Joan turned to him. “What do you mean?”
Leonidas laughed again. “I have seen it a hundred times, though never when the stakes were so high. It is Ethan Saunders being Ethan Saunders, when lies and false notions and absurd claims roll off his tongue; we all watched him. But now I look up and see his point. Even I, who ought not to have been fooled, was caught up. Do you not notice someone is missing?”
And indeed he was. I could not say when Lavien had slipped away. I had made a point not to look at him myself, hoping that if he was invisible to me he might be invisible to all. Joan Maycott now rushed to the door and looked out into the morning light. I moved behind her, prepared to place my hand over her mouth should she try to call to Dalton, but she made no effort. She stood there in confused silence. Far away, upon the distant King’s Highway, appeared a single awkward figure upon a gray horse, riding hard and fast like Paul Revere, to save a country that was not even his own native land. I did not believe that there would ever be ballads sung of this ride, but oh, how worthy, how glorious, it was. And it had been made possible by my actions, which I could not but like.
C ynthia once more collapsed into my arms. She trembled, and I could not be surprised. She had witnessed more violence in a few minutes than most women see in a lifetime. Her husband, however foul a man, had been killed before her eyes, killed upon false pretenses and owing to her own machinations. It would not be easy for her in the days to come, but I meant to help her all I could.
For her part, Joan Maycott looked hardly less stunned. “I underestimated you, Captain Saunders. You too, Cynthia. I thought you were but a victim, but you are clever enough to deserve the captain.” She took out a watch and studied it. “Your friend may yet save the bank.”
“You appear less distraught than I would have thought,” I said.
“Even if Hamilton can save the bank, Duer’s ruin is accomplished and cannot be undone, and his fall will be a terrible blow. There will be panic and chaos, and the Hamiltonian plan may not be utterly demolished, but it will be discredited. I had four goals, Captain Saunders: to destroy the bank, destroy Hamilton, destroy Duer, and enrich myself. Even if the bank survives, Hamilton’s career will end, and with the collapse of the market for overvalued six percent securities, I will profit handsomely on my own four percents, whose value will rise. By the way, Mrs. Pearson, you husband was a principal owner. I advise you to sell them the moment they rise above par. They won’t stay there long.”
“She is good in defeat,” I said to Leonidas.
“And what are you like in victory?” she asked. “Do you think to apprehend me and my men?”
“No,” I answered. “Lavien may have felt otherwise, but he is gone, and I don’t believe Leonidas would permit it. For my own part, I do not want to see you plotting more against the nation, but I would not see you in prison.”
She nodded. “You and Cynthia may take horses from the stables, but I beg you get gone.”
“It is Mrs. Pearson’s house,” I said.
“Perhaps this is not the time to stand upon ceremony,” said Leonidas.
Joan Maycott’s man was dead upstairs, and there were five more dead on the King’s Highway. She would learn of it soon enough, and I would not be there. “Right. We shall get gone and allow you to make your escape.”
Cynthia, ashen and trembling, clung to me as we made our way from the house. We did not look back to wonder what Leonidas or Joan or Dalton would do next. We went to the stables, found beasts to our liking, and rode hard to overtake the rather sluggish Lavien, who struggled mightily with his leg. I left Cynthia to ride with him, and I went on ahead to Philadelphia to deliver the news to Hamilton, that he might act swiftly and with great skill to save the nation. Thanks to me.
Joan Maycott
July 12, 1804
It took twelve more years to gain the full revenge I wished, though, if truth be known, it was not so sweet as I imagined. My schemes in 1792 came to far less than I had hoped and cost me far more than I would have believed. So many of our whiskey boys dead-all because we underestimated Kyler Lavien and Ethan Saunders. I bore those men no ill will, however, and never sought to strike back at them. They did what they believed to be their duty, and they did it without malice. In particular, I could never have sought to harm Captain Saunders. I had the feeling his path and mine would cross again, and though we were never what one might call friends, when it happened we bore each other respect.
Mr. Dalton and I parted ways shortly after I collected on my investments in Duer’s failure. He went west again, this time to the territory of Kentucky, where he established a large still to make whiskey in the new style. He intended to use his money to pay his taxes until such a time as the whiskey excise was revoked. Men are strange. Having done so much scheming and violence, in the end he was content to retire to private life and let political affairs sort themselves out in their own time.
Mr. Skye, however, remained faithful to me, and with his help I was able, in the end, to complete my revenge.
The markets did not collapse because of Duer’s failure, for which I blame Lavien’s frenetic ride to Philadelphia. The bank did not fail. Hamilton sent men to the City Tavern and fast riders to Boston, New York, Baltimore, and Charleston, and with the power of the Treasury Department they bought depressed issues and soothed frightened speculators. I caused a panic, not a failure. I staggered a nation-I, a border widow whom the great and powerful had used as their plaything-but I did no more than stagger it. The nation did not collapse or fly apart or buckle under the weight of its own corruption. It merely stumbled and regained its footing. I did not even bring down Hamilton. His reputation was tarnished by the panic and by Duer’s ruin and provided fodder for his enemies, but he was more determined than I would have imagined, and I saw it would take more than a panic in the markets to destroy him.
If anything, he was emboldened. He continued to pursue his whiskey tax, and the men of the West grew ever more angry and restless. On the one side were government men who would demand that distillers pay money they could never have had. On the other, the angry populace led by David Bradford and shored up by angry men with frontier spirit and an American belief in their own rights. Between these two forces the wise, amiable Hugh Henry Brackenridge stood for the ordinary man, tried to negotiate peace, and was nearly hanged for his efforts. Hamilton led an army of thirteen thousand men-the size of the entire Continental force in the Revolution-into the West against a rebellion that he could not, despite his best efforts, locate. There were no insurrectionists to fight, so some twenty men were rounded up and two sentenced to die, though they were both, in the end, pardoned.
Secretary Hamilton had been determined to stretch the limits of federal power, and Colonel Hamilton did just that. In the war, it is said, he longed to command an army, and in peace he created a conflict so he could have his wish. I cannot say if he took any satisfaction that the enemy he pursued was entirely of his own manufacture, and mostly in his own imagination.
I could not remain in Philadelphia or anywhere else I was known, but I was not done with revenge. I would not act so rashly as I had once, but I would act. Two years later, I delivered a series of anonymous letters, informing Hamilton’s republican enemies of his affair with Maria Reynolds, and if I embellished his crimes, suggesting he used federal money to pay off the lady’s husband, I will not apologize. Hamilton was not above dirty tricks, and I saw no reason to be above them either. The affair ruined Hamilton for public office and made it impossible that he could ever stand for President. It would be enough for the time being.