by Mark Meyer
Before they had even arrived to talk with the rebels, Yeates and Bradford urged Philadelphia to bring troops west. On August 24, a top-secret Cabinet meeting was held in which, under Hamilton’s forceful arguments, the federal government started to prepare for war in earnest. Hamilton told Governor Henry “Light-Horse Harry” Lee of Virginia to begin to secretly ready his troops. He demanded that war orders be post-dated until September 1 for “particular reasons.” The peace commission had barely begun its mission, and war was already in the works.
While Philadelphia was working its way through the logistical and political spadework of building a war machine, 226 delegates met on August 14 to discuss the next step in the rebellion. Senator Ross, who lived in the West, was there, although he did not yet know he had been appointed as a federal peace commissioner. Brackenridge and Gallatin were there as well, looking for a way to stop the runaway train. David Bradford, having cast his fate wholeheartedly with the rebels, wanted as many people on board that train as possible. The meeting was on Bradford’s home turf, and he thought the majority of the delegates came predisposed to his view.
Bradford showed Gallatin his proposed war resolution. Gallatin, wanting to put space between himself and the militants, flatly rejected the proposal. Brackenridge seemed more sympathetic, and the militants, though distrustful of Brackenridge’s friendship with Presley Neville, wanted him on their side.
As resolutions came before the assembly, Brackenridge succeeded in having them referred to a committee composed of himself, Gallatin, Bradford, and Herman Husbands. That night, with the committee scheduled to meet in the morning, Brackenridge stayed at a local farmhouse with many of the people who had attended the assembly. “The whole cry was war,” he later recalled. As he lay on the cabin floor, his head on a saddle, he knew that if war came, his life was over.
The next day, the committee labored over the resolutions. Gallatin directly attacked Bradford’s approach; Brackenridge parried with humor and deflection; and Bradford sought language that would bind the westerners together in armed opposition to the federal government. In the end, the most important product of the committee’s work was to establish a standing committee of sixty men that would represent the western country in its complaints with Philadelphia. The subject of war was finessed by giving the standing committee the power “in case of a sudden emergency to take such temporary measures as they may think necessary.”
When things finally seemed like they were drawing to a close, word came that the peace commissioners were only a half day away and wanted to meet with the assembly. Brackenridge and Gallatin knew this was a disaster waiting to happen. Things were not helped when Washington’s proclamation accusing the westerners of “treason” was read to the assembly. Senator Ross told Brackenridge he had to keep the meeting from happening. Brackenridge knew that the peace commission was his lifeline. If they came with authority for a blanket amnesty, there might be a way to save his life and keep the country from civil war. Brackenridge was also optimistic that he could strike a deal. He personally knew all three of the federal commissioners and Gallatin would support him. He went before the assembly and convinced them that meeting the commissioners would be a waste of everyone’s time. It was better to send a small negotiating team that could report back. The men, tiring of the meeting, agreed to defer matters to a negotiating committee of twelve men, including Brackenridge, Albert Gallatin, and the radicals, James Marshall and David Bradford.
The peace commissioners went to Pittsburgh for the night, where a mob immediately raised a liberty pole in front of their inn, proclaiming their solidarity with the rebels’ cause. This welcome did not improve the commissioners’ view of the situation in the West.
Brackenridge visited Attorney General Bradford that night, and found Isaac Craig regaling him with stories of how Brackenridge and the rebels had banished him and others from Pittsburgh. He intervened, gave his version of events, and told Bradford that he was not an insurgent. The attorney general’s response was not reassuring, however. Brackenridge spent a restless night, now seeing that Philadelphia might regard him as an insurgent, and wondering if he too should just throw his lot in with the rebels. With the help of the Spanish, the English, and the Indian tribes, they might be able to beat back Philadelphia.
By morning, though, Brackenridge was again focused on how to obtain a deal. The federal commissioners demanded that the negotiating committee and the standing committee pledge allegiance to the government, submit to the whiskey tax, and renounce any violence against the government. In addition, the commissioners wanted every person in western Pennsylvania to publicly sign a pledge of fealty to the federal government on September 14. If there were no civil unrest for one year, the government would grant blanket amnesty in return. Brackenridge had the deal he wanted; he now had to sell it to the standing committee and to the rest of the people in western Pennsylvania.
The standing committee met in Brownsville on August 28 to consider the commissioners’ proposals. As the negotiating committee reported on the tentative settlement, angry murmurs rippled through the crowd once they realized the whiskey tax would not be repealed. Bradford, who had signed on to the deal, trashed the proposals, stoking the assembly’s rising anger. The moderates, understanding that things were teetering on the brink, successfully persuaded the delegates to break for the day and return the next morning. The Washington County men gathered around Bradford to caucus on their next move. Brackenridge, not knowing what the night might bring, went across the river to a farmhouse, safely away from the mass of men.
The next morning, he huddled with the moderates. The night had not gone well. Bradford and his men had spent the night fanning the flames. Some urged violent confrontation with those who stood in the way of the rebellion. Many thought Brackenridge had been bribed by the government. No-nonsense Mingo Creek men showed up at the meeting. Civil war was in the air. The moderates decided that Gallatin, a committed anti-Federalist and friend of Thomas Jefferson, would speak first.
