American History Tellers - Rebellion in the Early Republic - The Whiskey Rebellion | 3

Episode Date: April 1, 2020

Only a few years after Shays’ Rebellion was suppressed, a new revolt broke out in western Pennsylvania. Anti-government resentment had been growing on the frontier for years. Then in 1791, the U.S. government handed down a tax on domestic spirits. It became known as the Whiskey Tax. Many western farmers and distillers, already struggling under harsh conditions, refused to pay the tax and rose up in defiance. Armed gangs ambushed tax collectors—and anyone who supported them.As resistance spread, authorities struggled to suppress the violence. Then, in the summer of 1794, hundreds of rebels went to battle against U.S. Army troops at Bower Hill, the mountaintop mansion of a wealthy tax collector. The rebels burned the manor to the ground and a popular rebel leader was shot dead, inflaming tensions.The federal government had an unprecedented crisis on its hands.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's October 1791 in Washington County, Pennsylvania, and you're in a sorry state. Yesterday, you were approached by a man from back east, a deputy marshal who was in the county on the business of the state, he said. He looked like an Easterner, polished and overdressed. You've never really understood fashion. You're an old cattle drover. The mud you wear today is indistinguishable from the mud you wore yesterday.

To clean it off is just a waste of your efforts. But you'll be taking a bath for sure now. Help! Anyone, help! Help me, please! You've been calling out for five hours. The sun is sinking behind the horizon and with it any hope of rescue before morning. You try one more time. Help! Please, someone help me! Hello? Hello! Hello, I'm over here! You call and call, leading your hopeful rescuer to you. He steps off the road to find you tied to a tree. Gosh, oh Potomac, what's happened to you?

A horrible mischief, sir, but please don't touch me. I'm very sore and, well, you'd likely only attach yourself to me. But if you have a knife, can you cut my ropes? You're an old man, inured to most indignities. But this is something else. You're nearly naked, bleeding from horrible lash wounds, and covered in thick black tar, crusted and reeking, with what must be the feathers of a whole henhouse stuck to you.

Your rescuer cuts through the ropes. Who did this to you? They leapt out of the brush like they had been waiting for me. I'm an old cattle man, only delivering some papers on my way back home. I had no idea what they wanted from me. Papers? Yes, that's what all this was about. These men were mighty angry about them and at me for carrying them. Of course, I hadn't the slightest, you know, as well. I don't need to read to manage cattle. But I'll be damned if some of those papers aren't stuck to my backside right now. You turn around, and your rescuer peels away one of the documents that Deputy Marshall had commissioned you to deliver.

This is an arrest warrant from the Federal District Court of Philadelphia for a man named John Hamilton. I don't know a John Hamilton. I do. David and Daniel, too. They're whiskey boys up around Pigeon Creek. This is about the tax. I was just to deliver the papers. I have nothing to do with the tax. If you're carrying warrants for arrest, these boys think you do. Your rescuer takes a kerchief from his pocket, using it to offer you a hand up. Cake tar cracks and pulls at your skin. All right, let's get you cleaned up. You live far? Another six miles, I reckon. That's too far to walk in your condition. Well, I wouldn't be walking if

they hadn't stole my horse. They stole your horse? All right, let's get you back to our place. It's closer, and I've got soap in his hand for scrubbing. The trip back is painful, as the dried tar tears at your lash wounds. You're grateful for the kindness of this stranger, but it gets you thinking about your neighbors. You've been in this area for 30 years. While you don't know these Pigeon Creek boys, you know plenty like them. Distillers, turning Washington County's plentiful grain into whiskey.

Hell, whiskey is pretty much what this county runs on. It's the area industry, an important export. It's even currency. But this? This violence over the whiskey tax? No man likes the tax, but no man deserves the cruelty shown you. And you're a local. If they're mad enough about the tax to do this to one of their own, what will they do to the real men in charge? With Audible, there's more to imagine when you listen. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, expert advice, any genre you love, you can be inspired to imagine new worlds,

new possibilities, new ways of thinking. And Audible makes it easy to be inspired and entertained as a part of your everyday routine without needing to set aside extra time. As an Audible member, you choose one title a month to keep from their ever-growing catalog. Explore themes of friendship, loss, and hope with Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt. Find what piques your imagination. Sign up for a free 30-day Audible trial, and your first audiobook is free. Visit audible.ca to sign up. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery

that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. In 1791, violence raged on the western frontier after a new federal tax on distilled spirits ignited the angers of settlers. Just a few years after Shays' Rebellion was successfully quashed, popular unrest erupted again in western Pennsylvania.

