Swampville was in reality a _riverine_ town. To it the east was a _back_ country; and its front face was to the west. In that direction lay its world, and the ways that opened to it. Log-shanties began to line the road--standing thicker as I advanced; while at intervals, appeared a "frame-house" of more pretentious architecture. In front of one of these--the largest of the collection--there stood a tall post; or rather a tree with its top cut off, and divested of its lower branches. On the head of this was a "martin-box"; and underneath the dwelling of the birds, a broad framed board, on which was legible the word "Hotel." A portrait of Jackson, done in "continental uniform," embellished the face of the board. The sign seemed little appropriate: for in the harsh features of "Old Hickory" there was but slight promise of hospitality. It was no use going farther. The "Jackson Hotel" was evidently the "head inn" of the place; and without pause or parley, I dismounted at its door. I was too well used to western habits to wait either for welcome or assistance--too careful of my Arab to trust him to hands unskilled--and I did the unsaddling for myself. A half-naked negro gave me some slight help in the "grooming" process--all the while exhibiting his ivories and the whites of his eyes in an expression of ill-concealed astonishment, produced apparently by the presence of my uniform coat--to the "darkey," no doubt, an uncommon apparition. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE "JACKSON HOTEL." I found that I had arrived in the very "nick of time:" for just as I returned from the stable, and was entering the verandah of the hotel, I heard the bell calling its guests to supper. There was no ado made about me: neither landlord or waiter met me with a word; and following the stream of "boarders" or travellers who had arrived before me, I took my seat at the common _table-d'hote_. Had the scene been new to me, I might have found food for reflection, or observed circumstances to astonish me. But I had been long accustomed to mix in as motley a throng, as that which now surrounded the table of the Swampville hotel. A supper-table, encircled by blanket and "jeans" coats--by buckskin blouses and red-flannel shirts--by men without coats at all--was nothing strange to me; nor was it strange either to find these _bizarre_ costumes interspersed among others of fashionable cut and finest cloth. Black broad-cloth frocks, and satin or velvet vests, were quite common. Individuals thus attired formed a majority of the guests--for in young settlements the "hotel" or "tavern" is also a boarding-house, where the spruce "storekeepers" and better class of clerks take their meals--usually sleeping in the office or store.