Near Yeatman's Cove, at the foot of Sycamore Street, Cincinnati, stood
a commodious tavern, built with some reference to architectural
effect. Being directed to this resort, the party from the boat climbed
the slope of the levee, ascended a flight of wooden steps, and entered
the vestibule of the inn, a long, narrow corridor which the landlord
considered very imposing. The first objects to attract attention in
this public haunt were life-size wax-figures of two men fighting a
duel. One of the figures represented Burr with an aimed pistol in
hand, the other Hamilton staggering forward mortally wounded. To
Arlington Burr remarked as they passed by the waxen show:
"The artist makes me a beauty, don't he? What boots! What eyes!"
Seldom had genial Grif Yeatman welcomed guests more desirable and less
like one another than were the strongly individualized men who came
from the flatboat to his tavern to take temporary lodging before
hunting up the several citizens they wished to meet.
Burr's arrival in the embryo Queen City of the West was noised from
house to house, and within an hour many citizens had called to shake
hands. The suave New York politician had partisan adherents and
personal friends in the Buckeye State. Among these was John Smith,
whose acquaintance he had made in Washington--the Hon. John Smith,
one of the first two senators representing Ohio in Congress.
Burr procured a fine saddle-horse, and after bidding good-by to
Arlington set out to visit the Senator who lived some twelve miles
from town. The solitary horseman was not sorry to leave behind him the
raw metropolis, the dirty streets of which were lined with log cabins
and dingy white frame houses. Beyond Deer Creek the horseman spurred
eastward along a black loamy wagon road, trotting through groves and
half-cleared fields until he passed a small hamlet bearing the great
name Columbia. Beyond this cluster of habitations lay Turkey Bottom,
so named on account of the wild flocks which made it their resort.
Burr selected the most distinctly marked of the several discernible
trails and traces in the mazy wilderness before him. Uncertain wheel
tracks indicated that the backwoods farmers, whose cabins were never
less than a mile apart, took various routes, according to their fancy
or the exigencies of the season. At one place a tree, recently blown
down, lay across the bridle-path, and, while guiding his horse around
this obstacle the rider saw a brown bear lurch off, swaying its head
in sulky humor.
The grandeur of the primeval solitude impressed Burr more profoundly
than he had imagined possible. The solemn majesty of the brotherhood
of lofty trees around and above him inspired awe. A sense of
bewilderment stole upon him. "Am I lost in the woods?" he wondered,
looking around for signs of human life. So strange did everything
appear that he was in doubt whether the log house not a hundred feet
ahead of him was an actual structure. The house was real, and in the
dooryard he saw a human being busy about some task. He rode up and
asked the way to Senator Smith's.
"Smith? You mean Elder Smith?" gossipped a woman, pausing from her
soap-making, near an ash-hopper. "Some do call him Senator, and some
call him Preacher, but most call him Elder Smith or else plain John."
"Does he preach?"
"Yes; some Sundays; generally he only exhorts. Turn to your right
after passing that wild-cherry, and you will see the Miami; follow
along up stream, and you can't miss sight of the mill and the
still-house. They belong to him, and so does the big store at
Columbia. John Smith is the richest man in these parts, but he isn't
proud and stuck up. When you come to the mill they'll show the way to
the house. A mighty fine house it is."
Burr thanked the woman and spurred on. "Smith is worth the trouble of
coming out for to see. No broken reed, but a pillar of state and
church is this same senator, elder, farmer, merchant, miller and
distiller." Thus meditating, the fisher of men followed the road by
the cherry tree and along the river, and soon reached Smith's lonely
dwelling, a new farmhouse, constructed of hewn logs and having a huge
stone chimney. Dismounting, Burr stepped upon the porch and knocked at
the door. The summons was answered by Mrs. Smith, who, though a
senator's wife, was country bred and untaught in artificial usages.
She received the urbane stranger with a timidity amounting almost to
trepidation.
Her husband had gone to the woods to cut a wagon pole, and pending his
return Burr waited in the front room of the log mansion, and made a
heroic effort to melt the ice of reserve which seemed to congeal Mrs.
