Ingram thought the setting on the long oak table in the Great Cabin looked splendid. The stewards had set out white china plates, a crown in blue at the center with twisted vines on the rim. To the side of each lay gold cutlery with the fouled-anchor navy seal engraved on each handle. All were laid out on a white tablecloth, or at least as white as it could be kept while at sea.
The cutlery was his personal set. He had, on a lark, bought it from a high-born friend who had made it to admiral and retired to the countryside, saying that he no longer felt the need for such frivolous things. Ingram had been carting it from command to command ever since, hoping against hope to someday make it to admiral himself, with his own flagship. But he now understood better than ever that his origins in the merchant class—his father had been a prosperous wool merchant—would likely preclude him from ever wearing the shoulder boards of an admiral.
His musings were interrupted by the arrival of his officers—Lansford, the three lieutenants not on watch, four midshipmen and Arbuthnot. Colonel Black had indeed come, looking less green than usual. Washington, however, had not yet arrived. All of them, he noticed, kept glancing at the door.
A few minutes after they’d all taken their seats, the General appeared, accompanied by his two marine guards. Ingram didn’t imagine that Washington’s late appearance was by accident. He started to enter the room, and the marines started to enter with him.
“You marines may wait outside,” Ingram said.
They saluted and withdrew.
He had been thinking for some time what level of respect to accord Washington when he arrived. It had been one thing to salute him in sickbay. It was quite another to do it here, with most of his officers present. But as he rose from his seat, he knew there had never truly been a question as to what he would do. He snapped his hand to his forehead and gave the regulation palm down salute. His action caused all the others, including, to his surprise, Black, to rise and do the same. Washington returned the salute and bowed slightly to all.
“Welcome, Your Excellency,” Ingram said. “Please take a seat.” He himself had been seated, as protocol for a ship’s captain dictated, at the head of the table, and he gestured for Washington to take the seat to his left. After all were seated, he gestured to the stewards to fill the wine glasses with port, which he had authorized to be withdrawn from the special stores in the hold.
He took his wine glass in hand and rose to give a toast, realizing that it was a bit inappropriate given the guest, but gave it anyway. “To the King! To our ships at sea! A willing foe and sea room!”
His officers rose and toasted, as did Washington, who had a bemused smile on his face.
Then Washington made his own toast. “When I had the pleasure of travelling on one of His Majesty’s ships as a very young man, I was always fond of this one,” he said, raising his glass. “To our wives and sweethearts, may they never meet!”
They all burst into laughter. Even Black smiled. Washington’s toast set a festive tone for the remainder of the meal.
After the first course had been served—dried beef in a heavy sauce—Ingram asked of Washington, “When were you on one of His Majesty’s ships?”
“Ah,” Washington said, “I have exaggerated a bit. It was not a ship of the line, but actually a merchantman. That toast was, though, given many times. At the time I had neither sweetheart nor wife. Now I have a most loyal and wonderful wife, and no sweetheart at all.” He smiled.
“Where were you going?”
“I sailed from Richmond to Barbados with my brother, who was seeking a cure for his consumption.”
“Did that help?”
“Perhaps in the short term. He passed away not long after we returned.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“There has been so much death in this war, Captain, that a single death in my family matters little at this point.”
A lieutenant overhearing the conversation said, “Was your brother in the navy?”
“No. I was almost, though. I had my bags packed to leave to become a midshipman, but at the last moment didn’t go.”
“Was there a reason?” the lieutenant asked.
Washington laughed. “Yes, my mother. She objected, and if my mother objected, you didn’t move forward. At least not at the age that I was then—fifteen!”
Black, who was sitting quite far down the table, asked, “So you are comfortable on ships, then?”
“Yes, but hardly experienced. And at times have the same difficulties you have with the motion, Colonel. Today has been better, though.”
Washington had, Ingram thought, tried to ingratiate himself with Black by pretending to share his misery. The type of thing a true leader did instinctually. He assumed Washington was pretending, however, because no one had reported to him that the General was suffering from seasickness.
