Early in 1766,— New Style,— reversing the Directions taken the year before, Mason sets off southward "to see the Country," whilst Dixon,— mention'd in the Field-Book only upon Mason's return, as having left Philadelphia, upon the eighteenth of March, to meet with the Commis?sioners at Chester Town,— in fact heads north for the lighted Streets of New-York.
At a Theater with no name, no fix'd address,— this night happ'ning to be upon Broad-Way,— printing no Handbills, known only by word of mouth, Dixon upon the advice of a Ferry-Companion attends a Stage performance of the musical drama The Black Hole of Calcutta, or, The Peevish Wazir. Before a backdrop of Fort William (executed with such an obsessively fine respect for detail, that during the Work's Longueurs, with the aid of a Glass, one may observe, pictur'd upon the Tableau, sub-ordinate Dramas as if in progress,— meetings of the Management, hands clutching throats or leveling Pistols, farewells by the landing, the steaming pale forever-unreachable Hooghly and the Ships waiting to go away, leaving behind the Unspeakable), a Corps of two dozen Ladies appear, strolling about in quasi-Indian Dress and singing, to the (as some would say) inappropriately lively Accompaniment of a small Orchestra,
In the Black Hole of Calcut-ta, One scarcely knows quite what t' Make of Things they groan and mut-ter, Why, 'tis cheerier in the Gut-ter.—
Being dark and ooh so stuf-fy, Little Su-gar for one's Cof-fee, And the Na-tives, rah-ther huf-fy,— And the Pil-lows far from fluf-fy,—
Ask of an-y, Bengal-i,
How's the Black Hole, to-night,—
Don't expect him, to be jol-ly,
For there's something, not-quite right! as
The Lamps begin to sput-ter, All will not be Scones and But-ter, When the door's at last been shut to That Black Hole of Cal-cut-ta! La,— la,— la-la, la-la, la-la...
The Story, as near as Dixon can make out, is about a British officer whose Rivalry with a comically villainous Frenchman for the Affection of a Nabob's Daughter, brings on the war in Bengal. There are some catchy Tunes, and an Elephant, promis'd in the first Act, which incredi?bly, at the very end of the Show, is deliver'd. The audience sits stunn'd in the vacuous Purity of not having been cheated. The Elephant, within its elaborate trappings of red, blue, and gold, watches everything care?fully,— someone's Elephant, perhaps, but no one's Fool. Girls emerge from the Howdah in impossible numbers, wearing Costumes as variously hued as the Rainbow, and as diaphanous. They place their stocking'd Toes precisely upon Elephant pressure points, long known to Chinese Healers, strung along his Ear Meridians,— the Elephant rolls his eyes appreciatively. 'Tis this part of the Show that the Girls, as well, enjoy the most, or so they tell Dixon afterward, when he wanders back-stage to see what might be up, in all Innocence following the Scents of Womanly Exertion, to the Dressing-Room.
"Here he is!"
"Took him long enough, for a Kiddy got up so flash."
"Oh ye'll bore him, Fiona! Come over here m' Darling, you can sleep later.”
"Ooh! Cow."
"Anyone in here for a Turtle Feast? My foolish Lad has a Coach wait?ing?" Dixon is swept in a rush of Polonaises, Sacques, and Petticoats into the Vehicle, and with great cheering away they clatter, out the Greenwich Road to Brannan's and an unsequenc'd two days of Revelry, ever punctuated by someone rising to cry, "I haven't felt this excited,— " turning to the Others, who roar back, " - since Eyre Coote won the Battle of Wandiwash!"— being a famous Moment from the Comedy,— Party ending up back in the Town, at Montague's Tavern, upon Broad-Way, near Murray Street, which proves to be Head-quarters of the local Sons of Liberty, as well as thick with Intrigue, regardless of the Hour.