Smith's flow of speech. Seldom had he failed in the winning art of
conversation, especially with women. Ladies were his favorite pursuit,
if not his prey. But Elder Smith's wife proved unapproachable by
language of tongue or eye. Talking to her was like talking to a lay
figure with vocal and locomotive organs.
Luckily or otherwise, an unexpected diversion was in store for
Burr--a rôle which he did not anticipate devolved upon him, and
required him to play his part in a dramatic scene with a character
much more sympathetical than Mrs. Smith. From the moment he crossed
the threshold to enter the plain parlor he had been conscious of a
fugitive fragrance, scarcely perceptible, which he recognized as the
scent of Parisian musk, a perfume much in favor with the exquisite
beaux and belles of that day. The telltale odor was reminiscent of
past gallantries, and it served in a subtle way to herald the coming
of a person whose appearance suggested knowledge of the gay world. Not
uncurious to steal a glance at the strange visitor, a woman, tastefully
arrayed in sable robes, entered unannounced from a cozy side-room. An
unbidden blush betokened her surprise and emotion. Burr blenched
slightly, but neither the red signal nor its effect was observed by
Mrs. Smith, who, glad to shift the task of entertaining Colonel Burr,
introduced him to Mrs. Rosemary.
"You will please excuse me; I'll send a boy to the woods for Mr.
Smith. Make yourselves at home; we housekeepers in the country have a
good many chores."
Like the practical Martha that she was, Dame Smith, cumbered with much
prospective serving, hastened to the dining-room to set the table. On
her exit from the parlor she closed the door behind her, not having
the slightest suspicion that chance had made her house a place of
clandestine meeting.
"Salome! Can it be you?"
"It can, if we are not both in a delirium. I did not expect ever to
see _you_ again. Who could induce Aaron Burr to come to Ohio?"
"Perhaps an irresistible attraction--some spell of bewitchment. You
must inform me. What brings you to this wandering wood like a lost
Una?"
"Business. I came a passenger on General Wilkinson's barge. We had a
delightful voyage, a May festival, gaiety, music, dancing."
"Do you recollect passing Bacchus Island?"
"Yes. Why do you ask? We floated by the interesting place one heavenly
afternoon. We saw four persons looking at us from a high bank--two
couples that seemed strolling lovers. I wondered if either of the
women could be the beautiful Madam Blennerhassett. We were dancing on
the deck--that is, the other ladies were; I do not now dance."
"I grieve to see that you do not, Mrs. Rosemary. I did not even know
that you had become his wife; these mournful robes tell me you are a
widow."
"You did not know? Do you care? You grieve to see me a widow? Ah, me!
Men are consistent. Let me explain the cause of my coming West. I own
ever so much land near Cincinnati and a whole block of town lots,
bequeathed to me by my late husband. George was kinder to me than I
deserved. When I read his will I cried. I went to my lawyer in
Philadelphia and asked what I should do to realize most on this Ohio
property. He advised me to come here, and have the title examined, and
learn the real value of the land, and he gave me a letter to Senator
Smith, who, he said, was a good man, one who knows about law and deeds
and everything. So I am here. These pokey people are very obliging;
they insisted I should lodge with them until my affairs were settled.
Now you have my story--tell me yours. As for my bereavement--my
heart history--why speak of that?" A film of tears dimmed her eyes as
Burr made answer in soothing words.
"I am to blame. Let us not pain ourselves by talking or thinking of
death or mourning. I dreamt lately of you as you now appear. How
beautiful and brilliant you look in black, Salome. Pardon me,
Madam--, I knew you by that name in the past, and you must not be
offended if I recall."
"Ah! do not recall. I am willing for you to let bygones be
bygones--if--you--desire. Do you like this black gown better than
the blue brocaded one I wore that evening at Princeton?"
"How can I decide? You always dress in perfect taste. Whatever you
wear is pretty, and you, I am sure, are lovelier than ever."
Smilingly the young widow sighed, then in a listening attitude, with
finger on lip, whispered, "Sh! Our hostess!" and changing her voice
continued in a tone of conventional languor: "Yes, the weather is very
fine. We were remarking, Mrs. Smith, how sweet and pure the
atmosphere."
