The Whiskey Rebel

Lavien’s words were punctuated by the sound of shattering glass. A rock flew into a window in a room above us, then another to our left, and then in the room we currently occupied. We could now hear clearly the cries of the crowd. “Bring us Duer! Our money or his head!” Several angry men waved muskets. One held a blazing torch.

“Christ,” I said. “They could burn the building down.”

“We’ve got to get him someplace safe,” Lavien said.

“Where?”

“There’s only one place,” Duer said. “I’ve known it all morning, but I would not say it to myself until this threat of violence. I ca

And so we did. We ushered him out of the house and drove him south to the City Jail on Murray Street, which also acted as the city’s debtor’s prison. During the stretch of the journey we were followed by an angry mob, which called after us with withering insults. Duer sat tight-lipped, his eyes clenched almost shut as, I could only imagine, images of his failed aspirations paraded before him. We were strange pied pipers, for as our coach progressed, it drew larger and larger crowds, and when we reached the prison, I feared we must be arrested for orchestrating a riot.

Duer’s crossing the threshold of the City Jail seemed to act as some sort of signal-his ruin was complete so no restraint was now required. Men rushed into the Two Friendly Brothers’ tavern across the way to fortify their indignation with strong drink. Accordingly, food began to fly in our direction: eggs and apples and oranges, oyster shells, and old hard rolls. Lavien and I made it inside the jail without much harm, but Duer was struck in the forehead with an old egg. The sulfurous yolk, rotten and reeking, trickled down his face, but as we led him inside the stone edifice, he did not bother to wipe it away.

O utside the prison, stones and dead animals and fruit continued to strike the walls, a dull ca

“I shall pay them back,” he said. “Every last one I shall pay back.”

“With what money?” Lavien asked.

“I shall pay them back,” Duer said.

I rubbed my face, rough with beard stubble. “Yes, yes, when the money fairies visit you in the night and dust your bed with banknotes, you will pay them back. I understand. But what will happen to the markets now that your ruin is under way?”

He stared at me as though slapped. I don’t believe he had fully accepted the truth, even though he had been struck in the face with a rotten egg, even though he sat at that moment in City Jail, vowing to pay his creditors. Until I said the word, I do not believe he fully understood that this was not merely an unseemly diversion on the road to triumph. This was, indeed, the road’s end.

Duer looked at me. “I told you if you ruined me, you would ruin the country. Did I not say so? Go now to Merchants’ Coffeehouse, and what shall you see? Men scrambling to sell their bank scrip and government issues. The prices shall plummet, and as I am made to sell off my holdings, six percents will plummet too. You men have ruined me, but not only me. You have ruined all of us.”

“There it is,” Lavien said. “This is what they wanted from the begi

“To stop what?”

“The collapse of our economic system,” Lavien said.

“Everything but four percents,” said Duer, who appeared to be relieved of his misery for a moment in order to lecture us on money things. “They’ve been undervalued, and I believe the collapse of six percents will revive them.”

“Is that enough to keep the markets from collapsing?” I asked.

“No. Oh, the irony of it. I had thought to ruin men like Pearson by having them gorge themselves on four percents, but if he now sells at the right moment, he shall be rich and I shall be pe

I hoped, for Cynthia’s sake, Pearson would know that right moment, but we could wait to hear no more. We were out the door and pushing our way through the angry crowds. They had no knowledge of who we were and how or if we were co

There was no time to return to Greenwich for our horses, so we found the public stables and, using Hamilton’s credit, gained access to the best horses we could find. From there we made our way to the ferry and waited to make the interminable passage to the New Jersey side.

We sat astride our horses on the flat ferry, listening to the waves of the river lap at the sides. While icy winds blasted us, Lavien looked at me. “You have never been comfortable doing precisely what I say. Not without argument or debate.”

“Still, you have a certain regard for me.”

“I hope you prove it merited. We have been watched and followed all day-to Duer’s mansion, to the stables, to the ferry. There are at least three of them, and by their rough look I believe them whiskey men. They did not take the ferry with us, which is too bad, for I should have knocked them into the river and been done with it. They will find another boat across, however. Are you prepared for violence?”

“Certainly. Just as long as it is not visited upon me.”

He nodded grimly. “You will have to do as I say. It is no longer a question of strategy. I believe it is one of survival-ours and the nation’s. Above all else you must keep that in mind. This is as important as any intelligence you ran in the war. If we do not reach Hamilton before the news, I ca

We came off the ferry, riding hard under a sky hooded with gray clouds foretelling not snow or rain but merely a kind of gloom. The road was free of ice, and I thought we started well. I was mistaken, for we had not gone more than five or six miles before we heard the sound of men behind us. Three of them, bent over, spurring their horses to catch us.

“Whiskey men,” I shouted, but it was not necessary. Lavien must have recognized them, for he already had taken a primed pistol from his pocket; now he turned and fired off a shot, all done seemingly without thought or exertion. It could not be, I thought, that such a shot could find its target, but one of the men threw up his hands-I know not if in pain or from the impact-and fell from his horse.

I took out my primed pistol and fired too. I was never much of a shot from a moving horse, and aiming behind rather than forward made matters even more difficult, but I was determined to fire true. I turned to glance at the riders to see who would make the better target. There were two men, one far taller than the other, and it was then that I recognized him. The taller one was Duer’s man, Isaac Whippo. I aimed at him rather than the other, purely out of irritation, but the shot went wide. Distant as he was, I saw him glower at me cadaverously.