THE DUEL
It was nine o'clock of a November morning when a coach, driven out from
Richmond, passed a country tavern and a blacksmith's shop, and, turning
from the main road, went jolting through a stubble-field down to the
steep and grassy bank of the James. It was a morning fine and clear,
with the hoar frost yet upon the ground. The trees, of which there were
many, were bare, saving the oaks, which yet held a rusty crimson. In the
fields the crows were cawing, and beyond the network of branch and bough
the river flashed and murmured among its multitude of islets. The place
was solitary, screened from the highroad by a rise of land, and fitted
for a lovers' meeting or for other concerns of secrecy.
The coach drew up beneath a spreading oak with the mistletoe clustering
in the dull red upper branches. Three men stepped out,--Lewis Rand, the
gentleman acting as his second, and a good physician. "We are first on
the field," said Rand, looking at his watch. "It is early yet. Pompey,
drive a hundred yards down the bank--as far as those bushes yonder--and
wait until you are called. Ha! there could be no better spot, Mr.
Jones!"
"I've seen no better in my experience, sir," answered Skelton Jones.
"When I was last out, we had the worst of fare!--starveling locust
wood--damned poor makeshift at gentlemanly privacy--stuck between a
schoolhouse and a church! But this is good; this is nonpareil! Fine,
brisk, frosty weather, too! I hate to fight on a muggy, leaden,
dispirited day, weeping like a widow! It's as crisp as mint, this
morning--hey, Doctor?"
"I find," said the doctor, in a preoccupied tone, "that I've left my
best probe at home. However, no matter--I've one I can use.
"I hear wheels," remarked Rand. "He is on the hour."
A chaise mounted the knoll of furrowed land and came down to the grassy
level and the waiting figures. It stopped, and Ludwell Cary and his
brother got out. "Drive over there where the coach is standing,"
directed the latter, and chaise and negro driver rolled away. The elder
Cary walked forward, paused within a few feet of his antagonist, and the
two bowed ceremoniously.
"I trust that I have not kept you waiting, Mr. Rand."
"Not in the least, Mr. Cary. The hour has but struck."
Fairfax Cary strode up, and the salutations became general. Skelton
Jones looked briskly at his watch. "With your leave, gentlemen, we'll to
formalities. The Washington stage has just gone by, and we will all wish
to get back for the mail. Mr. Fairfax Cary, shall we walk a little to
one side? You have, I see, the case of pistols. Dr. McClurg, if you will
kindly station yourself beneath yonder oak--"
The seconds stepped aside for their conference, and the doctor retreated
to the indicated oak. Lewis Rand and Ludwell Cary exchanged a comment or
two upon the weather, then fell silent. The one presently sat down upon
the root of a tree, and, drawing out a pocket-book, began to look over
certain memoranda; the other walked near the river and stood gazing
across its falls and eddies and innumerable fairy islands to the misty
blue of the farther woods. The seconds returned and proceeded to measure
the distance--ten paces, after which they loaded the pistols. Skelton
Jones advanced, the ends of two strips of paper showing from his closed
hand. "Gentlemen, you will draw for choice of position. The longest
strip carries the advantage. Thank you. Mr. Cary, Fortune favours you!
We are ready now, I think."
The two laid aside their riding-coats. Cary walked across the
leaf-strewn lists and, turning, stood with his back to the sun. Rand
took the opposite place. The seconds presented the loaded pistols. As
Cary took his from his brother, their hands touched--that of the younger
was marble cold. Skelton Jones crossed to his principal's right, and
Fairfax Cary moved also to his proper place. There was a minute's pause
while the sun shone and the leaves drifted down, then, "Are you ready,
gentlemen?" cried Rand's second.
The principals answered in the affirmative. Fairfax Cary gave the word,
"_Present!_" The two raised their weapons, and Skelton Jones began to
count "One--two--three! Fire!" Rand fired. Cary swayed slightly,
recovered himself, and stood firm. Fairfax Cary took the count.
