The Whiskey Rebels (14 page)

“You are bleeding from your head,” he told me.

“Prodigiously?”

“No, only a little.”

I shrugged. “Then it is no matter. I shall come to the point, sir. I need you to give me thirty dollars. Perhaps another twenty for comfort. I need you to give me fifty dollars.”

He made little effort to mask his amusement. “I have no such sum to spare. My position pays well enough, but I am hardly a rich man.”

“I thought all you Treasury men were wealthy,” I said.

He snorted. “You have been listening to the lies disseminated by that rascal Jefferson.”

“You are not one of those men so blinded by Hamilton that you are set against Jefferson?” I asked.

Lavien clucked like an old woman. “Jefferson is a liar and scoundrel and, in my opinion, an enemy of the state.”

“I think he is, in fact,
Secretary
of State,” I suggested. “Common mistake, though.”

His eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened ever so slightly. I suspected he was attempting to measure my sincerity, my level of enthusiasm for Jefferson and his republican followers. Lavien struck me as the sort of man who always measured a man’s opinions, who felt for strengths and weaknesses. He was the sort who could not step into a room without noting the location of every door, which windows he might jump through in a pinch, which tables might be toppled for a shelter from bullets. I knew the sort. I had spent the war as just such a man.

“Hamilton has had cause to lament that Washington puts his faith in that man,” he said. “Soon enough, Washington will regret it. Jefferson has opposed us at every turn. And he will stop at nothing.”

“Perhaps Hamilton wants opposing,” I said.

“You cannot defend Jefferson. In his wretched newspaper he even insults Washington, calling him old and feeble of mind.”

I knew it, and I hated that Jefferson did not have the sense to leave Washington’s reputation alone. “That ought not to be,” I admitted.

“But despite all that, you are against Hamilton’s great achievements, Captain Saunders? You were against the Assumption Bill? You, an old soldier, opposed paying out the debts the states incurred during the war? And the Bank Bill? You think it a mistake for a nation to have a bank upon which to draw funds in times of crisis?”

The Bank Bill. The act of Congress that had established Hamilton’s pet project, the Bank of the United States. Cynthia’s note said that her husband’s disappearance, the danger to herself and her children, had something to do with the new bank. Best to take this slowly, I thought. I would not show too much interest. I would listen.

He spoke very calmly, but each syllable landed like a hammer blow. The entire world knew that Jefferson hated Hamilton and his Federalist policies, but Hamilton and his supporters were generally much quieter. I suppose they had the advantage of success, since Washington so often sided with Hamilton, and the Congress, though it grumbled, had voted his policies into law. Hamilton and his followers did not need to spit venom in the press the way the Jeffersonians did, for they were instead making laws and shaping policy. But if Lavien was any measure, it seemed the Hamiltonians were filled with just as much resentment as the Jeffersonians.

“I opposed the Bank Bill in my own way,” I said. Indeed, I distinctly remember sitting in a tavern and cursing it very colorfully.

Lavien shook his head. “I am sorry to hear that, but it hardly seems the time to discuss policy. What has happened to you, Captain Saunders?”

“My landlady has very suddenly cast me out,” I told him, providing a description of events from the previous night, and hinting that perhaps my expulsion was linked to his inquiry.

He pointed to my head. “That new injury of yours. Is that related?”

“Very likely,” I answered, not quite ready to tell him about the Irishman. When he shared what he knew, I would consider dispensing my little store of knowledge.

“It is as I told you last night,” he said, perhaps noting my skepticism. “Pearson has been missing a few days, perhaps a week. I would like to find him. And, lest you ask, I cannot tell you why. I am not to share information regarding my inquiry with anyone uninvolved. You would need to speak to Colonel Hamilton.”

“Do you hold everything you do in such secrecy, or just this?”

“I can’t tell you that either,” he said, without irony.

“You must know I don’t want state secrets. My questions are about Pearson. If you won’t tell me why you seek him, tell me at least if you believe his family to be in danger.”

“In danger?” he repeated. “No, I don’t think so.”

