ight blue eyes, a freckled face, very
long sandy hair, wearing a rough homespun suit, and with bare feet and
legs. He was not very fond of school, but he did like to be with other
boys, and to lead them in any kind of an adventure, particularly if
there was the chance of a fight.

There was much in this country life to interest an active boy like
Andrew Jackson. Wherever there were no cotton fields there were thick
pine woods full of wild turkeys and deer to be had for the shooting. The
farmers of the Catawba country took their cotton to market in immense
covered wagons, often needing a week to make the journey, and camping
out every night. Boys were in demand to help load the cotton, and gather
wood for the camp-fires, and many a time Andrew was hired to travel to
market with a farmer and his wife and young children, and many a night
he spent in a little opening in the woods eating supper and sleeping
close to a blazing fire of pine knots that lighted up the trees for
yards around.

The farmers were not apt to leave their wives and children at home,
because either the British or the Indians might sweep down upon the
district at any time. So quite a party would travel together, and that
added to the fun. Such a life, with plenty of horses to ride, and
turkeys to hunt, and journeys to make, with only occasional schooling,
appealed strongly to Andrew.

In August, 1780, when young Jackson was twelve years old, the American
General Gates was defeated by the British, and Cornwallis marched into
the country of the Catawba. Many families left their homes and went
north to be safe from the enemy, and among others Mrs. Jackson and her
sons determined to seek a safer home. Andrew's mother and his brother
Robert left on horseback, and a day or two later Andrew followed them.

The people all through that desolate part of the country were anxious
for news of the war, especially for word of fathers or brothers in the
army, and they stood by the roads and asked news eagerly of any chance
horseman. At one lonely house a little girl was stationed at the gate to
question travelers. About sunset one day she saw a tall, gawkish boy
come riding along the road, astride of one of the rough, wild, South
Carolina ponies. His bare legs were almost long enough to meet under the
pony; he wore a torn wide-brimmed hat which napped about his face. His
scanty shirt and trousers were covered with dust, and his face was
burned brown and worn with ha