back myself,” Nate said.
“You are. But it is prudent to prepare for all eventualities. If you are taken prisoner by the lobsters, the usage and custom
of war is such that you will be permitted to write to your family. Your letters will pass through my hands. So I propose we
establish code phrases that you can employ in your letters to indicate what you have discovered. Since you are familiar with
Addison’s
Cato
, and we have a copy at hand, why don’t we select phrases from it for you to memorize?”
“No need to memorize,” Nate said. “I know most of the play by heart from having read it so often.”
“So much the better. You select the phrases.” Hamilton handed Nate the Virginian’s leather-bound copy.
Nate thumbed through it. “Here is the line that inspired Mr. Patrick Henry’s ‘Give me liberty or give me death,’ “ he said.
And he passed the book to Hamilton and quoted it from memory. “ ‘Chains, or conquest; liberty, or death.’ “
Hamilton copied the phrase into an orderly book. (It was this same orderly book that I discovered four years ago in the Beinecke
Library stacks. A handwriting expert has compared the unsigned notations in the orderly book with samples of Hamilton’s handwriting
and concluded they were written by the same person.) And he told Nate, “Let this phrase stand to mean that the lobsters are
going to land behind us, in Westchester, in an effort to trap us on Manhattan island.”
Nate flipped through the pages of
Cato
until he came to another patriotic phrase. Again Hamilton copied it off into his orderly book. “Let the second phrase mean
the lobsters will give the general the time he needs to prepare the army for retreat,” he said.
Hamilton made Nate repeat the phrases and their meanings several times. Then he escorted Nate to the portico of the Morris
house. The Virginian was standing with a messenger on the lip of Coogan’s Bluff studying the East River through a long glass.
In the distance an enemy cutter could be seen tacking from bank to bank as it beat upriver against the wind. A. Hamilton noticed
the speck of sail. “It looks as if Howe’s testing the currents at Hell Gate,” he told Nate. He offered him his hand. “Good
luck,” he said, “and Godspeed.”
19
T he bartender, known as Yul because his head was shaven down to his sidewalk-gray scalp, set the whiskey on a paper doily with
lacelike edges and slid it across to the man with the toupee, whose name was Howard something or other.
“I’m giving you fair warning,” Howard told Huxstep. “I teach mathematics at a junior high school.”
“If you don’t believe the man,” the bartender told Howard, “why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”
Howard ran a finger around the rim of his glass but failed to produce a hum. “There has to be a time limit,” he insisted.
Huxstep, sitting two stools away directly across the U-shaped bar from the Admiral, popped some salted peanuts into his mouth
and washed them down with a gulp of beer. “Listen, Yul, fifteen seconds is all I need,” he said.
The man with the toupee slipped a calfskin wallet from the breast pocket of his blazer, pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill
and dropped it onto the bar. Huxstep, laughing under his breath, slapped two twenties and a ten on top of it. The mathematics
teacher punched some numbers into his wristwatch calculator. “All right, Yul. You count off the fifteen seconds. That way
there’ll be no discussion.” He looked at Huxstep. “Here’s the problem. Divide 9876.54 by 4567.89.” Yul started to count out
loud. “One hundredth. Two hundredths. Three …”
Huxstep’s eyes strained at the top of their sockets. His lips moved. “The answer’s 2.1621667.”
Frowning, the mathematics teacher watched Huxstep pocket the money. “I’ve read about people like you,” he told Huxstep. “What’s
your trick?”
Huxstep laughed. “I’m in love with
“You are. But it is prudent to prepare for all eventualities. If you are taken prisoner by the lobsters, the usage and custom
of war is such that you will be permitted to write to your family. Your letters will pass through my hands. So I propose we
establish code phrases that you can employ in your letters to indicate what you have discovered. Since you are familiar with
Addison’s
Cato
, and we have a copy at hand, why don’t we select phrases from it for you to memorize?”
“No need to memorize,” Nate said. “I know most of the play by heart from having read it so often.”
“So much the better. You select the phrases.” Hamilton handed Nate the Virginian’s leather-bound copy.
Nate thumbed through it. “Here is the line that inspired Mr. Patrick Henry’s ‘Give me liberty or give me death,’ “ he said.
And he passed the book to Hamilton and quoted it from memory. “ ‘Chains, or conquest; liberty, or death.’ “
Hamilton copied the phrase into an orderly book. (It was this same orderly book that I discovered four years ago in the Beinecke
Library stacks. A handwriting expert has compared the unsigned notations in the orderly book with samples of Hamilton’s handwriting
and concluded they were written by the same person.) And he told Nate, “Let this phrase stand to mean that the lobsters are
going to land behind us, in Westchester, in an effort to trap us on Manhattan island.”
Nate flipped through the pages of
Cato
until he came to another patriotic phrase. Again Hamilton copied it off into his orderly book. “Let the second phrase mean
the lobsters will give the general the time he needs to prepare the army for retreat,” he said.
Hamilton made Nate repeat the phrases and their meanings several times. Then he escorted Nate to the portico of the Morris
house. The Virginian was standing with a messenger on the lip of Coogan’s Bluff studying the East River through a long glass.
In the distance an enemy cutter could be seen tacking from bank to bank as it beat upriver against the wind. A. Hamilton noticed
the speck of sail. “It looks as if Howe’s testing the currents at Hell Gate,” he told Nate. He offered him his hand. “Good
luck,” he said, “and Godspeed.”
19
T he bartender, known as Yul because his head was shaven down to his sidewalk-gray scalp, set the whiskey on a paper doily with
lacelike edges and slid it across to the man with the toupee, whose name was Howard something or other.
“I’m giving you fair warning,” Howard told Huxstep. “I teach mathematics at a junior high school.”
“If you don’t believe the man,” the bartender told Howard, “why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”
Howard ran a finger around the rim of his glass but failed to produce a hum. “There has to be a time limit,” he insisted.
Huxstep, sitting two stools away directly across the U-shaped bar from the Admiral, popped some salted peanuts into his mouth
and washed them down with a gulp of beer. “Listen, Yul, fifteen seconds is all I need,” he said.
The man with the toupee slipped a calfskin wallet from the breast pocket of his blazer, pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill
and dropped it onto the bar. Huxstep, laughing under his breath, slapped two twenties and a ten on top of it. The mathematics
teacher punched some numbers into his wristwatch calculator. “All right, Yul. You count off the fifteen seconds. That way
there’ll be no discussion.” He looked at Huxstep. “Here’s the problem. Divide 9876.54 by 4567.89.” Yul started to count out
loud. “One hundredth. Two hundredths. Three …”
Huxstep’s eyes strained at the top of their sockets. His lips moved. “The answer’s 2.1621667.”
Frowning, the mathematics teacher watched Huxstep pocket the money. “I’ve read about people like you,” he told Huxstep. “What’s
your trick?”
Huxstep laughed. “I’m in love with
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