He is soon aware of Captain Volcanoe, who in the Year since Mason saw him has been well in the Crucible of the Troubles attending the Stamp Act. Some of the old gang have fled,— others have decided to gamble ev'rything, unto their Lives, to see the British gone,— tho' beyond this, there is little agreement. "Even if this Act is repeal'd or in practice never enforc'd, any ministry of this King, even one that some?how includes Mr. Pitt, will be certain to tax us. 'Tis our Duty to resist, tho' it take up all our Days, and Nights as well. The Communications are now well establish'd, despite British Interceptions. We do well. More and more are resolv'd,— our Numbers ever growing. For the first time, we had a trans-Provincial Congress here in October,— yet, the Expense, reckon'd so far, must be borne most heavily by the warmer Sentiments, for we are become a colder lot. Tell your co-adjutor he was lucky we caught him last Winter, and not this, or Blackie might have had his way."
"From what he'll be pleas'd to hope a safe distance, then, Mr. Mason sends his Compliments to your Niece."
"She ran off with an Italian Waggon-smith," the Captain shaking his head, "and they went to live in Massapequa, upon Long-Island. His mother is teaching her to cook."
"Mason will be perplex'd."
"How do you think we feel? A sort of Club, at whose Gatherings she might meet a possible Husband,— that's all the use we ever were to her. Politics? Poh. She may never care about any of this. The road's not for ev'ryone, 's all's it is.”
"Hallo, Cap'n. This un's a likely one,— hey?" A muscular, untended dark cloud of an Indiv. has appear'd upon Dixon's starboard Quarter.
"No, Blackie, he's another Astronomer,— you recollect the one last year? Well, this is his Partner."
"Mais oui, mais oui," Dixon sweeping off his Hat and making his Notion of a Bow. "You hate Engleesh bastaird? Want to keel them, eh? Haw, haw! Me too!"
"Much rather kill you," sighs Blackie. "But, as I mayn't, you shall have to stand me a pint instead."
"Seems fair." Tho' by now broad daylight outside, in here 'tis forever Midnight,— Resolutions proper to the hour being made and kept all 'round them, Windows shutter'd, lamps few. Good thing I'm a jolly straight-ahead Lad, Dixon reminds himself,— or I'd start to imagine all kinds of things—
"To the 'Sixty-six!" Pewter clanking, ale spilling and commingling, much of it upon the Clothing of the Company.
"What d'ye think, then?" Blackie asks abruptly of Dixon.
"Eeh,— not Philadelphia, is it?"
"Nor Boston neither!" Blackie assures him, with a clap upon the shoulder. "Tho' it little matters."
"Aye,— ev'ry Province is agreed in this Business. All speak as One."
"What a terrible thing, that British Governments should mis-read us so, when we wish to believe in their Wisdom, their better grasp of His?tory, as of Secular Likelihood,— yet they will keep finding ways to nour?ish our Doubts."
"Will their Stupidity prove beyond the reach even of Mr. Franklin, our American Prometheus?"
"Why bother to educate 'em? The stupider the better."
"Yet too stupid, and the only Choice left is Battle."
"There's the Ticket!" cries Blackie.
"At the Peak of the Riots, Blackie was running about a Thousand Sailors," remarks Capt. Volcanoe.
"And they're still in Town," Blackie with an eager Nod, "thanks to Cap'n Kennedy." Who, in Command of H.M.S. Coventry, is regulating Traffick in the Harbor, allowing ships to enter, but detaining as many as
 he may who attempt to leave with their Clearance Papers unstamp'd. "Here comes one of my Lads now, in fact."
Who does it prove to be but Foretopman Bodine, once of the Seahorse, who, as he now relates, having jump'd that ship in Madras, watching from shore as she sail'd away to the Capture of Manila, had then hir'd on to a China ship, which was set upon in mid-Ocean by Pirates, who took him to South America, whence he escap'd, making his way North, among Typhoons and Hurricanoes, Jungle and Swamp, Alligators and Boas, Indians and Spaniards, till fetching up in Perth Amboy in the company of a certain Roaring Dot, belle of the Harbor.
"Woman o............