The Whiskey Rebels

by David Liss

  “And a man of the government must sometimes discover them.” Lavien rose from his chair, and I did the same. In the hall, I observed Whippo as he came out of a room, a pair of heavy books tucked under his arm. He stopped and looked at me, and I thought he should say something accusing. Instead he shook his head, as though with a recollected amusement, and laughed softly. “Pudendum,” he said. “Very witty.”

  As we rode back to the tavern, Lavien sat in silent contemplation. I did not think he was withholding anything from me. As we rolled past the dark countryside between Greenwich Village and New York City, and he stared into the darkness, I honestly believed he forgot I was beside him. He might even have forgotten that he himself was there. Perhaps he was back in some dank Surinam jungle.

  “It is still our plan to return to Philadelphia?” I ventured at last.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice thick.

  I thought of Cynthia Pearson, whom I would soon see. “So, our work is done here?”

  “It would seem so. Duer is acquiring both bank stock and government securities. He is interested in hoarding, not trading what he has for quick profit. That is why he is willing to borrow money at such exorbitant interest rates.”

  “But he will have to pay the interest, and even if he makes a fortune in his venture, he will have a hard time making enough to cover his loans.”

  “It is more complicated. The bank issues that are in circulation are not yet fully paid for. They are bought in several payments, and those payments have not yet come due. The bank will accept specie for some payments, but it will only accept six percent government securities for others. Do you understand now?”

  “Duer will control government securities, which bank scrip holders need to make their payments, and because they will be off the market, the prices of six percents will soar while bank scrip values plummet. Duer will then sell off a small portion of the six percents so he can raise enough money to buy a controlling interest in bank scrip, which will now be cheap since holders can’t get six percents to pay them off. And in that way, he means to gain control of the Bank of the United States.”

  “Yes,” said Lavien. “That is why we are going back to Philadelphia. We have, I believe, discovered the nature of the threat against the Bank of the United States. We know its author and his means. We now need only to discover how to stop it.”

  Joan Maycott

  January 1792

  There are signs, irrefutable signs, that a moment in history is coming to a head. I was not aware that I knew to look for these signs, and yet, when one manifested, there could be no mistaking them. And so, when I was awakened in the darkest black of night by my landlady’s very agitated serving girl, who moaned, rather than said, that a man was below to visit me, I understood at once that events had accelerated. I had passed through a threshold from one era to another.

  I dressed quickly and allowed the girl to lead me down the darkened staircase to the parlor, where candles had been lit hastily and where the fire from the evening before burned low. For all the girl’s rushed attention, the room was still thick with shadow, not at all the sort of place a widow ought to sit alone with a late-night caller. She seemed to know it, and once she showed me in, she lurked behind me, unwilling to leave me unless asked to do so. I, too, was not certain I wished to be left with my caller, but I had no choice and sent the girl away.

  Pacing before the low fire, looking drunk and unkempt, was Mr. Pearson. His cravat was loose, his shirt torn and stained with wine, and the right sleeve of his jacket was tattered as though it had been caught in some brutal machine that had mysteriously spared his hand.

  I could not pretend to be surprised to see him so. This was the day of the Million Bank launch, and all had gone far better than I could have imagined. I’d known of Ethan Saunders’s plans to sabotage Duer’s efforts to gain control of the bank and had done all I could to make certain he would succeed. Pearson, in his jealousy and cruelty, had almost destroyed those plans, but fate and good fortune had turned Reynolds, that brute, into my ally.

  I now approached Pearson and thought to hold out my hands, but I could not summon the energy to pretend to care for him. In his state, I doubted he would notice. “Sir, this visit is most unexpected. I hope nothing terrible has happened.”

  “The Million Bank was a disaster,” Pearson said.

  “I could not have known,” I told him. “I proposed it because I thought it would subscribe. No one could know how much it would oversubscribe.”

  “I did not invest,” he said.

  I could not help myself. I clapped my hands together. “Oh, thank the Lord!”

  His eyes glistened with moisture, for he mistook my concern for his wife as something meant for him. “We’ve all been foolish. We’ve all arrogantly believed that our cleverness elevated us above the madness of the markets, which no intellect can ever truly predict.”

  “I have tried to advise you the best I can, but I am relieved you had the foresight to avoid the Million Bank, even if the rest of us did not.”

  “It wasn’t foresight,” he said, rather bitterly. “It was Ethan Saunders. He warned me off, even while I—I was unkind to him. He gave me good advice for my wife’s sake.”

  “I hope you will recall my advice regarding the four percents,” I said.

  He smiled somewhat bashfully, as though embarrassed to speak on this point. “Already the price has begun to rise. In this matter you were surely correct. But as for Duer, I think we all misjudged him. You see it too, I think. He is about to topple. No one has ever been so overextended as he, because he’d been counting on taking the Million Bank. Now I don’t see how he can survive.”

  “I cannot say.” I wanted to choose my words carefully. I did not wish to make myself sound more prescient than I ought to be, nor did I wish to expose my lack of loyalty to Duer. “He has a great many resources, and he is clever. But the failure of his Million Bank plan is a serious blow, and I believe things may have now entered the realm of uncertainty.”

