“Your mother’s country, Mr Ramsbottom?” asked the Governor.
“Yes, sir. My mother was a Venezuelan lady. There I would be Carlos Ramsbottom y Santona.”
“Most interesting,” remarked the Governor.
And more grotesque than Horatio Hornblower. It was significant of the worldwide interests of British commerce that a Bradford woollen manufacturer should have a Venezuelan mother. At any rate it accounted for Ramsbottom’s dark, almost swarthy, good looks.
“I can very well wait until peace is settled one way or the other,” said Ramsbottom off-handedly. “There will be other voyages to make. Meanwhile, sir, let me call your attention to this dish here.”
The main course had now arrived on the table, roast chickens and a leg of pork as well as the dish that Ramsbottom indicated. What lay in it was concealed by poached eggs covering the surface.
“A made dish?” asked the Governor, doubtfully. His tone indicated that at this stage of the dinner he looked rather for a substantial roast.
“Please try it, sir,” said Ramsbottom coaxingly.
The Governor helped himself and tasted cautiously.
“Pleasant enough,” he decided. “What is it?”
“A ragout of preserved beef,” answered Ramsbottom. “Can I persuade you gentlemen to try it? My Lord?”
At least it was something new; it was like nothing Hornblower had ever tasted before – certainly not in the least like the beef preserved in brine which he had eaten for twenty years.
“Extremely good,” said Hornblower. “How is it preserved?”
Ramsbottom made a gesture to the waiting steward, who laid a square box, apparently of iron, upon the table. It weighed heavy in Hornblower’s hand.
“Glass serves equally well,” explained Ramsbottom, “but it is not as convenient on shipboard.”
The steward was now at work upon the iron box with a stout knife. He cut it open and prized back the top and offered it for inspection.
“A tinned box,” went on Ramsbottom, “sealed at a high temperature. I venture to suggest that this new method will make a noticeable difference to the food supply on shipboard. This beef can be eaten cold on removal from the box, or it can be hashed as you have it here.”
“And the poached egg?” asked the Governor.
“That was the inspiration of my cook, sir.”
Discussion of this new invention – and of the excellent Burgundy served with this course – distracted attention from the troubles of Venezuela, and even from Ramsbottom’s Venezuelan mother. Conversation became general, and somewhat disjointed, as the wine flowed. Hornblower had drunk as much as he desired, and, with his habitual dislike of excess, contrived to avoid drinking more. It was noticeable that Ramsbottom remained sober as well, cool and quiet-voiced, while the other faces grew redder and redder, and the cabin echoed to the roaring toasts and the bursts of inconsequential song. Hornblower guessed that his host was now finding the evening as tedious as he himself found it. He was glad when at last His Excellency rose, supporting himself by the table, to take his leave.
“A damned good dinner,” he said. “And you’re a damned good host, Ramsbottom. Wish there were more like you.”
Hornblower shook hands.
“It was very good of you to come, My Lord,” said Ramsbottom. “I regret that I must take this opportunity to say goodbye to Your Lordship.”
“You are sailing soon?”
“In a couple of days, I expect, My Lord. I trust you will find your squadron exercises satisfactory.”
“Thank you very much. Where will you head for now?”
“I shall beat back through the Windward channel, My Lord. Perhaps I shall see something of the Bahamas.”
“Be careful of your navigation there. I must wish you good luck and a pleasant voyage. I shall write to my wife and tell her of your visit.”
“Please give Lady Hornblower my best wishes and respects, My Lord.”
Ramsbottom’s good manners persisted to the end; he remembered to send round his cards ‘Pour prendre congé’ before he left, and mothers of unmarried daughters much regretted his leaving. Hornblower saw the Bride of Abydos in the early dawn reaching to the eastward to round Morant Point with the land breezes, and then forgot about her in the bustle of taking his squadron to sea for exercises.