“Holborrow’s a colonel,” Dennison said, hiccuping again, “and Starbuck’s a major, so Holborrow will get what he wants and Starbuck can go piss himself. And hell,” he went on resentfully, “none of us should be serving under Starbuck. He’s a goddamn Northerner and I ain’t taking orders from any goddamn Northerner.”

Cartwright, a plumpish man with a petulant face and fair curly hair, nodded agreement. “You should have taken over from Maitland, Tom,” he told Dennison.

“I know that, you know that, Holborrow knows that,” Dennison agreed then clumsily extracted a cigar from his pocket and lit it at the nearest candle. “And Mister Starbuck will have to learn it,” he finished when the cigar was lit.

Peel, a thin young man who seemed the best of this unprepossessing bunch, wiped peach juice from his clean-shaven chin then shook his head. “Why did they send us Starbuck?” he asked no one in particular. “They must be wanting us to fight. Otherwise why send him to us?”

“Because he’s an unwanted son of a bitch,” Dennison snapped, “and they want to be rid of him.”

“He’s got a reputation,” Starbuck said, enjoying himself, “sir.”

Dennison’s dark eyes inspected Starbuck through the flickering light of the guttering candles. “It don’t take much of a reputation to impress a drunkard,” he said dismissively, “and I don’t recall anyone here inviting you to speak, Lieutenant.”

“Sorry, sir,” Starbuck said.

Dennison went on inspecting Starbuck and finally prodded his cigar toward him. “I will say one thing for you, Potter, you’ve got a pretty wife.”

“Reckon I have, sir,” Starbuck agreed.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” Dennison said. “Pretty enough to turn a head or two. Too pretty for a lunkhead like you, don’t you agree?”

“She’s sure pretty,” Starbuck said, “sir.”

“And you’re a drunk,” Dennison observed, “and drunks ain’t no good where it counts with a lady. Know what I mean, Potter? Drunks ain’t up to it, are they?” Dennison, half drunk himself, laughed at his own wit. Starbuck held the Captain’s eyes, but said nothing and Dennison mistook his silence for fear. “You know where your pretty wife is tonight, Potter?”

“With her cousin Alice, sir,” Starbuck said.

“Or maybe she’s dining with Colonel Holborrow?” Dennison suggested. “The Colonel sure had his hopes up. Put on his best uniform coat, shined his boots, and oiled his hair. I reckon he thought your Emily might appreciate a little entertainment. Maybe a cockfight?” The other captains laughed at this jest while Dennison sucked on his cigar. “And maybe,” he went on, “your Emily’s so desperate after being married to you that she’d even say yes to Holborrow. You reckon she’s playing the mattress to Holborrow’s quilt, Potter?” Starbuck said nothing and Dennison shook his head scornfully. “You’re a weak passel of shit, Potter, you truly are. God knows what that girl sees in you, but I guess she needs her pretty little eyes fixing.” He drew on his cigar again as he stared at Starbuck. “Reckon I just might call on the little lady myself. Would you object, Lieutenant Potter, if I paid my respects to your lady wife? My skin might just benefit from a lady’s healing touch.”