"One--two--three! Fire!" The elder Cary slowly turned the muzzle of his
pistol from his waiting antagonist, and fired into the air.
The report echoed from the winding river-banks. For an appreciable
moment, until it died away, the participants in the meeting stood
motionless, then the seconds bestirred themselves and ran forward.
"But a single shot, each, gentlemen--that was agreed upon!" cried the
one, and the other, "Ludwell, you are wounded! Where is it? Dr. McClurg!
Dr. McClurg!"
"It is nothing, Fair,--through the shoulder." Cary waved him aside and
turned a face, pale but composed, upon Lewis Rand, who now stood before
him. Rand's hue was dark red, his features working. "Why," he demanded
hoarsely,--"why did you not fire upon me?" The agitation, marked as it
was, ceased or was controlled even as he spoke. The colour faded, the
brow lost its corrugations, and the voice its thickness. Before his
antagonist could reply, he spoke again. "It was yours, of course, to do
what you pleased with. I sincerely trust that your wound is not deep. I
have regretted the necessity--I profess myself entirely satisfied."
"That is well," answered Cary, "and I thank you, Mr. Rand. The wound is
utterly of no consequence."
"Here is Dr. McClurg," said Rand. "I will wait yonder to hear that
confirmed."
He walked to the river-bank and stood, as Cary had stood a little
earlier, gazing over the falls and eddies and fairy islands to the blue
woods on the farther shore. Under the oak which he had left, the doctor
looked and handled, with a pursed lip, a keen eye, and a final "Humph!"
of relief. "High and clean through and just a little splintered. You'll
wear your arm in a sling for a while, Mr. Cary! Mr. Fairfax Cary, you're
too white by half! There's a brandy flask in yonder case. Mr. Jones, the
wound is slight."
"Why, that's good hearing!" cried Skelton Jones. "Mr. Cary must return
to town in the coach, with Mr. Fairfax Cary and with you, Doctor. Mr.
Rand and I will take the chaise. My profound regard, and my compliments,
Mr. Cary! Mr. Fairfax Cary, may I have the pleasure of acting with you
again! Doctor, good-morning. Now, Mr. Rand."
Rand turned from his contemplation of the river, advanced toward the
group beneath the oak, and bowed with formality to Cary, who, arresting
the doctor's ministrations, returned the salute in kind. The chaise,
beckoned to by Mr. Jones, came up; there was a slight and final exchange
of courtesies, and the two Republicans entered the vehicle and were
driven away.
"Give them five minutes' start, Fair," ordered Cary. "Then call the
coach; I want to get back to town for the Washington mail."
"You'll get back to town and get to bed!" stormed the other. "'Fire in
the air,' quotha! _I_ could have brought down a kite from the blue! You
might, at least, have broken a wing for him!"
"Oh, I might, I might," said the other wearily. "But I didn't. I never
liked this work of breaking wings. Now, Doctor, that is a bandage fit
for a king! Call the coach, Fair. This much of the business is over."
The chaise carrying Lewis Rand and his companion traversed with rapidity
the miles to Richmond. The road was fair, and the day bright and cool.
The meeting by the river had occupied hardly an hour; the world of the
country was yet at its morning stirring, and filled with cheerful sound.
Above the fields the sky showed steel blue; the creepers upon the
rail-fencing still displayed, here and there, five crimson fingers, and
wayside cedars patched with shadow the pale ribbon of the road. Rand
kept silence, and his late second, at first inclined to talkativeness,
soon fell under the infection and stared blankly at the fence corners. A
notorious duellist, he may have been busy with dramas of the past.
Rand's thought was for the future.
They came into Main Street and drove to Rand's office. "We'll dismiss
the chaise here," said the latter. "I have a few directions to give, and
then I'm for the post-office and the Eagle."
