Lewis Rand
By Mary Johnston

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Chapter IV: The Two Candidates

The town, established forty years before this April morning, had been named for a Princess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, lately become Queen of England. During the Revolution it had been the scene of a raid of Tarleton’s and a camp of detention for British prisoners. It was the county seat to which three successive presidents of the United States must travel to cast their votes; and somewhat later than the period of this story it was to rub elbows with a great institution of learning. No city even in our own time, it was, a hundred years ago, slight enough in size to suit the genius for tempered solitude characteristic of a tobacco-growing State.

A few dwelling-houses of frame and brick rose from an emerald mist of gardens, and there were taverns, much at the service of all who came to town with money in their purse. The Swan allured the gentlefolk of the county, the coach-and-four people, Jehus of light curricles, and riders of blooded horses. The Eagle had the stage-coach patronage, and thrice a week blew a lusty horn. Besides the inns and the dwelling-houses there were stores and a half-built church, the Court House, and the shady Court House yard.

For a great part of the time, the Court House, the centre of gravity for the county, appeared to doze in the sunshine. At stated intervals, however, it awoke, and the drowsy town with it. Once awake, both became very wide awake indeed. Court days doubled the population; an election made a beehive of the place.

It was the fourth Wednesday in April, and election day. A man was to be sent to the House of Delegates at Richmond. All likelihood was upon the side of the candidate of the Democrat-Republicans, but the Federalists had a fighting chance. There were reasons why this especial election was of great interest to the county, and the motto of both parties was “No malingering!” Early in the morning, by the Three-Notched Road, the Barracks Road, and the Secretary’s Road, through the shady Thoroughfare, over the misty Rivanna, the Hardware, and the Rapidan, the county began to pour electors into Charlottesville. They came upon wheels, on horseback, and afoot; the strong and the weak, the halt and the blind, the sick and the well, the old and the young, all the free men of Albemarle, all alert, all pleasurably excited over the prospect of the fight.

Without the Court House yard, under the locust trees to the right of the open gate, were placed long tables, and on them three mighty punch-bowls, flanked by drinking-cups and guarded by house servants of venerable appearance and stately manners. Here good Federalists refreshed themselves. To the left of the gate, upon the trampled grass beneath a mulberry, appeared other punch-bowls, and in addition a barrel of whiskey, ready broached for all good Democrat-Republicans. The sunny street was filled with horses, vehicles, and servants; the broad path between the trees, the turf on either hand, and the Court House steps were crowded with riotous voters. All ranks of society, all ages, occupations, and opinions, met in the genial weather, beneath the trees where sang every bird of spring.

Within the Court House the throng, slight at first, was rapidly increasing. The building was not large, and from end to end, and on the high window-sills beneath the long green blinds, the people pushed and shoved and stood a-tiptoe. It was yet early morning, and for some unexplained reason the Federalist candidate had not arrived.

Upon the Justice’s Bench, raised high above the crowded floor, sat the candidate of the Democrat-Republicans–the Republicans, pure and simple, as they were beginning to be called. Near him stood the sheriff and the deputy-sheriff; around him pressed committee-men, heelers with tallies, vociferous well-wishers, and prophets of victory, and a few, a very few, personal and private friends. On the other hand, strongly gathering and impatiently awaiting their candidate, his foes gloomed upon him. Everywhere was a buzzing of voices: farmers and townspeople voting loudly, the sheriff as loudly recording each vote, the clerk humming over his book, the crowd making excited comment. There was no ballot-voting; it was a viva voce matter, and each man knew his fellow’s creed.

Lewis Rand sat at ease, a tall and personable man, with the head of a victor, and a face that had the charm of strength. The eye was keen and dark, the jaw square, the thick brown hair cut short, as was the Republican fashion. His dress was plain but good, worn with a certain sober effect, an “it pleases me,” that rendered silk and fine ruffles superfluous. He was listening to a wide-girthed tavern-keeper and old soldier of the Revolution’s loud declaration that Lewis Rand was the coming man, and that he was for Lewis Rand. The old county wanted no English-thinking young Federalist in Richmond. “Too many Federalists there a’ready! Mr. Lewis Rand, Mr. Sheriff!”

