The Whiskey Rebel

by David Liss

  “But what of Pearson? Have you not ruined him for more purchases?” I asked.

  “Not at all. He is like the drunkard who must have more wine. He has a taste of victory, and he will not let a little loss affect him. Indeed, he does not even know yet that he has lost. I believe I can extract another fifty or sixty thousand dollars of losses from him before he begins to grow suspicious, and by then it will be too late.”

  While Duer delighted in his deception, I plotted mine. Duer now trusted me entirely, and soon it would be time for me to lead him to his own destruction.

  After the phenomenal success of the initial opening of the Bank of the United States and the wild trade in scrip, a number of other banks began to make preparations to launch, and though they had no real means of sustaining themselves, they hoped that public enthusiasm for new banks would prop up what would be otherwise empty ventures and sustain operations until the banks could become self-sufficient.

  The most unlikely of these ventures was something called the Million Bank, as much a political as an economic scheme launched by Hamilton ’s old political enemy Melancton Smith, with the aid of New York governor George Clinton, a fellow Hamilton-hater. I would never find a bank launched for worse reasons by more inept men. Anyone involved would be likely to incur Hamilton ’s anger, and I knew at once it was just the thing I required.

  I saw Pearson as the perfect vehicle to lead Duer to the Million Bank, but I was not entirely certain how to convince him of my idea without incurring his suspicion, or perhaps his scorn. I therefore decided I would need to be more intimate with his family and arranged on several occasions to be introduced to Mrs. Pearson. I had anticipated a dour creature, someone cold either from a cruelty compatible with her husband’s or a weakness that made her subject to it, but it turned out that Mrs. Pearson was a pretty woman, with fair hair and blue eyes, lively and full of wit and good humor. Yes, there was an unmistakable sense of sadness in her. Given the nature of her husband, I could hardly be surprised.

  Mrs. Pearson soon became my particular friend, and I enjoyed the times I spent with her. It had been a long time indeed since I’d had a close friendship with another woman, and Cynthia was for me the perfect companion: warm and intelligent, but streaked with a melancholy and cynicism that left her with no patience for the empty platitudes that pass for conversation in polite society. She had never known the hardship of the West, but she had known her own sort of hardship and seemed like a sister to me. Yet I lamented the connection, for while we grew ever more attached, I was searching for an opportunity to destroy her husband-an action that must also destroy her.

  One afternoon, while we drank tea in her parlor, I observed that Mr. Pearson was at home, and I had the distinct impression that he was listening to our conversation. I pushed the talk toward private matters, in particular the happiness I had known with my late husband. “Is it not a wonderful thing,” I said, “to have a husband with whom you can enjoy so much likeness of mind? Above all things, it is necessary to contentment that one’s spouse be agreeable.”

  At once Cynthia’s face clouded over and I heard a creak upon the floorboards of the adjoining room. Pearson crept closer, hoping to hear her response.

  “I am sorry you lost your husband,” said Mrs. Pearson. “It sounds as though there were never two more compatible people.”

  I had long since sensed that she and her husband were far from companionable, and so I did not press the issue. I had what I wanted-Pearson’s secret attention-and I meant to press the attack.

  “I wish I could understand other men as well as I understood my husband,” I said to Mrs. Pearson. “It is on that score I wished your advice. You know I am friends with Mr. Duer?”

  “The world knows it,” she said, her words containing more than what was spoken, though I know not what else. I flattered myself it was no more than curiosity.

  I put my hand to my mouth. “I hope no one suggests anything improper.”

  She shook her head. “One need only look upon the two of you. He regards you more like a daughter, I believe, than anything else.”

  “I am glad to hear you say so. He is a clever man, and I have learned a great deal from him, but he is, I am afraid, rather dismissive of some of my ideas. You say he treats me like a daughter, but sometimes he treats me like a child. I wish to present a proposal to him, one I believe could make him a great deal of money, but I must suggest it in just the right way, lest he dismiss it out of hand.”

