Lott impressed him with his ability in mathematics and his pleasant personality. During the following months, McCorkle depended on Lott to travel outside Savannah to survey land for the state.
Lott was immature physically for his age, but was becoming a strong, handsome young man. He stood at almost six feet tall and was slim. He had thick black hair and blue eyes that seemed to always sparkle. People who knew his father felt Lott was very much his image. In the meantime, life continued to present Mary Wilson with more hardships than she felt she could bear. Supplying the basic needs for two growing boys while sending one of them to school and worrying constantly about the future of the other, was beginning to bring moments of depression. She prayed nightly that God would send her relief.
Mary’s prayers seemed answered and life did improve for the Wilsons. Lott graduated at the top of his class and, at the same time, gained valuable experience as a surveyor’s assistant. The extra money helped to support the family.
As for Jeremiah, he continued in his rough and tumble ways and eventually found work on the docks loading and unloading cargo. In the evenings, when Mary was working at the High Step Tavern, Jeremiah worked clearing and cleaning tables. Due to his strength and size, he also often served as the establishment’s bouncer.
At fifteen, Jeremiah was already over six feet tall and weighed approximately two hundred and twenty pounds. He rapidly gained the respect of patrons because of his ability to survive a tough scrap and seldom lose a fight. When he was only fourteen, Jeremiah had a dispute with a well-known ruffian and with one punch to the chest, had sent the unfortunate character sailing across the floor, shattering the solid oak entrance door.
Because of Jeremiah’s questionable reputation and hard drinking binges, Preacher Amos, a local Methodist minister, who was a frequent visitor to the High Step and a friend of Jeremiah’s gave him the nickname Jake. When testing the spirits one night, he directed his mug of ale to Jeremiah and in a tone of religious nature toasted, “Jeremiah, you are too wicked for an Old Testament name. You drink, cuss, and fight, the same. So from henceforth, Jake will be your name, and I don’t give a damn who you blame.” The High Step erupted with laughter and cheers, and from that night on Jake was his name.
New Year’s Eve of 1826 found Mary still working in the High Step kitchen, and this evening Lott was sitting in the kitchen keeping his mother company.
“Mother, let me know when you need help. This is going to be one long and lively evenin’. They are gettin’ loud mighty early.”
Suddenly, a thunderous crashing sound caused Mary to drop a plate of food and rush to the door to see what was happening.
But, before she could reach the door, Jeremiah poked his head in and with a big smile reassured her that everything was all right. “Mamma, it’s just Mister Amos. He’s drinkin’ again and knocked over a table. Everything is going to be fine. I ain’t in no scrap.”
“No scrap. No fight. I hear it every night it seems. Lott, you have got to get your brother out of here...out of Savannah. One day he’s going to get hurt,” pleaded Mary, as she began to clean up the pieces of broken dish and food that was strewn on the floor.
Lott knelt down and began to help. “Mamma, how can I change what he’s like. I do good just to take care of myself.”
Lott paused for a moment, wondering whether or not to say what he was thinking. “It seems to me I am always taking care of him now. What more can I do?”
“I don’t know, Son, but you and I have got to come up with something. We have got to help that boy.”
The evening grew louder and louder. Around one o’clock, when things seemed to be slowing down, a loud shot rang out and a few seconds later, two more bursts of gunfire. Mary ran toward the door as she had so many times before, only to be stopped by Lott.
He pushed her back toward the stove and said, “Don’t go in there. I’ll go. It could be dangerous.”
In what seemed to be an hour, but in actuality was only a few minutes, Lott burst back into the kitchen exclaiming, “You had better come in here. Jake’s been hurt.”
Mary began to cry as she ran into the tavern searching for Jeremiah. She pushed people aside and struck others who got in her path as she worked her way through the crowd. Over and over she screamed, “Where’s my laddie? Where’s my Jeremiah? Get out of my way. You are all nothing but drunks, thieves, and murderers.”
Suddenly, the crowd cleared and she stood staring at what she feared to be the dead body of her beloved son, but instead was a still-alive Jake sitting on the floor holding a pistol in one hand and pressing his other hand to his forehead near his hairline. Blood was streaming through his fingers and down his face, and a gaping hole in his shirt revealed where a bullet had ripped into his side.
Mary knelt down, not knowing whether to touch him or not. “Son, what have you gotten into now? Lott, go get a doctor. Get him quick!” shouted Mary.
“Mother, the doctor has already been sent for. He’s on the way,” reassured Lott. “Just calm yourself. You ain’t helpin’ Jeremiah at all actin’ the way you are. Please, just calm down.”
Jeremiah was now sitting in a chair with a handkerchief over his scalp wound and sipping ale as though nothing at all had happened.
“Mamma, how about settling down and quit makin’ such a fuss about this. I ain’t going to die, and if I do, it will be the Lord’s will. Somebody’s going to have to shoot me with something bigger than that pistol,” mumbled Jeremiah.
The Wilsons were Presbyterians and avid believers in predestination. They believed that the Almighty God had a plan for every believer and what happened to one was God’s divine will.
“Son, how did this happen?” questioned Mary, as she cleaned the blood from his face.
“It’s all right,” reassured Lott. “Mister Liddle saw the whole thing. Jeremiah is not at fault. He says Albert Brewer had been drinkin’ too much and pulled his pistol on Joe Langley. He claimed Joe had been makin’ advances toward his wife. Mamma, Jeremiah grabbed the pistol out Mister Brewer’s hand to stop a shootin’. From what they say, the first shot hit Jeremiah in the side and when he pulled the pistol up in the air, the second shot hit his head. The third went into the ceiling. Mamma, this ain’t Jeremiah’s fault,” reassured Lott.
Doc Haley soon arrived and examined Jeremiah and dressed his wounds. As he finished, he sternly addressed Jeremiah. “Jake, the Lord was with you tonight, young man. You are indeed lucky. That first shot appears to have cracked a couple of ribs but did not penetrate your ribcage. I found what was left of the bullet down in your shirt. Must have bounced right off of you. And for the other, it only grazed your scalp. It’s a damned good thing you got such a hard noggin. If you take care of yourself, you’ll be fine. But, you might have a permanent part in your hair from here out,” joked Doc Haley. The whole crowd broke into laughter and cheers.
Peace was soon restored and Jeremiah was moved to a bedroom upstairs above the kitchen. Mary and Lott sat by Jeremiah’s bedside and together thanked the Lord for saving his life. Doc Haley had given Jeremiah a strong sedative and soon he was sound asleep.
For hours the two stared at Jeremiah and at each other without a word. Finally Mary broke the silence, “Lott, we are going to get Jeremiah out of this city. I don’t know how, but we are. We’ve got to.”
Lott reached for his Mother’s hand to get her full attention. “I think I have a
