City of Glory: A Novel of War and Desire in Old Manhattan - Hardcover

Swerling, Beverly

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0743269209 ISBN 13: 9780743269209

Publisher: Simon & Schuster, 2007

Synopsis

A sequel to City of Dreams is set in New York during the War of 1812, where a fleet owner, a merchant prince, and the women who love them struggle to make morally charged choices between patriotism and betrayal while their nation struggles against the invading forces of a foreign power. 50,000 first printing.

About this title

About the Author:

Beverly Swerling is a writer, consultant, and amateur historian. She lives in New York City with her husband.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter One

Lake Erie, Nine Miles from Put-in-Bay

Friday, September 10, 1813, 2 p.m.

Instead of inhaling the deep breath of fresh air Joyful Turner longed for when he came topside, he had to pull his neckerchief over his nose and mouth to keep from choking. The fight had been going on for two hours -- six British ships against nine American, but the British far superior in tonnage and arms -- and the air was black with the smoke of gunpowder and thick with the stench of death.

"Dr. Turner, over here, sir!"

Joyful made his way toward Commodore Perry's voice. It was slow going, impossible to see much of anything, the decks of the Lawrence slick with blood and the brig listing dangerously to port. He had to hang onto the gunwale to keep his footing. Perry's flagship was too close to the British lines for the enemy's superiority in the larger long guns to be useful, but their gunners had found the range with smaller weapons. A shell from a short cannon known as a carronade landed close behind Joyful. A great gust of sparks flared for a moment, then died. The deck shivered beneath his feet and the list to port worsened. The blast had been close enough to make his ears ring. He shook his head to clear it, heard nothing at first, then, as if from a far distance, Perry's second shout: "Dr. Turner, I want you!"

"I'm here, Commodore."

"Yes, so you are. Good Christ, man, you look a sight."

Thirty-two years old, Joyful was tall and lean, with blue eyes and red hair, now flattened with sweat. The long oilskin apron he wore during surgery was spattered with blobs of gore and splinters of bone. Joyful looked down at himself, then squinted up into the rigging. The sails were in tatters, and most of the lines and braces had been shot away. "We're none of us at our best at the moment, sir."

Perry managed a wry smile. There was another blast from the British. "The flag, man! Get the flag!"

The man who rushed to follow Perry's command was an ordinary tar; the commodore was the only officer not flat on his back below decks in Joyful's crammed hospital quarters. Joyful's gut tightened as he watched the sailor head for the foremast. "Are we striking our colors, sir?" Surrendering to the British might make sense, but the thought sickened him.

"Indeed we are not, Dr. Turner. It's my battle flag I want. Lawrence has become impossible to control, as you can see. I'm taking over Niagara." Perry nodded toward the row of American ships stretched beside them, half shrouded in the fog of the engagement. "You're to come with me, Doctor, and bring any crew who are able to come topside. I don't care if they must crawl."

"I have sixty-three severely wounded patients below -- "

"And twenty-one corpses. I'm aware of the numbers, Doctor."

Both men knew that fewer than a hundred of the brig's hundred-thirty-man complement had started the action fit for duty. The single rowboat being lowered over the brig's side would easily accommodate the survivors of this experiment in close-quarters fighting on which Perry had staked his chance to defeat an enemy that, while a smaller squadron, both outgunned and outmanned him.

The man who had been sent to get the battle flag returned. Perry took the blue banner and quickly folded it. Joyful couldn't see the words embroidered in large white letters, but he knew what they said. DON'T GIVE UP THE SHIP. "Any man who can crawl, Doctor," Perry repeated. "If he can haul a line, I want him. Even if it's to be his last move. And yourself."

"I will inform the men of your orders, Commodore. But few of the wounded will be able to comply, however much they want to." God alone knew how many legs he'd amputated in the last couple of hours. Joyful had stopped counting when the number went above two dozen. "As for me, I can't leave my patients."

As ship's surgeon, he was in the employ of the navy, not a member of its armed forces; Perry could not command him. "As you wish, Dr. Turner. I pray you Godspeed for the rest of the engagement and beyond."

"And I you, Commodore."

"Do not fear for me or our country this day, Doctor. We shall prevail, I promise you." Perry swung one leg over the side, then paused and reached for his pocket watch. "I shall wait five minutes for any of the wounded as are able to join us, then we're away."

"May I ask for ten minutes, sir? Even the sick or wounded who can come topside won't be able to move quickly."

"Ten minutes then," Perry agreed.

The two-masted brigantine Niagara had been moving to the head of the line while they spoke, all the while keeping the American ships between herself and the enemy. Now she was athwart Lawrence. Perry and three sailors began clambering down to the waiting rowboat. Joyful turned and headed back to the hold. The list of the vessel was definitely worse, and the smoke thicker. One of the British ships -- the Queen Charlotte, Joyful thought -- was still firing. Lawrence had eighteen carronades to Charlotte's two, but no one to man them. And for the last half hour there had been no powder monkeys to bring them shot.

