Some eatables of a light and delicate nature were handed around by an orderly, and all of us partook, after which we drank a third glass of wine. Then the officers talked most agreeably about a variety of subjects, even including the latest gossip they had brought with them from the Court of St. James. Then we took a fourth glass of wine. I am not a heavy drinker, as heavy drinkers go, and have rather a strong head, but a humming of the distant sea began in my ears and the talk moved far away. I foresaw that Richard Shelby had drunk enough, and that it was time for me to exercise my strongest will over his somewhat rebellious head. “I suppose that you Americans are very sanguine just now, and expect to take our entire army,” said the oldest and apparently the highest of the officers--colonel or general, something or other--to me. I noted that he was overwhelmingly polite in tone. Moreover, my will was acquiring mastery over Dick Shelby’s humming head. I made an ambiguous reply, and he went further into the subject of the campaign, the other officers joining him and indulging slightly in jest at our expense, as if they would lead me on to boast. To make a clean confession in the matter, I felt some inclination to a little vaunting. He said something about our hope to crush Burgoyne, and laughed as if it were quite impossible. “English armies are never taken,” said he. “But they have never before warred with the Americans,” I said. I recalled afterward that some of the officers applauded me for that reply, which was strange considering their sympathies. The old officer showed no offense. “Have you heard that Sir Henry Clinton is coming to our relief with five thousand men?” he asked. “No; have you?” I replied. I was applauded again, and the officer laughed. “You take me up quickly. You have a keen mind, Mr. Shelby; it’s a pity you’re not one of us,” he said. “That would be bad for me,” I said, “as I do not wish to become a prisoner.” This was a bit impertinent and ungenerous, I will admit, but I had drunk four glasses of wine and they were nagging me. They filled up the glasses again, and most of them drank, but I only sipped mine, meanwhile strengthening my rule over Dick Shelby’s mutinous head. The officer laughed easily at my reply and began to talk about the chances of the next battle, which he was sure the British would win. He said Burgoyne had six thousand men, English and Hessians, and in quite a careless way he asked how many we had. By this time I had Dick Shelby’s unruly head under complete control, and his question, lightly put as it was, revealed their whole plan. Right then and there I felt a most painful regret that I had not given Albert Van Auken the worst beating of his life when I had the chance.