“Well, we’ll know in time,” said Cogshill. “The wine’s beside you, Mr. Buckland. Don’t let it stagnate.”
Dinner went on. The pepper pot rasped on Bush’s palate and inflamed his stomach, making the wine doubly grateful when he drank it. When the cheese was removed, and the cloth with it, the steward brought in fruit and nuts in silver dishes.
“Port,” said Captain Cogshill. “’79. A good year. About this brandy I know little, as one might expect in these times.”
Brandy could only come from France, smuggled, presumably, and as a result of trading with the enemy.
“But here,” went on the captain, “is some excellent Dutch geneva—I bought it at the prize sale after we took St. Eustatius. And here is another Dutch liquor—it comes from Curaçao, and if the orange flavour is not too sickly for your palates you might find it pleasant. Swedish schnapps, fiery but excellent, I fancy—that was after we captured Saba. The wise man does not mix grain and grape, so they say, but I understand schnapps is made from potatoes, and so does not come under the ban. Mr. Buckland?”
“Schnapps for me,” said Buckland a little thickly.
“Mr. Bush?”
“I’ll drink along with you, sir.”
That was the easiest way of deciding.
“Then let us make it brandy. Gentlemen, may Boney grow bonier than ever.”