The death of Mrs. Jackson, consort of General Andrew Jackson, which we hastily
announced in our paper on Tuesday last, came upon our community like an electric shock. Arrangements had been made
by the citizens of Nashville for a public dinner and a ballon Tuesday, in honor of the General, and he was expected
in town that morning, to receive the congratulations of his friends, and to partake with them a parting glass,
preparatory to his departure for the seat of the national government. On Thursday preceding, Mrs. Jackson was attacked
with severe pain in the arm, shoulder and side, and violent palpitation of the heart. Medical assistance however
soon afforded her relief, and no serious result was apprehended. On Monday she again complained of pain, and slight
fever returned, but in the evening about 9 o’clock, when the physician visited her, she appeared relieved, and
was free from pain. No alarming symptoms appeared, nor was it then supposed that her indisposition would be so
great as to interfere with the arrangements of the next day. In about half an hour, however she sent for the physician,
who was in an adjoining room, and before he could reach her, she fell from her chair, and expired in less than
two minutes. The immediate cause of this awful event is supposed to have been a sudden spasmodic affection of the
heart. The funeral took place on Wednesday, and was attended by an immense crowd from Nashville and the surrounding
country.
Most sincerely do we sympathize with our distinguished fellow citizen in this severe and trying affliction. At
the moment of his high elevation, he is suddenly depressed and cast down. His hope are disappointed, his plans
deranged. Just as he is about to feel the weight of new cares, responsibilities and duties, he is deprived of that
domestic solace, which he had been so long accustomed to enjoy, and is left, solitary as it were, in the midst
of society, to enter upon the new theatre of action, where he had fondly anticipated the sharing of his honors
and pleasures and anxieties with the much loved partner of his bosom. This in indeed a great and sudden reverse,
and affords a striking lesson of the uncertainty of human happiness, a forcible illustration of the mixture of
alloy with the richest and purest of human enjoyments. -- Banner
Rachel (Donelson) [Robards] Jackson
The Wife of Andrew Jackson
Rachel Donelson was the maiden name of General Jackson's wife. She was born in Virginia, in the year 1767, and
lived in Virginia until she was eleven years of age. Her father, Colonel John Donelson, was a planter and land
surveyor, who possessed considerable wealth in land, cattle, and slaves. He was one of those hardy pioneers who
were never content unless they were living away out in the woods, beyond the verge of civilization. Accordingly,
in 1779, we find him near the headwaters of the Tennessee River, with all his family, bound for the western parts
of Tennessee, with a river voyage of two thousand miles before him.
Seldom has a little girl of eleven years shared in so perilous an adventure. The party started in the depth of
a severe winter, and battled for two months with the ice before it had fairly begun the descent of the Tennessee.
But, in the spring, accompanied by a considerable fleet of boats, the craft occupied by John Donelson and his family
floated down the winding stream more rapidly. Many misfortunes befell them. Sometimes a boat would get aground
and remain immovable till its whole cargo was landed. Sometimes a boat was dashed against a projecting point and
sunk. One man died of his frozen feet; two children were born. On board one boat, containing twenty-eight persons,
the small-pox raged. As this boat always sailed at a certain distance behind the rest, it was attacked by Indians,
who captured it, killed all the men, and carried off the women and children. The Indians caught the small-pox,
of which some hundreds died in the course of the season.
But during this voyage, which lasted several months, no misfortune befell the boat of Colonel Donelson; and he
and his family, including his daughter Rachel, arrived safely at the site of the present city of Nashville, near
which he selected his land, built his log house, and established himself. Never has a settlement been so infested
with hostile Indians as this. When Rachel Donelson, with her sisters and young friends, went blackberrying, a guard
of young men, with their rifles loaded and cocked, stood guard over the surrounding thickets while the girls picked
the fruit. It was not safe for a man to stoop over a spring to drink unless some one else was on the watch with
his rifle in his arms; and when half a dozen men stood together, in conversation, they turned their backs to each
other, all facing different ways, to watch for a lurking savage.
So the Donelsons lived for eight years, and gathered about them more negroes, more cattle, and more horses than
any other household in the settlement. During one of the long winters, when a great tide of emigration had reduced
the stock of corn, and threatened the neighborhood with famine, Colonel Donelson moved to Kentucky with all his
family and dependents, and there lived until the corn crop at Nashville was gathered. Rachel, by this time, had
grown to be a beautiful and vigorous young lady, well skilled in all the arts of the back-woods, and a remarkably
bold and graceful rider. She was a plump little damsel, with the blackest hair and eyes, and of a very cheerful
and friendly disposition. During the temporary residence of her father in Kentucky she gave her hand and heart
to one Lewis Robards, and her father returned to Nashville without her.
Colonel Donelson soon after, while in the woods surveying far from his home, fell by the hand of an assassin. He
was found pierced by bullets; but whether they were fired by red savages or by white was never known. To comfort
her mother in her loneliness, Rachel and her husband came to Nashville and lived with her, intending, as soon as
the Indians were subdued, to occupy a farm of their own.