“Seasick or not, what of this so-called Revolution?” one of the other lieutenants, who had no doubt had his share of rum before the meal began, asked. “Why are you colonists not content with the blessings our king bestows on his subjects? Which are many.”
Washington paused, as if he’d been asked the question many times before.
“We have declared our own, independent nation because the blessings you speak of have been bestowed only on men who live in England.”
“What do you mean?” the lieutenant asked.
“I mean you have the right to vote to choose your representatives to Parliament. And that same Parliament, whom you Englishmen elect, places taxes on us over which we have no say. All we wish is to have these very blessings you speak of for ourselves.”
“Why don’t you ask for them?” Black said.
“Surely you are joking, Colonel. Surely you must know that we have asked for our rights many times and have not only been rejected again and again but punished for asking.”
“Surely,” Black said, “throwing tea into a harbour is not asking for anything. It is just thuggery.”
“I did not countenance that,” Washington said. “It was done in New England, where the hand of your ministers and Parliament has been particularly heavy, so perhaps it can be understood as an outburst grown of frustration.”
“What you colonists do not understand,” Black said, “is that the members of that Parliament you mention have your interests at heart as they govern. You are like our children and the Parliament like a distant, but caring, parent.”
Washington stiffened. “If you will excuse me, we are not children, and even if we were, a parent who is three thousand miles away can hardly be a good parent.” He paused. “Do you understand, Colonel Black, how long this distant Parliament has treated us as children?”
Without waiting for a response, Washington answered his own question. “We’ve been treated as children for more than one hundred fifty years, Colonel. Indeed some families have lived in our land for three, four, five, even seven or eight generations. I myself am the third generation to be born on the soil of Virginia and carry the name Washington.”
While Ingram was musing to himself about that, Colonel Black had responded to Washington, lambasting the colonies for not having paid what he considered their fair share of the defence in the French and Indian War. Lieutenant Crisp, meanwhile, who’d by then had far too much wine, was, to Ingram’s surprise, joining Washington’s complaint, but focusing on the fact that so many men in England itself lacked the right to vote. Black was getting red in the face, Washington had his arms crossed across his chest and Crisp was gesticulating wildly.
The dinner was not turning out as Ingram had hoped. Perhaps naively, he had expected it to be a pleasant meal amongst officers and gentlemen about which he could someday regale his grandchildren—of whom he already had four. He decided to try to bring it back to the way he wanted it.
He stood, tapped on his glass till all were silent and said, “Gentlemen, I propose a toast to the land of General Washington’s birth, Virginia!” Everyone huzzahed and clinked glasses.
Then Washington rose. “And I propose a toast to the land of your birth, Captain, or so I assume... England!”
All clinked and huzzahed again.
Hoping to continue the spirit of it, Ingram said, “And finally, to our king.” He hoped that if Black were to report the toasts up the chain of command, he would not note that Ingram had said our king rather than the usual the king, thus leaving Washington an opening not to object since he could have been referring only to the Englishmen at the table.
Washington, clearly understanding his point, rose again and said, “We do not have a king, sir, but we do have many statesmen. I propose a toast to an illustrious Virginia statesman, Thomas Jefferson!”
There was suddenly a stone-cold silence around the table. “Jefferson? Why Jefferson?” the second lieutenant—who to that point had been silent—asked. “Isn’t he the one who slandered our king in your so-called Declaration of Independence?”
Washington paused, as if carefully considering his response, and said, “Mr. Jefferson could be something of a hothead at times, and in any case I was not present at the gathering that wrote and approved the Declaration.” He smiled a close-lipped smile.
Ingram’s respect for Washington rose still higher. The man had to know that he was being taken to London to be tried for treason. And while it was one thing openly to declare the independence of the colonies for various political reasons, it was quite another to attack the King personally. Washington had just distanced himself from that. No one at the table would be able to testify at his trial that Washington had sat there in the wardroom of one of the King’s ships and personally insulted him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang, followed a minute later by shouts and cries of anguish.
The door was flung open.