Van stayed by Rolf and explained: “This is another social custom that began with a different meaning. One hundred years ago, every man got drunk at every formal dinner, and carried on in a way that the ladies did not care to see, so to save their own feelings and give the men a free rein, the ladies withdrew. Nowadays, men are not supposed to indulge in any such orgy, but the custom continues, because it gives the men a chance to smoke, and the ladies a chance to discuss matters that do not interest the men. So again you see it is backed by common sense.”
This proved the best part of the dinner to Rolf. There was a peculiar sense of over-politeness, of insincerity, almost, while the ladies were present; the most of the talking had been done by young Van Cortlandt and certain young ladies, assisted by some very gay young men and the general. Their chatter was funny, but nothing more. Now a different air was on the group; different subjects were discussed, and by different men, in a totally different manner.
“We've stood just about all we can stand,” said the governor, alluding to an incident newly told, of a British frigate boarding an American merchant vessel by force and carrying off half her crew, under presence that they were British seamen in disguise. “That's been going on for three years now. It's either piracy or war, and, in either case, it's our duty to fight.”
“Jersey's dead against war,” said a legislator from down the river.
“Jersey always was dead against everything that was for the national good, sir,” said a red-faced, puffy, military man, with a husky voice, a rolling eye, and a way of ending every sentence in “sir.”
“So is Connecticut,” said another; “they say, 'Look at all our defenceless coasts and harbour towns.'”
“They're not risking as much as New York,” answered the governor, “with her harbours all the way up the Hudson and her back door open to invasion from Canada.”
“Fortunately, sir, Pennyslvania, Maryland, and the West have not forgotten the glories of the past. All I ask—is a chance to show what we can do, sir. I long for the smell of powder once more, sir.”
“I understand that President Madison has sent several protests, and, in spite of Connecticut and New Jersey, will send an ultimatum within three months. He believes that Britain has all she can manage, with Napoleon and his allies battering at her doors, and will not risk a war.
“It's my opinion,” said Sylvanne; “that these English men is too pig-headed an' ornery to care a whoop in hell whether we get mad or not. They've a notion Paul Jones is dead, but I reckon we've got plenty of the breed only waitin' a chance. Mor'n twenty-five of our merchantmen wrecked each year through being stripped of their crews by a 'friendly power.' 'Pears to me we couldn't be worse off going to war, an' might be a dum sight better.”