Frontiersmen formed gangs and brutally attacked tax collectors and anyone associated with them. It was the next flashpoint in an ongoing contest between the Merchant East and the Agricultural West, the federal and the state government East and the Agricultural West, the Federal and the State Government, and Order and Liberty, setting the stage for a domestic crisis that put the young nation's survival to the test. This is Episode 3, The Whiskey Rebellion. In 1788, the United States Constitution became the law of the land, giving rise to a new debate over the power of taxation. Before, taxing authority had rested with the states under the Articles

of Confederation. Now, with a new Constitution, Congress wielded unlimited power to lay and collect taxes, duties, imposts, and excises. Many Americans feared the federal government would abuse its new taxing authority. The nation had only just emerged from a war with Britain that grew out of a tax revolt. And while few Americans challenged Congress's role in taxing imports, many thought only the states should have authority over taxes on domestic property and products. They argued that a remote federal government could not possibly understand or represent local interests. This skepticism was especially strong on the western frontier. There, families lived a harsh and unpredictable existence, constantly teetering on the edge

of survival. The soil was rich, but the winters were severe and disease was rampant. Violence was also a constant threat. American expansion into the Northwest had sparked deadly clashes with Native American nations. Tribes were often backed by the British, who hoped to limit American westward expansion and protect their fur trade. French and Spanish powers also vied for control over the Northwest Territories, making uneasy, ever-shifting alliances with the Americans. These settlers, far away from the halls of power in Philadelphia, often felt cut off from the rest of the country. The Appalachian Mountains made the divide even starker by forming a physical barrier between remote settlers and the eastern population centers.

The Mississippi River, a critical waterway, was still controlled by Spain, further limiting trade and travel for American settlers. This geographic isolation sowed a fierce independence among Westerners, along with a frontier sense of justice. Bloodshed and feuds were common. In time, reports of the violence, depravity, and drunkenness out West flooded the East, shaping deeply negative views about frontiersmen and deepening the existing divides. One prominent Massachusetts politician called Westerners the least worthy subjects of the United States, deeming them a little less savage than the Indians. But the enmity was mutual. Just as Easterners looking West feared anarchy and a breakdown of

social order, Westerners looking East feared the specter of tyranny and a loss of liberty, prompting secession movements to spring up throughout the West. Many worried that the young republic, still less than a decade old, was teetering on the brink of disillusion. Nowhere in the West was life as hard as in western Pennsylvania. With little support from the federal government, frontier settlements there were left to defend themselves, and a sharp economic decline after the revolution only made things worse. Living conditions plummeted in the 1780s and 1790s. Propaganda had promised migrants a better life on the frontier and a chance to own

their own land. But most settlers lived in squalor and filthy mud-floor cabins, and many didn't own their own lands. And in some towns and villages, nearly two-thirds of the population were tenants. And as the poor got poorer, the rich got richer. Wealth became concentrated in the hands of just a few men, including Eastern speculators who scooped up the most fertile land. The settlers grew to despise these absentee landlords. Rich or poor, however, one crop dominated frontier agriculture—grain. It flourished in the rich western soil, but transporting grain through the wilderness and over the Appalachian Mountains was difficult and costly. So farmers found bigger

profits by distilling the grain into whiskey, which was far easier and cheaper to ship to eastern markets. In one Pennsylvania region, by 1790, there was one whiskey still for every 10 families. But whiskey was also crucial to the functioning of the frontier economy. Hard currency was in short supply. So much of western Pennsylvania operated as a barter economy. People used beef, pork, wheat, and corn to trade for candlewick, furs, and linens. But whiskey was by far the most important item to barter. Laborers even got paid in whiskey. Landlords accepted it as rent. And of course, these Westerners drank plenty of it too. Men, women, and children all enjoyed the spirit

at all times of day and at all times of gatherings, including dances, work, and even church. So when Westerners learned of a looming federal tax on whiskey, many feared it would take all of that away, their culture, their independence, their livelihood. By the early 1790s, the new U.S. government was still trying to pay off the nation's massive Revolutionary War debt. Through much wheeling and dealing, Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton had pushed through a plan for the federal government to assume the state's debts, but that approach now left the country with an $830,000 deficit.

To cover the shortfall, Hamilton had another plan. In January 1791, he proposed a bill to tax imported spirits and impose a new excise tax on domestic spirits, including whiskey. He argued that alcohol was a luxury item that endangered public health. The proposed taxes would raise $975,000 more than enough to cover the deficit. Unsurprisingly, Hamilton's plan triggered heated debate. On one side, in support of the bill, were seaboard politicians whose constituents dealt in foreign imports, and moral reformers who worried about the harmful effects of alcohol. On the other side, in opposition, were politicians who represented the rural West

and the people who depended on distilling whiskey for their livelihood. They denounced the tax, warning it would spark dissent on the frontier. But in the end, Congress approved the tax by a vote of 35 to 21. It was the first tax ever levied on a domestic product, and it would come to be known as the Whiskey Tax. Imagine it's summer, 1791, in Allegheny County, Pennsylvania. It's early morning, and you're starting the day in the outhouse behind your home. The small cabin is filled with wooden barrels, jars, and tubes. You breathe in the familiar smell, damp wood mixed with rich, musty sweetness, like overripe fruit, and of course, the scent of alcohol. This is where you distill your neighbor's grain into whiskey.

