The last time he was here he had seen only the opposite view, the island floating on the other side of Brooklyn, unattainable to them as they tried to defend their position on the heights. After they were routed, he watched the cannons and smoke rise over the river as they retreated through the forest, so that it appeared the whole city was on fire. If it were any other town, everyone knew, they would have burned it long ago themselves instead of leaving it to the British. Instead, they had strict orders to preserve it at all costs, and so relinquished the place to the enemy. It being more important than the outcome of the war, as it was so vital to the commerce of the entire world — just as the river mingled universally with all the waters of the ocean, carrying whatever flowed on it out into that same ocean as lapped the shores of Europe and Africa.
That night it had seemed the city would burn nonetheless, and when he woke the next day he was amazed to see it still standing. It was indestructible, he thought then. It was an opinion Stanton had later confirmed, during one of his last conversations with him.
“Wheresoever there are coffeehouses that serve the brew of Speculation, and men gather to buy at one price, hoping to sell at another or else turn Information into Profit, or Time into Assets, or are in any way otherwise engaged in the Free Trade of Goods and Ideas, they are doing the business of that town, and it is useless to try to stop them in that, because it is how Free Men everywhere have conducted their affairs since the rise of civilization. None but a Tyrant would seek to suppress it or think to slow its march. If anyone ever attempted to burn it, however — a thing that must be preserved from happening at all costs — what one would find very quickly is that there is another New York beneath the first, and another beneath that. And so on. Further, beneath the very last New York is a City that floats not on water but on the very air and it is indestructible, being the inheritor of all Free Cities before it and all their inspirited dreams. And so with great Boston. And so with Philadelphia.”
Now that he had the chance to see it up close, he could only look out the other way, though, as the ducks also swam against the current on the dark water, and the reflection of the clouds made it appear that ice had already formed here and there.
In his free-floating state he could think of no place else he should be at that moment other than the city that would not burn. He thought how, because of that, the Brits had been spared as well from swelling with so many more dead.
He could also think of no other place, with the exception of Philadelphia, where men from so many nations gathered for so many different purposes that one would not know they were at war with each other at all, except for the blockades locking the harbor waters shut to the vessels that normally plied them — and even many of these still managed to get past the inconvenience of war and on with their business.
Strange that he should share a sidewalk with those he had only recently engaged in combat. Yet even when he had passed British patrols walking through the city, he did not feel they were at war against one another but merely men on separate errands. That strangeness turned to bitterness, though, as he turned from the river and leaned on his crutches again.
He had been told in the beginning, and was inclined to believe for a time, that he was fighting for some noble spirit in his country, or else in nature itself, and some inalienable right of that spirit. Now he saw he had fought only so the colonists might better control their own wealth. As for liberty and the rest, he thought, they were freer all before. What liberty could be claimed here in the market but the freedom of traders to collect profit no matter who ruled? Or, better still, the liberty for them to rule themselves, according to their needs alone, and collect as vast a profit as could be gotten from nature? He turned and walked back up Wall toward the North River.
When he reached Broadway, the street began to slope downward and he grew tired before he knew it, being unused to navigating different types of terrain with his crutches. He changed his intended route and turned south instead, until he was on a narrow street with many pubs lining its sides and thought to go into one in order to relax and take a proper meal.
All along that way a stream of men from every walk of the city flowed, and each broke off like a little tributary through that doorway best suited to men such as himself — either because of religious affiliation, station, mother language, or trade. Caleum stood watching awhile until he discovered a doorway that seemed less a cohesive whole than a collection of those who did not belong to the other tributaries. Into this he himself went, following with the general current and certain that even if he was not as comfortable as he could possibly be, neither would he be uncomfortable.
He was proved correct when he crossed the threshold, as the clientele of that place could be described as neither rich nor poor, nor was it old or young, or even British or American, but just what it had seemed from outside.
Behind the counter a tall dark man served beer and conversed with his customers. It was not refined as the inn where he was sojourning, but it was far more convivial for that sea of company, where no man could claim to be lost. He took a table by the window, so he might look out onto the street, and waited to be attended.
After a short while the serving girl came round and asked what he wished for.
“What do you have today?”
“Same as every day,” she answered. “But if I was you I’d take the shepherd’s pie.”
The only time he had ever eaten that before was in the army, when they would cover horse’s meat with a layer of thin dough. He entrusted himself to her suggestion, though, and nodded. “Then shepherd’s pie it will be.”
He was surprised when she returned from the kitchen with a plate piled high with a thick dish that gave off steam as she carried it through the room to his table. When he cut into the shell it was flaky, and filled with succulent meat and vegetables that had not yet lost their bite. The food warmed him as he stared out on the street or else took in his immediate surroundings. The room was loud with conversation by then, but not so loud so as to intrude on his own thoughts, and Caleum took pleasure in hearing pieces of these conversations from time to time without having to listen until they became wearisome, as he would in company. There were also quite a few others who sat by themselves, either reading or daydreaming or else still engaged in their work.
He was glad he had chosen that establishment over the others, and when he finished his meal, took out a pipe and pouch of tobacco he had acquired on his walk. As he smoked and thought about the events of the last months, the crowd slowly disappeared, until he found he was the only person left in the room. When he realized this he grew slightly embarrassed, thinking he might give the impression of being an idler, which he had never been. It was only that his particular business at the moment was only to wait.
When he saw the girl pass, he caught her attention and asked her to bring his check.
“Leaving so soon?” she asked.
He only nodded and smiled at her.
To his surprise she smiled back, and he allowed himself to notice how beautiful she was. He wondered whether it was only a courtesy of her profession or whether her attention was meant for him, or if it was the habit of all young women in the city to always be so friendly.