rdship. He had ridden so far and was so
tired that he could scarcely keep his seat.

"Where you from?" cried the girl, as the boy reined up.

"From down below, along Waxhaw Creek."

"Where you going?"

"Up along north."

"Who you for?"

"The Continental Congress."

"What you doing to the Redcoats down below?"

"Oh, we're poppin' 'em still."

"An' what may your name be?"

"Andy Jackson. Anythin' else you'd like to know?"

She asked him for news of her father's regiment, but the boy knew little
about it, and was soon riding on his way, following the highroad to
Charlotte.

In Charlotte the Jacksons boarded with some relatives, and Andrew worked
hard to pay for his food and lodging. He drove cattle, tended the mill,
brought in wood, picked beans, and did any odd jobs that fell to his
hand. All the time he was hoping for a chance to fight the enemy, and
each day he brought home some new weapon. One day it was a rude spear
which he had forged while he waited for the blacksmith to finish a job,
another time it was a wooden club, and another a tomahawk. Once he
fastened the blade of a scythe to a pole, and when he reached home began
cutting down weeds with it, crying, "Oh, if only I were a man, how I'd
cut down the Redcoats with this!"

The man with whom he was living happened to be watching him, and said
later to Andrew's mother: "That boy Andy is going to fight his way in
this world."

The war between the colonists and the British was especially bitter in
the Carolinas, where conditions were more rude and simple than in other
parts of the country. The stories that came to Andrew were enough to
stir any boy's blood. He had heard that at Charleston the farmers had
used their cotton bales to build a fort, that the guerrilla leader
Marion had split saws into sword blades for his men, that in more than
one encounter the Carolina militia had gone into battle with more men
than muskets, so that the unarmed men had to stand and watch the battle
until some comrade fell and they could rush in and seize his gun.
Popular legends made the Redcoats little less than devils, fit
companions for the Indian bands they sent upon the war-path.

News of one attack after another came to the Jackson boys until they
could stand inaction no longer, and joined a small band of independent
riders, not members of any regiment, but free to attack and retreat as
they liked.

Andrew's first real taste of battle came when he, his brothe