University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
It all winds up with an Entertainment: a Bird's-Eye View of the Whole,
and where the City's Moving to.

Upon the Roof: whither they have been climbing now, to speak
so, for seven busy days. The old Banking-House Roof that
bears him high and calm, or used to, at the head of Union
Square; under a canvass—wigwam, camp or awning, as you
choose. Big Abel and the Little Manhattan; two Figures
brought out by the friendly dusk that half the city, looking that
way, might know them well. A quiet hour is this for Lankey
and Big Abel: talking over all their past rambles; Abel, with
a high and cheery spirit; Lankey, I must confess it, with a
tinge of sadness in his voice.

By and by; as they sat talking thus; there came out at the
scuttle way, a handle-basket: for a time the light below was all
cut off, and then, emerging slowly, and yet cheerfully, Mrs.
Saltus! There was an arm-chair set for her, in a choice corner
of the Roof; and when she took it, folding her broad ruddy
hands upon her lap, how heartily she glowed—an extra
cheerful summer's evening in herself. And after her the old
Attorney, with his grizzled hair (some show of brushing it put
on). If that Old Banking-House had been a mighty coffin he
could not have come from it more like a ghost. He seemed to
think there might be Judges of some high court there; by his
manner. Mrs. Saltus spoke a word of comfort to him at once;
she knew his father well; a worthy man, pains-taking in his
craft! (he had been a smith): and she never looked to see his
son a great lawyer. A penetrating woman, a keen-eyed woman,
that Mrs. Saltus; to find anywhere in that torn dress and ghostly

shell, a lawyer of the least degree. The poor Attorney took his
seat humbly though; and had no motion to make at all; none
whatever. Presently, a gush of mint (it wasn't the Indian
Doctor with his herbs!) came up the scuttle; a playful scuffling
by the way; followed by the two Pinkeys (Great Pinkey and
Small Pinkey, Lankey in his humor called them): who executed
impromptu, on arriving on the roof, an Oriental Saraband (out
of East Bowery); in which they went off, impromptu again, into
the two sexes; turning each other; forwarding; and deporting
altogether as though this was a regular thing, in the way of a
dance, and no mistake. To the huge delight of Mrs. Saltus, who
rolled in her chair; and put them in countenance whenever the
course of their proceedings brought them that way. By the
time they had subsided into a playful fist-fight, in a corner;
with a solid tread, but gentlemanly withal, and self-sustained,
there came along—the South Street Merchant; the South
Street Merchant of the highest grade; the tip-top Merchant of
South Street; and better than that, an old friend of Big Abel's.
And now the Indian Doctor! A quiet man, with not a word to
say; who settled like a piece of shadow, far over on the roof,
under a corner of the canvass; by a pole, as though he had
some faint notion of a wigwam, in his head, and meant to stand
by it, that night. As one who ascends a companion ladder, as
the best of stairs; bearing in his hand, as having worlds within
it, his great glass; out came the good old Packet Captain; and
shook himself, once on the Roof, as though he stood upon the
deck of some brave ship, and saw far out to sea. A proud man
was the old Packet Captain; but when he saw quite close at
hand, green fields and trees, he softened down, and talked with
his old crony, the great merchant of South Street; of many
things, born under both their eyes, far in the past. What a
scrambling fellow he is, that Boatman, Barskin, by name!
He's used to sloops, and their way of coming on deck, you may
see at once. The great company on the roof, they're apple dealers
to Barskin, and country people with firkins to freight down
the river, that's all they are to him; or can ever be. But like
a streak of gentle light, coming not from Heaven, as it should;
one who meant to be the first of all that company; but who was
crossed, most sadly crossed in an iron she had to deal with (a
little, wicked, perverse, over-fiery iron!) the young Sempstress!
There was a blessing for Big Abel he could never outgo
(in all his thousand, thousand city friends) when that
young sempstress took his hand, in what a grasp for one so
young and pale; and smiled on him. She had brought—this
kept her back a little, too,—a favor—a bright red ribbon of the
color of true heart's blood—with a quaint device; for Big Abel
to wear.

The company all assembled; and what have we here?
A table spread (Big Abel had this in his mind as long ago as
when he met Lankey at the Tower) with every city growth,
with every city dainty; piled high, stretched out, and deep
with row on row. Take to! take to! you are all welcome.
Big Abel has a good heart for you all (for it is he that gives the
feast; though the Little Manhattan in his poor way is one
of the entertainers). A joyous time, a cheerful time; for, though
unlike, how Big Abel drew them all together, and had them move,
through that good feast, as one. You don't know the half as yet,
though! For there was Big Abel's health to drink; and a
speech from Big Abel.