Gallatin argued his case with passion, point by point, trying to diffuse anger with reason. He distinguished the American Revolution from the present fight, reviewed the concessions Alexander Hamilton had made on the whiskey tax, presented a method forward to seek repeal, and highlighted the concessions the committee had wrangled from the commissioners.
If Gallatin, the financier, presented the lawyer’s brief, Brackenridge, the lawyer, went to the heart of the matter. War or no war—that was the question. If the rebels persisted, it would be a civil war against the other fifteen states, led by none other than General George Washington. Although they might parry Philadelphia’s initial thrusts, they could not withstand a prolonged campaign. Washington would bring all the military might he had to keep the country together, and he had proven that he was not easily deterred. In the end, the West would lose, and the rebels would pay for it with their lives and fortunes. He encouraged the men to accept the amnesty, keep the West together, and continue the diplomatic fight to repeal the whiskey tax. There was no other way. He ended by saying he had done what he could, but would no longer participate in the negotiations.
After ten hours of speeches, Bradford took the floor. “Still for war,” he exclaimed. He told the men that they could “defeat the first army that attempts to cross the mountains.” They would “seize their arms and baggage.” As he beat the war drum, he talked of independence for the West. Finally, the speeches were done, and the time of decision had come.
The standing committee voted in secret, thirty-four to twenty-three, to accept the commissioners’ offer. They certified a resolution stating that “it is in the interest of the people of this country to accede to the proposals made by the commissioners on the part of the United States.”
The peace commissioners, however, were not satisfied. They knew there had been a “public advocacy” of “open rebellion” during the meeting. Moreover, “two-fifths” of t
he standing committee had rejected the “indulgence” offered by the government, preferring the “convulsions of a civil contest.” The secret nature of the vote showed that government supporters feared reprisals by the militants.
The federal commissioners offered one final out: Each man in the four counties must “declare himself openly” and give “his assurances of submission.” The commissioners warned the committee that the President had raised a militia of 15,000 men, including 1500 riflemen from Virginia. In short, it was time to put up or suffer the consequences.
The committee caved to the commissioners’ demands. On September 11, 1794, every man over eighteen was required to appear in his township between the hours of noon and seven to publicly declare allegiance to the United States and sign a document agreeing to “submit to the laws of the United States.” Further, he specifically had to agree neither to “directly nor indirectly, oppose...the acts for raising revenue on distilled spirits and stills.” Finally, each man had to agree to support “civil authority.”
Confusion and fear reigned as word of the fealty vote made its way along the frontier. Some thought signing it was an admission of guilt. Others were fearful of repercussions from militant neighbors. In some remote areas, word of the vote never arrived. Brackenridge spent the day riding the circuit, helping to calm tensions in Mingo Creek territory. He arrived back in Pittsburgh too late to vote by the deadline, but was able to pledge his loyalty the next day.
When the dust settled, 580 men voted to submit and 280 voted in opposition. Two weeks later, Isaac Craig wrote to John Neville, telling him that the “leaders of the insurrection were endeavoring by a new finesse to lull government” into the belief that the rebellion was suppressed. He assured Neville that the “general disposition” of the people was that “no excise man shall exist in this country.” Respect for law would only return to the West if the “weight of the Executive armament” were “felt in this country.” The Neville Connection would not be denied, and on September 25, 1794, immediately after receiving the commissioners’ report recommending military action, Washington ordered the troops to march while announcing to the world that the federal government’s “overtures of forgiveness” had run their course and that western Pennsylvania remained in a state of insurrection.
As Washington prepared an army of 12,950 men, larger than the army he led when he defeated the British at Yorktown, there was another assembly at Parkinson’s Ferry in Washington County. The assembly adopted a resolution proclaiming complete submission to the government and appointed William Findley, an anti-Federalist congressman, and David Redick, to plead with Washington not to send militia into western Pennsylvania.
The two men were able to secure an audience, but Washington, with Hamilton present, would not budge. The troops would march to obtain “unequivocal submission to the laws,” protection of excise officers, and to extract certain “atonements” for illegal activity. The army would behave, Washington promised, but the government needed to “crush to atoms” and extinguish any “flame” of insurgency before it spread. Washington thought he had put the fear of God into the emissaries. Soon after the meeting, he instructed Hamilton to issue orders appointing General “Light-Horse Harry” Lee head of the army. Hamilton marched as the army’s civilian head and Washington returned to Philadelphia.
The march over the mountains was punishing. “No expedition in the last War, not even Hannibal’s passage over the Alps, could equal the almost insuperable hardships we suffered,” wrote one soldier in his diary. Supplies for the soldiers could not keep up. Washington left written orders that pillaging the countryside would not be tolerated, but as food supplies dwindled, Hamilton issued orders allowing the army to “impress” civilian property found along the march. The legalized theft of the westerners’ hard-earned winter stores exposed them to deprivation and possible death as they entered the harsh winter. Whiskey poles expressing solidarity with the whiskey boys sprang up along the army’s route.