"I will precede you there," answered the other. "Allow me, sir, before
we part, to express the gratification I have felt in serving, to the
best of my poor abilities, a gentleman of whom the party expects so
much--"
"Rather allow me, sir, to express my gratitude--" and so on through the
stilted compliment of the day. Assurances from both sides over at last,
and the chaise discharged, the one walked briskly down the unpaved
street toward the Eagle, and the other entered quietly the bare and
business-like room from whose window, last February, he had fed the
snowbirds. The room was not vacant. Before the table, with his arms upon
it, and his head upon his arms, sat Mocket. At the sound of the closing
door he started up, stared at Rand, then fell back with a gasp of
relief, and the water in his eyes.
"Lewis? Thank the Lord!"
"It's Lewis," said the other. "My good old fellow, did you think only to
see my ghost? Well, the comedy is over."
"Lord! it's been a long hour!" breathed his associate. "What did you do
to him, Lewis?"
"He has a ball through his shoulder. It is not serious. I don't want to
talk about it, Tom." Rand spoke abruptly, and, walking to his desk, sat
down, drew a piece of paper toward him, and dipped a quill into the
ink-well. "Is Young Isham there? He is to take this note to the house,
to Mrs. Rand."
Mocket went to find Young Isham. Rand, alone in the room, wrote in his
strong, plain hand:----
JACQUELINE:--We met an hour ago. He is slightly wounded--through
the shoulder. I tell you truth, it is in no wise dangerous. I am
unhurt.
The hand travelling across the sheet of paper paused, and Rand sat for a
moment motionless, looking straight before him; then, with an indrawn
breath, he dipped the quill again into the ink and wrote on,----
He fired into the air.
Thine, Lewis.
He sanded the paper, folded and sealed it, sat for a moment longer,
leaning back in his heavy chair, then rose and himself gave the missive
to Young Isham, with orders to make no tarrying between the office and
the house on Shockoe Hill. Rand's slaves had for him a dog-like
affection combined with a dog-like fear of his eye in anger. The boy
went at once, and the master returned to the waiting Tom. "The
Washington stage is in," he said. "I am going now to the Eagle, and you
had best come with me. Then back here, and to work! Where is that man
from the Bienville at Norfolk?"
"He's waiting at the Indian Queen. I can get him here in ten minutes.
This morning's Argus says that the Bienville of New Orleans sails on
Saturday--valuable cargo and no passengers."
"Ah," said Rand; "the Argus's eyes are heavy."
"A half-breed hunter was here this morning. He says that, ten days ago,
crossing the Endless Mountains with his face to the east, he met the
great hunter they call Golden-Tongue walking very fast, with his face to
the west. Learning that he was on his way to Richmond, Golden-Tongue
gave him this to be delivered in silence to you." Mocket took from the
table a feather and held it out to the other.
"A blackbird feather," exclaimed Rand, turning it over in his hand.
"That would mean--that would mean--'It is the fall of the leaf. The bird
has flown south. Follow all the migratory tribe! follow while the air is
yet open to you, or stay behind with the sick and the old and the faint
of heart and the fighters against instinct! Winter comes. It is time to
make haste.'" He laid the feather down with a smile. "That's Adam. Well,
Adam, we will see how swift the Bienville can fly! I may yet be first at
New Orleans. Wilkinson and I to welcome Burr and all the motley in his
river-boats with a salvo from the city already ours. Ha! that's a
silvery dream, Tom, and an eagle's pinion for Adam's blackbird quill!"
He laughed and took up his hat. "Let's down the street first, and then
you may find the man from the Bienville. There's a long day's work
before us, and to-night"--He drew a quick breath. "To-night I have a
task that is not slight. Come away! It's striking twelve."
The two closed the office and went out into the sunny street. "Where are
all the people?" exclaimed Mocket. "It's as still as Sunday."
A boy at a shop door, hearing the remark, raised a piping voice.
"Everybody's down at the Eagle and the post-office, sir. I heard them
say there's big news. Maybe the President's dead!"
