I stared about at the splendor of the paintings and the
mirrors in the rooms. Then like a ghost I resumed my way to my hotel.
Why? There was nothing there to call me back. Yet it was the only home I
had, and the evening was coming on.
Instead of stopping at the hotel, I went on to Castle Garden. I decided
to dine there. I could look over the harbor and the ships. It was a way
to put myself in touch with England, to travel back over the way I had
come. I found a table and ordered a meal.
I became conscious of the fact that the captain of the _Columbia and
Caledonia_ was at a near table with a gay party. They had wine, and
there was much merriment. This abandonment was in contrast to the
serious, almost dark spirit of a party at another table. This was
composed of men entirely. I had never seen such faces before. Their hair
was long. They wore goatees. They were strangely dressed. They talked
with a broad accent. Excitement and anger rose in their voices. They
were denouncing President Jackson. The matter seemed to be a force bill,
the tariff imposed by New England's enterprise, the duty of the Southern
States to resist it. They were insisting that there was no warrant to
pass a tariff law, that it was clearly a breach of the Constitution, and
that it should be resisted to the death.
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