The Whiskey Rebel

“I have fought in one war,” he said to the group, once it had been quieted, “and I have no wish to fight in another, even less so if it is u

This produced a murmur of agreement.

“Then what do you suggest?” asked Walter Gall, the miller.

“I suggest,” said Andrew, looking rakishly handsome as he gri

“A talk?” Gall answered with indignation. There was general uproar. Andrew, it seemed, was soft after all. He would respond to violence with palaver.

Yet he calmed them once more. I looked upon him with admiration, and I saw Mr. Dalton and Mr. Richmond did so also. They knew his worth, and it made me proud.

“He thinks to provoke us into a fight. It’s what he’s counting on. I think he needs to see that we are resolute. Steady and firm, but not quick to violence. He’ll not back us into giving him what he wants.”

It was a simple argument, but it was met with general approbation. They would talk to Tindall and they would let it be known they would not be so used. So it was they began to put together a delegation of men to go into town and confront the man who had yet again attempted to ruin all our lives.

Ethan Saunders

I could not long delay speaking with William Duer. I had already learned this would be no easy thing. He did not wish to speak to me, and he employed a vicious tough who could see that he did not have to do what he did not wish to do. My only option, then, was to get to Duer where he dared not refuse me and where he could not call upon Reynolds. As it happened, I believed I knew just the place.

All Philadelphia had been discussing the upcoming gathering at the Bingham house. William Bingham was one of the wealthiest and most influential men in the nation, friends with anyone of any significance. His wife, A

It was impossible for me, as I passed the day, not to dwell upon the fantasy that Mrs. Pearson would attend the gathering that night. For many years she and A

I had met the lady at such a gathering. When I had traveled to Philadelphia during the British occupation to infiltrate a British spy ring, Fleet had asked me to keep an eye upon his daughter and make certain she wanted for nothing. I never after discussed with him my attachment to her for fear he would think I had taken advantage of the girl, though she and I intended to reveal all to him after the conclusion of the war. Later, after Fleet’s death, I could not help but wonder if I had been silly, if Fleet had thrown us together in the hopes that we would develop those feelings we found so irrepressible.

Young Cynthia Fleet was active in Philadelphia social circles, and it was at the home of Thomas Willing, A

I allowed an acquaintance of mine, a man of decidedly British sympathies (for such were the sort of men with whom I was forced to traffic), to introduce us, and I detected nothing significant in her reaction when she heard my name. Obviously Cynthia did not know I worked with her father or that I was in the service of the patriot cause. Nevertheless, she took a particular interest in me, allowing me to continue to address her for some length of time. What I found was that this lady was not only beautiful but clever, accomplished, and exceptionally well informed in matters political. She did not hesitate to offer me opinions on the most important men of the day, what they had done and written, of battles won and lost, of strategies failed and successful. She spoke quietly, for my ears alone-and I could not regret that she did so, for it was an invitation to lean in closely-but I feared for her safety. In an occupied city, she ought not to have been so free as to praise Americans and condemn the British, not to a total stranger.

At last I put a hand upon her arm and leaned toward her close. “Miss Fleet,” I said in a low voice, “do you think it wise, in such company, to speak so highly of the rebel cause? Do you not know you are surrounded by Royalists? Do you not know that the man who introduced us is a Royalist? You must assume me to be one as well.”

“No, I mustn’t,” she said, with a mischievous smile. “Not when you are my father’s associate.”

I could not keep from barking out a laugh. “If you knew that, why did you not tell me?”

“I wished to know if you would tell me yourself,” she said. “I suppose only an hour’s conversation is not enough to know what you might say in future, but I believe it shows a certain amount of restraint on your part. It will have to do.”

“Do for what?” I asked.

“For us to continue to be friends,” she said.

Not a week later I met her at a ball hosted by a British colonel, and though she was promised to an unpleasant officer for the first two dances, she and I managed-much to this officer’s displeasure-to find many opportunities to dance together and even more to speak. It was soon after the dance that I received an invitation to dine at the house of her late mother’s sister and husband-people of Royalist sentiments with whom she lived-and I did not hesitate to use all my charms upon these people, that I might become a regular fixture within their circle. Cynthia and I soon found other occasions to be together. We strolled the streets, took tea, or visited the sights. She had an almost insatiable appetite for tales of my adventures, and though I often had to withhold particulars, I told her enough to thrill her.

I was no stranger to female companionship, yet I could not believe I had been so fortunate as to secure the interest and affection of Cynthia Fleet, a woman who seemed molded by nature for the sole purpose of being my companion. We lived in such happiness for two months, but then the man whom I followed left the city, and I was forced to do the same. Cynthia and I exchanged vows of love and determined to marry upon the war’s conclusion. I could not say when I would return to Philadelphia, but we would write. Indeed, we did, and on many occasions, after the British gave up the city, I managed to find my way back to visit her. The last of these was but three months before Fleet and I were accused of treason. A decisive battle was coming, and as I kissed her goodbye I believed in my heart that the time would soon come when we could declare ourselves and commit to law what was already in our hearts. The next time I saw her, however, all had been altered. Her father was dead; a malicious fate had made it impossible we could ever be together. I would live with the false accusation of treason if I must, but I could not endure casting such a stigma upon her.