The Republicans applauded. The custom of the time required that the man voted for should thank the man who voted, and that aloud and aptly, with no slurring acknowledgment of service. Lewis Rand, a born speaker and familiar with his audience, was at no loss. “I thank you, Mr. Fagg! May your shadow never grow less! The old county–Mr. Jefferson’s county, gentlemen–may be trusted to hold its own, in Richmond or in Washington, in Heaven or in Hell! Mr. Fagg, I will drink your health in punch of the Eagle’s brewing! Your very obliged friend and servant!”

From street and yard without came a noise of cheering, with cries of “Black Cockade! Black Cockade! The party of Washington–Washington forever!–The old county for Cary!–Albemarle for Cary!–The county for a gentleman!

“Mr. Ludwell Cary has arrived,” announced the sheriff.

“Here comes the gentleman!” cried a man from a windowsill. “Stand up, Lewis Rand, and show him a man!”

The throng at the door parted, and with a Federalist and distinguished following the two Carys entered, the elder quiet and smiling, the younger flushed, bright-eyed, and anxious. The attachment between these two brothers was very strong; it was to be seen in every glance that passed between them, in every tone of voice used by each to the other. The elder played fond Mentor, and the younger thought his brother a demi-god. They were men of an old name, an old place, an inherited charm. “Ludwell Cary!” cried a mail. “Long live Ludwell Cary!”

Rand left the Justice’s Bench, stepped forward, and greeted his opponent. The two touched hands. “I trust I see you in health, Mr. Cary?”

“Mr. Rand, I thank you, I am very well. You are early in the lists!”

“I am accustomed to early rising,” answered Rand. “This morning I have ridden from the Wolf Trap. Will you sit?”

“Ah,” said Cary, “I rode from Fontenoy. After you, sir!”

They sat down, side by side, upon the Justice’s Bench, the Federalist very easy, the Republican, lacking the perfection of the other’s manner, with a stiffness and constraint of which he was aware and which he hated in himself. He knew himself well enough to know that presently, in the excitement of the race, the ugly mantle would slip from the braced athlete, but at the moment he felt his disadvantage. Subtly and slowly, released from some deep, central tarn of his most secret self, a vapour of distaste and dislike began to darken the cells of clear thought. As a boy he had admired and envied Ludwell Cary; for his political antagonist, pure and simple, he had, unlike most around him, often the friendliest feeling; but now, sitting there on the Justice’s Bench, he wondered if he were going to hate Cary. Suddenly an image came out of the vapour. “How long has he been at Fontenoy? Does he think he can win there, too?”

The younger Cary marched to the polls with his head held high, and voted loudly for his brother. The latter smiled upon him, and said with simplicity, “Thank you, Fair!” The Republican candidate looked attentively at the young man. The spirit and the fire, subdued in the elder brother, was in the younger as visible as lightning. Rand was quick at divining men, and now he thought, “This man would make a tireless enemy.”

Following Fairfax Cary came another of the group who had entered with the Carys. “Mr. Peyton votes for Mr. Ludwell Cary!” cried the sheriff. The Federalists applauded, the Republicans groaned, the tallymen took note, and Cary bowed his thanks. “Mr. Peyton, your very humble servant! Mount Eagle and Greenwood are old comrades-at-arms!”

“I’ll kill your vote, Craven Peyton!” came a voice. “I vote, Mr. Sheriff, for Lewis Rand!”

“Ludwell Cary!” cried another, “and there’s a killer killed, Dick Carr!”

“I’ll draw a bead on you, Gentry!” put in a third. “The best shot in the county, Mr. Sheriff, and that’s Lewis Rand!”

“Lewis Rand stands ten ahead!” cried a committee-man; and the sheriff, “Gentlemen, gentlemen! order at the polls!”

