We swung about and sauntered up the stream bank, the horse following at his master's heels, docile as a well-trained hound. For a time the attention of my distinguished companion seemed fixed upon the romantic arbors of wild grapes which overran the neighboring thickets. But as I was about to remark on the beauty of the autumnal foliage, he turned to me with a direct question: "Have you close acquaintance, sir, among the people of St. Louis and New Orleans?"
"I have practised in both towns, sir, since the cession of Louisiana Territory."
"And you found the former subjects of Spain and France well disposed toward the Republic?"
"I regret to have to say, sir, that Governor Claiborne is not popular even among our American residents of New Orleans."
The President looked at me doubtfully. "Claiborne is a man of undisputed integrity."
"The creoles, Your Excellency, could better appreciate a degree of tact. Governor Claiborne is too much the Western man in his attitude toward people of another race."
"I cannot but trust that our release of them from subjection to despotism—" He paused to study my face with a mild yet penetrating gaze. We walked on for several paces before he again spoke. "I esteem you to be a man of some little discernment, Dr. Robinson."
"You compliment me, sir. Having gone to the Mississippi fresh from my medical studies in New York, it may be that I observed some features of the Louisiana situation unnoted by the local factions. Though a Westerner myself, I trust that four years in college on the seaboard has enabled me to look upon events with a little less of our natural trans-Alleghany prejudice."
"Ah! You are also acquainted in St. Louis—with General Wilkinson? Perhaps you are intimate?"
"No!" I said. Before my mental vision rose the whiskey-flushed face and portly figure of the pompous, fussy old General.