  Mrs. Pearson began to offer up much sage advice on soothing male pride, but I only pretended to listen. My heart beat hard in my chest. I could only hope this scheme would work, because if it did not, I would have to take a much more direct approach, and the more Pearson believed the idea his and not mine, the greater my chance of success.

  All this concern was for nothing. As I left the house, Pearson came after me, not precisely racing but walking in his slow, methodical, stiff manner. His chin was raised, his eyes heavy and vaguely sleepy. He clearly wished to appear seductive. In that moment, I hated him more than I hated Duer or Hamilton.

  “You will forgive me, madam,” he said, “but inadvertently I overheard what you said to my wife. It is true that Duer may not take your proposal seriously, but you may be assured he will take it seriously from me. He has learned to trust me.”

  “Indeed he has,” I said.

  He placed one of his large hands on my elbow, perhaps because he had seen Duer touch me thus. I hated when Duer touched me, and yet I did not fear him the way I feared Pearson. Duer was merely a vile self-centered villain. Pearson, I was beginning to understand, was a beast.

  “You must tell me what you have in mind,” he said, “and if I like it, I shall present the idea to Duer. If he wishes to implement it, we shall tell him whose idea it was.”

  “Why, that is generous of you,” I said, offering him my most gracious smile. “Shall we return to the house and discuss it?”

  “By all means.”

  I looked up and there, at the window, was Mrs. Pearson peering down at us with concern in her eyes. At first I thought she suspected I had some evil design upon her husband, but then our eyes met, and I realized her concern was for me.

  In my madness to destroy Duer and Hamilton, in my hatred for Pearson, I had refused to think of Mrs. Pearson, that lovely, intelligent, and oppressed creature. I had refused to consider her children. They too would be destroyed with Pearson; when Duer and Hamilton and the rest came undone, the innocents would be undone with them.

  I had come much too far to turn away on such an account. I could not refuse to fight a war because there might be innocents harmed. Innocents were harmed during the Revolution, and no one would say the war was not worth fighting. Even so, at that moment I took a silent vow. I would break Hamilton and Duer, yes, and it was now a foregone conclusion that Pearson would be dashed upon the rocks as well, but I would protect Mrs. Pearson and her children from the worst of it. God help me, I would not become what I despised.

  Ethan Saunders

  A new morning met me in New York. Leonidas and I breakfasted together, and I informed him we would waste no time in pressing forward. To that end, I said we would spend the day-unless something of greater interest revealed itself-in the Merchants’ Coffeehouse, which I knew from my time living in this city to be the financial center of New York. At the corner of Wall and Water streets, the Merchants’ was a handsome structure in the New York style, bold on the outside, spacious within. The taproom of this establishment was commodious and comfortable, with several fireplaces and a surplus of candles to keep the place well lit. It was filled by a wide variety of gentleman, most of whom appeared to me to be too old and too fat to warrant much respect.

  Leonidas garnered a few curious looks from those uncomfortable with the notion of socializing with Negroes, and he suggested he return to our rooms. I would not let him go. “I need to have someone to speak to. I do better thinking when I can speak my ideas aloud.”

  “Then
you may hire a whore to sit and talk with you, if it is all the same.”

  “Don’t be so sensitive. You are like a jilted lover. In any event, you must know by now that you are more than a person with whom I can engage in dialogue. You are proving to be a very capable spy yourself, Leonidas.”

  He appeared pleased with my saying it. “But what of the looks? The traders don’t like a Negro here.”

  “Even stronger than their dislike is their greed and indifference. If there were one of those instructional books, an Every Man His Own Spy or something of that nature, one of the chapters would certainly instruct you to act, everywhere you go, as if you belong there. That, more than anything else, will keep you safe. Now, let us see what sort of trouble we can cause. You there.” I grabbed a passing trader. “Is it true that the Million Bank launches next week?”

  He snorted. “Yes, but what of it? The Million Bank is a sham, a scheme rooted in political mischief and greed. No one but a fool will waste his money upon it.”

