The Whiskey Rebels (51 page)

“Some would call it integrity,” I suggested.

“Whoever would say that never worked upon commission in his life,” he answered.

W
e made excellent time and arrived that afternoon, very late, at the New Jersey side of the Hudson, where we concluded our journey by ferry. Arriving in full dark, we were greeted at once by the bustle of New York. I had abided in that city for some years after the war and always liked it, without wishing to call it my home. It was full of frenetic people who could be little troubled to speak to a stranger, though once you started conversing with a New Yorker, he could no more stop himself from speaking than a river can stop flowing. I have ever felt fondness for Philadelphia, and it is in many ways a far more gracious city in which to live, but I could not help but feel regret that the capital was no longer in New York, which I had ever thought, with its sharpish tone, the very place for a national seat. Of all the cities in America, it has the most European flavor, with its international fashions, its excellent eateries, its diversions, and its variety. The streets are peopled with speakers of a hundred languages, and the harbor is ever full, even in winter, with ships stretching out into a forest of masts.

Tired and in need of refreshment, we took ourselves at once to Fraunces Tavern and proceeded to secure our room. After washing, I went down to the taproom, a spacious and well-lit affair, where I called for a plate of boiled ham and bread and two bottles of their most agreeable wine.

Once we had completed our meal, I told Leonidas that we might do well to begin our work. “We’ll go see Duer,” I said. “He has ever been at the center of all of this. Perhaps he can tell us where to find Pearson.”

“What makes you think he will tell you anything?”

I shrugged. “I will ask politely.”

We then hired a coach and traveled to a more northern location on the island of Manhattan, a village called Greenwich, where Duer’s palatial home stood with all the regal bearing of an old-world manor house. I understood that our trip might be for naught, for a man of Mr. Duer’s prominence could well be abroad attending to business or social concerns, but we were fortunate and he was at home. The servant appeared reluctant to admit us, but I used the name of Hamilton, which proved a shibboleth not to be denied, particularly when Duer’s own wife was cousin to Hamilton’s lady. With Leonidas taken to the kitchens to learn what he could, I was shown to a commodious room identified as a study and offered refreshment.

At last the door opened, and I recognized the prim and slender form of Mr. Duer from our brief encounters at Philadelphia. There was no sign of the mysterious Mr. Reynolds, but now he was accompanied by a very tall creature, a man with large eyes of a sunken appearance, a hooked nose, and thin lips seemingly devoid of blood. His hair, the color of dirt, thinned considerably in the front, but hung loose and stringy in the back. He was, as I say, tall, though of a narrow and stooping frame, with hunched and rounded shoulders, and he appeared, for all the world, to be panting.

“Ah, Captain Saunders,” Duer said. “I am so sorry I could not keep our appointment in Philadelphia, but it is good of you to call upon me here, though it’s rather an extravagant gesture. A letter would do, perhaps?”

“My particular interests favor a visit.” I kept my voice agreeable, but I met his eye with a determined stare.

“Yes, yes. But where are my manners?” he shouted to the universe. “Wherever are they? I must present to you my associate,” he said, gesturing to the man I found increasingly troll-like, lurking still near the door, “Mr. Isaac Whippo. Whippo is something of a factotum in my service. I have found him to be indispensable in my work.”

I expected the factotum to bow or acknowledge the kindness of his master. Instead, he picked at a piece of lint on his not-overclean sleeve as though I were not worth his interest.

Duer gestured for me to sit, and I did so, though Whippo remained standing, at first lurking near the door and then standing near the window, gazing out into the darkness like a pampered pet who wishes the freedom to relieve himself.

Duer steepled his fingers and gazed at me through the window of digits. “Yes, well, it is all a bit redundant. I suppose I must answer questions, but I don’t see that I must do it twice.”

“Twice?”

“Yes. That little Jewish man, Lavien, has already been here today. Now must I speak to you as well?”

“Lavien? How did he get here before I did? I took the first express after I last saw him.”

“He rode,” said Duer. “Upon horseback, I believe. Much faster than the express.”