Just as you're about to light the small furnace and get to work, you hear movement outside. Suddenly, a strange man enters the cabin. He catches a whiff and immediately covers his nose with a handkerchief. Oh, well, this is quite the operation. You take in the man's polished boots, tailored breeches, and ruffled shirt. He looks wildly out of place. Who are you? What do you want? Sir, I'm the regional excise inspector. I'm here for a routine inspection.

Of course, you've heard all about the new tax on whiskey, but this is the first time anyone has come calling for it. No, you have no right to be here. This is private property. On the contrary, sir, I have the right to enter any relevant building from dawn to dusk. Now, let's see what we have here. Inspector starts moving glass jugs on the shelves. One of them nearly tips over. Gaff, be careful. Then he turns to the half dozen wood barrels in the back of the room. Your heart sinks. Sir, do you have a tax certificate for these?

No, I'm not paying that oppressive tax. Well, in that case, I'm going to have to confiscate these. You can't be serious. Those barrels are my income for the next year. Anyone caught with casks of spirits without a tax certificate is subject to seizure and forfeiture. It's stated clearly in the law. Well, if you haven't noticed, the law doesn't mean much out here in Allegheny County. The government certainly doesn't show up when we actually need help. But the inspector ignores you. Instead, he tips a barrel on its side and begins rolling it toward the door. You lunge to stop him, but he pushes you out of the way and glares at you. Need I remind you, sir, that if you hinder my efforts in any way or continue to be late on

your payments, you'll be hauled off to stand trial in Philadelphia. This shuts you up. You know you can't leave your family for that long, and there's no way you can afford the cost of a 300-mile journey. You frontiersmen are as bad as the savages. Are you going to help me with this or not? Help you seize my home property? No, I don't think so. You can do it your damn self. You watch him struggle to move the heavy barrel and feel the anger burning in your chest. As he disappears the way he came, you shout out after him, You won't get away with this!

But you know there's little else you can do except vow to get revenge. Any distiller who failed to pay the excise tax was subject to having their property seized by federal inspectors. And tax collectors didn't just take casks of whiskey. They took horses, cattle, carts, and boats, too. This crackdown hit small distillers hard. Under the new law, they were taxed at a rate of nine cents per gallon.

In contrast, large distillers, who mostly operated in the East, only paid $0.06 per gallon. They could also decrease their taxes by increasing the volume of their production. But in most cases, smaller producers couldn't simply ramp up production to take advantage of a tax break. They lacked the capacity in any way to fight off larger distillers who undercut them and drove them out of business. Additionally, the excise tax had to be paid in cash. But for small distillers operating out West where currency was scarce and bartering the norm, this was an impossible demand. But the new law didn't just affect distillers. For the poorest people in the West, who were paid not in cash but in whiskey, the new law effectively taxed their

income. They were already struggling through bleak economic times, but now they felt they were being taxed unfairly by a government that had largely abandoned them. By the summer of 1791, many had reached a breaking point. Westerners gathered in public meetings and assembled to denounce the tax, but they were divided about the best path forward. And so, in early September, respected leaders from all four western Pennsylvania counties came together at a tavern on the banks of the Monongahela River in Pittsburgh. There, moderates urged nonviolent action through the appropriate legal channels. They decided to petition the Pennsylvania Statehouse and the U.S. Congress and explain the danger the tax posed to the local economy.

But others weren't so patient. A separate group of community leaders was resorting to more extreme measures. On the eve of the Pittsburgh Convention, 16 men in Washington County, Pennsylvania, had attacked a recently appointed federal tax collector named Robert Johnson. Johnson was riding through the forest alone at night when he was suddenly surrounded by an armed mob. They had smeared soot on their faces and disguised themselves in women's clothes. Grabbing Johnson from his horse, they stripped him, tarred and feathered him, and cut off his hair. But despite their disguises, Johnson recognized some of his attackers and soon got a

judge to issue warrants for their arrest. But the local deputy marshal, fearful of arresting his neighbors, was too scared to act. So he hired an elderly cattle driver named John Connor to deliver the arrest warrant on his behalf. Connor was illiterate, and he didn't understand what the documents he was delivering meant. But this did not matter to his enraged neighbors. The mob surrounded him, whipped him, tarred and feathered him, stole his horse and money, and tied him to a tree where he languished for five hours. Despite the efforts of moderate leaders, these brutal tactics would only escalate, and soon the violence would force the frontier gangs to face a new formidable opponent, a stubborn tax

inspector who would be dogged in his determination to enforce the federal government's will. And all the while, George Washington and Alexander Hamilton were closely monitoring the frontier, looking for any sign that this spark of unrest was opportunity of a lifetime. I wouldn't be chasing it if I didn't believe that the world needs this product. In each episode, the entrepreneurs get 90 seconds to pitch to an audience of potential customers. This is match point, baby. If the audience liked the product, they'd pitch them in front of our panel of experts, Gwyneth Paltrow,

