David Liss - The Whiskey Rebel

“If I am to be kept prisoner,” he said, “may I have the woman’s services at least?”

He was a practical man, and I could not fault him for it. “If he’s still interested at two this afternoon, let him enjoy himself. And then,” I added, for it never hurts to let a man know that his enemy understands how things lie, “he may return to his wife.”

Rumors of the impending success of the Million Bank had been spreading throughout the city for some weeks, so I cannot say with any certainty that if I had not hindered Duer he might still have stumbled. As it happened, he arrived at Corre’s Hotel nearly an hour late, at almost eleven o’clock. I never heard what happened at his home, but I imagined the scene. First, perhaps, Duer would be tapping his foot, waiting impatiently for at least one of his agents to show himself, yet not a one appeared. Then a servant would come running inside with the most horrific announcement. It would seem that every carriage in the house had suffered a breaking of the wheels, and, the doors to their stables having been thrown open, the horses had all wandered away. Oh, such carelessness, and on so important a day too! It was almost as though some malevolent spirit had visited Greenwich in the middle of the night to effect the chaos. With no other option, Duer and his man Whippo would be forced to find what horses they could and ride to the city. I suppose they had been in hopeful expectation of discovering their agents in place, handily purchasing every bit of stock available, their own lateness costing nothing more than the pleasure of observing a successful operation. Their arrival proved to them an unhappy truth.

Corre’s Hotel was packed full of the angry and the agitated, a mob to be contained by a table at which sat three cashiers, far too few for the demands put upon them. The Million Bank had hoped to launch successfully, but not so frantically, not with the verve and enthusiasm that had marked the launch of the Bank of the United States the previous summer. Yet here was a throng of angry, pushing men, each hoping to buy riches cheap.

New York was a city of foreigners, and on hand to purchase stocks were Germans and Dutchmen and Italians and Spaniards and Jews. There were the confident and loud speculators who haunted the Merchants’ Coffeehouse, but there were other men too, more timid men of more respectable businesses who, having watched the excitement of Hamilton’s bank, hoped now to profit for themselves. There were also men of a lower order, men who perhaps brought their life savings in the hopes of, in a single moment, changing their lives forever.

It seemed the only significant group not to be found in this hodgepodge was Duer’s agents. In the press of men, I observed this absence with some satisfaction. I was abandoned and alone, beaten and abused, despised by the world, but I had done my duty for my nation.

From across the room I observed a new face enter into the lobby of Corre’s. It was Pearson, looking overwhelmed and a little bit like a child who has lost his minder in a crowded market. Did he know I’d already escaped his prison? I doubted it. And there he was, a man I hated above all others, the man who had murdered my greatest friend, ruined my life, married the woman I loved, and made her life into an unendurable torment. Here he was, having freshly imprisoned me, come to invest the last of his money, but upon scanning the room, it was clear he was dismayed by what he saw. All was madness and chaos, with no sign of Duer’s agents or Duer himself. Pearson and I were separated by perhaps fifty feet and perhaps a thousand men, but for an instant, across the press of bodies and the cries of impatience, our eyes locked.

I cannot claim to understand what crossed his face-perhaps something like surprise and horror. He must have understood several things at once: that I had escaped his inescapable dungeon, that I was far more dangerous an enemy than he had reckoned, and that things would be different from now on. He also must have understood that money invested in the Million Bank was money lost. He understood that trusting Duer had been a colossal error. And he understood something else: that knowing what I did about who he was and what he had done-to me, to Fleet, to his own wife-I had still given him good advice. He stared at me now, nothing but derision and contempt upon his face for the man who had saved him, and then he left.

I wanted to follow him. I knew not when I would get a better chance, but it seemed to me the wrong choice. I needed to wait and see how the launch proceeded, make certain Duer did not find some way to turn everything to his advantage. I had outwitted him, yes, but until all was over, I could not be certain he had no tricks to extricate himself.

Not long after, I observed Duer himself. Actually, it was the remarkably tall Whippo I saw first; Duer was more easily lost in the throng. I had not seen their arrival, but they now moved through the crowds, who did not welcome them with enthusiasm, as they cried out the names of their associates-calls that went unanswered. Duer stared in dismay at the long lines to approach the cashiers, but having no other choice he queued up in one, Whippo in another.

They had not been standing fifteen minutes, however, and were seemingly no closer to the cashier’s table, when the announcement went out that the bank was fully subscribed. Those who had waited without success were thanked for their interest and asked to vacate the premises. Some men walked off in triumph, others in despair; a sizable number, who had come after reading reports in the newspapers and thinking this something they should not miss out on, wandered off in resignation. Duer and his man did not leave at all, but remained like dazed horses amid the battlefield carnage.

I stood near the door, leaning against the wall, watching events unfold. Duer’s mouth tightened into a little bloodless line. For a moment I thought he might weep like a child.

During these confusions, Mr. Isser, the first agent I’d detained and a man apparently well versed in the art of untying knots, came rushing into the hotel. He found Duer at once and began explaining something to him. I imagine he gave a somewhat jumbled version of events-an improbable tale of assault and detainment, of mistaken identity and capture and escape. They talked for only a moment, and then Whippo began to look about the room. I don’t know what he looked for, but it was not long before his eyes found mine and locked on with an intense but unreadable expression. His lips trembled as though he stifled a laugh. Something passed between us that I did not understand. He looked as though he understood what I had done and approved of it.

It was gone in an instant. He turned away, and I was left to ponder the strange and wonderful events. Duer had been thwarted, and the threat against the Bank of the United States averted. Having saved Cynthia Pearson, and perhaps the republic, I was content to depart.

Iconsidered it a successful day and returned to Fraunces Tavern, where I found Lavien in the taproom sipping a cup of tea and writing a letter on a piece of foolscap. His hand was slow and deliberate, his letters neat and precise. He almost did not need to blot.

He set down the quill and looked at me. “I asked you not to interfere with the Million Bank launch.”

I sat at his table. “I recollect something about that.” I called for a bottle of wine. “ Don’t obstruct government business, ” I said to Lavien. “Something on that order, yes?”

“You disobeyed the orders of the Treasury Department.”

“Well, yes,” I said, “but I don’t work for the Treasury Department. Your suggestions are taken into account but do not direct my actions, any more than mine direct yours. I have no obligation to anyone or anything except honor, love, and vengeance, and I have attempted to fulfill those three as best I can.”