Big Abel was very grateful (this was his speech as I have
been told): that his friends were with him there that night. He
loved them; every one. For many a day he had known them,
every one; and watched them grow out of the very city's heart.
They had a soul in them, all of them, that would never die.
(He meant this in a way of his own.) The time could never
come, in this great city, when Mrs. Saltus should cease to be, for
one: the great Packet Captain for another: the two Pinkeys for

two more: the boatman, Barskin: the Indian Doctor, with his
home-grown herbs: the young Sempstress always.

How their hearts sunk at that!

A pale young Laborer, like this, always; a poor Attorney: and
yet a mighty merchant, for the water-side, to bring the city up
again.

“And a Big Abel!” They cried in chorus, “Always a
Big Abel!” He cast his eye upon the oblong iron box that
stood before him; and could not deny it.

At this juncture Mrs. Saltus, with a mighty smile that had a
mystery in it, I am sure, brought forward the handle-basket:
and presently there leaped out of it quite a number (I'll not undertake
to count them) of stout, short-necked, apoplectic bottles—
cherry bounce of choice make for Big Abel! After this a small
roll of leaf tobacco for the Little Manhattan: reared at Bloomingdale
in her own garden, tended by her own fruitful hand, from
first to last. Everybody had a fresh start, with a brimming glass
of cherry bounce! And then, there was a time! What stories
Mrs. Saltus had to tell! To the Indian Doctor, of a sovereign
herb that grew once by this same old Banking House: To the
Packet Captain, of a sloop that was wrecked in a gale, in a
September long ago, under very trying circumstances: To the
Poor Attorney, of a famous law case that raged once between
two farmers, one a Staten Islander, the other of Westchester,
who, running, full force, one down the city, the other up: this
seems apocryphal: came against each other in the City Hall,
with a crash, and both fell dead, leaving their estate, with all
their deeds and vouchers, for the two Attorneys to pick and come
again.

Then, to the Sempstress, a most moving story, which she fetched
with her spick-and-span new out of Bloomingdale, of a Blighted
Heart, that brought the very tears into her foolish eyes. It was all
about a tin-smith, too, I believe. Then there was no end to what
she had to say to Barskin: of up the river, and down; and

freights; and crops: and here she got off to the Packet Captain
and made his eyes roll with the description of a prize Ox fatted at
West Farms, to her knowledge, till he couldn't leave the stable,
and (the old story!) had to go back again, and get out that way,
and take to his growth in a great meadow; the only place to
give him scope. And as to the two Pinkeys: it was as much as
she could do to get a word with them: they were busy as two
great bumble-bees about the pale, little Sempstress; pressing
their suit with vehemence and spirit, and a mighty resolution
that made her shake like a willow twig: the Small Pinkey always
giving way, always, when it came to a crisis, and deferring
to the Great. The number of times the poor Sempstress'
health had to go about was beyond belief. Arms' length, drunk
once; then from the crown of the hat; then over the left shoulder
(the cherry bounce was playing the mischief with the wits of
these two Pinkeys); then from two glasses at once: and finally
out of the bottle: they had to take to that at last. By which time
Mrs. Saltus had brought home to the South-street Merchant, that
tip-top gentleman, an account of a great fish that, as she described
him, was in the habit, the quite constant habit, of coming up
the North River, directly abreast of the market (her market)
and, by the most unseemly references to others of his tribe, who
were there carred-up, putting the whole market to the blush. I
am afraid the cherry bounce was going home rapidly to Mrs.
Saltus.

And under the cherry-bounce; I think it was at its height;
Big Abel walked the Roof as though it had been the very top
and ridge of all the world. He called the company to look upon
the city (his city, now; in the full stream of his brisk spirits);
spread below. Could any eye there, take all in? Southward!
Thick and dark, with houses; of all shapes, and heights, and
schools. Westward! Another city back of that. East! He
took up Brooklyn in his thoughts, even as a little child; and
bade him look into his Father's face—the city's! Then Williamsburgh.

