David Liss - The Whiskey Rebel

“Captain Saunders. A moment, if you please, sir.”

I opened my eyes and saw before me a tall man with long reddish mustaches and a wide-brimmed hat that sat high enough upon his crown to reveal his apparent baldness. He spoke with the thick brogue of an Irishman, and was-I guessed from the lines upon his face-perhaps fifty years of age, but a rugged fifty. He had the look of a man used to hard labor, physically imposing but not menacing.

“Do I know you?” I asked.

“We have not yet met,” answered the Irishman. “But I’ve a feeling we’re to become excellent friends. May I sit?” He gestured toward the bench.

I nodded and moved to give him more room, but I was on my guard and already thinking through my options.

He removed the rest of the snow, sat next to me, and reached into his beaver coat. “I am told that you are a man who enjoys whiskey.” From the coat came a corked bottle, which he handed to me. “It is the best produced upon the Monongahela.”

I pulled out the cork and sampled the contents. It was, indeed, quite good. It had a depth of flavors I had not known before in the drink, a kind of sweetness I found surprising and pleasing. It hit my empty gut hard, though, and a warm feeling built there to near hotness. I bent over hard, holding out the bottle so as not to spill it.

“Too strong for you, lad?” the Irishman asked.

I shook my head, once I’d sat upright again. “’Tis a mite powerful, but that’s not it. The stomach is a bit queer these days.”

“Powerful or no, I can see by your face that you enjoy it.”

“It’s good stuff, quite unlike any I’ve had before.” I took another drink, bending over only slightly this time. “Now, tell me who you are and what you know of me.”

“I am an admirer,” he said. “I have heard of your acts during the war.”

My guard was up. “Those who have heard of me are generally not admirers.”

“I, for one, do not believe the charges leveled against you. I know the taint of falseness when I hear it, and I know a patriot when I see one. You see, I fought in the war myself, sir, serving under Colonel Daniel Morgan.”

I was now interested. “You were at Saratoga?”

He grinned. “I was, lad. In the thick of it, with Morgan’s riflemen. Have no doubt of it.”

“I congratulate you, then. And I think, as one soldier to another, you perhaps can tell me what you wish of me.”

“I know you have come upon hard times. I believe I can help you.”

“And how can you do that?”

“You require money.”

I looked at the Irishman. He had a ready grin and the sort of face that most men would find easy to trust, but I was on my guard. “You want to give me money? For what?”

“You are concerned about Mr. Pearson, though I know he is no friend of yours. Mrs. Pearson may be another matter, and perhaps for her sake you would search for her husband. I want you to understand that he is in no danger. None of them are. We only wish for you to no longer trouble yourself with Mr. Pearson’s whereabouts. If you do that, you shall find many of your own difficulties will be gone. They will vanish like smoke. Mr. Pearson is in no danger, but it is vital that you not pursue him.”

“You convinced Mrs. Pearson that I ought not to pursue him,” I said.

“She understands what is at stake.”

“And what is at stake?”

“The future of republican virtue,” he said. “Nothing less, sir, nothing less. Do you want to stand with the virtues of the Revolution, or do you submit to Hamiltonian greed?”

“I am no Hamiltonian,” I said, not failing to note the significance of his name appearing in this conversation.

“I thought as much,” he answered. “I can tell you little, but there will have to be trust between us, as we are both brothers of the Revolution and patriots.”

“Mrs. Pearson is concerned for her husband, and perhaps even for her own safety. You would need to convince me that her family is in no danger.”

“I promise you, he is unharmed. They are in no danger from us.”

“And yet you watch her, threaten her.”

“Never,” he said. “We would do no such thing.”

“And you have seen fit to have me cast from my own home.”

He shook his head. “I have heard of that but, again, it is not our doing. You have enemies unconnected to us, Captain Saunders; you would be better served cultivating friends. Think on it. Why should we harm Mr. Pearson? We do not seek to harm you, only to aid you in your current embarrassment. Were we villains, were we interested in doing violence to those who oppose us, we could simply kill you.”

“I’m hard to kill,” I said.

He laughed. “No one is any harder to kill than anyone else, and that’s the truth.”

I knew otherwise but saw no point in saying so, not when I might offer a demonstration. I took a deep drink of the whiskey and then doubled over once more, coughing and gagging. From the corner of my eye, I could see the Irishman looking away politely, pretending to watch a pair of antic squirrels rather than listening to the prolonged sounds of my retching.

At last I sat up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and took another drink of whiskey. This time, I remained upright.

“You see?” I said to him. “Hard to kill.”

He took from his pockets a piece of paper sealed with wax. “You need only trouble yourself with these matters no longer. Fifty dollars in notes to do nothing. A good bargain.”

I held out my hand, and he gave me the paper, which felt warm in my ungloved hand. “Suppose I take the notes and continue to look for Pearson?”

“You do not want to do that, Captain.”

“Oh?”

“We are not people to cross.”

I put the notes into my coat pocket. Why should I not? I was not a person to cross either.

“I do not fear you, Irishman, and I believe you have erred significantly. The lady is frightened, for her husband and for her children, and I believe she is frightened of you. I shall find out who you are and what you’ve done with Pearson, and put an end to whatever you plan.”

The Irishman folded his hands together, and a ghost of a smirk appeared under his orange whiskers. He was very confident, that one. “You’ll do all that, will you? Have another drink, lad. Vomit once more upon the ground. That’s what you’re good for now, and not much else. You won’t help your lady friend by pretending to be what you were before you became a ruin of a man. Now, if you’ve no mind to behave sensibly, agree to my terms or return to me my notes.”

“And what shall happen if I don’t choose to?”

He grinned again, showing me a mouth full of even brown teeth. “Look across the street, upon the roof of the prison, near the cupola. There is a sharpshooter, another of Daniel Morgan’s men, so you know what that means. You’re in his sights, and if I give the signal, or if he thinks me in trouble, you’ll be heading home tonight without your head. If you had a home to go to, I should say.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw, upon the prison roof, the unmistakable flash of sunlight against metal. I estimated the distance at near 150 yards. If the rifleman was good enough to have served with Daniel Morgan, I doubted not he could make the shot.

Only the day before, I had surrendered; I had regarded death as a thing of no consequence. Now I wished to live, and I was fully alive. These men, whoever they were, with their schemes and bribes and intrigues and efforts to buy my loyalty-and, most insidiously, their willingness to underestimate me-had awakened a slumbering dragon, who would now unfurl to show his might.

I turned away from the prison building. “You think me an idiot, Irishman. Whoever you are, whatever you do, you crave secrecy. That is why you do not wish me to seek out Pearson. Go ahead. Signal your man that he must kill me over fifty dollars. You see I do not move.”