  “The only reason I am not now hounded by creditors is because Duer vouches for me. Once Duer falls, I will not be far behind. Given his failure today, it may already be too late for me. I must retreat.”

  “To where?”

  “I have a house off the King’s Highway between here and Philadelphia. In Brighton.”

  “I’d heard you sold it.”

  He smiled. “It is what I meant people to hear.”

  “How long do you intend to stay there?”

  “Until Duer falls,” he said, “or until he recovers unequivocally and can vouch for me or, better yet, pay me what he owes.”

  I smiled at him—brightly, I hope—for I was thinking of how events might fall, and a safe haven on the Philadelphia road seemed to me just the thing I needed. “Would you object if I were to visit you there?”

  He bowed. “I shall never object to your company.”

  I chose not to tell him I was inclined to bring friends, nor that my friends were rough men from the frontier. Best to leave that out for now. When he stood facing Mr. Dalton, I had no doubt Pearson would keep any objections he might have to himself.

  Ethan Saunders

  We rode the express coach, but it took us nearly four days to return to Philadelphia. Three hours after crossing the ferry to New Jersey, we were struck by a malicious snowstorm that slowed our movement to a crawl. We were forced to stop for the night at the dismal town of Woodbridge, having progressed no more than thirty miles. I should like to say we fared no better the next day, but that would be presenting things in too pleasant a light. Our equipage struck a gap in the road and overturned near New Brunswick, a town even more miserable than Woodbridge. Two of our fellow travelers, both speculators, were hurt quite badly, one breaking his leg and being in serious danger of dying. The carriage was fixed by late morning of the third day and the roads were somewhat clearer, but muddy, and our progress was slow. We stopped for the night in Colestown—tantalizingly close to our destination�
��and arrived in Philadelphia early the next morning.

  Lavien rode off at once to report his findings to Hamilton. I had other business and walked from the City Tavern, where we wearily departed from our coach, to the Pearson house. I had no intention of knocking upon the door, but I wanted to see it, I wanted to get a sense from the outside that all was well within. Perhaps, I told myself, I would catch a glimpse of her at an upstairs window. Perhaps she would see me as well. Our eyes would meet and a thousand unsaid things would pass between us.

  As I approached the house, I felt the cold air pierce my greatcoat; it had the eerie chill of foreboding. There was a large cart parked outside, and a dozen or more laborers were in the process of removing furnishings. I watched as three men carried a heavy oaken writing desk.

  I rushed to them. “Hold. What happens here? Where is Mrs. Pearson?”

  One of the men turned to me. He was a burly fellow, the sort usually found down at the docks. He was no doubt glad of the work, hard to come by in the heart of winter. “Don’t rightly know, but ain’t no one living in there, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The house has been sold. We’re working for a Mr. John Becker, what’s bought it. He’s marked the furnishings he don’t want, and we’re taking them to store for the auction.”

  I took a step closer, chilled at once by a thousand possibilities, but one above all else. I should have followed Lavien’s first advice. I should have let him cut Pearson’s throat when we were in New York.

  It took a moment, but I found my voice. “When did this happen?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t tell you. We started work here this morning, but I can’t say when the house was sold.”

  I got from the man the location of his employer, and went to see this Becker, but he was of little help. He bought the house, he told me, through a broker, and while he had been in negotiations for some time, the deal had only been finished two days earlier. As for Mr. Pearson, he had no knowledge of where to find that man—or his wife.

  With no better notion of what to do, I took myself back to the City Tavern and began to question men at random if they had heard anything of Pearson. I forced myself to remain calm and easy, and merely presented my questions as though I had business with the gentleman. “I am searching for Jacob Pearson,” I said, “in order to conclude a transaction begun sometime earlier. Can anyone here direct me to him?”

  “Good luck, friend,” said one man. “He’s run from his creditors. Sold his properties in town, or else they were taken from him. Sold his house in Germantown and the one in Bristol. He’s gone for good.”

  “I hear he went to England,” said another.

  “I heard it was the West Indies,” said another, “but he killed his wife and children first.”

  “He did not kill them,” said another man. “He sold them to pirates. That’s what my footman told me, and Harry is never wrong about such things.”

  Such things? Was there a category of things that included selling one’s family to pirates? Not that I believed the tale. The rumors were ugly, but when a man flees, his fellows are always eager to believe the worst, and while I thought little was beneath Pearson, and I feared for Cynthia’s safety, this story, at least, I could dismiss. But that brought me no closer to the truth, so I called for a pen and paper and wrote at once to Colonel Burr, begging him to make inquiries for me. It seemed futile, but I could think of nothing else to do other than lament that I had let Pearson slip through my fingers. I vowed that, given the chance, I would not do so again.

  I staggered out of the City Tavern, hardly able to continue my search, not knowing where I might go. I accepted that after four days of punishing road travel, I needed my rest, so I returned to my lodgings, threw myself upon my familiar bed, and slept perhaps five hours. By the time I awoke and arranged myself, it was dark, approaching six o’clock, and though it seemed unlikely I should meet with success, I decided to try Hamilton at his office.