Joyful found the hatch by feel and instinct. He was about to start down the ladderway when Jesse Edwards's small blond head poked above it. "What's happening, Dr. Turner, sir?"

Wonderful! There had been three powder monkeys when the action began. All boys under twelve, they did what was arguably the most dangerous job in any battle -- running the ammunition to the guns -- and two were in the pile of corpses below. He'd figured the third to be lying dead somewhere else. "There you are, Jesse. I was just wondering about you."

The lad didn't meet his gaze, speaking instead to some point over Joyful's shoulder. "I was down in the powder magazine, sir. Getting the charges the way I'm s'posed to, and -- "

Cowering in the stores most likely, God help him. "It's all right, lad. No need to worry about that now. The Commodore and what's left of the crew are about to row over to Niagara. They're waiting for any others as are able to join them. Get on with you. Over there on the port side. Hurry."

The boy started to go, then turned back. "What about you, Dr. Turner?"

"Nothing about me. Go on, Jesse. Look lively. That's a good -- " The blast landed between them, knocking Joyful back against the bulkhead. At first he felt nothing, only smelled burned flesh, but he knew this time it was his own. He waited, half expecting to collapse, sensing his legs. No, they were fine. But there was pain now, and dizziness. Christ Jesus, don't faint, you stupid bastard. You're a dead man if you do. His heart thumped violently in his chest. "Jesse! Where are you?"

He tried to take a step forward and staggered. "Jesse!" Still nothing. Can't hang about here. Have to tell the men below they can...The weakness almost overwhelmed him, but Joyful fought it off. Something not right about his left arm. He reached across his body: The upper arm was whole. So was the elbow and the forearm. No broken bones, so...Oh, Christ Jesus. He had no hand.

The wound was pouring blood. Joyful, trembling, felt his gorge rise. Shock. Ignore it. Must stop the hemorrhage. Finished otherwise. It seemed to take forever, but eventually he managed to untie his neckerchief.

Behind him the guns were still booming, but Lawrence, listing, and with no firepower, was no longer the target. He managed to get the neckerchief tied around his shattered wrist, but it had to be tighter if it was going to keep him from bleeding to death. He kept short wooden dowels in the pocket of his apron so his patients could bite something other than their own tongues when he cut. Damn! The fingers of his right hand were slippery with blood. He finally got a grip on one dowel, forced it into the knot of the makeshift bandage, and began to twist. Not the best tourniquet he'd ever fastened, but it would do the job. "Jesse! Are you there, lad?"

Still no answer, and he had no idea how much of Perry's allotted ten minutes remained. The men below had a right to take the offer if they could.

He staggered over to the hatch and started down the ladderway. His left foot reached for the quarterdeck and made contact with Jesse's body. The boy had been hurled backward by the blast.

Joyful was weak and dizzy, but he made himself crouch beside the crumpled figure. "Jesse? Can you hear me?" One quarterdeck lantern remained lit; still, it was nearly impossible to see in the gloom. "Jesse. C'mon boy, answer me." The powder monkey didn't move. Joyful pressed his ear to the boy's chest. Thready and very rapid, but the heart was beating. His eyes finally adjusted to the half light, and he saw that the boy's right arm had been shot off virtually at the shoulder. "Got us both, the poxed English bastards," he muttered. Jesse didn't move.

The blood coming from the boy's shoulder was oozing, not pumping. A blessing. There was no way to make a tourniquet effective in such a position. The powder monkey's kersey shirt had been shredded by the shot. Joyful was able to grip a piece of the fabric with his single hand and rip it free. He wadded the kersey into the wound, then got his one good arm underneath Jesse. He couldn't heave him up the first time he tried, but he succeeded the second. Joyful slung the youngster over his right shoulder and staggered down to the hospital quarters deep in the hold.

There had been three lanterns lit when he left the sick bay, strung on a pulley stretched abaft the long, narrow cabin. Now there was only one. "Grubbers! Where in hell are you? How come you let the damned lights go out?"

"Right here, Dr. Turner. I was just goin' to trim those wicks and get some -- "

Useless, like most of the surgeon's mates he'd been assigned over the eight years he'd been at sea. "Forget it. Clear the way for another operation. No, wait. I'll do it. You go above. The commodore's waiting for any as can leave the ship with him." Joyful leaned forward and let Jesse's body drop onto the operating table, ignoring the pulpy remains of the previous surgery that still dotted the canvas covering. The effort j...

About this edition

• Publisher: Simon & Schuster
• Publication date: 2007
• ISBN 10: 0743269209
• ISBN 13: 9780743269209
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 496