Disguised in the borrowed clothes of a boatman--pantaloons of coarse
stuff, dyed in copperas, a drab-colored roundabout, a broad-brimmed
slouch hat much the worse for hard usage in rain and sun--Aaron Burr
fled. He deemed it impossible that any detective could recognize him.
One precaution, however, he neglected to take; his genteel feet
disdained the boatman's cowhide shoes, nor would he put on the pair of
big Suarrow boots proffered by one of his followers. He insisted on
wearing, as usual, his tight-fitting, neat, elegant city-boots of
polished calfskin.
Clad and accoutred for flight through a wild country, mounted upon a
spirited horse provided by devoted accessories for the severe journey,
and accompanied by a guide who knew the forest ways, he set out, a
fugitive from justice. Both he and his pilot carried pistols in
holster and provisions in saddle-bags. Their route lay through a
desolate region sparsely settled by pioneers, and not yet relinquished
by wandering aborigines, nor by the bear and the catamount. The month
of February was spent before they reached the valley of the Tombigbee,
a distance of two hundred miles from the Mississippi River.
Late one evening the weary travellers drew rein at the door of a log
tavern in Alabama. A bright fire was crackling within, and several
guests sat conversing before the broad hearth.
"Hello the house!" shouted Burr's attendant. Not hearing a prompt
response to the call, the guide dismounted, rapped on the deal door,
at the same time jerking a stout leathern bobbin which drew up the
wooden latch inside. The door flew open, disclosing a puncheon floor,
a bar with bulging decanters of whiskey, and the group of talkers
sitting in the ruddy glow of the wide fireplace. The landlord came to
the threshold.
"Alight and come in, stranger. I have good beds."
"We are obliged to you, landlord," said Burr from the saddle, "but we
can't stop. We hailed the house only to inquire the way to Colonel
Hinson's. How far is it?"
"A long seven miles, and all that isn't stump is mud hole. Better put
up here till morning. A bite of pork and pone, washed down with a cup
of hot coffee, will make a new man of you."
"Thank you, my friend, but we are in some hurry. What direction shall
we take?" The tavern-keeper gave the desired information, with tedious
minuteness. Meanwhile the party at the fireside took sharp notice of
the man on horseback, whom they could plainly see in the outshining
light of the fire. A tall gentleman, whom the host called "colonel,"
inspected the strangers with comprehensive scrutiny.
"Neighbors," said he, listening to the receding hoof-beats of the
horses, "did you notice that man's face and his feet? He don't look
like a common man. Our backwoodsmen don't wear shiny boots." Leaving
his companions mystified by this speech, the colonel hurried from the
inn, and bent his steps toward a cabin, from the single small window
of which a lard-lamp levelled its faint ray. This was the lodge of the
district sheriff. The tall colonel called the officer out and
described the appearance and actions of the two travellers.
"Brightwell, I have my suspicions. Hadn't we better go--you and
I--to Hinson's, and learn who these parties are and what they want? I
doubt if your cousin, Mrs. Hinson, knows that her husband sympathizes
with a certain individual who falls under the charges of Jefferson's
proclamation."
Colonel Perkins easily persuaded the sheriff it was their duty to
follow the suspected persons, and the self-constituted spies saddled
horses and spurred through the woods, along a solitary road, to
Hinson's lonely cottage. Perkins remained outside, holding the horses
and shivering under the gusty pines. The sheriff knocked at the back
door of the cabin; the mistress of the house received him kinswomanly
in the kitchen. From this rear apartment Brightwell could peep into
the front room, where sat the object of his curiosity. Having
exchanged a few familiar remarks and inquiries with Mrs. Hinson, the
sheriff asked, in a whisper:
"Who is that man--the small man with black eyes and white hands?"
"He calls himself Hodge--Jeremiah Hodge--and claims acquaintance
with my husband. He says he came by request to have a talk with Hinson
about raft-building on the Tombigbee."
"Do you believe this?"