A small, wizened man, middle-aged and elaborately dressed in much ancient and tarnished finery, came bowing through the crowd. A curled wig shadowed a narrow face, and lace ruffles fell over long-fingered hands, yellow as old ivory. The entire figure was fantastic, even a little grotesque, though after a pleasant fashion. In a mincing voice and with a strong French accent, M. Achille Pincornet, dancing-master and performer on the violin, intimated that he wished to vote for Mr. Ludwell Cary. Lewis Rand glanced sharply up, then made a sign to a sandy-haired and freckled man who, tally in hand, stood near him.

“I challenge that vote!” cried the man with the tally.

“Mr. Pincornet’s vote is challenged!” shouted the sheriff.

“Order, order, gentlemen! Your reason, Mr. Mocket?”

“The gentleman is a Frenchman and not a citizen of the United States! He is not even a citizen of the French Republic! He is an émigré. He has no vote. Mark off his name!”

“Sir!” cried the challenged voter, “I am a de Pincornet, cadet of a house well known in Gascony! If I left France, I left it to find a great and free country, a country where one gentleman may serve another!”

A roar of laughter, led by Mocket, arose from the younger and lower sort of Republicans. “But you do serve, Mr. Pincornet! You teach all the ’Well-born’ how to dance!”

“Didn’t you teach the Carys? They dance beautifully.”

“Are brocaded coats still worn in Gascony?”

Ne sutor supra crepidam judicaret! Caper all you please on a waxed floor, but leave Virginians to rule!”

Fairfax Cary, hot and angry, put in an oar. “Mr. Sheriff, Mr. Sheriff! Mr. Pincornet has lived these twelve years in Albemarle! We have no more respected, no more esteemed citizen. His vote’s as good as any man’s–and rather better, I may remark, than that of some men!” He looked pointedly at Mocket.

Lewis Rand gave his henchman a second guiding glance.

“It is merely,” said Mocket promptly, “a question of that Alien Law of which the ’Well-born’ are so proud. Show your papers, Mr. Pincornet. If you are a citizen of the United States, you have papers to show for it.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed the sheriff. “That’s right, Mr. Mocket. Let me see your papers, Mr. Pincornet.”

“Papers, papers! I have no papers!” cried Mr. Pincornet.

“But every gentleman here–and I have no care for the canaille–knows that I live in Albemarle, in a small house between Greenwood and Fontenoy! I have lived there since I left France in the abhorred year of ’92, with tears of rage in my eyes! I came to this land, where, seeing that I must eat, and that my dancing was always admired, I said to myself, ’T’enez, Achille, my friend, we will teach these Virginians to dance!’ Mr. Fairfax Cary has been my pupil, and it gives me pleasure to vote for his brother to go make the laws for my adopted country–”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pincornet,” interrupted the sheriff, “but you have no vote. I’ll have to ask you to stand aside.”

“Come up here, Mr. Pincornet,” said Cary, from the Justice’s Bench. “I want to ask you about a gentleman of your name whom I had the honour to meet in London–M. le Vicomte de Pincornet, a very gallant man–”

“That,” said the dancing master, “would be my cousin Alexandre. He escaped during the Terror hidden under a load of hay, his son driving in a blouse and red nightcap. Will Mr. Cary honour me?” and out came a tortoise-shell snuff-box.

The voting quickened. “Rand is ahead–Rand is winning!” went from mouth to mouth. Fairfax Cary, caring much where his brother cared little, welcomed impetuously the wave of Federalists which that rumour brought in from the yard and street. “Ha, Mr. Gilmer, Mr. Carter, you are welcome! Who votes? Who votes as General Hamilton and Mr. Adams and Judge Marshall vote? Who votes as Washington would have voted?”