Word of the army’s approach reached the frontier. Bradford took a canoe south and was hiding on a coal boat when local militia found him. A Washington County rifleman singlehandedly drove away the militia and Bradford made his way into Spanish country where he was welcomed by the authorities. About 2,000 men who had not signed the fealty oath escaped into the wilderness rather than face the army’s wrath.
Brackenridge, after a long night of indecision, in which he considered hiring a hunter to retreat with him into Indian country, decided to stay in Pittsburgh and await his fate. With Hamilton, Neville, and the army bivouacked between the Monongahela and Youghiogheny Rivers, Brackenridge wrote out his version of events for Senator Ross. If he was to be assassinated, he preferred that it happen in the comfort of his home rather than in some godforsaken part of the Indian country. Gallatin was also high on the army’s hit list, but he enjoyed some protections as a result of his recent election to Congress. Brackenridge enjoyed no such advantage, and General Neville, traveling with the army, made sure Hamilton and the army knew that Brackenridge was “the greatest scoundrel on God Almighty’s earth.”
The Nevilles returned to Pittsburgh, entering triumphantly, making their way to Presley Neville’s townhouse, only one hundred yards from Brackenridge’s. That night a squad of soldiers went to Brackenridge’s house with assassination on their mind. The Nevilles heard the commotion and called off the soldiers, but Brackenridge felt no gratitude. He knew they were saving themselves from possible incrimination and saving him for a much more public humiliation and death.
Working from lists prepared by Hamilton, the United States attorney, and the Nevilles, the army coordinated a massive roundup of suspects on the night of November 13, 1794. Remembered as the “Terrible” or “Dreadful” Night, men, on little or no evidence, were taken at bayonet point from crying wives and screaming children. The soldiers marched the half-dressed men through the streets in the darkness, across creeks that reached to their waists, and imprisoned them in damp barns. In one case they commanded the prisoners to eat raw flesh. Federal Judge Richard Peters had traveled with the army to provide due process, but Hamilton, invoking exigent circumstances, had authorized the arrests without warrants. In Mingo Creek, General Anthony “Blackbeard” White took forty men prisoner and held them without food or water for two days, culminating in a forced march so punishing that the soldiers ignored White’s commands and allowed the most feeble prisoners to ride their mounts.
Awaiting his fate, Brackenridge slept in his clothes for two nights. Twenty years earlier, he had suffered a nervous breakdown, and now he feared his nerves were deserting him again. He did not think he could overcome the bias of a Philadelphia jury, and he worried that a trial would ruin him financially and emotionally. Finally, the subpoena came, ordering him to appear before Judge Peters to give testimony. When he presented himself, he was instructed to see Alexander Hamilton directly.
John Woods, Neville’s lawyer, thought he had found the smoking gun in the case against Brackenridge. There was a mysterious letter from Brackenridge to Bradford requesting papers concerning the “business.” The Nevilles and Woods believed this was the missing link showing that David Bradford and Brackenridge were coordinating the insurgency. Hamilton called in Senator Ross, who had continually told him that there had not been any correspondence or coordination between David Bradford, the militant leader, and Brackenridge. Hamilton asked Ross if the handwriting in the letter belonged to Brackenridge. Ross saw that the handwriting was clearly Brackenridge’s, but then he noticed something that had escaped everyone else in the room. “It is the handwriting,” said Ross, pausing for dramatic effect, “and there is only this small matter observable, that it is addressed to William Bradford, Attorney General of the United States.” There was a cold silence in the room. Finally, Hamilton spoke: “Gentlemen, you are too fast; this will not do.”
Now Hamilton sat face to face with the man he had been led to believe had t
ried to start a civil war. For two days he listened and probed as Brackenridge explained the events from his perspective. At one point, Brackenridge thought Hamilton was suggesting he would be given more leniency if he incriminated some of the principal players. On the second day, Hamilton told Brackenridge that he no longer was in “personal danger” from the government. Brackenridge was free to go upon signing the notes Hamilton had taken. Emotionally exhausted, he found it difficult to keep his hand steady as he signed the statement. When word got out that Brackenridge had talked himself out of prosecution, Neville pronounced him the “most artful fellow on God Almighty’s earth.”
Others were not so fortunate. Hamilton had made it clear to Judge Peters that a critical mass of men needed to be sent back to Philadelphia for legal proceedings. Of the more than one hundred men dragooned on the Terrible Night, twenty were marched to Philadelphia and assembled before the Black Horse Tavern on Christmas Day, 1794. By the time they arrived, they were so spent and frail that even Presley Neville expressed sympathy for their condition. Following General White’s suggestion, white pieces of paper were placed in the rebels’ hats so that the 20,000 Philadelphians who lined the parade route could identify and jeer them. The returning army and the rebels marched down Broad Street, and the president emerged from his house to acknowledge the army’s great victory. Washington again was the military hero of the United States—he had won the first revolution and now he had crushed the rebels. The friends of order, the loose political alliance of federalists who in many ways resembled the British Tories Washington had spent years battling, had established the federal government’s supremacy.
