Читать книгу The Captain from Connecticut онлайн

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"Let's say 'a speedy peace,' then," said Stanton.

"A speedy peace," said Peabody, solemnly.

Stanton took a pull at his glass before speaking again.

"You've heard the latest from the Continent, sir?"

"What is it?" asked Peabody, with native caution.

"The news came in the day before we cleared from Kingston. Wellington's over the Pyrenees. The Russians are over the Rhine, and Boney's licked. Licked as sure as a gun."

Peabody stared at him, but there was no doubt the man was speaking the truth. In Peabody's throat the weak rum that he had sipped burned with the fierce pleasure which he had always to disregard, and for a moment it distracted him from making any deductions from what he was being told.

"Come midsummer," said Stanton, "and France'll be neutral. Aye, or before that."

Then the British Navy would be free to turn its whole strength against the American coast, the British Army would be free to strike at exposed points, and what hope would there be then of an honourable peace?

"And then we'll have nothing to fight over," went on Stanton. "We won't want to press your men, and we won't care how much wheat you sell to the French. I'm no naval officer, sir. England was at war when I took my first command to sea in '94, and we're still at war twenty years after. I'd like to make a voyage--just one voyage--without wondering whether I'd be in prison before I reached the end of it."