In the year 1788, Andrew Jackson, a young lawyer from, North Carolina, arrived at Nashville to enter upon the practice
of his profession, and went to board with Mrs. Donelson. He soon discovered that Mrs. Rachel Robards lived most
unhappily with her husband, who was a man of violent temper and most jealous disposition. Young Jackson had not
long resided in the family before Mr. Robards began to be jealous of him, and many violent scenes took place between
them. The jealous Robards at length abandoned his wife, and went off to his old home in Kentucky, leaving Jackson
master of the field.
A rumor soon after reached the place that Robards had procured a divorce from his wife in the legislature of Virginia;
soon after which Andrew Jackson and Rachel Donelson were married. The rumor proved to be false, and they lived
together for two years before a divorce was really granted, at the end of which time they were married again. This
marriage, though so inauspiciously begun, was an eminently happy one, although, out of doors, it caused the irascible
Jackson a great deal of trouble. The peculiar circumstances attending the marriage caused many calumnies to be
uttered and printed respecting Mrs. Jackson, and some of the bitterest quarrels which the general ever had, had
their origin in them.
At home, however, he was one of the happiest of men. His wife was an excellent manager of a household and a kind
mistress of slaves. She had a remarkable memory, and delighted to relate anecdotes and tales of the early settlement
of the country. Daniel Boone had been one of her father's friends, and she used to recount his adventures and escapes.
Her abode was a seat of hospitality, and she well knew how to make her guests feel at home. It used to be said
in Tennessee that she could not write; but, as I have had the pleasure of reading nine letters in her own handwriting,
one of which was eight pages long, I presume I have a right to deny the imputation. It must be confessed, however,
that the spelling was exceedingly bad, and that the writing was so much worse as to be nearly illegible. If she
was ignorant of books, she was most learned in the lore of the forest, the dairy, the kitchen, and the farm. I
remember walking about a remarkably fine spring that gushed from the earth near where her dairy stood, and hearing
one of her colored servants say that there was nothing upon the estate which she valued so much as that spring.
She grew to be a stout woman, which made her appear shorter than she really was. Her husband, on the contrary,
was remarkably tall and slender; so that when they danced a reel together, which they often did, with all the vigor
of the olden time, the spectacle was extremely curious.
It was a great grief to both husband and wife that they had no children, and it was to supply this want in their
household that they adopted one of Mrs. Donelson's nephews, and named him Andrew Jackson. This boy was the delight
of them both as long as they lived.
Colonel Benton, who knew Mrs. Jackson well and long, has recorded his opinion of her in the following forcible
language:
"A more exemplary woman in all the relations of life - wife, friend, neighbor, relation, mistress of slaves-never
lived, and never presented a more quiet, cheerful, and admirable management of her household. She had the general's
own warm heart, frank manners, and admirable temper; and no two persons could have been better suited to each other,
lived more happily together, or made a house more attractive to visitors. No bashful youth or plain old man, whose
modesty sat them down at the lower end of the table, could escape her cordial attention, any more than the titled
gentlemen at her right and left. Young persons were her delight, and she always had her house filled with them,
all calling her affectionately 'Aunt Rachel.'"
In the homely fashion of the time, she used to join her husband and guests in smoking a pipe after dinner and in
the evening. There are now living many persons who well remember seeing her smoking by her fireside a long reed
pipe.
When General Jackson went forth to fight in the war of 1812, he was still living in a log house of four rooms;
and this house is now standing on his beautiful farm ten miles from Nashville. I used to wonder, when walking about
it, how it was possible for Mrs. Jackson to accommodate so many guests as we know she did. But a hospitable house,
like a Third-Avenue car, is never full, and in that mild climate the young men could sleep on the piazza or in
the corn-crib, content if their mothers and sisters had the shelter of the house. It was not until long after the
general's return from the wars that he built, or could afford to build, the large brick mansion which he named
the "Hermitage." The visitor may still see in that commodious house the bed on which this happy pair
slept and died, the furniture they used, and the pictures upon which they were accustomed to look. In the hall
of the second story there is still preserved the huge chest in which Mrs. Jackson used to stow away the woolen
clothes of the family in the summer, to keep them from the moths. Around the house are the remains of the fine
garden of which she used to be so proud, and, a little beyond, are the cabins of the hundred and fifty slaves to
whom she was more a mother than a mistress.
A few weeks after the battle of New Orleans, when her husband was in the first flush of his triumph, this plain
planter's wife floated down the Mississippi to New Orleans to visit her husband and to accompany him home. She
had never seen a city before, for Nashville, at that day, was little more than a village. The elegant ladies of
New Orleans were exceedingly pleased to observe that General Jackson, though he was himself one of the most graceful
and polite of gentlemen, seemed totally unconscious of the homely bearing, the country manners, and awkward dress
of his wife. In all companies and on all occasions he showed her every possible mark of respect. The ladies gathered
about her and presented her with all sorts of showy knick-knacks and jewelry, and one of them undertook the task
of selecting suitable clothes for her. She frankly confessed that she knew nothing about such things, and was willing
to wear anything that the ladies thought proper. Much as she enjoyed her visit, I am sure she was glad enough to
return to her old home on the banks of the Cumberland and resume her oversight of the daily and the plantation.
