jail at Waynesboro. As soon as Aunt Nancy heard of the
trouble, she made her appearance in the upcountry again. Within a few
days after her return, the jail was found open one morning, and
Thompson was gone. Speaking of this afterwards, Aunt Nancy was heard to
exclaim,--

"Drat 'em! that's the way with 'em all. When they get into trouble, they
always send for me!"

Not long after this episode, Mr. Benjamin Hart died. Aunt Nancy mourned
his loss for a while, and then married a young man. Then, as the saying
is, she "pulled up stakes," and moved to what is now the State of
Alabama, on the Tombigbee. There she had the French and the Spaniards
for neighbors, and she felt at home with neither race. She was bluntly,
emphatically, and unaffectedly American. To add to her troubles, a big
rain flooded the river, destroyed her crops, and surrounded her house.
This, with the French and Spaniards, was too much for her. She returned
to Georgia, but, finding her old home occupied by others, she settled in
Edgefield, S.C.

A Methodist society was formed in her neighborhood, and its influence
became so active that Aunt Nancy's conscience began to trouble her. She
listened to the preaching of the Word from a distance until she became
worried about her future state. She went to the meetinghouse, but found
the door closed against intruders. The deacon and members were holding
a class meeting. The closed door was no obstacle to Aunt Nancy. She cut
the fastening and walked in without ceremony. Once in, she found what
she wanted. She became an enthusiastic Methodist, and is said to have
fought Satan and sin as manfully as she fought the Tories and the
British.

When Governor George R. Gilmer of Georgia was in Congress, in 1828-29,
the members were very anxious to attract the notice of General Jackson,
who had been elected President. A proposal was made to fill the vacant
niches in the rotunda with paintings descriptive of the battle of New
Orleans and the general's other victories. Governor Gilmer offered as an
amendment a resolution to fill one of the niches with a painting of Aunt
Nancy Hart wading Broad River, her petticoats held up with one hand,
a musket in the other, and driving three Tories before her, to deliver
them up to Colonel Elijah Clarke.

Governor Gilmer's proposition was a more sensible one than he intended
it to be. Georgia has perpetuated Aunt Nancy's name by calling a county
after her; but the Republic owes somethi