The Whiskey Rebel

John Maycott

Autumn and Winter 1791

Back in his house, while his wife attempted to walk noiselessly one floor above us, I sat with Mr. Pearson in his library. He poured me a glass of wine, and I sat in an armchair while he sat across from me on the sofa. I had a curious role to play, part child, part speculator, part seductress, and I was suddenly uneasy, aware of the noises of the street outside us, the clicking of the clock in the room, the distant barking of a dog. I sipped the wine so it would redden my lips, and then I began.

I spoke of the Million Bank, describing it as, yes, another bank attempting to capitalize on the public’s new mania for banks, but also far more. Under the correct circumstances, it could become the most powerful financial institution in the new country. It only required daring leadership. It require men who were willing to see the times for what they were, times of unchecked possibility, times in which destiny might be shaped by the bold and the clever.

Pearson, who imagined himself such a man and was indeed looking at my wine-darkened lips, hung upon my every word, so I told him how I believed a relatively small group of investors, if they could but command enough money, might attempt to take the whole initial stock offering; imagine, I said, what a cabal might do if it suddenly and for a relatively small investment found itself in control of a bank.

He stopped staring at my lips long enough to ask me how that might happen.

I explained that I thought a new bank might use the initial euphoria that followed its launch to take over another, more established bank, such as the Bank of New York, or even-for men of true audacity-the Bank of the United States.

Mr. Pearson finished his drink and poured another. He stared out the foggy window for a long moment while he worked his lips soundlessly, as though having a long and somewhat contentious conversation with himself. At last, apparently having won the argument, he turned back to me.

“You chose not to present this to Duer?”

“I did not wish to impose upon our friendship. He asks me for advice, yes, and values my opinion, but it did not seem right that I should offer to direct his affairs.”

“Let us be honest, Mrs. Maycott. That is not the reason at all. I think it is time for you to be direct with me.”

“Sir,” I said in protest. What had I done, I wondered, to tip my hand? Had I grown too lax in my deception? Had one success after another led me to lay down my guard? “If you have any reservations about what I say, you may feel free to disregard it. I remind you that it was you who wished me to speak.”

He laughed, loud and barking. It sounded either forced or seething with madness. “You bring it to me because you understand the way things are. Duer’s success is but a fluke, but I have had to build my achievements one brick at a time. He is nothing but a rich speculator, but you know a man of vision when you see one.”

I was on uncertain ground here, there could be no doubt of that, but at least I was not myself the subject of his suspicion. I masked the sound of my exhalation of relief. “Mr. Duer is my friend, and I have the greatest respect for his successes.”

“Of course, of course.” He laughed again, though this time less like a lunatic, and waved one of his big hands through the air. “But different men have different talents, and not everyone can be a visionary. Not everyone can be bold enough to see what is invisible to others.”

“That is most certainly true. Can I then conclude you think this is something that could be effected?”

“I think it can. It only lacks a man with both means and ambition enough.”

“It requires something else, of course. It requires capital, and only a handful of men in the country have enough to attempt such a thing. And, if I understand how things stand, there is only one man with the means who might be willing to try.”

“I will speak to Duer,” he said.

Understanding full well the value of a coup de théâtre, I said, “Then you must not mention my name. I do not go to him directly because I fear he will not take me seriously, but if you tell him the idea is from me, he may wonder why I did not trust him. It must be our secret.”

“But what do you gain if I take the credit for your idea?”

“I gain the satisfaction of feeling clever.”

Several days later, Mr. Duer and I sat in the City Tavern and he told me of what he understood to be Pearson’s scheme. His voice was strangely flat, and I wondered if I had somehow wandered into a trap. Did he know I had been deceiving him? Yet I could not back away now. I listened as he described my Million Bank scheme back to me in all its blunt, insane glory.

“Do you think it possible?” he asked me.

I pretended to give the matter a great deal of consideration. “I do think so, yes.”

He rubbed his hands together. “The trick will be how to shift Pearson away from attempting to order me about. It is a brilliant idea, but he would not know how to go about it. It is only by the strangest of flukes that he would even think of it before I did.”

“You need not worry,” I said. “Pearson likes to present himself as brilliant, but he is all bluster, and he knows it. You will make him do as you wish by letting him tell you that he is doing as he wishes, even while he follows you about as though led by the nose. You need only tend to his pride, and he will give you all you need.”

Duer smiled at me. “You are an astute observer of human nature. I should very much hate for you to be my enemy.”

I sipped my tea and said nothing. Over Duer’s shoulder, the scarred Mr. Reynolds smirked at me, and I could not help but wonder if he had been working on Duer, convincing him to doubt me. It was only a matter of time, of course, until Reynolds or circumstances proved to Duer that he’d been foolish to be so open with me, but I was almost certain that the time was not yet here.