Death of a President

It was the best of times. The last war had ended a generation earlier, and a European war had just been avoided. Prosperity was visible. There were new medicines for frightening diseases. As snow blanketed the Virginia countryside, the young nation's future seemed bright. It was the last month of the century: December 1799. But on a frigid afternoon, three physicians, gathered around a dying man, were not so optimistic. The man's wife looked on as he gasped for air, constantly shifting position. His aide lay on the bed beside him, repositioning him, propping up his exhausted frame. Christopher Sheels, . . .