I have been this morning scouring the town and the docks in quest of ways and means to get on. There is a packet which will sail for Charleston on Saturday; a great way off to one so impatient as the writer of this. No stage nor a horse to be hired. Finding that the mail does not close till seven this evening, this letter shall be kept open till the last moment, and shall not be closed till I have settled some plan of getting forward, either to Statesburgh or New-York. It will, I think, be Statesburgh. Six hours hence you shall know. Have patience, my dear child, for six hours.
Lest I should forget it, let me now tell you that I am received with the warmest hospitality. Notwithstanding the desolation occasioned by the hurricane (and it is truly distressing), I have invitations which it would require weeks to satisfy. These attentions are almost exclusively from republicans.
Four o'clock P. M.
Io triumphe! A letter; two, three letters. Two from you and one from your husband. Since writing I have had other good luck; viz., two gentlemen have offered me each an excellent horse to go as far as Statesburgh by any route I may please. Another horse, and I am made. Note, my young friend Swartwout is with me, and I cannot well part with him. If another horse shall be found, I shall take the route through Orangeburgh, as being the most direct to Statesburgh. If the land route shall for any reason be found impracticable, I shall take possession of a Charleston packet, and perhaps take it on to Georgetown. By one way or the other you shall see me within ten or twelve days. Tell Mari that his letter being received this afternoon, and the postmaster having just now sent me word that the mail is about to close, I can only answer him thus.
You are now to keep your ground and expect me at the hills. Pray let A.B.A. know that gamp is a black man, otherwise he may be shocked at the appearance of A.B., who is now about the colour of Peter Yates. Not brown, but a true quadroon yellow; whether from the effects of climate, or travelling four hundred miles in a canoe, is no matter.
A. BURR.
TO THEODOSIA.
Fayetteville, October 23, 1804. I get on as usual; arrived here this forenoon, but detained all day by some trifling repairs to the carriage. I promised you a journal in the manner of modern travels, to show you how such books could be made without facts or ideas. My first four days, to wit, from Statesburgh to this place, would, I find, from notes which I have actually taken, make about one hundred pages, and two hundred in the manner of Rochefoucault d'Liancourt; but the labour of so much writing has alarmed and almost discouraged me.
No more pauses, not even for weather, till Richmond, distant two hundred miles, and proposed to be travelled in five days. I know no person in this place but Mr. Grove, late member of Congress, who has not called on me. Tell your husband that I have heard nothing worthy of being communicated. Since I began to write it has begun to rain, as if to test my determination not to be stopped by weather. Adieu, chere T.