The distance to the Eagle was but short. Rand walked so rapidly that his
companion had difficulty to keep beside him, and walked in silence,
cutting short every attempt of Tom's to speak. They came within sight of
the tavern. The long lower porch seemed crowded, the street in front
filled with people. There were horsemen, a coach and a chaise or two, a
rapid shifting of brown, green, blue, and plum-coloured coats, a gleam
here and there of a woman's dress. A bugle sounded, and there issued
from Governor Street first a roll of drums and a shouted order, and then
a company in blue and white with tall, nodding plumes.
"There are the Blues!" cried Tom. "My land! What is the fuss about?"
They were now upon the edge of the throng, which suddenly fell from
excited talking to a breathless attention. A tall man of commanding
presence and ringing voice had mounted a chair, set at the top of the
steps to the Eagle porch, and unfolded a paper. Rand touched upon the
shoulder the man before him. "Mr. Ritchie, I have just come in from the
country, and have heard nothing. What, sir, is the matter?"
"Treason, sir!" answered the editor of the Enquirer. "Treason. An
attempt to disrupt the Republic! A blow in the face of Washington and
Henry and Franklin, of the sacred dead and the patriot living! The lie
direct to the Constitution! Apollyon stretching himself, sir; but, by
gad! Apollyon foiled! Listen, and you will hear. Foushee's reading the
Proclamation for the second time."
"Ah," said Rand, in a curious voice. "A Proclamation. From--"
"From the President. Evil hasn't prospered, and though we can't hang
Apollyon, we can hang Aaron Burr. Listen now."
The reader's voice was sonorous, and his text came fully to all the
crowd in the Richmond street.
"Whereas information has been received that sundry persons,
citizens of the United States or resident within the same, are
conspiring and confederating together to begin and set on foot,
provide and prepare, the means of a military expedition or
enterprise against the Dominions of Spain, against which nation war
has not been declared by the constitutional authorities of the
United States; that for this purpose they are fitting out and
arming vessels in the western waters of the United States,
collecting provisions, arms, military stores, and other means; are
deceiving and seducing honest men and well-meaning citizens under
various pretences to engage in their criminal enterprises; are
organising, officering, and arming themselves for the same,
contrary to the laws in such cases made and provided,--I have
therefore thought it fit to issue this my proclamation, warning and
enjoining all faithful citizens who have been led to participate in
the said unlawful enterprise without due knowledge or consideration
to withdraw from the same without delay, and commanding all persons
whatsoever engaged or concerned in the same to cease all farther
proceedings therein as they will answer the contrary at their
peril, and will incur prosecution with all the rigours of the law.
And I hereby enjoin and require all officers, civil or military, of
the United States, or of any of the States or Territories, and
especially all Governors, and other executive authorities, all
judges, justices, and other officers of the peace, all military
officers of the militia, to be vigilant, each within his respective
department and according to his functions, in searching out and
bringing to condign punishment all persons engaged or concerned in
such enterprise, and in seizing and detaining, subject to the
disposition of the law, all vessels, arms, military stores, or
other means provided or providing for the same, and in general
preventing the carrying on such expedition or enterprise by all the
lawful means within their power. And I require all good and
faithful citizens and others within the United States to be aiding
and assisting herein, and especially in the discovery,
apprehension, and bringing to justice of all such offenders, and
the giving information against them to the proper authorities.
"In testimony whereof I have caused the seal of the United States
to be affixed to these presents, and have signed the same with my
hand. Given at the City of Washington on the twenty-seventh day of
November, 1806, and of the sovereignty and Independence of the
United States the thirty-first.
"THOMAS JEFFERSON."
"That isn't all," said Mr. Ritchie in Rand's ear. "The plot was not only
against Spain--it looked to the separation of the West from the East,
with the Alleghanies for the wall between. General Wilkinson is the
hero. It seems that Burr thought to implicate him and secure the army.
Wilkinson sent Burr's letters in cipher to the President. The Government
has had knowledge from various sources, and while he was thought to be
dozing last summer, Mr. Jefferson was as wide awake as you or I. The
militia are out in Wood County, and Burr will be taken somewhere upon
the Ohio. Wilkinson has put New Orleans under martial law. Informer or
no, he's now more loyal than loyalty itself. The Bienville is to be
searched at Norfolk for a consignment of arms. They say Eaton's
implicated, and Alston, Bollman, Swartwout, and this man Blennerhassett.
