CHAPTER X. THE GENERAL
The clouds were darkening, and the shower was evidently not far off. Itwas a solitary place, and no houses were to be seen near by. But nearlya quarter of a mile back Harry caught sight of a small house, andjumping over the fence directed his steps toward it. Five minutesbrought him to it. It was small, painted red, originally, but the colorhad mostly been washed away. It was not upon a public road, but therewas a narrow lane leading to it from the highway. Probably it wasoccupied by a poor family, Harry thought. Still it would shelter himfrom the storm which had even now commenced.
He knocked at the door.
Immediately it was opened and a face peered out--the face of a manadvanced in years. It was thin, wrinkled, and haggard. The thin whitehair, uncombed, gave a wild appearance to the owner, who, in a thin,shrill voice, demanded, "Who are you?"
"My name is Harry Walton."
"What do you want?"
"Shelter from the storm. It is going to rain."
"Come in," said the old man, and opening the door wider, he admitted ourhero.
Harry found himself in a room very bare of furniture, but there was alog fire in the fireplace, and this looked comfortable and pleasant. Helaid down his bundle, and drawing up a chair sat down by it, his hostmeanwhile watching him closely.
"Does he live alone, I wonder?" thought Harry.
He saw no other person about, and no traces of a woman's presence. Thefloor looked as if it had not been swept for a month, and probably ithad not.
The old man sat down opposite Harry, and stared at him, till our herofelt somewhat embarrassed and uncomfortable.
"Why don't he say something?" thought Harry.
"He is a very queer old man."
After a while his host spoke.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
"No," said Harry, looking at him.
"You've heard of me often," pursued the old man.
"I didn't know it," answered Harry, beginning to feel curious.
"In history," added the other.
"In history?"
"Yes."
Harry began to look at him in increased surprise.
"Will you tell me your name, if it is not too much trouble," he asked,politely.
"I gained the victory of New Orleans," said the old man.
"I thought General Jackson did that," said Harry.
"You're right," said the old man, complacently. "I am General Jackson."
"But General Jackson is dead."
"That's a mistake," said the old man, quietly. "That's what they say inall the books, but it isn't true."
This was amusing, but it was also startling. Harry knew now that the oldman was crazy, or at least a monomaniac, and, though he seemed harmlessenough, it was of course possible that he might be dangerous. He wasalmost sorry that he had sought shelter here. Better have encounteredthe storm in its full fury than place himself in the power of a maniac.The rain was now falling in thick drops, and he decided at any rate toremain a while longer. He knew that it would not be well to dispute theold man, and resolved to humor his delusion.
"You were President once, I believe?" he asked.
"Yes," said the old man; "and you won't tell anybody, will you?"
"No."
"I mean to be again," said the old man in a low voice, half in awhisper. "But you mustn't say anything about it. They'd try to kill me,if they knew it."
"Who would?"
"Mr. Henry Clay, and the rest of them."
"Doesn't Henry Clay want you to be President again?"
"Of course not. He wants to be President himself. That's why I'm hiding.They don't any of them know where I am. You won't tell, will you?"
"No."
"You might meet Henry Clay, you know."
Harry smiled to himself. It didn't seem very likely that he would everfind himself in such distinguished company, for Henry Clay was at thattime living, and a United States Senator.
"What made you come here, General Jackson?" he inquired.
The old man brightened, on being called by this name.
"Because it was quiet. They can't find me here."
"When do you expect to be President again?"
"Next year," said the old man. "I've got it all arranged. My friendsare to blow up the capitol, and I shall ride into Washington on a whitehorse. Do you want an office?"
"I don't know but I should like one," said Harry, amused.
"I'll see what I can do for you," said the old man, seriously. "I can'tput you in my Cabinet. That's all arranged. If you would like to beMinister to England or to France, you can go."
"I should like to go to France. Benjamin Franklin was Minister toFrance."
"Do you know him?"
"No; but I have read his life."
"I'll put your name down in my book. What is it?"
"Harry Walton."
The old man went to the table, on which was a common account book. Hetook a pen, and, with a serious look, made this entry:
"I promise to make Harry Walton Minister to France, as soon as I take myplace in the White House.
"GENERAL ANDREW JACKSON"
"It's all right now," he said.
"Thank you, general. You are very kind," said our hero.
"Were you ever a soldier?" asked his host.
"I never was."
"I thought you might have been in the battle of New Orleans. Our menfought splendidly, sir."
"I have no doubt of it."
"You'll read all about it in history. We fought behind cotton bales. Itwas glorious!"
"General," said Harry, "if you'll excuse me, I'll take out my supperfrom this bundle."
"No, no," said the old man; "you must take supper with me."
"I wonder whether he has anything fit to eat," thought Harry. "Thankyou," he said aloud. "If you wish it."
The old man had arisen, and, taking a teakettle, suspended it over thefire. A monomaniac though he was on the subject of his identity withGeneral Jackson, he knew how to make tea. Presently he took from thecupboard a baker's roll and some cold meat, and when the tea was ready,invited Harry to be seated at the table. Our hero did so willingly. Hehad lost his apprehensions, perceiving that his companion's lunacy wasof a very harmless character.
"What if mother could see me now!" he thought.
Still the rain poured down. It showed no signs of slackening. He sawthat it would be necessary to remain where he was through the night.
"General, can you accommodate me till morning?" he asked.
"Certainly," said the old man. "I shall be glad to have you stay here.Do you go to France to-morrow?"
"I have not received my appointment yet."
"True, true; but it won't be long. I will write your instructionsto-night."
"Very well."
The supper was plain enough, but it was relished by our young traveler,whose long walk had stimulated a naturally good appetite.
"Eat heartily, my son," said the old man. "A long journey is beforeyou."
After the meal was over, the old man began to write.
Harry surmised that it was his instructions. He paid little heed, butfixed his eyes upon the fire, listening to the rain that continued tobeat against the window panes, and began to speculate about the future.Was he to be successful or not? He was not without solicitude, but hefelt no small measure of hope. At nine o'clock he began to feel drowsy,and intimated as much to his host. The old man conducted him to an upperchamber, where there was a bed upon the floor.
"You can sleep there," he said.
"Where do you sleep?" asked Harry.
"Down below; but I shall not go to bed till late. I must get ready yourinstructions."
"Very well," said Harry. "Good night."
"Good night."
"I am glad he is not in the room with me," thought Harry. "I don't thinkthere is any danger, but it isn't comfortable to be too near a crazyman."