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It was an order. I'm your host, Brandon James Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you to do something. It wasn't a request. It was an order. I'm your host, Brandon James Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Criminal Attorney early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. After the whiskey tax went into effect in the spring of 1791, President George Washington appointed a wealthy landholder to be the regional tax inspector in western Pennsylvania. His name was John Neville. Neville was the son of a rich Virginia planter. After the Revolutionary

War, Neville had settled in the Pittsburgh region, where he developed a lifestyle that was luxurious compared to that of his neighbors. Most frontiersmen lived in crude log cabins, but Neville was the master of Bower Hill, a 10,000-acre mountaintop plantation, one of the largest and most lavish homes west of the Alleghenies. The interior walls of the towering two-store house were plastered and painted, the floors carpeted, and the rooms were decorated with imported European furniture. And at a time when most settlers couldn't even afford a horse or a cow, Neville owned 10 horses, 16 cows, and 23 sheep. Like President Washington, he depended

on slavery to keep his extensive property running. He owned 18 slaves who lived in outbuildings surrounding Bower Hill. He also operated the largest whiskey distillery in the region, getting rich off lucrative army contracts. Neville's wealth set him apart, and he didn't try to hide the fact that he felt superior to his poorer neighbors. He was proud, stubborn, and unabashedly cosmopolitan. These qualities would make him the focal point for frontier rage over government intrusions in the West. Neville had once opposed excise taxes when the issue was raised on the state level, but now he became a committed supporter of the whiskey tax because he stood to benefit twofold.

As a large distiller, he could lower his taxes by increasing production, giving him an advantage over smaller producers in the region. And as the regional tax collector, he earned a $450 government salary and a 1% commission on his collections. Locals saw Neville's shift in support as blatant corruption. Only now that he had a financial stake in the tax, they argued, did he support it. But Neville would prove unrelenting in his commitment to his new role. In summer 1792, he began stepping up efforts to enforce the excise tax. That July, Neville took out an advertisement in the Pittsburgh Gazette seeking office space to administer the tax. An army officer and tavern keeper named William

Faulkner, who was new to Washington County, offered Neville a room to rent, against the advice of his neighbors. Neville then took out another ad to announce he would be registering whiskey stills at Faulkner's residence. Very soon after, in August, a mob of 20 men descended on Faulkner's house. They shot bullets into the ceilings of every room and turned over the furniture in search of Faulkner, who thankfully wasn't home. But the mob caught up with him later while he was out riding. They threatened to tar and feather him and burn down his house if he rented an office to Neville. Faulkner, understandably, gave in to their demands. But not everyone protested the tax with such extreme measures.

Also that August, 24 community leaders gathered at another convention in Pittsburgh. In attendance were local politicians, state legislatures, and elites who opposed the tax but stopped short of violence. They discussed Congress's refusal to listen to their complaints from the previous year. And once again, the convention drew up a resolution condemning the excise tax. But this time, they published their demands throughout the region. They called the tax oppressive to the poor and announced their plans to pursue all legal measures to obstruct the law until it was repealed. Though they discouraged violence, the leaders were more forceful in their demands than the year before. They promised to ostracize anyone in the community who cooperated with federal tax enforcers,

vowing, We will consider such persons as unworthy of our friendship. They swore to have no dealings with them and instead treat them with the contempt they deserve. The leaders at this second Pittsburgh convention were moderates in the debate over the excise tax, but Neville assumed they were in cahoots with the violent gangs like the ones who attacked his would-be landlord. He sent alarming reports to the federal government, contributing to Washington's and Hamilton's belief that the conventions were inciting frontier violence. They worried about growing violent resistance on the western frontier. Shea's rebellion was on everyone's mind. And in 1791 and 92, opposition to the whiskey tax was not just hitting western Pennsylvania, but every state south of New York. Washington and

Hamilton knew they had to act to assert federal authority. Hamilton considered stamping down unrest in Kentucky and North Carolina, but eventually he determined that singling out Pennsylvania for enforcement would be the cheapest and safest option. It would also set an example for the other rebellious areas. Hamilton urged Washington to seek indictments against the organizers of the Pittsburgh Convention. He also pressed the president to issue a proclamation warning frontiersmen against taking part in public opposition to the tax. Washington agreed on both counts. Hamilton drafted up the proclamation, which threatened the use of military force if resistance continued. After reviewing the draft document, Attorney General Edmund Randolph urged

