will see that when I talk to Indians that I talk like an Indian and act like one.'

His horse was taken away by one of the braves to be cared for. Burr was shown to a wigwam which was placed at his disposal. He was supplied with food, and later the complete costume of a Creek chief was brought to him.

Despite his peculiar position, this wonderful man slept quietly through the night, and when he awoke in the morning, he donned his Indian garb. The council was called at mid-noon, and at about ten o'clock Aaron Burr, in the dress of a Creek chief, stepped into the centre of the council, and thus addressed the meeting: Friends and Brothers: I come from the North. Not satisfied with driving your brothers a thousand miles from the seacoast, your enemies have now turned their eyes towards the South and are preparing to drive you into the Gulf. There are thousands of them armed with deadly rifles. They wish for your land, and, in order to possess it, they wish for your lives. I am sick of this work of bloodshed and slaughter. I will take no more part in it. I have come to warn you. I have come to tell you that it is useless for you to resist them. But I come to tell you that I know of a land, far away," and he pointed to the Southwest, where, if you will follow me, the white man will not follow you. There we can live in peace and plenty for years to come. There your children may be born and grow to manhood, and your fathers and mothers and grandsires may die and be buried in peace.'

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He took his seat, and for a long time not a word was said. Then one of the chiefs arose and spoke:

We have heard the words of our white brother. We know that what he tells us is true. We know that these lands that belonged to our fathers and which became ours after them must pass from our hands. We know that we shall be driven into the Gulf or find

graves in the land where we have lived so long. But the Creeks are not cowards! If we should go with you to that land where some of our brothers went years ago, it would be said that we were cowards and that we did not dare to stay and fight. That we ran away at the approach of the white man. Where are our brothers that went to that far-off country years ago? We have never heard from them. They are dead. Our fate would be the same. No! The Creeks will remain. They will fight to the last! It shall never be said that the Creeks were cowards and were not brave enough to stay and fight for their native land."

Grunts of approval came from the chiefs who were gathered at the council. Burr arose and made one more appeal for them to follow him, but he soon saw that his efforts were useless.

He was attended to the door of his wigwam, which he entered. The clothes which he had worn had been taken away. What was to be done next? Should he continue his travels dressed as a Creek Indian? Such a course would be even more dangerous than to proceed in that of a river boatman which he had worn since he left Natchez.

But the Indians solved this question for him. Food was brought at noon and night. After darkness fell, an Indian entered and laid a bundle down before him. He knew it contained the clothes that he had worn when he entered the camp. Taking off the costume of the Creek warrior, he resumed his former disguise. Then he heard a sound outside. On looking out he found that his horse, saddled and bridled, stood by the opening. Burr understood. He left the wigwam, mounted his horse, and, without a word, pushed into the forest in the darkness of the night.

As he rode on, a grim smile played over his features. How was it that he had escaped death at their hands? How was it that they had failed to have sport with

him by tying him to a tree or post as a victim and inflicting upon him all sorts of torture? He well knew. His actions and that speech had saved his life. The Indians had thought that he was insane and no Indian would raise a hand against a man thus afflicted. To their untutored minds a person bereft of reason, who cannot look out for himself, is expressly guarded by the Great Spirit.