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 inst.i.tution 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 l.u.s.ty 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 gra.s.s 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. f.a.gg! 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 h.e.l.l! Mr. f.a.gg, 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 c.o.c.kade! Black c.o.c.kade! 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 pa.s.sed 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-G.o.d. 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, d.i.c.k 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 emigre. 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-sh.e.l.l 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 Antaeus. 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.