Hamilton to tone it down, which he did, slightly, taking out the mention of federal troops. Washington signed the final proclamation on September 15th. It was soon published in newspapers nationwide. This proclamation branded resistance to the excise tax as subversive. It affirmed the federal government's power to enforce the law, stating that every legal and necessary step would be pursued to prevent violent and unwarrantable proceedings. And Hamilton was ready to step up enforcement of the whiskey tax. But he decided he needed to collect more information on frontier resistance first. To do this, he dispatched to Pittsburgh the head of Federal Revenue Inspector for all of Pennsylvania, George Clymer.

But his involvement would only inflame tensions. Imagine it's September 1792. You're wiping down the bar in a Pittsburgh inn. You put down your rag and pick up a copy of the Pittsburgh Gazette that a customer has left behind. Published on page one is the president's new proclamation denouncing frontier resistance to the excise tax. It's all anyone's talking about. You're no radical, but it's plain to see that the whiskey tax is a threat to the local economy and your business. You read Washington's words calling opposition dangerous to the very being of government, and you shake your head. You'd hardly call a couple of meetings and petitions dangerous.

You're about to head into the storeroom to put away a new delivery when a regular customer approaches the bar. Hey, you see that man in the corner? Which one? A fellow wearing a hat, low over his eyes. You look over at a lanky middle-aged man sporting a hat that's seen better days. He sits alone at a table, his hand clenched around a glass of whiskey. It's clearly eavesdropping on the table next to him. Oh, him? Who is he? That's George Clymer. Alexander Hamilton sent him. Apparently he's here to gather intelligence. You do recall a story you heard about a federal official donning aliases and disguises to travel the frontier anonymously. Wait, that's the man who tried to pretend he was Henry Knox?

The Secretary of War must outweigh him by nearly 100 pounds. Yeah, that's the one. Apparently he's trying a new tactic now. He's changed his name to Smith. Imagine it if I know. He's pretending to be a servant now. I suppose that battered hat is supposed to make him look like one of the people. He's a joke.

It's not just that you're frustrated about the whiskey tax. You're starting to question whether the federal government has any sense at all. This is the man Alexander Hamilton chose to represent the government. You'd think he could find someone, I don't know, slightly more capable. And the disguises. What does he think he is, an enemy territory? Well, what do you expect? The people back east treat us like foreigners who need to be reconnoitered, not American citizens. Well, certainly not in my inn, excuse me. You come out from behind the bar, pushing past customers to approach Clymer's table. Clymer looks up, narrowing his eyes in a suspicious gaze.

Good evening, sir. I'm afraid we don't serve government men here, so you'll just have to find alternative lodging. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm merely a servant. What kind of hospitality is this? Where am I supposed to go at this time of night? Well, how about the stables? I've got some horses out back that need grooming. Climber drops the charade. He shakes his head in haughty contempt. Sir, you are just as I expected. You people are savages. But he gets up to leave, as you've asked, leaving his crushed hat on the table. You notice the whole tavern is watching now, enjoying the show. It's a small victory against the government, but something tells you it won't last long. Alexander Hamilton could hardly have chosen a worse representative to send west. George Clymer was a signer of the Declaration of Independence and one of the richest men in Philadelphia.

He was also the embodiment of Eastern disdain for Western settlers. Clymer feared the wrath of the barbaric frontiersmen he imagined he would encounter. Believing him to be famous, he traveled incognito, donning a series of disguises. He was disappointed to discover most men had never heard of him. When he arrived in Pittsburgh, Clymer tried to get a local judge to help him track down the names of the delegates to the August Pittsburgh Convention. The judge refused on the grounds that he had no jurisdiction over federal matters. As a result, Clymer concluded that judges were in on the conspiracy to subvert the federal government.

In the end, Clymer only spent a few days in Pittsburgh, but it was enough time for him to confirm his belief that frontier resistance was a grave threat to public order. He refused to venture beyond the city out of sheer terror, so he relied heavily on second-hand accounts of frontier unrest. His failure to understand the facts combined with his tendency toward exaggeration led him to send reports back east that sensationalized Western resistance. He recommended the federal government send additional enforcement immediately. In 1793, federal officials confronted even more resistance to their attempts to collect