"Well, yes; the air seems fresh and healthy, but we have a touch of
malaria now and then in this Miami Valley."
Hon. John Smith, having chopped down a hickory sapling to make a
coupling pole, put his axe-craft to further use by cutting off a
forked bough, crooked by Nature, in the exact shape for a pack-saddle.
Satisfied with these forest spoils, the rustic statesman returned to
his house, where Burr met him with a cordial grasp and a ready tribute
of adulation.
"My dear Senator, this is like greeting Cincinnatus on the pastoral
side of Tiber, where he dwelt in domestic peace with his wife
Racilia."
The salutation gratified the Member of Congress, for he was
susceptible to flattery, and knew enough of Roman history to
understand the allusion to Cincinnatus, though he had never before
heard of Racilia. He valued the evidence of Burr's esteem, implied in
the pilgrimage the latter had taken the trouble to make, and no effort
was spared to load the colonel with proofs that his visit was
appreciated.
In Washington, Burr had known Smith only slightly and officially as
one of the senators from Ohio. In the retirement of a lonely farm
hourly companionship fostered intimacy. Conversation forgot
constraint; the two freely unfolded to each other their thoughts,
feelings and hopes, and a community of ideas was gradually established
between them. Burr encouraged personal revelation and solicited
confidential opinions. He affected warm interest in the details of
Smith's affairs--farming operations, grinding of wheat and corn,
profitable sales of whiskey, and growing trade at the Columbia store.
Neither the piety of the preacher nor the patriotism of the senator
could quell in Smith the cupidity of the fortune-builder. Adroitly did
Burr shift the trend of discourse to suit his own ends, leading the
elder by plausible arguments to accept as logical the sophistry of
self-love and greed. The word business was stretched to cover a
multitude of sins; the new dictionary of self-aggrandizement concealed
a spurious gospel of intrigue and treason.
Spoken words are but breath, and who can report all that passed
between the tempter and the tempted? Or who can be sure that the
craftiness of the guest was greater than the cunning of the host? The
nebulous emanations of Burr's mind were rounding into a definite world
of purpose. He invoked the aid of the Hon. John Smith to set the new
planet revolving. Conspiracy was planned in the woods and fields of a
quiet farm in the valley of the Little Miami.
Burr, yielding to persuasion, protracted his stay almost a week, being
feasted and lodged in the country house. Many were the spoken
confidences and frequent the "fair, speechless messages" which passed
between him and Mrs. Rosemary, as occasion offered, while they
lingered at the home of their common friend and counsellor. On the day
preceding that of Burr's departure, a bright Sunday, they accompanied
the Smith family to a religious service held in a maple grove, near
the Miami. The devout farmers, who, with their wives and children,
came many miles to the place of worship, observed with solemn eyes of
approbation that Burr studied his hymn-book and small gilded Bible,
and that the demure lady by his side, dressed in mourning, looked the
pattern of saintly piety. While going home from the camp meeting,
supporting Mrs. Rosemary on his arm, Burr spoke feelingly of himself,
his hopes, and secret plans. Then it was that he told his lovely
partner about his contemplated Southern empire which, he declared,
would be an elysium for women. Then it was that he gallantly offered
to invest to her advantage any portion of the cash she might realize
from the sale of her deceased husband's estate. She hung on his arm
confidingly and promised to consider his words.
Sitting on the porch in the Sabbath twilight beside Salome, Burr
softly intoned his regret that in the morning he must part from her.
Sportfully he drew from her finger a diamond ring. "Do you want it
back after all these years?" she murmured. "No, dear, you shall have
it again in a moment." He turned to a window, and with the sparkling
stylus incised some delicate characters upon a pane of glass. Then he
returned the ring to its owner, who, after perusing the inscription,
looked round into his face, her own radiant with happiness.
The window-pane remained unbroken for nearly a century, and the
writing on it was always shown to strangers visiting the old historic
homestead. The cutting diamond traced two names upon the glass--those
of Senator Smith's transitory guests. Many a sentimental girl, pausing
over the double inscription, and mildly condemning Burr, has wondered
whatever became of Salome Rosemary.