City of Glory by Beverly Swerling Read Free Book Online Page A

become a separate country.”
    “Well—yes, I suppose I have. A word here and there. But surely it’s not serious. War has always been a fountain of rumors.”
    “Indeed. And ninety-nine times out of a hundred it’s talk and nothing more.”
    Joyful started to say something, but Andrew held up his hand. “Let me finish. Those few men promulgating this notion of disunion are the men with the most to gain. Men of business. Traders. Federalists with the most power.”
    “I always thought you counted yourself a member of that party.”
    “A Federalist, perhaps. When the war ended in ’84, I saw what so-called ordinary folk can do if you give them enough power. Right here in New York the very people we’d struggled and died to make free appointed themselves judge and jury and dispensed what they called justice on the Common in front of screaming crowds, no less. Women hamstrung so they’d never walk again, men tarred and feathered so they skinned themselves alive when they tried to clean up…The rabble disgusted me then and they still do. I believe in a strong central government, Joyful, led by educated and thoughtful men. I do not believe in money being the arbiter of all. Business and profit are fine in their place. They cannot be the ultimate goal of a nation.”
    “It’s not my intention to profit at the expense of my country, Cousin Andrew.” The words sounded pretentious enough to make Joyful feel slightly foolish. Nonetheless, they were true.
    “I know that, lad. That’s why I have decided to stake your venture into trade. I believe you will be an honest businessman, a leaven among the thieves, if you will. I’m not wealthy, and what I could offer you from my own resources would be hardly enough to make a difference.” He nodded toward the paper that still lay on the table in front of the fire, squinting at the faded words that might or might not lead to treasure. “That’s my contribution. Take it, Joyful, and take them on. Beat the bastards back. Don’t let them destroy what we gave so much blood and innocence to gain.”

Thursday, August 18, 1814

Chapter Three
    New York City,
the South Street Docks, 11 A.M.

    W ILL F ARRELL was twelve years old. The last three of those years he’d spent most daylight hours one hundred sixty feet above the earth, atop the Devrey tower overlooking the recently built South Street docks.
    Will’s vantage point allowed him to see the activity on the docksides, across the great sweep of masts in the harbor, and past the harbor islands to the Narrows. If he made a half turn to his left, he could see Long Island, the farms and houses of Brooklyn Village at the foot of the Old Ferry Road, and out to the open sea beyond Gravesend. When Bastard Devrey added the South Street docks to the dozen he owned on the East River side of Manhattan and built his tower, he’d reckoned a sharp-eyed lookout with a decent spyglass could see twenty miles. Will had repeatedly proved himself sharp-eyed—and clever with it.
    Will spotted the arriving vessel when she was only a speck of white on the horizon, but he didn’t immediately descend from the tower to raise the alarm. The day he started the job, old Peggety Jack, who ran the porters and suchlike on the Devrey docks, told him what was expected. “Don’t matter so much knowin’ first, boy. It’s knowin’ more what puts brass in Devrey pockets. And your own, come to that.” Peggety had only one tooth, which hung over his lip like a fang. Folks said he was maybe the oldest man in all New York, but anyone who worked for Devrey’s and wanted to get ahead could do a lot worse than listen to Peggety Jack. “Don’t go off half-cocked, boy. Keep your powder dry till you’re sure.”
    The ship was different from anything Will had seen since he’d been doin’ the job, but that didn’t mean it was the Devrey East Indiaman, China Princess, trapped in Canton near on to three years since the start o’ the war. A few months back there