The Whiskey Rebel

If, however, he looked less than his best, he was certainly formal. He rose when we entered his spare-looking office-short upon decorative flourishes, but long upon filing cabinets, imposing-looking financial volumes, and writing desks filled with ledgers and charts. As for his own desk, it was as neat as though no one used it. Hamilton, I recalled, from his days as Washington ’s chief of staff, loathed a cluttered workplace.

Once upon his feet, and thus revealing his short stature, he approached us. He took my hand and shook it warmly, and such was my surprise that I could not but allow this to happen. “Captain Saunders, it has been many years.” He appeared-and I found this shocking-pleased to see me. It is usual that a man hates no one so much as a person he has wronged. But here was Hamilton, smiling, his eyes crinkling with pleasure, his cheeks rosy. Perhaps my presence recalled to him fond memories of life as a young officer in a momentous war. Perhaps he merely rejoiced to see me looking so poorly.

I let go of his hand, for I did not love his touch. “It has, in fact, been many years.”

“Many years,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say. He looked at Leonidas and then brightened, no doubt with the hope of easing the tension. “Please introduce me to your colleague.” He said it with no inflection, but I knew his motive was only mischief. He did not approve of the mistreatment of Negroes and opposed all slavery.

“This is my man, Leonidas.”

Hamilton now shook his hand and applied his charm, justly legendary.

“I trust you will sit,” he said, with a gesture to a cluster of chairs before his desk. “I am astonishingly busy. You ca

I credited his presumption, making polite observations on my appearance and suggesting that he was available to assist me. Did he forget that it was he who had ruined my life, expelled me from the army, and made certain the world heard the tales of my supposed treachery? Was it of so little import to him that it slipped his mind? Had he done harm to so many over the years that he no longer even recalled the particular instances of his perfidy? Or did he merely enjoy playing the munificent despot?

Leonidas and I sat in two chairs before his desk. Hamilton returned to his own seat. He took a detour to a sideboard and I thought he meant to offer us drink, but then he glanced at me and changed his mind. Instead, he sat and placed upon his face a look of important expectation.

I waited a moment, the better to make him slightly uncomfortable, to feel slightly less in control. “I have had a difficult few days,” I said at last, “as my appearance will testify, and I believe it has some small relation to an inquiry you are ru

He hesitated a moment and then nodded. “It is not commonly known, nor would I have it so, but as you seem already familiar with some general facts, I will admit it but ask for your silence.”

Ironic, I thought, coming from him. “You need not concern yourself with that. But, as it happens, my path has crossed with your kinsman Mr. Lavien.”

“He is not my kinsman,” said Hamilton, with some force. It was hard enough for him to have the world know he was born a West Indian bastard, but if the world were to think him a Jew he would die from shame. “He is, however, a remarkable man.”

“I should like to assist him in his case. In short, I should like the government to employ me to use the skills I honed during the war to serve you in this and other matters.”

Hamilton kept his face remarkably devoid of expression. “I see.”

“Captain Saunders is already materially involved,” said Leonidas. “He has suffered physical attack and the loss of his home. He is personally caught up in the matter, and he is also possessed of certain skills, relatively rare as I understand it.”

“And you are certainly a strong advocate, Leonidas,” said Hamilton, who apparently delighted in having someone to speak to who was not me. “But it ca

“Why can it not be?” I asked.

“I am not ignorant of the past,” said Hamilton. “You had a co

“She is Fleet’s daughter,” I said. You recollect Fleet, whom you hounded to death. I did not say it, though. I am not so foolish as that.

“I am well aware of that, which alone would make it a difficult matter. But it was commonly said that you and she were once engaged to marry.”

“It was never so formal as that, though who can say how things might have gone had you not cashiered us out of the army and then ruined my reputation? Of course, had you not done so, Fleet might yet be alive.”

“Captain,” he said gently, “you do your case poor service with these accusations.”

“Is there anything I could say that would do my case good service?”

“No, my mind is quite made up on this matter.”

“Then I feel quite at my liberty to call you the rascal you are,” I said.

Leonidas put a hand upon my arm. He turned to Hamilton. “Captain Saunders does not intend to be so harsh, but his need is great.”

“Oh, I think he intends it. I have become a convenient object of hatred and blame for him over the years-don’t think I haven’t heard that you say so, doing no small injury to my own reputation, I might add-but I must clarify a point or two. You know well, Captain, that dismissing you from the army was the only way to save your life. You were under my command when the charges were leveled against you and Captain Fleet. Had I not agreed to a discharge, you would have been court-martialed and likely executed.”

“I ought not to have let you talk me into destroying my own reputation.”

“The evidence against you was strong,” he said. “It might have been a British sham. They may have had enough of your tricks and decided to let us deal with you by allowing us to find false evidence. But remember the mood of the army in those days, the exhaustion and setbacks we’d suffered. Men were still raw from Arnold ’s betrayal, and at that crucial hour another pair of officers in league with the British would not have been treated well.”

It was perhaps unfair to blame him for Fleet’s death-by all accounts Fleet had initiated a fight and come out the loser-but I blamed him anyhow. And, of course, there was more. “What of my reputation? You promised me then that no one would hear of it, yet by the time I returned to Philadelphia it was common knowledge.”

“I know,” said Hamilton softly, “but I was not the one who made it so. I swore to keep it a secret, but in an army nothing can be a secret for long. I spent the better part of a week trying to find out who had spoken out of turn-I need not tell you how serious a thing that is before a major battle-but I could learn nothing. If you like, Captain, I can parade before you a dozen officers who will recall, ten years later, the fear I put into them over this matter.”

“Then you are not the one who ruined Captain Saunders’s reputation?” Leonidas asked.

“Of course not,” he said. “Why would I? You have wasted your time hating the wrong man. My God, Saunders, why did you not simply ask me? You were always a man who could sniff out a lie. You would have known if I had tried to deceive you.”

I could sniff out a lie, he was right in that. It was why I sat in astonishment, for I believed him now. His voice was so free, so easy, so empty of guile, I could not help but believe him. For the past ten years I’d cursed the name of Hamilton, considered him a villain and an enemy, and now it seems he was not. I felt sick and foolish and drunk. And, much as I had the night before with Mrs. Lavien, I felt ashamed.