“But you cannot say for certain?”

He shook his head. “There is so little of which one can be certain.”

I made an effort to hide my frustration by refilling my glass. Though he was a small, swarthy, bearded man, I liked Lavien, and while he certainly was possessed of some rather significant abilities, he did not strike me as a gifted spy. He was alert, and no doubt was possessed of a kind of cunning, but did he have the sort of expansive intelligence, the curiosity and openness, that is required of the best of those in the trade? I doubted it.

“I wonder if there are things of which you might be more certain,” I said, “if you went about your affairs in a different way or had the benefit of more experience.”

At once it all became clear to me, like a vision: Lavien and I working side by side, his curious physical prowess and my abilities as a spy. I’d had too much to drink, I suppose, and had been confronted by the past too unexpectedly. I had not thought of being in service for some time now—years, perhaps—but suddenly it seemed close enough to touch. Were I to find myself a coequal with Lavien, would that not erase the tarnish that had been placed upon my name all those years ago? Could I not appear in better circles without the whispering and pointing and awkward conversation? The encounter with this remarkable man, in service to Hamilton, and my contact with Cynthia Pearson, who made all things seem bright and wonderful, left me with the unexpected notion that I could rejoin the brotherhood of respectable men, that I could be useful once more. The thought of it was every bit as intoxicating as the wine.

“You misunderstand me,” he said, “I have been sworn to secrecy on this matter, and on all matters relating to my work for the Treasury Department. I am sorry, Captain Saunders. I understand that you have a personal interest in this, but I cannot tell you much, not without the express permission of Colonel Hamilton.”

“But he shall never give me permission. Hamilton despises me.”

Lavien looked distraught, like a child told there were to be no sweets. “I am certain you are mistaken. I have heard him speak of you, and he has had only flattering things to say. He tells me you were an exceptional spy.”

“What else has he told you?” I could not help but suspect that Lavien was lying to flatter me or for some other deceptive end.

He smiled. “He said you were remarkably clever in your dealings with people—that if you wished you could talk the devil himself into selling you his soul.”

These words surprised me. Perhaps Hamilton had spoken of me after all, and in these flattering terms. Still, it did not change things. “Nevertheless, he dislikes me.”

“I suggest you visit him, put your case to him yourself. In the meantime, Captain, if you know of anything that can help me find Pearson or aid his family, I hope you will tell me.”

I thought about the note in my pocket, the one from Cynthia. I thought about my encounter with the Irishman. Surely he would like to know these things. If he were unwilling to aid me, however, I would not share with him. Indeed, it seemed increasingly necessary that I conduct my own inquiry. I would find the wretched Pearson, and I would protect Cynthia from whatever dangers lurked around her.

“Where did you learn to do such things?” I asked. “To move so quickly and silently?”

His eyes moved this way and that, a sure sign that he considered a fabrication, but in the end his words sounded like truth. “I was in Surinam, sir. The Maroon uprisings.”

I am not a man easily impressed, but here was something. The Maroons—with their mixture of African and Indian blood—were said to be among the most vicious fighters in the world, ruthless in their quest for land and liberty. They lived by a rigorous code of honor, but any man they called enemy would die and die hard.

“Good Lord,” I said softly. “You fought the Maroons? You must have seen Hell itself at the hands of those godless savages.”

“You misunderstand me,” he said. “I fought
with
the Maroons, for their freedom. It was they who taught me to do what I do.”

Had he told me he fought on behalf of the moon in its war against the sun, I could not have been more surprised. I had never before heard of a white man siding with the Maroons. I had never even heard of a white man being allowed to live by the Maroons. “You fought alongside those dusky savages?” I managed.

“Neither their complexion nor their degree of civilization interested me,” he said, his voice rather flat. “Only that they were wronged.”

There was nothing to say, not to a man who would help a pack of cannibals slit the throats of white men. Yet I do hate a silence, so I rose and refilled my glass from the decanter. I drained it and filled it again before returning to my seat.

“As for my difficulties,” I said.

