Washington himself was also stressed out. His Virginia plantation was chronically cash poor. His land in western Pennsylvania was proving to be a bad investment, as it was difficult to collect rents from the rebel-minded tenant farmers. His grand scheme — the Potomac Company — aimed at opening up a route from the Potomac River to the Ohio River, was looking like a loser. To top it off Washington himself was now facing open criticism for the first time, in particular from Jefferson’s secret paper, the National Gazette, and from small political groups called democratic societies or clubs, a novelty springing up everywhere, inspired by the revolutionary fervor from France. All of this added to the din of criticism against Washington and his government. In this inflamed environment, the unrest in western Pennsylvania suddenly began to assume the specter of a prescient nightmare, with enough tinder to inflame the entire country. And then in the fall of 1793 an epidemic of yellow fever closed down Philadelphia for two months and nearly put Hamilton on his deathbed.
Meanwhile, mob rule continued throughout western Pennsylvania. Rebels burned down barns of anyone who dared to even register his still. The militia mob of the Mingo Creek Association had shed its disguises and morphed into the fictional character of mayhem, “Tom the Tinker.” The rebellion was growing bolder.
And still no help came from the east for General Neville and his dogged deputy tax inspector Benjamin Wells.
WHAT HAPPENED: OPERATION “SELF INVASION”
The rebellion simmered along until the summer of 1794. Washington’s moderation was still the order of the day, although there were more than enough other problems to distract him. Coupled with Hamilton’s impetuous precocity, Washington’s restraint was a key to the powerful partnership. But Washington had his phlegmatic limits. He was finally pushed over the edge when General Neville and a federal marshal were attacked in an attempt to serve writs to recalcitrant distillers, the latest brilliant salvo by Hamilton in his low-grade war.
The obstinate deputy tax inspector Benjamin Wells drew up a list of still owners in early summer. Hamilton took the list and drafted writs to be served, which required the defendants to trek three hundred miles to Philadelphia and appear in court in August, when courts were actually closed. Any small farmer who tried to appear in court would have to spend many weeks away from home and work, risking financial disaster. The writs were a spark, deliberately lit by Hamilton. The always-prepared Hamilton also knew that Congress was out of session and that the Militia Act would give Washington the power to call up federal militia by himself during this time.
Out west, an angry mob quickly confronted Neville and the marshal when they started serving the writs on July 17, 1794. They retreated to Neville’s estate, already armed and stocked for defense, with Neville’s family still inside. The mob pursued them and attacked the plantation. Neville, who had fought in a real war, drove them off with determined musket fire. The seething rabble retreated to an abandoned French fort nearby to wait for backup from the local militias.
The militia, now a small army of 500 men, marched back up to Neville’s plantation and demanded his resignation and surrender of the writs. Neville refused. The rebels attacked the plantation, now defended by a dozen or so soldiers from the nearby government fort. They traded fire for an hour until they set the house aflame, forcing the soldiers to surrender. Neville, who had evacuated his family and was watching the battle from the woods, fled to Pittsburgh. The battle was over, for now. Tom the Tinker had evolved into a gangland army.
The mob now threatened to turn its wrath on Pittsburgh, where the marshal and Neville had holed up, unless Neville resigned and handed over the writs. Fearful that the army was looming just outside the town and with his home in ruins, Neville finally relented. But the stubborn marshal refused to surrender the writs.
Enter a Pittsburgh lawyer named Hugh Brackenridge. He stepped forward, perilously placing himself between the two forces in an attempt to defuse the situation. He stalled the rebels long enough for Neville and the marshal to jump on a boat and escape down the Ohio River like Huckleberry Finn and Big Jim. Neville and the marshal eventually made it to Philadelphia three weeks later to report to Washington and Hamilton.
Tom the Tinker’s army went back to angry debating. Brackenridge the peacemaker went to a meeting of the Mingo Creek Association around July 22 and urged them to appeal for amnesty to avoid the inevitable violent suppression of the rebellion. He warned them that the Militia Act gave the president the power to crush them, and he possessed the foresight to see that Hamilton would do it.
But a rich lawyer named David Bradford, whose courage under fire was left untested when he declined to join the attack on Neville’s plantation, now stepped forward and bravely called for continued resistance. Bradford was under the delusion that he could turn the ragged rebellion into a real revolution in the manner of Robespierre and his trusty guillotine. Bradford called for a congress of delegates from the region to take place in two weeks and urged an attack on the government fort near Pittsburgh to steal arms. At the last second, he backed off when he realized that the soldiers were actually there not to suppress the settlers but defend them from those murderous Native Americans. The overzealous Bradford realized that even in the midst of a rebellion, keeping the woods clear of those pesky Native Americans was mission critical.
Bradford then had the mail to Philadelphia robbed to find out who was plotting against his revolution. When they realized Neville’s son was still in Pittsburgh trying to organize resistance, Bradford and other rebel leaders called for a grand muster of all militia leaders and their troops outside Pittsburgh. It would be a show of force to denounce the muddy little village of Pittsburgh as the hated center of government intransigence, whiskey taxation, and perfidy.
When the mob finally assembled outside Pittsburgh at Braddock’s field on August 1, 1794 — the scene of the French and Indian defeat of British General Braddock in 1755 — it was seven thousand strong. Bradford, all doubts about the revolution he was leading and former cowardice safely banished from his mind, now sported a self-crowned general’s rank and a flashy uniform. His demands on the citizens of Pittsburgh had increased, on pain of the torch: Neville’s son, the army major who had led the defense of Neville’s estate, and a list of others must be banished from the town. And the militiamen of Pittsburgh defending the city had to march out to join the rebels and prove their loyalty to the revolution. Frightened Pittsburghers began to board up their little houses to repel the invasion.
But once again the brave Brackenridge stepped into the breach. He was performing a delicate and perilous dance. When Bradford finally got around to ordering the march on Pittsburgh after a day of drunken speeches and a whole lot of riding around firing random shots into the air, Brackenridge recklessly inserted himself at the head of the rebel column. He knew he would be vulnerable to accusations of being a rebel himself but hoped he could defuse the impending bloodshed.