So many crowded to vote as Washington would have voted, that it almost seemed as though his shade might lead the Federalists to victory. But the dead Washington must cope with the living Jefferson; mild monarchism and stately rule with a spirit born of time, nursed by Voltaire and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, grown articulate in the French Revolution, and now full swing toward majority. When thrown, the Democrat-Republicans rose from the earth like Antæus. Much of the gentle blood and many of the prominent men of the county voted for Lewis Rand. Jefferson’s personal following of friends and kinsmen was large; these accepted his man as a matter of course, while to the plain men of the county Lewis Rand was more even than the coming man: he was of them; he was a plain man. The clamour and excitement grew. “Here come the Three-Notched Road people!” cried a voice. “They all rolled tobacco with Gideon Rand!”

The Three-Notched Road people voted to a man for the son of Gideon Rand, and were promptly reinforced by a contingent of hot Republicans from the Ragged Mountains. At ten o’clock Lewis Rand was again well ahead, but at this hour there was a sharp rally of the Federalists. A cheering from without announced the arrival of some popular voter, and Colonel Churchill and his brother, Major Edward, and an array of Federalists from the Fontenoy district, entered the Court House.

“The Churchills are coming, Oho! Oho!” sang out a wag perched on the window-sill.

“Not to that tune,” roared a Scot from the gallery. “Mon, they’re Tories!”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen! order at the polls!” shouted the sheriff. “Colonel Churchill, for whom do you vote?”

“I vote, sir,” cried the Colonel, “for Mr. Ludwell Cary, for a gentleman and a patriot, sir, and may the old county never be represented but by such!”

“Order, order at the polls! Colonel Churchill votes for Mr. Ludwell Cary! Major Edward Churchill, whom do you vote for?”

“For whom do you suppose, Mr. Sheriff?” said the Major. “For Mr. Ludwell Cary.”

Cary rose from the bench and stepped forward to the edge of the platform. “Colonel Dick, Major Edward, I thank you both. May I deserve your confidence and your favour! Fontenoy is as dear to me as Greenwood.”

“By God, you shall win, Ludwell!” cried Colonel Dick. “Here’s a regiment of us to see you through!”

“Rome hasn’t fallen yet,” added Major Edward. “I don’t hear the geese cackling.”

“One’s cackling now,” smiled Cary, and Mr. Tom Mocket stepped up to the polls.

“It’s not a goose; it’s a turkey buzzard!”

“It’s not feathered at all,” said Fairfax Cary. “It’s a mangy jackal to a mangy lion.”

The young man had spoken loudly and contemptuously. Rand, on the Justice’s Bench, and Mocket, in the act of voting, both heard, and both looked his way. Ludwell Cary knit his brows, and meeting his brother’s eyes, slightly shook his head. Look and gesture said, “Leave abuse alone, Fair.”

Mocket voted for Rand. “I challenge that vote!” cried Major Edward Churchill. “The man’s been in prison.”

Amid the noise that followed, the Jackal was heard to cry, “It’s a lie! Lewis, tell them it’s a lie! Major Churchill, you’d better be careful! I was acquitted, and you know it.”

“Do I?” answered the Major coolly. “I know that you ought to be making shoes in the penitentiary! Mr. Sheriff, you should really have this courtroom sprinkled with vinegar. There’s gaol fever in the air.”

“I don’t see, Mr. Sheriff,” came Rand’s voice from the Justice’s Bench, “that any more vinegar is needed. Gentlemen, all–whether Federalist or Republican–I was Mr. Mocket’s lawyer in the case referred to. Twelve good men and true–men of this county–pronounced him innocent. It is not surprising that my friends the Federalists should wish to gain time,–they are leagued with old Time,–but I protest against their gaining it by such means. This is not a matter of parties; it is a matter of a man being held innocent till he is proved guilty. A hundred men here can testify as to the verdict in this case. Mr. Mocket, gentlemen–” He paused and regarded the sandy-haired and freckled Tom, the brother of little Vinie, the sometime door-boy in Chancellor Wythe’s law office, with a smile so broadly humorous, humane, and tolerant, that suddenly the courtroom smiled with him. “Tom Mocket, gentlemen, is a scamp, but he’s not a scoundrel! The election proceeds, Mr. Sheriff.”