Lavien, perhaps eager to change the subject himself, waved me off. He told me he had no sums of money to give away, but he would be honored to have me as a guest for his evening meal and to spend the night. He would have his woman make up the garret for me. If I wished to refresh myself with a washbasin, that too could be arranged. He managed to make the suggestion sound generous and not an unkind comment upon my state.

I took him up on his offer and cleaned myself as best I could.

In the meantime, his sitting room had been turned to a dining room, with the table assembled from its various pieces. The old crone laid it out quite elegantly, with fine silver and handsome drinking glasses. The room was well lit, and the food was plentiful. Yet, for such refinement, Lavien conducted himself like a peasant by bringing his children to the table. We sat with a pretty girl with fair hair whom I guessed to be seven years of age, and her younger brother, no more than two. The food was of the Hebrew variety, filled with strange spices and flavors but by no means unpalatable to a man open to alien sensations. The wine was superb, for Jews ever have connections for good wine. The conversation was quite lively, for the little girl, called Antonia, was a champion conversationalist and bade me speak at length about my wartime adventures, interjecting quite often with her own opinions upon all matters political.

It astonished me that Lavien, whom I had judged to be so hardened and cruel, cut off from human society by his past and by his skills, was a different creature altogether with his wife and children. He was open and easy, obviously delighting in their company. Once, when his daughter made an unusually mature and earnest observation, he and his wife burst into peals of rich laughter. Lavien had seen and drawn blood, hunted white men for Maroons, eaten human flesh for all I knew, and yet found comfort in domestic quiet. The envy I felt for him made my heart ache.

After dinner, once the women and children departed, Lavien poured more wine, and I inquired as to how he came to stand with the Maroons, and what he did with them, but he demurred, saying that he would tell me some other time; he did not like to speak of it, particularly not in his own home. Yet he did provide me with the most skeletal of explanations.

“I did things which I am now ashamed to own,” he said, “though I am not ashamed of the cause. I believe that all men, African, Indian, and European alike, are equal in the eyes of God and of nature. It is only in the eyes of one another that inequity lies. I grew up in the West Indies, upon the island of Nevis, and, pressed into the family business, I visited Surinam. There I was abducted by the Maroons, who thought to use me as a hostage, or perhaps they would have killed me out of vengeance. I convinced them, however, that I was of a different tribe, one as despised by their oppressors as their own, and through a series of circumstances I shall not now relate, I remained with them for two years, embracing their cause, though at the same time attempting to temper it.”

“It must have been trying to live among them,” I said.

“At times it was, but I did not live wholly among them. I would travel to white settlements, where my connection to the Maroons was unknown, and I would learn of the outside world. I became enchanted with what I read of your new country. After so long in the jungle, I knew I must live in a land founded upon the principle that all men are created equal. So I came to Philadelphia, for it has a large population of Jews, and here I met my wife.”

“How is it that you came to work for Hamilton?”

“Having done what I did with the Maroons, I did not wish to return to a life of trade, though that is how I first supported myself. Once the government moved to Philadelphia, upon a whim I presented myself to Hamilton. He has since found work for me serving the country, though this is the first time I have served him directly.”

“Why Hamilton?” I asked. “Why did you seek him out of all men? Is it the West Indian connection?” Everyone knew that Hamilton had been born a bastard on the island of Nevis. His mother had been a French strumpet, his father a penniless younger son of a Scots family of more puffed-up pretension than means.

“It was more than our geographical connection. Hamilton’s mother’s first husband,” Lavien said, “was my uncle, Johan Lavien.”

This was a greater surprise than his past connection with the Maroons. “What? Hamilton has Jew kinsmen?”

Lavien shook his head. “They had no children. My uncle was a monster, and the lady was right to run from him. Hamilton has every reason to dislike me for my name—and my face, I suppose; I’m told I look a bit like my uncle. Yet Hamilton has been nothing but kind.”

I found this hard to believe but did not say so. “As Hamilton admires you so much,” I suggested, “perhaps you might come with me when I speak to him. You might try to persuade him to let me in on your secrets.”