“And did you have a pleasant conversation with Mr. Lavien?”

“No, I did not. I don’t like the fellow.”

“Then you may have a pleasant conversation with me. Unlike Mr. Lavien, I do not work for the government or for Hamilton. I am here upon my own business. Lavien, I presume, was anxious to learn about information surrounding the bank.”

I had intended to refer to the Bank of the United States, but Duer misunderstood me. “Yes, I told him I have no connection to any new banks. I would not invest in the Million Bank, and I pity anyone who does. It is doomed to fail.”

“I have heard that you are intimately involved in the Million Bank,” I said.

“It’s a damnable lie,” he said. “Someone makes free with my name. It happens frequently, I am sad to say. It is an unfortunate consequence of reputation that when my name is attached to a project it is often viewed as a sign of inevitable success. Thus there are men who will cast it about that I have smiled upon their undertaking to generate interest among the general populace. I fear it may be so in this case. Anyone who invests in the Million Bank is certain to lose his money.”

“And what of the Bank of the United States? Did Mr. Lavien ask you about that?”

“What is there to ask?” He continued to peer at me through his fingers, which made it difficult to measure his face as I would like.

“Some sort of danger to the bank, perhaps?”

“Don’t be absurd. The bank is already a monolith. Nothing can harm it.”

“Not even the Million Bank?”

“It would be like a mouse assaulting a lion.”

I decided I would set out my concerns directly and see what happened next. “Am I to presume from what you say that you have no designs yourself against the national bank, no effort in seeing it stumble or even fail?”

“What an absurd notion. Why should I wish to see it fail? The bank could not be more dear to me.”

“Dear to you precisely how?” I asked. “The bank and government securities are quite closely bound together, and I have discovered your agents are selling government securities short. You are gambling upon the price of the stock going down, are you not? Your situation, as I understand it, would suffer considerably if the price should go up. It sounds to me that what is dear to you is the depression of our economy.”

At last he moved his hands, that he might flick his fingers dismissively. “You have many excellent talents, I don’t doubt, but you do not know a great deal about finance. Whippo, does Captain Saunders strike you as a financial man?”

Whippo slowly rotated his cadaverous head toward me. “’Tis not how he strikes me.”

“Truly, you must not think of this as a play, sir, with a hero and a villain. An agent in my employ may or may not sell short, for he is my agent, not my servant. He may engage in any number of transactions separate from, or even contrary to, my own wishes. That he does so does not mean he acts according to my orders. I am an important man and very influential. I would not have you saying in public that I sell securities short.”

“Nevertheless,” I said, “on the express from Philadelphia, I heard a group of speculators saying just that.”

Duer snickered and turned to Whippo. “He heard a group of speculators, quotha.” Then, to me: “You cannot be serious that you come to me in order to relate idle gossip heard on a coach. That is not your business, is it?”

To my surprise, the speculator had taken control of the conversation with the tenacity of a terrier and did not mean to let go.

“Now, as to the reality of the matter,” Duer continued, “I do not say what my agents buy or sell when they are about their own affairs. It is not for me to know. As for what I do, I prefer to keep that to myself, and I ask that you keep your suppositions to yourself as well. Any rumors you might spread could be very detrimental to my finances and, by extension, to America itself.”

“You have been attempting to drive down prices,” I said. “How can you say you do so for the good of America?”

“I am afraid this confusion originates from your own poor understanding of the markets. Let us say I do gamble upon the value of securities declining. Does that make me an enemy of the government? I think not. Prices are in endless shift, and if I am to wager they shall be down this moment, it does not mean I wish them to be down or expect them to remain down forever. It is but the natural ebb and flow of the market, and it is no more than what Hamilton expects—indeed, what Hamilton desires. Why else has his bank made credit so cheap, but that we might buy and sell and attempt to guess the end result? To say I abuse the markets by attempting to predict them is like saying a ship abuses the ocean by riding upon it.”