excise revenue. That spring, 100 men burned an effigy of John Neville, the wealthy tax collector from Bower Hill. Angry crowds also targeted a tax officer named Benjamin Wells. In the spring, a mob broke into his house. Wells wasn't at home, but the men threatened his wife and children. A few months later, a band of armed men returned and forced entry into Wells' home in the middle of the night. Holding him at gunpoint, the gang forced him to surrender official documents related to his work. Neville and Wells used these attacks to press the federal government for military intervention. In other areas of the country, tax collectors had given up under the threat of violence, but Neville was more

tenacious than most. He worked hard to convince his deputies to stay on and sent Wells east to Philadelphia to testify about ongoing frontier violence. The reports from Neville, Wells, and George Clymer rattled federal officials. They felt the government had shown patience and moderation only for Westerners to continue to break the law. But despite their concerns, the federal government was too distracted to ramp up enforcement in western Pennsylvania. There were other crises to attend to. Because in January, the French Revolution had taken a violent turn with the beheading of King Louis XVI. Shortly after, France declared war on Great Britain, Holland, and Spain. The French minister to the United States was trying to recruit American volunteers to support France in its war against Britain, intensifying U.S. partisan divisions.

Then came a public health crisis. That summer and fall, a yellow fever epidemic raged in Philadelphia, then the U.S. Capitol. Government operations ground to a halt. So with the government's focus trained elsewhere, federal officials took no major action against frontier resistance. And for a brief moment, Western Pennsylvanians thought they had won. But then in 1794, tensions with Britain escalated, and war suddenly seemed imminent. Britain was refusing to evacuate forts in the Northwest Territory.

And on top of that, the former colonial power was seizing American ships in the British West Indies. America's sovereignty was at risk. Washington and Hamilton felt besieged by threats on all fronts. They had no time for domestic unrest, and they feared the possibility that frontier forces would align with the British, so they felt they had to act. Meanwhile, Westerners were continuing to organize and channel their rage into action. In February, a group of militiamen gathered at the Mingo Creek Church in Washington County, Pennsylvania. They drew up a list of demands, including free navigation of the Mississippi River and protection from Indian attacks. They called themselves the Mingo Creek

Society. In a petition to the Justice Department, the society declared, To be subject to all the burdens and none of the benefits arising from government is something we will not submit to. In a political atmosphere charged with paranoia, officials in Philadelphia deemed the Mingo Creek petitions treasonous. Justice Department officials believed the organization was breeding the violence that continued to flare on the frontier that spring. In May, crowds began erecting liberty poles, the same symbols of protest used to show support for the patriot cause during the American Revolution. Mobs burned down bars and destroyed the stills of whiskey

producers who paid the tax. And at every turn, John Neville and the other inspectors were prevented from registering stills or collecting taxes. Neville's family was targeted, too. One evening in March, he, his wife, and granddaughter were riding home from Pittsburgh when Neville stopped to adjust his wife's saddle. A man rode up and pounced on Neville, wrestling him to the ground. Neville managed to get the upper hand and grab the assailant by the throat. The man begged for his life, and Neville let him go. When Neville heard rumors about further future reprisals against him, to protect himself and his property, he began arming and

drilling his slaves. Candles burned throughout the night at Bower Hill as armed slaves stood guard. Neville was preparing for battle. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand, lies a tiny volcanic island. It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn, and it harboured a deep, dark scandal. There wouldn't be a girl on Pitcairn once they reached the age of 10 that would still a virgin. It just happens to all of us. I'm journalist Luke Jones, and for almost two years, I've been investigating a shocking story that has left deep scars

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One of the incredible things about Dracula is that not only is it this wonderful snapshot of the 19th century, but it also has so much resonance today. The vampire doesn't cast a reflection in a mirror. So when we look in the mirror, the only thing we see is our own monstrous abilities. From the host and producer of American History Tellers and History Daily comes the new podcast, The Real History of Dracula. We'll reveal how author Bram Stoker raided ancient folklore, exploited Victorian fears around sex, science, and religion,

and how even today we remain enthralled to his strange creatures of the night. You can binge all episodes of The Real History of Dracula exclusively with Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus and The Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. As resistance in Philadelphia grew, Congress sought to head off a potential confrontation.

In February 1794, lawmakers drafted a bill to amend the whiskey tax. Though it created tougher rules for enforcement, the bill also made several concessions to small Western distillers. It allowed them to pay for their license per month instead of per year, and it drastically lowered the fee. Congress also included a provision allowing tax delinquents to be tried in state courts closer to their homes. This would reduce their travel burdens and make it more likely that distillers would face friendlier juries. Congress passed the law, and it would go into effect on June 5th. But Alexander Hamilton doubted the revised excise law would really temper frontier anger. Violence against tax collectors, ongoing fighting with Native tribes, and British and Spanish threats to U.S. borders had convinced him that the government's authority was under assault. As Treasury Secretary,

Hamilton was Washington's chief administrator, and he was uncompromising in his vision for a strong federal government. In his view, the government couldn't afford to wait to see if revisions to the tax law appease frontiersmen. To his mind, it was unacceptable that farmers were ignoring the tax and that the government was failing to enforce its own laws. Pointing to the increasing energy of the opposition, Hamilton urged Washington to meet the evil with proportionable decision. To that end, Hamilton had the U.S. District Attorney for Pennsylvania secure warrants ordering more than 60 Western distillers to appear before the court in Philadelphia.