“I vote for Lewis Rand!” shouted the scamp out of the uproar. “Richmond now, then Washington! We’ll send Lewis Rand as high as he can go!”

“As high as the gallows!” growled Major Edward Churchill.

“Send him,” said a voice in the doorway, “out West. Mr. Jefferson gained Louisiana, but ’twill take a stronger man to gain Mexico. Mexico wants a Buonaparte.”

The day wore on with no lessening of heat and clamour. The Court House becoming too full, men betook themselves to the yard or to the street, where, mounted on chairs or on wagons from which the horses had been taken, they harangued their fellows. Public speaking came easily to this race. To-day good liquor and emulation pricked them on, and the spring in the blood. Under the locusts to the right of the gate Federalists apostrophized Washington, lauded Hamilton, the Judiciary, and the beauty of the English Constitution, denounced the French, denounced the Louisiana Purchase, denounced the Man of the People, and his every tool and parasite, and lifted to the skies the name of Ludwell Cary. To the left of the gate, under the locusts, the Republicans praised the President of the United States and all his doings, and poured oblation to Lewis Rand. From side to side of the path there were alarms and incursions. Before noon there had occurred a number of hand-to-hand fights, one, at least, accompanied by “gouging,” and a couple of duels had been arranged.

In the courtroom the parties jostled each other at the polls, and the candidates, side by side upon the Justice’s Bench, watched the day go now this way and now that. Their partisans they must acceptably thank, and they must be quick of wit with their adversaries. Fatigue did not count, nor hoarseness from much speaking, nor an undercurrent of consciousness that there were, after all, more parties than two, more principles than those they advocated, more colours than black and white, more epithets than hero and villain. They must act in their moment, and accept its excitement. A colour burned in their cheeks, and the hair lay damp upon their foreheads. They must listen and answer to men saying loudly to their faces and before other men, “I hold with you, and your mind is brother to my mind"; or saying, “I hold not with you, and you and your mind are abominable to me! To outer darkness with you both!”

Sometimes they consulted with their committee-men, and sometimes punch was brought, and they drank with their friends. Occasionally they spoke to each other; when they did this, it was with extreme courtesy. Cary used the buttoned foil with polished ease. Rand’s manner was less assured; there was something antique and laboured in his determined grasp at the amenities of the occasion. It was the only heaviness. To the other contest between them he brought an amazing sureness, a suppleness, power, and audacity beyond praise. He directed his battle, and at his elbow Tom Mocket, sandy-haired and ferret-eyed, did him yeoman service.

At one o’clock there was an adjournment for dinner. The principal Federalists betook themselves to the Swan; the principal Republicans to the Eagle. The commonalty ate from the packed baskets upon the trampled grass of the Court House yard. An hour later, when the polls were reopened, men returned to them flushed with drink and in the temper for a quarrel, the Republicans boisterous over a foreseen victory, the Federalists peppery from defeat. In the yard the constable had to part belligerents, in the courtroom the excitement mounted. The tide was set now for Lewis Rand. The Federalists watched it with angry eyes; the Republicans greeted with jubilation each new wave. The defeated found some relief in gibes. “Holoa! here’s Citizen Bonhomme–red breeches, cockade, and Brutus crop!

“Ah, ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!”

“That man ran away from Tarleton!–yes, you did, the very day that Mr. Jefferson–a-hem!–absented himself from Monticello!”

“Challenge that man–he deserted in the Indian War!

     “November the fourth, in the year ninety-one,
     We had a sore engagement near to Fort Jefferson!”

“Here’s a traveller who has seen the mammoth and climbed the Salt Mountain!”

“Here’s a tobacco-roller! Hey, my man, don’t you miss old friends on the road?”