  I affected a look of surprise “Are you certain? I know for a fact that Duer means to invest heavily. Can the great Duer be mistaken?”

  Something changed upon the man’s face. “You are certain of that?”

  “From the man’s lips himself,” I said.

  “Then for God’s sake, tell no one else,” he said, and hurried off.

  “There will always be a storm,” I told Leonidas. “You may be rained upon or cause the rain yourself. I very much prefer the latter.”

  “What do you imagine he prefers?” Leonidas asked, pointing to a table across the room.

  Drinking coffee, with an expression of utter seriousness, was my old friend Kyler Lavien.

  He was alone at his table, so Leonidas and I sat down to join him. “Good afternoon, Leonidas, Captain Saunders. What are you doing here?”

  “You know what I’m doing here,” I said. “I’m looking for Pearson.”

  He smiled. “I understand that you have good reason to do so, and he has good reason to fear your finding him, but that doesn’t explain why you went out to Greenwich to see Duer.”

  “You know about that?”

  He leaned forward. “I know about everything, at least in the end. I want you to stay away from Duer.”

  “Duer is my best chance of finding Pearson. There is something improper in their dealings, but they do business together somehow, and, at least for Pearson, it is a desperate business. If I stir things up for Duer sufficiently, Pearson will emerge.”

  “If I can find out anything about where Pearson is, I shall tell you.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said, “but I trust you won’t mind if I continue to look on my own.”

  “As it happens, I do mind. There are things in play now-delicate things. I cannot risk your acting on your own.”

  “Then bring me in,” I said. “Tell me what you do.”

  “I have not permission for that. You of all men must understand that I am in a difficult position. Were it in my power to trust you, I would. But I must act alone, and you must stay away from anything involving the Million Bank, stay away from anything involving the Bank of the United States, and stay away from Duer.” He rose. “You and I have been friends, Saunders, but do not test me on this. You know what I am capable of. Good day.”

  Leonidas watched him leave. “He is unhappy.”

  “Rather unkind of him to take out his frustration on us, don’t you think?” I signaled the boy to place our orders, but he did not come over. Instead, an older man in a very dirty apron manifested himself and came to our table. “Are you named Saunders?” he asked.

  Leonidas stiffened considerably in his chair. I don’t know what he made ready for, but I suppose after ten years in my service he knew that any time a stranger recognized me, it might well mean trouble.

  I told the man I was indeed who he thought, but there was nothing threatening in him. He was, in fact, naught but smiles. “Very good, sir. I’m meant to inform you that your orders, sir, for drinks only-spirituous drinks, you understand-are to be paid for at no charge to you. May I send you a bottle of our best claret, sir?”

  “Yes, that would be very good. Better make it two,” I said.

  “Ah, very good, sir. Your wine shall be with you anon.” He bowed and retreated backward for a few steps, as though afraid I might attack him if he turned away.

  “Duer means to keep you drunk,” Leonidas said.

  “Obviously.”

  “He is clearly afraid of the damage you might do to him.”

  “Certainly.”

  “And what shall you do about it?”

  “Drink his wine and then do the damage.”

  T o the accompaniment of some very good wine indeed, we spent several hours watching small trades transpire about us. At 3 P.M. there was a mass exodus into one of the Merchants’ long rooms, where an auction in government securities was conducted by a man named John Pintard. It was a raucous and loud affair, and things happened far too quickly for me to understand who sold and who bought. Duer did not himself attend, but I noticed the unusually tall Isaac Whippo standing toward the back of the room, carefully observing each transaction.

  After this, we retired back to the taproom, as did many of the speculators. The auction seemed to be only the most orderly and organized of the day’s activities, for the real trading took place afterward in comfort and semiprivacy.