Truxtun's name is mentioned, and it's said that Decatur was applied to.
Andrew Jackson, too, has been friendly with Burr. Well, we'll see what
we will see! Treason and traitor are ugly words, Mr. Rand."
"They are so considered, Mr. Ritchie," said Rand, with calmness. "Thanks
for your courtesy, and good-morning!"
He bowed and made his way, not unaccosted, through the crowd to the
Eagle porch. There was much excitement. The Governor was speaking from
the head of the steps. Below him planters, merchants, lawyers, and
politicians were now listening eagerly, now commenting sotto voce, while
beyond them the nondescript population swayed and exclaimed. To one side
were massed the tall plumes of the Blues. Rand saw, near these, Fairfax
Cary's handsome face, not pale as it had been between nine and ten
o'clock, but alert, flushed, and--or so Rand interpreted its light and
energy--triumphant. He went on into the house, ordered and drank a small
quantity of brandy, and when he came back upon the porch was met by
those near him with a cry of "Speech! Speech!" The Governor's periods
were at an end, and John Randolph of Roanoke held the impromptu tribune.
Rand's eloquence, if not as impassioned and mordant, was as
overwhelming, and his reasoning of a closer texture. Those around him
loudly claimed him for the next to address the crowd, which now numbered
a great part of the free men of Richmond. He shook off the detaining
hands and, with a gesture of refusal to one and all, made his escape by
a side step into the miscellany of the street, and finally out of the
throng, and, by a détour, back to the deserted square where stood his
office. He had lost sight of Mocket, but as he put his key into the
door, the other came panting up, and the two entered the bare,
sunshine-flooded room together. Rand locked the door and, without a look
at his trembling subaltern, proceeded to take from his desk paper after
paper, some in neatly tied packets, some in single sheets, until a crisp
white heap lay on the wood beneath his hand. "Light a fire," he said
over his shoulder. "There's absolutely nothing, is there, in that desk
of yours?"
"Nothing. For the Lord's sake, Lewis, is this the end of everything?"
"Everything is a large word. It is the end of this." He pushed a table
closer to the fireplace and transferred to it his armful of papers.
"Strike a light, will you? Here goes every line that can incriminate. If
Burr did as he was told, and burned two letters of mine, there'll not be
a word when I finish here." He tore a paper across and tossed it into
the flame. "Tom, Tom, don't look so woe-begone! Life is long, and now
and then a battle will be lost. A battle--a campaign, a war! But given
the fighter, all wars will not be lost. Somewhere, there awaits Victory,
hard-won, but laurel-crowned!" He tore and burned another paper. "This
fat's in the fire, this chance has gone by, this road's barricaded, and
we must across country to another! Well, I shall make it serve, the
smooth, green, country road that jog-trots to market! What is man but a
Mercenary, a Swiss, to die before whatever door will give him moderate
pay? I would have had a kingdom an I could. I would have ruled, ay, by
God, and ruled well! The great wheel will not have it so. Down, then,
that action! and up this. The King is dead: long live the King!--alias
the Law, Respectability, Virginia, and the Union!" He tossed in a double
handful.
"All those!" said Tom dully. "I hate to see them burn."
"They might have burned this morning," answered the other. "I gave you
orders to burn them if I fell, the moment you heard it."
"But you did not fall."
"No. He fired into the air." Rand tore the paper in his hand across and
across. "He had me in his trap. That was why--that was why he spared to
fire! Oh, I could take this check from the hand of Fortune, or the hand
of Malice, or the hand of Treachery, or the hand of Policy, but,
but"--he crushed the torn paper in his hands, then flung it from him
with a violent and sinister gesture--"to take it from the hand of
Ludwell Cary--that requires more than my philosophy is prepared to give!
Let him look to himself!" He thrust in another bundle, and held down
with an ashen stick the mass of curling leaves.