Under cover of the high words, laughter, and vituperation which made a babel of the courtroom, Cary spoke to his opponent. “Mr. Rand, do you remember that frosty morning, long ago, when you and I first met? I came upon you in the woods, and together we gathered chinquapins. Does it seem long to you since you were a boy?”

“Long enough!” answered Rand. “I remember that day very well.”

“We told each other our names, I remember, and what each meant to do in the world. We hardly foresaw this day.” “It is not easy to foresee," said Rand slowly. “If we could, we might–”

“We might foresee our last meeting,” smiled Cary, “as we remember our first.” He took a glass of wine from a passing servant and put it to his lips, “To another meeting, in the wood!” he said, “since I may not quite drink to your victory.”

“Ah, my victory!” answered Rand. “When I have it, I don’t know that I shall care for it! That’s a handsome youth, your brother–and he has worked for you like a Trojan! I’ll drink to your brother!”

“Here are the Green Spring folk!” cried a voice. “They always vote like gentlemen!”

The Green Spring folk were a squadron, and they voted Cary again within sight of the goal. A man who had been standing just without the open door rested his long musket against the wall and advanced to the polls. “Last time I voted here,” he said, “’twas for Mr. Jefferson. I reckon I’ll have to vote to-day for Lewis Rand.”

A tumult arose. “Adam Gaudylock belongs upon the Mississippi!–He isn’t an Albemarle man!–He’s a Kentuck–He’s a Louisianian–He’s a subject of Jefferson’s new kingdom!–Challenged!–He can’t vote in Albemarle!”

The hunter waited for the uproar to cease. “You Federalists are mighty poor shots!” he exclaimed at last. “You make no account of the wind. I am subject of no man’s kingdom. I trade in New Orleans, and I travel on the great rivers, and I’ve friends in Kentucky, and I hunt where the hunting’s good, but when I want to vote I come back to my own county where I was born, and where I grew up among you all, and where I’ve yet a pretty piece of land between here and the mountains. I voted here before, and I’ll vote here again. The Gaudylocks may wander and wander, but their home is on the Three-Notched Road, and they vote in Albemarle.”

The vote standing, and Adam being followed by a string of hunters, traders, and boatmen, the Republican candidate was again and finally in advance. The winds blew for him from the four quarters. In the last golden light of the afternoon there was a strong and sudden muster of Republicans. From all directions stragglers appeared, voice after voice proclaiming for the man who, regarded at first as merely a protégé of Jefferson, had come in the last two years to be regarded for himself. The power in him had ceased to be latent, and friend and foe were beginning to watch Lewis Rand and his doings with intentness.

As the sun set behind the Ragged Mountains, the polls closed, and the sheriff proclaimed the election of the Republican candidate.

The Court House was quickly emptied, nor was the Court House yard far behind. The excitement had spent itself. The result, after all, had been foreknown. It drew on chilly with the April dusk, and men were eager to be at home, seated at their supper-tables, going over the day with captured friends and telling the women the news. On wheels, on horseback or afoot, drunk and sober, north, south, east, and west, they cantered, rolled, and trudged away from the brick Court House and the trampled grass, and the empty bowls beneath the locust trees.

The defeated candidate and the successful shook hands: Cary quiet and smiling, half dignified and half nonchalant; Rand with less control and certainty of himself. The one said with perfection the proper things, the other said them to the best of his ability. Young Fairfax Cary, standing by, twisting his riding-whip with angry fingers, curled his lip at the self-made man’s awkwardness of phrase. Rand saw the smile, but went on with his speech. Colonel Churchill, who had been talking with Adam Gaudylock, left the hunter and came up to Cary. “Ludwell, you and Fair are not going to Greenwood to-night! I have orders from the ladies to bring you back to Fontenoy–alive or dead!”

“I find myself very much alive, Colonel!” answered Cary. “Thank you, I’ll gladly spend the night at Fontenoy. Fontenoy would draw me, I think, if I were dead!”