Soon after the peace, a remarkable change came over the spirit of this excellent woman. Parson Blackburn, as the
general always called him, was a favorite preacher in that part of Tennessee, and his sermons made so powerful
an impression upon Mrs. Jackson that she joined the Presbyterian Church, and was ever after devotedly religious.
The general himself was almost persuaded to follow her example. He did not, however; but he testified his sympathy
with his wife's feelings by building a church for her - a curious little brick edifice-on his own farm; the smallest
church, I suppose, in the United States. Of all the churches I ever saw, this is the plainest and simplest in its
construction. It looks like a very small schoolhouse; it has no steeple, no portico, and but one door; and the
interior, which contains forty little pews, is unpainted, and the floor is of brick. On Sundays, the congregation
consisted chiefly of the general, his family, and half a dozen neighbors, with as many negroes as the house would
hold, and could see through the windows. It was just after the completion of this church that General Jackson made
his famous reply to a young man who objected to the doctrine of future punishment.
"I thank God," said this youth, "I have too much good sense to believe there is such a place as
hell."
"Well, sir," said General Jackson, "I thank God there is such a place."
"Why, general," asked the young man, " what do you want with such a place of torment as hell?"
To which the general replied, as quick as lightning: "To put such rascals as you are in, that oppose and vilify
the Christian religion."
The young man said no more, and soon after found it convenient to take his leave.
Mrs. Jackson did not live to see her husband President of the United States, though she lived long enough to know
that he was elected to that office. When the news was brought to her of her husband's election, in December, 1828,
she quietly said:
"Well, for Mr. Jackson's sake" (she always called him Mr. Jackson), "I am glad; for my own part,
I never wished it."
The people of Nashville, proud of the success of their favorite, resolved to celebrate the event by a great banquet
on the 22d of December, the anniversary of the day on which the general had first defeated the British below New
Orleans; and some of the ladies of Nashville were secretly preparing a magnificent wardrobe for the future mistress
of the White House. Six days before the day appointed for the celebration, Mrs. Jackson, while busied about her
household affairs in the kitchen of the Hermitage, suddenly shrieked, placed her hands upon her heart, sank upon
a chair, and fell forward into the arms of one of her servants. She was carried to her bed, where, for the space
of sixty hours, she suffered extreme agony, during the whole of which her husband never left her side for ten minutes.
Then she appeared much better, and recovered the use of her tongue. This was only two days before the day of the
festival, and the first use she made of her recovered speech was, to implore her exhausted husband to go to another
room and sleep, so as to recruit his strength for the banquet. He would not leave her, however, but lay down upon
a sofa and slept a little. The evening of the 22d she appeared to be so much better that the general consented,
after much persuasion, to sleep in the next room, and leave his wife in the care of the doctor and two of his most
trusted servants.
At nine o'clock he bade her good-night, went into the next room, and took off his coat, preparatory to lying down.
"When he had been gone five minutes from her room, Mrs. Jackson, who was sitting up, suddenly gave a long,
loud, inarticulate cry, which was immediately followed by the death-rattle in her throat. By the time her husband
had reached her side she had breathed her last.
"Bleed her," cried the general. But no blood flowed from her arm.
"Try the temple, doctor."
A drop or two of blood stained her cap, but no more followed. Still, it was long before he would believe her dead,
and when there could no longer be any doubt, and they were preparing a table upon which to lay her out, he cried,
with a choking voice:
"Spread four blankets upon it; for if she does come to she will lie so hard upon the table."
All night long he sat in the room, occasionally looking into her face, and feeling if there was any pulsation in
her heart. The next morning, when one of his friends arrived just before daylight, he was nearly speechless and
utterly inconsolable, looking twenty years older.
There was no banquet that day in Nashville. On the morning of the funeral, the grounds were crowded with people,
who saw, with emotion, the poor old general supported to the grave between two of his old friends, scarcely able
to stand. The remains were interred in the garden of the Hermitage, in a tomb which the general had recently completed.
The tablet which covers her dust contains the following inscription:
"Here lie the remains of Mrs. Rachel Jackson, wife of President Jackson, who died the 22d of December, 1828,
aged 61. Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her temper amiable, her heart kind; she delighted in relieving
the wants of her fellow creatures, and cultivated that divine pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods;
to the poor she was a benefactor; to the rich an example; to the wretched a comforter; to the prosperous an ornament;
her piety went hand in hand with her benevolence, and she thanked her Creator for being permitted to do good. A
being so gentle and so virtuous, slander might wound but not dishonor. Even death, when he tore her from the arms
of her husband, could but transport her to the bosom of her God."
Andrew Jackson was never the same man again. During his presidency, he never used the phrase: "By the Eternal,"
nor any other language which could be considered profane. He mourned his wife until he himself rejoined her in
the tomb he had prepared for them both.
[Source: "People's Book of Biography", By James Parton,
1868 -- Submitted by Cathy Danielson]
