'It wouldn't concern me one damn jot, Captain, were it to be put to the test tomorrow morning.'
'Come, come, gennelmen,' said Shaw, stepping between the two sea-officers and smiling nervously at Vansittart, 'damn me, Vansittart, we will have our work cut out to keep such hotheads from tearing each other to pieces. Tis as well they put these fellows under orders, or what would become of the peace of the world?'
Drinkwater caught Arabella's eye. Was it pity he saw there, or some understanding of his humiliation?
'I think it you, Charles, who is the greater hothead,' she scolded, half in jest. 'I don't believe Captain Drinkwater to be a man to underestimate his enemy.'
Was the remark taken as one of mere politeness, or an indiscretion of the most lamentably revealing nature? Drinkwater could not be sure how each of them perceived it, for his prime concern was to seize the lifeline she had flung him, to put the company at their ease, to detach himself from Stewart's sarcastic goading.
'I have held that as a guiding principle throughout my career, ma'am.'
'You have seen a good deal of action, have you not, Captain?' Vansittart rallied to him, equally eager to defuse the atmosphere, but painfully aware of Drinkwater's lack of finesse in such circumstances.
'I believe so,' Drinkwater answered.
'What — Frenchmen?' put in Stewart, unwisely.
'Some Frenchmen, yes, but Dutchmen, Russians — and Americans.' He paused, feeling he had regained some credibility. 'War is not a matter to be entered into lightly, no matter how excellent one's ship, nor the fighting temper of one's people.'
Stewart had swallowed his rum at a gulp and it emboldened him. 'Oh, ship for ship, we'd lick you, Cap'n ...'
Drinkwater experienced that sudden cool detachment he usually associated with the heat of action, after the period of fear before engagement and the manic rage with which a man worked up his courage and in which most men conquered or perished in hand-to-hand slaughter. For him this remote and singular feeling lent him strength and an acuity of eye and nervous response which had carried him through a dozen fierce actions. He suddenly saw this boorish boy as being unworthy of his temper, and smiled.
'Perhaps, ship for ship, you are quite right, Mr Master Commandant, but I beg you to consider how few ships you have and the inevitable outcome of a concentration of force upon this coast. A blockade, for instance; do you comprehend a blockade, Mister Stewart? No, I think not. Say twelve of the line cruising constantly off Sandy Hook, another dozen off the Delaware, another off the Virginia capes, with frigates patrolling in between, cutters and schooners maintaining communications between the squadrons, ships being relieved regularly, and water and wood being obtained with impunity from your empty and unguarded coastline ... come, sir, that is not a happy prospect, you'll allow?'
Drinkwater observed with a degree of pleasure how Stewart resented the use of his proper rank and Drinkwater's pointed abandonment of his courtesy title. The added irony of begging his listener's consideration was lost on Stewart in his inflamed state, for while Drinkwater spoke, he snapped his fingers and took another glass of rum.
'You couldn't do it,' he said thickly when Drinkwater finished speaking, 'your men wouldn't stand for it...'
'We'd still be damned foolish to put it to the test, Charles,' temporized Shaw, 'hell's bells, you professional gennelmen are a pair of gamecocks to be sure. Arabella, my dear, we'd better fill their bellies with something less inflammatory than firewater...'
Vansittart laughed loudly and Mistress Shaw caught the manservant's eye and addressed a few words to him.
'Whether or not you gennelmen trade shot for shot rather depends upon the efforts of Mr Vansittart here,' Shaw said, taking the diplomat's elbow familiarly, 'and we have concluded all the necessary arrangements for you to proceed to Washington, Mr Vansittart. A schooner has just arrived this evening to convey you up to Baltimore and I understand a chaise is at your disposal thereafter. I, for one, hope the news you bring for Mr Foster enables us to conclude a peaceful settlement of our dispute. Foster's a better man than either Jackson or Erskine were in the subtleties of representing the British government over here, so there's some hope!' Shaw raised his glass and was about to propose a toast to peace when Stewart snorted his objection. Shaw put out a placating hand as Stewart made to protest. 'Oh sure, Charles,' he went on, 'I understand your anger, Great Britain has undoubtedly acted the part of the bully and I'm sure Captain Drinkwater, being a fair-minded man, will acknowledge that his country's foreign policies have not always been honourable, whatever justification — mainly expedience, I guess — is advanced, but it don't mean we have to fight.'
'Men were taken out of my own ship,' Stewart protested.
'The Stingray? queried Vansittart quickly.
'No,' said Shaw, 'Charles was master of a Baltimore schooner between naval appointments,' he explained. 'We have more officers than ships…'
'Naval ships,' Stewart said with a heavy emphasis.
'How many guns do your merchant ships mount?' Vansittart asked, anticipating the question forming at the same instant in Drinkwater's mind. Not for the first time, Drinkwater acknowledged the sharpness of Vansittart's intelligence. Yet he did not want Vansittart to overplay his hand. Such a rapid tattoo of queries might make Stewart clam up and, in his perceptive state, Drinkwater wanted the already mildly intoxicated young man to talk a great deal more. Perhaps he might, with advantage, stir this pot a little.
'They make excellent privateers, Vansittart,' he said, 'I recall during the last American war ...'
Stewart, who had long since swallowed his third glass of rum, grinned. This British captain was not merely ancient, he was also cautious! 'Cap'n Drinkwater is right,' he said with a hint of mimicry, 'they make excellent privateers, and we could have 'em swarming like locusts over the ocean.' Stewart held up his free hand and snapped his fingers. 'And a fig for your blockade! You'd have to convoy everything!'
'Well, sir ...' Vansittart began but was interrupted. 'Gentlemen,' Arabella broke in, the yellow-coated servant at her shoulder, 'dinner is served.'
They sat down to dine in the same room as they had used the previous evening, but now gravity not gaiety was the prevailing mood. Zebulon Shaw remained a gracious host and Vansittart a sociable guest but Stewart sank into a moody contemplation of the man who epitomized his conception of the enemy. As for Drinkwater, he did his best to contribute to the conversation and to maintain a somewhat pathetic contact with Arabella. He was largely unsuccessful, for Vansittart divided his easy attention between Shaw and his daughter-in-law.
Drinkwater could not afterwards recall what they had eaten. A spiced capon, he thought, though his abiding memory was a complex feeling of self-loathing, of irritation that Stewart's slowly increasing drunkenness was accompanied by the man's unceasing scrutiny, and of jealousy that Arabella should flirt so with Vansittart, a boy young enough to be her son.
He was in a foul mood when she rose and declared she would withdraw and leave them to their spirits and cigars. As she swept out with a smiling admonition to her father-in-law not to deprive her for too long of the society of so many gentlemen, Drinkwater felt bereft, unaware of a tender and pointed irony in her words.
'This is a superb house,' Vansittart remarked as he drew on his cigar.
'It was my father's conceit to build a castle, such as an English peer might have. He began in '76, three weeks after the declaration of independence, but', Shaw blew a fragrant cloud of tobacco smoke at the ceiling, 'man proposes and God disposes.'