“Dick has a middling Madeira,” remarked Major Edward. “And after supper Jacqueline shall sing to us. Good-evening, Mr. Rand!”

“Good-evening to you, Major Churchill,” said Rand. “Good-evening, Mr. Cary. Good-evening, gentlemen!”

“Here are Eli and Mingo with the horses,” said Fairfax Cary, his back to the Republican. “Let’s away, Ludwell!”

Colonel Churchill laughed. “Fontenoy draws you too, Fairfax? Well, my niece Unity is a pleasing minx–yes, by gad! Miss Dandridge is a handsome jade! Come away, come away, gentlemen!”

Federalists and Republicans exchanged the stiffest of bows, and the party for Fontenoy mounted and took the road. The Republicans whom they left behind had a few moments of laughter and jubilation, and then they also quitted the Court House yard and called to the servants for the horses.

“You’ll spend the night at Edgehill, I hope, Mr. Rand?” cried one. “Mrs. Randolph expects you–she will wish to write to her father of your day–”

“No, no, come with me!” put in another. “There’s all this business to talk over–and I’ve a letter to show you from Mr. Madison–”

“Best come to the Eagle!” cried a third. “No end of jolly fellows, and bumpers to next year–”

Rand shook his head. “Thank you, Colonel Randolph–but I am riding to Monticello. Mr. Jefferson has written for some papers from the library. Burwell will care for me to-night. Present, if you will, my humble services to Mrs. Randolph and the young ladies. By the same token I cannot go with you, Mr. Carr, nor to the Eagle, Mr. Jones.–My grateful thanks to you, one and all, gentlemen! I am a plain man–I can say no more. We will ride together as far as the creek.”

The negro Joab brought his horse, a magnificent animal, the gift of Jefferson. He mounted and the party kept together as far as the creek, where their ways parted. Rand checked his horse, said good-bye, and watched the gentlemen who had given him their support ride cheerfully away toward the light of home. He himself was waiting for Adam Gaudylock, who was going with him to Monticello. After a moment’s thought he decided not to wait there beside the creek, but to turn his horse and leave a message for Tom Mocket at a house which he had passed five minutes before.


Chapter I: The Road to Richmond  •  Chapter II: Mr. Jefferson  •  Chapter III: Fontenoy  •  Chapter IV: The Two Candidates  •  Chapter V: Monticello  •  Chapter VI: Rand Comes to Fontenoy  •  Chapter VII: The Blue Room  •  Chapter VIII: Cary and Jacqueline  •  Chapter IX: Expostulation  •  Chapter X: To Althea  •  Chapter XI: In the Garden  •  Chapter XII: A Marriage At Saint Margaret’s  •  Chapter XIII: The Three-Notched Road  •  Chapter XIV: The Law Office  •  Chapter XV: Company to Supper  •  Chapter XVI: At Lynch’s  •  Chapter XVII: Fairfax and Unity  •  Chapter XVIII: The Green Door  •  Chapter XIX: Monticello Again  •  Chapter XX: The Nineteenth of February  •  Chapter XXI: The Cedar Wood  •  Chapter XXII: Major Edward  •  Chapter XXIII: A Challenge  •  Chapter XXIV: The Duel  •  Chapter XXV: Old Saint John’s  •  Chapter XXVI: The Trial of Aaron Burr  •  Chapter XXVII: The Letter  •  Chapter XXVIII: Rand and Mocket  •  Chapter XXIX: The River Road  •  Chapter XXX: Homeward  •  Chapter XXXI: Husband and Wife  •  Chapter XXXII: The Brothers  •  Chapter XXXIII: Greenwood  •  Chapter XXXIV: Fairfax Cary  •  Chapter XXXV: The Image  •  Chapter XXXVI: In Pursuit  •  Chapter XXXVII: The Simple Right  •  Chapter XXXVIII: M. De Pincornet  •  Chapter XXXIX: Unity and Jacqueline  •  Chapter XI: The Way of the Transgressor

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Lewis Rand
By Mary Johnston
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