Then wheeling round—What more? A score of
towns; who watched his steps, and walked with him. And
twinkling houses, dotting here and there, the Island through
and making head against the darkness. Then suddenly he
started all unto their feet and bade them to behold! A light far,
far away—upon the heights of Harlaem (kindled there at Big
Abel's prompting). Towards that the city springs, and leaps, and
takes such mighty strides, that nothing can be or make a bar to
him. To Harlaem! on to Harlaem! That was Big Abel's cry
(still friendly to the cherry bounce); and when his eye had
wearied of this work, the Packet Captain brought his glass to
bear, and showed him still other clusters all about; where, in the
fields, at roadsides, on the hills, the city gathered strength, and
seized the Island in his arms.

The Little Manhattan drawing from some nook or recess
or other about his person, a long, brown pipe; and runing
it out at full arm's length upon the rail, smoked (out of
Mrs. Saltus' friendly roll) silently. As he, Big Abel, looked
abroad, so boastfully; did no thought then cross thy spirit of the
little part thou heldst in all that shadowy and lighted world?
That all thy share in it, was in thy old heathen fancy of things
gone by, many and many a day; and in the visionary rule of
here and there, a gloomy hollow (worth naught to none but thee),
a crooked way, a few dumb Indians at a trader's door.

Then sprung afresh Big Abel's boast. He counted up his
stores, his streets, his ships, his goods of every clime, his piles
on piles of every mortal ware; His shops of iron and brass; His
steeple-stacks; His gates; His squares; His roads that run
through all the Island's length; His aqueducts; His stages,
thousand fold and doubling day by day; His Rail-Tracks, swift
as light and shot as far; then swelling up he talked; without a
check from any one of all his company; of Bridges cast to
Brooklyn, with a thought; another, with scarce less dispatch,
to Jersey shore; and then he spanned the Islands of the Bay,

and caught them in his vasty net. What wonder then, there
grew in Lankey Fogle's heart (poor sad Manhattan); a hope that
downfall yet would come upon the city's head; that yet he
would be led against his will, oh sorely now against his will, back
to his old drear wilderness; and lose himself in dusky lodges and
by silent paths as though never he had been. It cannot be, I
fear as yet, poor Lankey! No, No. The city grows; but you
decline, I fear. (They never thought to drink your health!)
You still will wander as a shade, the city-hills, the city-slopes;
sit sadly down by mile-stones as the city grows; stand by the
river's side, seeing there, what no other eye may see; dwindling
like a spirit to the city's eye, while he, Big Abel, waxes on
sturdier by every street he walks; by every square he builds.
They say that you it is (but I for one will not believe it),
that through the city light, unseen, great fires at night: and
threaten with red overthrow the town from end to end. I know
you love the grass that grows at times (by chance only, Lankey!)
under horses' hoofs in swift thoroughfares. That often
in the market-house, you sleep alone; or in a rolling boat upon
the river; or underneath a tree out of the city's hateful breath,
where you may get a sight of ancient stars. Often withdrawing
too, into that little village of Manhattanville at the Island's
farthest point—it is said—for long, long spells.

Happiest, perchance, in that calm season of your own, the Indian
summer-time, when air and earth, and all things in and
on them, share the gentle melancholy of your spirit, and nature
shades her beauty and the brightness of her eye, in sympathy
with you. Then Little Manhattan walks about, more master
of the city for a little while, than sturdy Abel, even.

There is a light; of all the lights that burned that night; winking
near by at this high revel; a cheerful light; not star-light,
nor moon-light, nor sun-light, nor candle-light altogether; but
wedding-light; made up of the best, choicest beams of all the
other. You see them moving in its broad ray as though it

were their element, for ever; the two. An old aunt's house; a
kindly and a hospitable old aunt's house; and this is William
and Mary, linked with that chain that brightens every day, at
every season of the year, in every place, once forged aright; a
second since. A blessing be in all your days, young Scholar
and fair Wife! Let winds blow swift or slow; seas run
rough or smooth; though all the world take arms against thy
gentle craft, the fortress thou art in, will keep them off.

Still on the revel runs, on that high Roof—how long, who
knows, or who will dare to guess (Big Abel with the heart of
twenty giants, the leader of it all)?

Good night! Good night! Little Manhattan, Packet Captain,
Boatman, Great Pinkey and Small, pale Sempstress (happy,
now awhile); thou Indian herbalist, poor Attorney, tip-top Merchant
of South Street, Mrs. Saltus, Big Abel, Good Night! In
the suburbs far beyond—hark, the swift beating of a cheerful
band. The marching song, it seems, of the Great City
setting forth toward the mighty Future he is called to fill!