a brother, but the old guy was doing it. 

“Anyways, Hax didn’t want to go into military service, he was drafted, and the stories I was told say that he was dragged from his house by the legs, grumbling the entire time.”  He took a sip of the fresh coffee and continued, “There was a whole platoon sent to collect him, under the command of Lieutenant Sam Houston, if you believe it.” He looked directly at me with this statement.

“At the very least I can believe that you heard it that way.”  I smiled in reply.

He nodded.  “Good enough, I reckon.  I heard it that way and that’s a plain fact.  Apparently, Houston had him tied over the back of a horse like a sack and hauled him off to camp.  It was late winter and Hax complained about the cold, complained about the horse, and complained about being tied to it.  He heckled his captors regularly, ‘How you reckon it’s gonna help having me if I’m strapped to a horse’s rear?’ was the sort of thing I was told.”  He shook his head with a smile, “Quite a character.”

James’ mother smiled, “Dad, why don’t you tell them about the hay bale?  You can make that one short enough that we can get to the funeral home on time.”

“All right, all right,” The old man grumbled, “I know we have to rush this morning.”

He sipped his coffee and began. “There is a lot of time between Eastern Tennessee and New Orleans when you’re on foot, I guess a couple of educated young men like yourselves could figure that out, but just before the big battle down that way, General Jackson’s army was reconnoitering the swamps and bayous in the vicinity.  They were pretty badly outnumbered, of course, and were trying pretty hard to overcome that disadvantage and Hax’s grumbling didn’t help at all.  He’d grumbled all summer about the heat and by this time it was winter again so he grumbled about the cold, and the damp and pretty much everything else he could think of.  Everybody else in the outfit was just about sick of him and often wished he’d been left at home. A lot of trade had been disrupted because the war disrupted everything and cotton bales were often to be seen along the roads so eventually the platoon sergeant got around to tying Hax to the front of one and leaving him in the middle of the road, facing British lines.”

I couldn’t help but give a little snort of laughter here and Henry looked at me asking, “Something funny?”

“Well yeah,” I replied, “The idea of a platoon sergeant tying one of his men to a bale of cotton is more than a little silly.”

“I suppose it is but it’s true nonetheless.”  He chuckled back at me.  “Anyway, Hax was left there with the idea that he’d at least be captured and become a problem for the British rather than the Americans.  I don’t suppose that anyone knows exactly when but he was, in fact, captured by the British and taken back to their camp.  He was held there for a good while, until the day of the actual battle, and there are reports from British officers, including an interview with General Packenham, containing that much information.  Several include notes concerning his disruptive grumbling while there.” He stopped and downed his remaining coffee.

“Quite a character was Hax.”  He sat his cup on the table with a pained, sad look.  “But I suppose telling more about him will have to wait.  We have things to be about this morning.”

It did seem that Hax Gillespie had been quite a character, grumbles and all.  We made our way to the funeral home for our various difficulties that morning and no more was said about him.  I’m going to look up those British reports as soon as I can, though.  I hope they confirm at least some of what I heard but even more I hope to hear more stories of the man from Henry.  True or not, they’re too good to forget.