"I don't know what to think. He is a civil man--very civil--as soft
spoken as a girl, and he has the nicest table manners I ever seen in a
_man_. I couldn't turn strangers away on such a raw night."
"No," said the sheriff, "you could not; we must be neighborly; but I
have my doubts of Jeremiah Hodge. Good-bye, Jane. Drop over and see
Fanny and the new baby."
The officer, highly satisfied with his cunning detective work, slipped
out and joined his impatient companion, Perkins, who agreed to
communicate straightway with Lieutenant Gaines, commandant at Fort
Stoddart, a post on the Tombigbee. Having secured a canoe and a
colored boy to paddle it, Colonel Perkins, on the following morning,
descended the river, and told Gaines his story.
While Perkins was floating down the Tombigbee, the polite boatman,
Jeremiah Hodge, was writing letters, eating breakfast, and chatting
most agreeably with his admiring hostess. At about nine-o'clock he
requested his fellow-traveller to saddle the horses, and within the
few minutes required for this to be done he surprised Mrs. Hinson by
disclosing his real name.
"Madam, if you should ever chance to meet a boatman by the name of
Jeremiah Hodge, which is not probable, please make my apologies to him
for borrowing his name, as I have borrowed also another man's clothes.
I am Aaron Burr, of New York, a name pretty widely known and much
bandied about in these scandalmongering days. I know your husband
well; Colonel Hinson and myself are old friends; I saw him lately in
Natchez, and he was kind enough to invite me to make his house my
home, in case I had need of a comrade soldier's hospitality. Under the
circumstances now existing I cannot remain longer."
Mrs. Hinson looked incredulous and scared.
"Mercy me!" was her suppressed interjection.
"Pardon me for giving a false name, and not a pretty one, either. A
reward of two thousand dollars is offered to any one who will give
information leading to my arrest. Such a snug sum might serve you for
pin-money." This was jocularly said and with a smile. Mrs. Hinson
found a tongue to protest.
"Don't fear I'll blab. I wish I could help you to get out of danger.
Now I see why cousin Brightwell was Paul Prying here last night.
There's your horse saddled and bridled. Take keer of yourself."
"Good-bye, my dear madam. I cannot, of course, offer to pay you for
your generous entertainment of me and my follower. But you must not
deny me one small favor--take this ring as a keepsake from Jeremiah
Hodge."
He waited not for a reply, but gently raising her hand, which was a
very pretty one, he placed on her finger Salome Rosemary's diamond
ring! Bowing a graceful adieu, the versatile fugitive rode away at his
faithful servant's side.
The brace of horsemen had not trotted a mile before they were
overtaken on the highway by a rider who accosted them very cordially.
His sorrel steed kept even pace with the other two horses.
"A nice frosty morning," chirpped the friendly bore. "I hope I don't
intrude. I like company myself when I am on the road. Which way are
you bound? Pensacola?"
Burr made no reply, but his attaché answered freely:
"Yes, Pensacola. Which is the best road from here to Carson's Ferry?"
"The best road and the shortest is by way of the cut-off. I am going
that way--I'll show you the road."
All three cantered forward. In half an hour they came to a place where
the road made an abrupt turn, and just at this bend a file of mounted
and armed soldiers stopped their progress. Lieutenant Gaines and
Colonel Perkins rode at the head of the troopers. The lieutenant waved
a military salute and spoke.
"Have I the honor of addressing Colonel Burr?"
"You have that honor; I am Aaron Burr."
"You are my prisoner."
"By what authority do you detain me, a private citizen, attending
peaceably to my own affairs, on a public thoroughfare?"
"I arrest you, Aaron Burr, in the name and at the instance of the
United States of America. I hold in my hand the proclamation of
President Jefferson. I am a lieutenant in the United States Army. The
gentleman at your side is Theodore Brightwell, a sheriff, and the
officer accompanying me is Colonel Nicholas Perkins, who detected you
last evening when you rode up to the Piny Woods Tavern."
Burr surrendered. That night he slept, a prisoner, in Fort Stoddart.