The Whiskey Rebel

“Can it be you know him, this man said to be a traitor?”

“I knew him during the war. He was no traitor, and he was my father’s friend.”

“And your friend?” I asked.

She nodded. “I was to marry him.” She faced me now, but her voice was so low it was almost indistinguishable from breath. “Things went very wrong. My father died, and Ethan-had to flee. They accused him of crimes he could not have committed, but the world thought him guilty, and he could not endure that the taint should fall upon me also. I have never believed for a moment he did anything wrong. Ethan Saunders is the most astonishing man I’ve ever known.”

“He is now in Philadelphia,” I said.

Her eyes went wide. “What?”

“He is in town, and your husband means to harm him.”

She took my hand. “You don’t mean to let him, do you?”

I shook my head. “Oh, no,” I said. “You may depend upon it. I had never heard of Ethan Saunders before tonight, but he sounds like the sort of man worth protecting.” I meant it. Without having met him, I liked him already, perhaps because we had both suffered at the hands of an ungrateful government. At the same time, I could not help but wonder if he might prove to be of some use to me.

I have to admit I was extremely curious about this Saunders, and also quite sanguine about what he could mean for our project. My man in Duer’s employ in New York had proved vital, but the rest of the men had been forced to endure months of inactivity, trusting in me as I cavorted with Duer, hoping I knew what I was doing, worrying that instead of bringing down our enemies I only strengthened them.

Learning more about Saunders would give us something to do. One at a time the boys went out to observe him, to see what sort of man he was, to see if he was a threat or an asset. I longed to see him for myself, but most of the public places he frequented were not the sort in which I could hope to blend unseen.

The first time I saw him was at the Duck Pond on a cold and su

“What do you think of him?” asked Skye.

“He’s very handsome,” I said, “and very drunk. I doubt he could be much of a threat to us, and I’m not convinced he will be much of an asset.”

“Best to be safe,” said Skye.

“It is always better to be safe,” I agreed. “Does he have anyone close to him, someone we could approach?”

“There are not many, but I do believe there is someone,” Skye said.

“Then it is time we began to pay this someone to keep us informed.”

Ethan Saunders

The next morning, Leonidas and I ordered a pot of tea sent up to my room, and with daylight streaming upon my small table, we continued to look over the dozens of pages I’d taken from Freneau. The man had been busy, I will say that much for him, for he had not only several pages of closely written notes but many letters he had evidently borrowed or stolen. These were from and to Duer, and covered many tedious details, some too convoluted or elliptical to be deciphered, but others quite clear. Duer, the letters indicated, was indeed pla

Freneau’s documents made clear that Duer had organized a group of traders into what he called a Six Percent Club. These men conspired to bring down the price of the six percent issues that Duer might then buy, obtaining a near monopoly. With the issues out of circulation, their value would rise, increasing Duer’s wealth. Moreover, Bank of the United States scrip holders needed these issues to pay out their shares. If they could not obtain the six percents, they would have to sell the scrip, most likely at a discount. Thus Duer hoped to gain a monopoly on Bank of the United States scrip. He imagined that by the end of the year, he would be the only significant holder of either. He would, in effect, own the American economy.

“Is it not enough to be rich?” Leonidas asked me. “What drives a man to a wealth that will crush all others?”

“It is the dark side of liberty,” I said. “A man is not hindered by what ca

“But can he actually take over the bank?” asked Leonidas.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so. There are too many variables, too many things he must juggle. But he can do great damage to the economy, to Hamilton, and ultimately to the country in the process.”

“So what do we do?”

“We stop him.”

“Lavien said not to.”

“He is wrong. Perhaps he is too cautious. He doesn’t know what we do.”

“Then why not tell him?”

“Because this is my fight, Leonidas. Our fight. Duer’s scheme makes a sacrifice of Pearson, and I have sworn to protect his wife. I may hate Pearson, but I must drag him from Duer’s fire if I am to save his wife from penury. I ca

He nodded.

My mind was churning, thinking of a thousand things that might be done. “Would you return to Duer’s mansion?” I asked him. “Learn some more from the servants about his plans for Wednesday.”

After Leonidas set off for Greenwich, I took some lunch in the tavern and, rather than sit and drink Duer’s free wine, decided to take a turn about the city to consider my next move. I had not visited New York in several years, and it continued to improve from the sorry state in which the war had left it. Everywhere were new buildings, or buildings under construction, even in winter. Streets that had been no more than muddy alleyways during the war were now lined with magisterial homes. Here and there were old ruins-abandoned houses and barns and, along the river, docks-remnants of the city’s past struggles. These, I had no doubt, would soon enough disappear, lost to new construction and commerce.

I had traveled no more than a block or two from the tavern when I felt that the same shadow had been lurking behind me too long. During the war I had many times been in Philadelphia or New York or other occupied regions, and I was always alert to being followed. It is not a skill one forgets. Thus I sped up, and, feeling that my pursuer must also be speeding, I immediately turned around and headed back.

In doing so, I nearly collided with a tall and decomposing wreck of a man.

“Why,” I said, “’tis Isaac Whippo. Fancy seeing you here. I did not know this was the best part of town to pursue boy buggery.” Why I had taken such a strong dislike to the man eluded me, but I had, and that was enough for now. Perhaps it was because of his absurdly sinister appearance, perhaps because I felt I could treat him badly and get away with it.

Duer’s strange man glared at me but said nothing.

“You may tell Duer that if he wishes to know what I am about, he need only ask. He need not send a cadaver to come spying after me; it is something I don’t like.”

“And I don’t like you,” he said.

“Don’t say so, my good pudendum. Bit of a term of affection in Philadelphia. Strange place, that, but still. As I rather like you, I must shout it to the world.” I then raised my hands and called out to all who passed, “This man is my very dear pudendum!”

Big men, small men, great men, and disentombed men-there is no great difference. Most enter into situations thinking they will have to face this conflict or that. It has ever been my experience that if you present an alternative completely foreign to their expectations, it will end the encounter entirely. So it was with my friend Mr. Whippo. He skulked away like the mummified thing he was.