I honestly did not know where his bluster and fabrication ended and where the truth began. This was not war, where secrets relate to tangible things like troop movements, army composition, and battle plans. This was the world of finance, in which even the nature of truth can twist upon the slightest wind. I did not pursue the matter further because I did not believe I could learn more from listening to Duer spin his tales.

“What then,” I said, as though it were the natural consequence of what had come before, “can you tell me of Pearson?”

Duer allowed himself the indulgence of a brief frown, just a flicking downturn of the mouth. “Jack Pearson? What of him?”

“I would like it if you could tell me about your animosity toward him.”

He had now returned to smiling. “Animosity, you say? I know nothing of it.”

“It has been said that you are his enemy. That the financial difficulties he is currently experiencing are of your engineering. That you and Pearson are locked in some sort of duel to the death, and that he has already emerged as the clear loser.”

Duer stood up, a slow, deliberate motion. His face was now set, like a man enduring pain. Whippo observed this with some alarm, as though I were using invisible witchcraft to harm his master. He took a step toward me.

“Who told you that?” Duer demanded.

“It is something I heard,” I said casually. I finished my wine. “Have you more of this claret? It is really quite good.”

“Mr. Duer asked you a question,” Whippo said. His voice was deep and resonant but had the vague quality of the perpetually bored.

“Oh, I heard him. But I also asked a question. Regarding the wine.” I handed Whippo the glass. “A bit more if you please, fellow.”

Duer nodded at Whippo, and though the large man’s face was set in a mask of smoldering resentment—narrow eyes, flat lips, flaring nostrils—he went to the sideboard and tipped the bottle, filling the glass almost to the brim.

Once the wine was in hand, I smiled like a contented pasha. “So, much better. Now, do sit, Mr. Duer. It is bad enough that Pantagruel there menaces me, but I cannot speak to you gentleman to gentleman while you tower above me.”

Duer, perhaps wishing to regain the illusion of composure, returned to his seat. I sipped my wine.

“Now,” I said, “what was your question?”

“Damn you, you drunk fool, where did you hear I was against Pearson? Who told you?”

“Ah, yes, Pearson.” Lest my reader believe that I was actually inebriated, I should point out that much of this behavior was in the order of a ruse. It served my purpose to have them believe me far more drunk than I was.

I emptied my glass to the point where I could hold it comfortably without spilling. While I did so, I considered what lie would best suit my purposes. It was clear that Duer and his factotum both believed it a terrible thing that rumors of this sort should be spread. I could not tell them I had intercepted coded messages between parties I did not know. At the same time, I did not want to tell them I had heard rumors cast about in a tavern or on the express, since doing so would alarm them, and while causing an alarm was an arrow I might later want to pull from my quiver, I was not yet ready to do so. For the nonce, I wished to calm them.

“The gentleman’s wife,” I said at last. “When I saw Mrs. Pearson at the Bingham house, she expressed some concern about the nature of her husband’s business with you.”

Duer let out a breath. Whippo unclenched his fists.

“Wives are apt to speak of what they do not understand,” said Duer. “They believe they know better than their husbands and consider all new ventures to be ruinous ones.”

“What, then, is the nature of your business with Pearson?”

“I cannot tell you that,” said Duer. “What business I did with Pearson is all in the past. I told you as much. I have no knowledge of his current troubles other than what I hear, the same as any man.”

“And where is Pearson now?”

“I have no idea,” said Duer. “I believed him in Philadelphia, but if you have come looking for him, I presume it must not be the case.”

“And where did he go when he disappeared previously?”

“I have no knowledge of that either.”

“Do you have any immediate plans to do new business with Pearson? You need not tell me the nature of the business, only the day.”

Duer smiled. “It would be foolish to do business with a ruined man.”

I rose. “Then I shall waste no more of your time,” I said.

Leonidas met me at the coach, and together we made our dark, uneven way back to New York. It was a closed coach, but it contained a small window by which we could observe the coachman, and I noticed that he looked back at us more than once. Since beginning our journey, Leonidas and I had spoken only of trivial matters, but it seemed to me that the coachman hung upon every word.