They
took special pride in Chin's tavern, owing to the undoubted historical
fact that the guest-room had been occupied by Louis Philippe one night
in the year 1802. On requesting to be shown to bed, the Virginian was
conducted by the landlord, candle in hand, to a bare loft, on the
floor of which lay a straw tick covered by a blue blanket.

"There's a bed a young gentleman ought to be proud to sleep on,"
affirmed the host, waving the candle over the couch. "If it's good
enough for the son of the Duke of Orleans, it's good enough for me or
you, eh? Wouldn't you like an applejack or a stiff metheglin to make
you sleep sound? The boys downstairs respect you, sir, for the way you
liquored. A young man travellin' can't be too sociable or treat too
often. Well, good-night; you're lucky to strike that bed; you don't
lay every night under a kiver and onto a tick slep between by the son
of the Duke of Orleans."

Chester found the bed conducive to dreams, in which he was happy
beyond the happiness of duke or king, dreams of Blennerhassett's
island in May, and of wandering with a wingless Yankee angel in that
earthly Paradise. Next morning, in payment for lodging and breakfast,
he offered a silver dollar.

"That's too much," said Chin. "Here, Joel, chop this coin. I must give
you the change in sharp-shanks. Will you have it in quarters or
eighths?"

"In whatever form you please."

"Then make it quarters, Joel," directed the landlord, tossing the
dollar to a negro, who neatly cut the piece into four equal segments,
one of which was handed back to the departing guest.

Arlington proceeded southward toward Natchez, following the road over
which Burr had travelled toilsomely nearly two years before. Though
warned not to undertake the journey alone, our hero, like James Fitz
James, chose to trace a dangerous path only because it was "dangerous
known." Road, properly so called, none had yet been opened through the
wilderness stretching from Tennessee to lower Louisiana, and spreading
eastward from the Mississippi. The route led the traveller along an
old trail, over sandy spaces shadowed by melancholy pines, beside
stagnant lagoons, across sluggish streams, and into cypress swamps,
the lurking-place of reptiles, the dreary haunt of bats and vultures.
The road, at best, was an indifferent bridle path, and at worst, a
blind labyrinth of seldom trodden ways in the woods. Arlington carried
in his saddle-bags a supply of bread and ch