Hax and Hickory

“What is wrong with you people, marchin’ and marchin’ in this dadblamed heat?”  Hax Gillespie’s continuous griping was wearing on the entire troop.  The two days since he had been dragged from his house and tied over the back of a horse had seemed an eternity.

“I reckon it’ll be freezin’ tonight though, ice beaded all over us from the sweat.”  It was March and while the sun beat down on them in the afternoon, nights were still cold in this part of Tennessee.

I’m Aubrey Thames and I’d met the old man, Henry Gillespie, at a funeral gathering.  He was the grandfather of my best friend and he had an interesting family tree.  At the time of the funeral, he had told a brief story about an ancestor, Hax Gillespie, and I was dying to hear more.  I liked to hear stories and Henry clearly loved telling them, so we seemed a good match for one another.

“Back when I was just a kid, my granddaddy would sit and tell me stories about the family.  He was too old then to work the farm much and I was young enough to sit with him more than the others, so I listened to him talk.”  Henry took a long swallow of the ice water he held.

“His name was Hal,” He continued, “And his Daddy was Harper who was the second child of Huck Gillespie.  Now Huck himself was always called “Jackson.”  He tried to discourage that after his daddy, Hax, passed but it had stuck by then.  According to my granddaddy he got that name because he irritated old Hax nearly as much as Andrew Jackson did during the war.”

After another swallow of water he continued.  “I did tell you about the war, right?”

I chuckled a little, “Yes sir you did, a little at least.  I think you told me about him being tied to a cotton bale and captured by the British.”  I had been able to find a few of those records and they did at least list a Hax Gillespie among the prisoners at that time but I’d discovered no more to corroborate the tale.

He laughed out loud at that.  “Yeah, he could get himself into a mess of trouble.  He didn’t want to march, he hated the food, he hated the heat.  When it rained he hated that and when it was cold he hated that too.  According to granddaddy, about the only thing that made him happy was complaining about everything else.  Grumbling, actually, granddaddy always said that Hax grumbled.”  He looked into the distance for a minute and the low creaking of the rockers beneath him seemed the only sound.

“Granddaddy always sat out on the porch like this but it wasn’t the same.”  He said thoughtfully after the pause.  “Granddaddy’s house was a plain old board fieldhouse and the porch was wide and open, not like these little porches here.” He gestured expansively at the subdivision houses around us. “I’m right grateful to Katy for taking me in and looking after me, but I sure do miss the country.  I reckon if I was there I’d be too old to enjoy it anyway.”

The look on his face was wistful, nearly a longing, but he soon continued, “Anyway, somehow or other, Hax’s complaining always seemed to change the situations he was complaining about, usually for the best if you could overlook the aggravation of listening to him.  Granddaddy used to tell me about listening to Jackson, Huck that is, tell about it, ‘Daddy complained and griped about everything but it always seemed to make a difference.  He’d grumble about it being dry and it would rain then he’d gripe about it being wet and it stopped.  He’d complain about the cold and we’d get a warm spell then he grouse about that until it cooled back down.  Dangdest thing you’d ever see.’ “

“Are you saying that a grumbling old man could change the weather?”  I asked a bit incredulously.

He laughed again, “Nah, he didn’t change it.  I figure that it seemed to work that way because you take more notice of things when someone is continuously mentioning them.  When they change, especially suddenly like weather often does, the change just stands out to you because the situation was already on your mind.”  He sipped again at his water, “That’s how folk heroes come into being I imagine; real people do real things and they get blown a little out of proportion as the stories are passed down.  One difference old Hax did seem to make directly was an interesting one, though.”

I was definitely interested regardless of the actual truth behind any change brought about by an irascible ancestor.  “Well you have me curious enough to listen for certain, so what change did he bring about?”

Henry seemed to be approaching this part of the story with relish, “Well, history tells us that Andrew Jackson was nicknamed ‘Old Hickory,’ right?”

“Anyone past elementary school in this country has heard that, I imagine.” I allowed with a chuckle.

“Well it also tells us that he got that name during his retreat from Mississippi in 1813.” He looked thoughtful for a moment before going on.  “Retreat really isn’t the right word.  He was ordered to disband his troops but instead he held them together and brought them back home rather than cast them adrift to fend for themselves.  Now it’s recorded that his determination at that time earned him that nickname, but I heard things a bit differently.” 

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that Hax gave him the nickname?”  I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at that idea.

Henry laughed along with me.  “No, he didn’t give it to him, I doubt that even my granddaddy would’ve told that tale.”

It was interesting to me that he seemed to admit his grandfather’s ability to tell a little more than what might have actually occurred and told the old man as much.

“Oh yes, he could spin a story, there’s no doubt about that.” He really hadn’t stopped laughing but he made his way back into the tale.  “Nevertheless, this one doesn’t claim that Hax gave him the nickname, just that he brought it about.”

I calmed down myself and asked, “Ok, true or not, how did that come about?”

“Well, Jackson, with Hax in tow now, headed into battles with the Creek in Alabama and the Spanish in Florida before making it to the famous battle for New Orleans.  As I’ve already told you, Hax didn’t want to go in the first place, pretty much hated everything even when he was someplace he wanted to be, and wanted nothing more than to get away from the army and back home, so he was a bit resistant to any activity which kept him there.” He paused again to sip a little more water.

I sat quietly, not wanting to disturb his recall and it was only a moment before he took up the thread of the story again.

“I already told you that he had to be dragged out of his house and tied over a horse to get him to the muster in the first place, right?”

“Yes sir, you did.”

“Well that sort of behavior continued.  Every morning he was dragged into the formation and forced along, complaining constantly.  One morning, not too far into the march south, he just plopped down and refused to move.  His sergeant dragged him up into the formation and he just collapsed, lying on the ground, grumbling about the situation and declaring that he wasn’t taking another step away from home. This went on for some time that morning, attracting first his lieutenant, then another officer and eventually the general himself.”

“Do you mean to say that Andrew Jackson concerned himself with a single uncooperative soldier?”  The disbelief in my question rang in my own ears but it didn’t seem to faze Henry.

“I mean to say that my granddaddy told the tale that way,” He said, “And while he was prone to stretching a story for fun, he wasn’t a liar so he pretty much told the truth as he knew it at least.”

He took another swallow of water and went on. “Anyway, when Jackson got there, Hax was clinging to a good-sized sapling to keep the officers from dragging him back to the formation.  The other men were trying not to laugh, knowing that somebody was going to catch it over this and finding it too funny might be a reason for the punishment to spread.  Jackson knew that this had to end, so he drew his sword and chopped the sapling down with one swing.”

“I suppose that it was a hickory sapling?” I smiled.

“It was, but that’s not the end.”  Henry looked at me with a completely straight face and then continued,  “After it was cut, Hax was still clinging to that tree like his life depended on it.  The general was already mad and everyone knows about his temper, it’s legendary even in regular history.  He grabbed that sapling, yanked it free of Hax’s grip and started beating Hax with it like he intended to kill him.  Given everything going on, maybe he did, but it got old Hax moving that morning”

He finished the water in his glass and stated matter-of-factly, “And that, Aubrey, is the story of how my great-great grandfather got Andrew Jackson a new nickname.”

I wanted to hear more, even if it was ridiculous, but I could tell that the old man had told his tale for today and more would need to wait for another one.