The warrants were rushed into the May 31 docket just a few days before the new law would have guaranteed local trials. Meanwhile, violence continued on the frontier. John Neville remained determined to collect the whiskey tax. After the debacle with William Faulkner, he found another innkeeper to rent an office from which to base his operations. But that innkeeper also quickly became the target of enraged farmers for his association with the despised Neville.

On June 6th, a dozen armed men with blackened faces descended into the innkeeper's house at night. The innkeeper fled upstairs to barricade himself, so the gang got him to come out by threatening to burn down the house. But when the innkeeper did emerge, the gang pounced. They hauled him off to the woods where they chopped off his hair, stripped him naked, and tarred and feathered him. They made him swear to never again rent his house to tax collectors and to keep their identity secret. The gang then tied the innkeeper to a tree, where he remained until morning when he was finally able to free himself. The innkeeper kept his word, but his neighbors shunned him. He lost his customers, and his landlord eventually evicted him. Benjamin Wells,

the wealthy deputy tax collector for Fayette and Westmoreland counties, didn't fare any better. He had set up shop in a local home. The house was fired on and stoned throughout the month of June. Gangs also burned the barn and crops of Wells' son. But tarring and feathering local tax officials was one thing. Facing the federal government was another. On June 22, the federal government was another. On June 22nd,

the federal district attorney for Pennsylvania sent U.S. Marshal David Lennox to issue summons to distillers who had refused to comply with the excise tax. By mid-July, Lennox had arrived in Allegheny County. He accepted John Neville's offer to serve as guide, ignoring advice from his host that Neville's presence would make him a target. And soon, news about the marshal's presence quickly swept through the countryside. Rumors flared that people were being forcibly carted off to Philadelphia. At noon on July 15th, Lennox and Neville were delivering a summons at a farm when some three dozen men armed with muskets and pitchforks rode up the lane. They were drunk and they were angry. Lennox and Neville rode up to speak to the mob,

denying the rumors that people were being dragged off to Philadelphia. The crowd became confused and aimless and let them go. But Lennox and Neville had barely made it 50 yards when a shot rang out. Some claimed it was an attempt to hurt Lennox. Others believed it was just a drunk farmer letting off steam. Lennox yelled at the men, and the pair rode off, with Lennox returning to Pittsburgh. Neville went back to his plantation, Bower Hill, but anger over the marshal's presence continued to fester. Over at the Mingo Creek Church, Mingo Creek militia had gathered the same day to respond to Washington's call for new soldiers to join an expedition to fight Indians.

These militiamen heard the same rumors of farmers being dragged off to Philadelphia. They decided to capture Lennox, mistakenly believing he was back at Bower Hill with Neville. At daybreak the next morning, some 50 men armed with rifles and clubs marched on John Neville's mountaintop mansion. Neville demanded that the militia identify themselves and stand down. When they didn't, he fired into the crowd, killing a teenager. The militia shot back, pounding the house with gunfire, but Neville had the better position from inside the house and was protected by a force of armed slaves on his plantation.

He fired on the militia from the windows, and after 25 minutes, four more militiamen were wounded. Neville and his family remained unscathed, and the militia decided to retreat. But Neville knew they would be back, and he called on the help of his brother-in-law, U.S. Army Major Abraham Kirkpatrick. The Mingo Creek Society met that night. Many clamored for revenge for the slain teenager, and the group voted to return to Bower Hill the next day. On July 17th, some 600 men assembled at a nearby fort. The Mingo Creek militiamen were joined by other militias from the region. They got word that U.S. Army troops led by Major Kirkpatrick were marching to defend Bower Hill, so they needed their own leader. The militiamen asked a local Revolutionary War hero, James McFarlane, to command the operation. This marked

a turning point in the resistance. They were no longer a motley crew of drunks in disguise, but a disciplined fighting force preparing to take on the U.S. Army. At five o'clock that afternoon, several hundred rebels marched on Bower Hill. They paraded in front of the mansion to the beat of drums. Neville hid in a forested ravine below the house while Major Kirkpatrick and ten soldiers under his command took up position inside the house. They were backed up by the armed slaves Neville had been drilling for months. McFarland sent a message to demand that Neville resign his commission. Kirkpatrick tried to negotiate on Neville's behalf, but talks quickly broke down. Kirkpatrick evacuated Neville's family as the militia approached the house and began torching the buildings. Then, the frontiersmen opened fire. Imagine it's the evening of July 17, 1794.