  Whippo left after the auction, which I considered to my advantage. I did not want him around to see me work my business. It had been of some value to sit and watch, to listen to men talk. It was an even greater advantage to invite them to talk with me, using the excellent free wine as an incentive. I decided it would be wrong of me, very wrong, not to use Duer’s assault upon my perceived weakness against him, and I spread it about that I was willing to share my bounty with any man willing to share information about Duer. No one precisely lined up, but as soon as one man left my table, another was willing to take his place. I listened to what each had to say and would ask the occasional question about Pearson, though this yielded little fruit. Some knew who he was and had seen him in New York, though not recently. Some asserted he worked with Duer, but none could say to what end or in what capacity.

  I did hear a great deal about Duer, though, much of it contradictory. The Million Bank was indeed upon everyone’s lips, and while most men had absorbed the message Duer wished them to receive-that this project was a fiscal disaster in the making-I was also pleased to hear repeated back to me the very rumor I had spread that morning: that the Million Bank was poised to be a major enterprise, and that Duer himself had invested heavily.

  I had been at my project almost two hours, and growing weary of it, when a shadow crossed over my table and a vaguely familiar voice greeted me. The man himself was uncompelling in stature, losing his hair precipitously, and dressed finely in a new suit of light blue material. It took a moment, but then I recognized him, for I’d met him at the Bingham house. This was the new senator from New York, Colonel Aaron Burr.

  “I’d hoped to make your acquaintance once again,” he said, and sat without waiting to be invited.

  I presented Leonidas to him, who nodded and spoke a few pleasant and forgettable words, as was his habit when I treated him as an equal. Burr looked at the bottle of wine, having clearly heard rumor of my bottomless supply. I called for a fresh glass and a fresh bottle.

  With wine in hand, he appeared ever more relaxed. “What brings you to New York, Saunders? I hear you have been making inquiries of Duer. Are you making inquiries for Hamilton?”

  “I’m merely curious,” I said.

  He knew an obfuscation when he heard one, and I had no doubt he had issued more than his share. “Then you are not upon Treasury Department business?”

  “I am upon personal business,” I said, as though this were but more casual conversation. “Tell me, have you seen Jacob Pearson here in New York?”

  “I have seen him in New York, but not recently. Are you hoping to
create a reunion of our little circle from the Bingham house?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the two of us, Pearson, and that delightful Mrs. Maycott.”

  This was interesting. “She is in New York?”

  “Oh, yes, she has rooms in a boardinghouse on Wall Street. You must be careful, though. A rich widow is always an attractive target, but her Irishman doesn’t let any suitors too close.”

  It was tempting to jump to conclusions, but I could not know that this was the same Irishman I’d met outside the Statehouse. New York was more full of Irishmen than Ireland. “Have you met this guardian?”

  “Oh yes. Very imposing fellow. Not young, but tall, hairless as an egg, and smelling of whiskey. I would not recommend crossing him.”

  The charming and beautiful Mrs. Maycott, who claimed to be my best friend in this affair, was in league with the bald and giant Irishman from the Statehouse. This was disturbing news indeed.

  “As for Pearson,” he continued, “that is a more difficult matter. They say he is hiding from the Treasury Department, though no one knows precisely why. I suppose that is why Freneau is passing his time here in New York. He must wish to find Pearson as well as you, though I imagine for different reasons.”

  “Philip Freneau?” said Leonidas. “ Jefferson ’s newspaper man? What has he to do with all of this?”

  “I don’t know,” said Burr, “but if you wish to know, I can think of no better method of discovering the truth than asking him. He is sitting across the room.”

  Fortunately, he had the good sense to do no more than gesture with his head. I looked over, and there indeed was a gentleman I recognized. I could not disguise my astonishment. I knew the man’s name and I knew his face, but I had never before associated the one with the other. It was the frog-faced man whom I had seen watching me all over Philadelphia. He sat behind a pillar so he was mostly obscured, and he was looking away at the moment, but every few minutes he glanced in my direction. He took a lazy note on a piece of foolscap. The man who had appeared everywhere I went was Jefferson ’s newspaper man.