A Dream of Empire | Page 6

the arrival
of the mail-coach from the East. Everybody went out to hail the
lumbering vehicle, which, drawn by four horses, came bowling down
the road in a dust-cloud of glory. The driver cracked his whip with a
bang like a pistol-shot, and firmly holding in his left hand the four long
lines, brought his team to a sudden halt in front of the tavern.
Only two passengers alighted from the stage, clambering out at the
front, a mode of egress requiring agility to avoid awkward slips and
tumbles. The first to step down was a handsome young man, who held
his head proudly and looked about him with easy self-possession. A
fashionable suit of clothes and a hat in the latest Philadelphia style
proclaimed him a man of "quality." But aristocratic as were the mien
and attire of this fine gentleman, he ceased to be the chief object of
attention when his fellow-traveller emerged from the pent darkness of
the coach and sprang to the pavement.
Every eye fastened on the second stranger. His was an individuality
sure to command deference. Though of slight figure, he bore himself
with a lofty air, which lifted his stature and magnified its proportions.
Not one of those tarrying to behold the man could resist the feeling that
his was a dominating spirit, a will and personality not to be ignored or
slighted. A careful scanning of his externals discovered that his form
was symmetrical, though the head seemed disproportionately large; the
brow was high and sloping; the nose, rather sharp; every curve of the
mouth, clear cut and delicate; the eyes, black, bright and piercing. Such
was the man who, attired in a suit of black broadcloth, with buff vest,
ruffled shirt, and white stock, and with hair tied in a modish queue,
revealed himself to the gaze of the throng in front of the Green Tree.
The spectators observed as he descended from the coach that his feet
were small, and were fitted to a nicety with polished boots of the finest
leather. No amount of gaping, gazing and inquisitive side remark
embarrassed the newcomer. Perhaps his dark eyes emitted a sparkle of
gratified vanity as he glanced about him, distributing a gracious bow
among his unknown fellow-citizens. Addressing the innkeeper, he
asked:

"Can you inform us whether Judge Brackenridge is in town?"
"Yes, sir; we are going that way," politely replied a stripling, who
stepped forward, followed by another youth with a law book under his
arm. "This is Harry Brackenridge, the judge's son."
"Surely? and your name is--?"
"Morgan Neville."
"Son of Colonel Presley Neville?"
"Yes, sir."
"Indeed! The particular friend of Lafayette." Young Neville blushed
with proud pleasure.
"Yes; father was his aide-de-camp."
"I know," said the stranger, smiling, as he turned to ask young
Brackenridge, "Is the judge at home?"
"We expect him home to-morrow from a trip to Washington College."
"Your new Western college, eh? Judge Brackenridge is a promoter of
learning and literature. Allow me to make you acquainted with Mr.
Arlington, of Virginia." The Southerner saluted the students and,
inclining his head deferentially toward his travelling companion, said:
"I have the honor of introducing you to Colonel Aaron Burr."
Diverse were the effects produced on the listening spectators by
Arlington's words. At the sound of the notorious name some shrank as
from the hiss of a coiled serpent. Others drew near, as if eager to
manifest partisan sympathy for the renowned leader, whose pistol had
ended the life of Alexander Hamilton ten months prior to the time of
this visit to Pittsburg. The unfledged lawyers whom his favor had
distinguished were of his faction. They manifested their fealty and
gladness with boyish exuberance, by delighted looks and words

expressive of esteem and reverence. Burr was importuned to dine at
their houses, but he excused himself on account of business affairs
which required prompt attention. However, he accepted an invitation to
visit Colonel Neville on the following day.
Dinner over, the newly arrived guests sought the general supply agent,
with whom Burr had contracted by letter for a boat, intending a voyage
down the Ohio. The vessel was ready and that very morning had been
brought from the shipyard to the landing.
"You will find her a first-class flatboat, Mr. Burr--strong and
tight--sixty foot long by fourteen wide--four first-rate rooms, and as
pretty a roof as you ever set foot on anywheres. There's a fellow here
from down Mississippi I've spoke to--a number one pole and a letter A
oar--Captain Burke Pierce by name--and he'll manage her for you, Mr.
Burr, and provide his own crew."
"Where can I find this Captain Pierce?"
"I'll take you to him right away. He's down on the boat now. A mighty
good hand is Burke, tough as a bull, swims