  The Treasury building was not locked, and Hamilton was not yet gone. He agreed to see me in short order, and I went into his office and took a seat before him. He looked tired himself, haggard and uneasy, as though he had been awake several nights in a row. Nevertheless, he forced himself to smile.

  “Apparently,” he said, “you did not heed my warning to stay away from the inquiry.”

  “Apparently.”

  He smiled again. “Mr. Lavien tells me you performed extremely well. You thwarted Duer’s efforts to take command of the Million Bank. Had he succeeded, it might have had disastrous consequences for the economy.”

  “I am glad to hear you approve.” And, strangely, I was. It is easy to hate a man we mistakenly believed wronged us, for it gives us the opportunity not to consider our own prejudices or mistakes. It was true enough that, even if I had been wrong about his sins of the past, I had reason enough to suspect him, and even so, I could not help myself; I enjoyed his praise. I knew not if I admired the man, if I wished somehow to return to a different time, or if it was Hamilton’s own proximity to Washington that excited these feelings, but they were there, regardless of their source.

  “And then,” he continued, “there is the matter of the money that you reported missing. It does indeed look like Duer took $236,000 from the Board of Treasury. It is too early to tell for certain if we can prove it, but I have my man Oliver Wolcott inquiring into it, and thus far we believe there may be cause to bring action against him.”

  “And until such a time, what shall you do?” I asked.

  “It seems that Duer and I are at odds. He is attempting to control six percent securities, and he is attempting to control bank scrip. The Million Bank was a setback, but he yet appears to have ample funds, thanks to the greedy fishmongers and milliners of New York. Nevertheless, I can make things hotter for him. I have directed the bank president to begin calling in short-term loans and restricting new ones, which should effectively shrink the entire credit market. In addition, I am dispatching my agents to every trading center in the country. I can try to thwart his plans. If he is a threat to the bank, as Mr. Lavien believes, he is a threat we can contain by freeing up six percents at a reasonable price. That will allow bank scrip investors to continue to maintain their holdings. It is a slow process, so for now we must wait.”

  I cleared my throat. “Have you heard anything of Pearson?”

  He nodded. “He has sold his house and fled town. They say he has sold his other properties out of town as well, though I cannot confirm that. I know of nothing else, but I understand your connection to this matter, and if I hear more I will let you know.”

  “Have you no suggestions?”

  He gazed upward in thought. “Perhaps you should ask your slave to inquire. There are networks of information among the Negroes that can be useful.”

  “Of course,” I said, wishing to say no more on this topic.

  “Now, Captain, I have much work to do. If you will excuse me.” He spoke suddenly in clipped tones, like a man saying one thing to avoid saying another. It put me in mind of his relationship with Reynolds, which I could not help but suspect as being the source of his ill ease.

  “Are you well, Colonel? You appear perturbed.”

  “I am overtaxed,” he said rather curtly, “and you have been dismissed.”

  I rose from my chair, strode across the room, and opened the door. Outside was dark. Most of the clerks had retired for the evening and the candles had been snuffed, but a few oil lamps burned still, and in the gloom I could see a man waiting for Hamilton’s attention. I could not at first see his face, but then he turned and I knew him at once. It was Reynolds.

  Was he here as the man who threw me into Pearson’s dungeon or the one who rescued me? I was in no mood to find out on his terms. He was just then turning to me, a foolish grin upon his face, and I swung out with my fist. I am no man of action, I have said so, but even I can throw a good punch at an unready opponent. Reynolds, however, was
apparently always ready. He reached out with his hand and caught my punch. I felt my fist slam hard into the bones of his hand, and the pain echoed up my arm to my elbow. He hardly moved.

  “That’s unkind,” he said.

  Hamilton was out of his chair and rushed over to the doorway. “What happens here?”

  “The captain here took a swing at me,” said Reynolds.

  “Captain Saunders,” Hamilton shouted, sounding less like an army officer than a Latin master, “you will leave at once!”

  My fist was still entangled in Reynolds’s meaty hand, which held on with a firm unchanging grip. I felt myself start to perspire. “This man attacked me in New York.”

  “I told ye,” he said. “It were just business. I was paid to, and so I did. And I made it right, didn’t I?”

  “Where’s Pearson now?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”

  “So you are back to working for Duer?”

  “Reynolds’s business is not your concern,” said Hamilton. To the beast he said, “Let go of his hand. Captain Saunders is now leaving.”

  “I demand to know what you do with him,” I said.

  “Who are you to demand?” Hamilton answered.

  Reynolds let go his grip. I said not another word but strode from the building, too angry to devise another option. Hamilton had secret dealings with Reynolds. I had long known that, though not why. Surely it wasn’t possible that the animosity between Hamilton and Duer was a mere illusion, meant to confuse his enemies. Hamilton had dedicated himself to government service at the expense of his personal economy. It was conceivable he would do terrible things, even destroy his own brainchild, the bank, rather than remain poor forever, but I did not believe it. Hamilton would never sacrifice the bank for anything, let alone greed. And, in any case, Leonidas had seen Hamilton pay Reynolds, not the other way around.