You're an enslaved man at Bower Hill Plantation in Allegheny County, Pennsylvania. Thick black smoke fills the air, obscuring everything from view. You can barely breathe. You've been crouched below a window in your cabin, shooting at the rebels for over an hour now. Your wife and son are in the corner taking cover. Neville has been preparing you for this moment for weeks. You know he must be worried to put a gun in your hand.

But for you, this is about trying to make sure your family survives. You turn to your wife. Honey, this is no ragtag scuffle. It's a full-blown battle. She shakes her head. I can't believe this. You're no soldier. This isn't your place.

You're about to respond, but then something catches your eye. You crane your neck to see out the window. Through the smoke, you see something white fluttering in one of the windows of the battered house. Over there, is the major surrendering? Is that a white flag? I don't know about that. Looks to me like just a curtain fluttering out the window. But the gunfire abruptly stops, and after a moment, you see the Rebel commander emerge from behind a tree. He raises his arms, ordering his men to hold their fire, and starts walking toward the house. But suddenly a shot rings out from

inside the house and the rebel commander falls to the ground. He lies there motionless. You wonder if it was a trap, a clever ploy by the major to get the rebel commander out of hiding, or just the commander's fatal mistake. Suddenly it all starts up again. You pick up your musket and fire back at the rebels. Then a pair of militiamen emerge from the smoke clouds, torches in hand. They're headed for the smokehouse, 20 feet away from your window, where all the food for you and your fellow slaves is kept. Your wife grabs your arm. Don't go out there. Just let it burn. But you're desperate to stop them. After all this, you won't have your family go hungry. You lower your rifle and run out of the cabin with your hands up. Please, please don't do this. I'm begging you. But you're

interrupted by a loud blast. The rebels turn around following your gaze. The mansion's kitchen is engulfed in flames, a blaze of orange lighting up the evening sky. It's bad enough that the stores will be burned, but soon the crops too will be ruined. So you grab a bucket and start running toward the ravine to collect water. Unless you want to face punishment later, you know you have no choice but to save the mansion from destruction. What's left of it, at least. In the middle of the gun battle, the rebel commander James McFarlane stepped out from cover, thinking the army was ready to negotiate. A shot was fired, and the popular war veteran fell dead.

The militiamen were enraged. Accounts vary as to whether there was really a white flag, but the militia was convinced the army had tricked McFarlane. The stunned rebels resumed shooting and set multiple buildings ablaze. Inside the house, the army major Kirkpatrick could see the flames were getting closer. Once the kitchen next to the house was burning, Kirkpatrick knew it was only a matter of time before the house itself would catch fire. He had no choice but to surrender. The militia took him prisoner. Once Kirkpatrick was captured, the militiamen entered the house. They drank

Neville's whiskey and smashed any furniture that hadn't yet been destroyed. Finally, they torched the battered mansion and ran through the flaming barns and outbuildings, shooting livestock. Only the slave quarters and a smokehouse were left standing. McFarlane soon became a martyr for the rebel cause. He had survived the War of Independence only to be struck down on the stately grounds of Bower Hill while fighting for frontier liberty. At McFarland's funeral the next day, the militia arranged to meet at the Mingo Creek Church on July 23rd to plan the next stage of their resistance. McFarland's death had fueled frontier rage, and men who had hesitated to join the protests before Bower Hill now became committed rebels. All the while, Washington was watching from back east.

The nation's first president knew he needed to prove the federal government could levy taxes and enforce its laws. He knew he needed to show that the United States could stand up to European powers, Indian attacks, and unruly frontiersmen. For years, Western gangs have brutally harassed and beaten federal tax collectors, and now the countryside was more inflamed than ever before. Everywhere he looked, Washington saw signs that the American experiment was on the verge of failure. He knew he had to act. Before the frontier uprising tore the republic apart. Next on American History Tellers, 7,000 frontiermen descend on Pittsburgh. And as the rebellion threatens to spread to other states, President Washington faces his first major domestic crisis. From Wondery, this is American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now

by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Sound design by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton, edited by Doreen Marina. Our executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marshall Louis, created by Hernán López for Wondery. Richard Bandler revolutionized the world of self-help all thanks to an approach he developed called neuro-linguistic programming. Even though NLP worked for some, its methods have been criticized for being dangerous in the wrong hands.

Throw in Richard's dark past as a cocaine addict and murder suspect, and you can't help but wonder what his true intentions were. I'm Saatchi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. We recently dove into the story of the godfather of modern mental manipulation, Richard Bandler, whose methods inspired some of the most toxic and criminal self-help movements of the last two decades. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid and Kill List early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true

crime listening.