born anywhere in particular,
but like Topsy, they "simply growed."

Why these usually long, lean, lank, saffron-hued, erst-while
clay-eaters have received such an unromantic name has been variously
accounted for. Some say the name was suggested by the fact that when
not otherwise employed, they are constantly cracking the lice which
swarm in their never-combed hair; others ascribe it to the frequent
cracking of their rifles and long whip-lashes as they pursue their
game or drive their cattle. An ex-slave of one of them tells me that
they are called "Crackers," because they are all "cracked as to their
cocoanuts."

Although the faces of many of these children of nature are usually as
expressionless as a cast-iron cook-stove, they are far from being as
stupid as they look; for even General Jackson, "the man of blood
and iron," would have won but few, if any, laurels in his campaigns
against the Seminoles, had it not been for his advanced guard of the
warlike "Crackers."

"Out there in history" we see him and his army, while recklessly
rushing the redskins, become lost and bewildered in the vast primeval
forest. Day after day, they marched, but always in a circle; and
each nightfall found them near where they broke camp in the morning.
Provisions failed, and hunger and thirst drove the soldiers frantic.
Every night they were pelted by bullets from unseen foes; stabbed and
stung by innumerable insects; death for all stared them in the face;
myriads of buzzards whirled above them, anxious for their prey.

While Jackson and his men, prostrated by heat, fruitless marching and
discouragement, were praying for succor, suddenly the air seemed to
be filled with human forms, which to their dazed minds appeared to be
angels sent in answer to their fervent petitions. Grotesque looking
angels were these, swinging from limb to limb of the forest trees; but
heavenly in their beneficence were the solemn-faced "Crackers," as
hundreds of them dropped to the ground and fed the exhausted warriors
with "hog, hominy," and water from packs strapped with their rifles to
their dirty, sturdy shoulders--"'nough sight better work for angels
to do than loafin' around the throne." While the feasting was in
full swing, suddenly the haggard and careworn face of "Old Hickory"
appeared in their midst. "Boys," said he, in his quick, incisive
tones, "don't eat any more, 'twill make you sick, stow it away in your
haversacks." Then, turning to the Flori