I'm really a peaceful sort of coward.

I can smell the smoke now. I can see tendrils of it comin' up between the cracks in the shrikin' floorboards. There she is, calmly taking down the framed examples of fine embroideries, samplers, and needlework from teh hallway wall and tucking them under her arm.
"Mistress! Come on! You've got to leave!"
She calmly turns and faces me. "Why?" she asks. "The British are coming?"
"Only one, Mistress," I say

If I take a tumble, I'll mae quite a splash, but at least I won't smash against the deck and make a mess. Still be dead, though.

A good roast of sun, it slows you, lets you relax–and out here if there's anything wrong, you can see it coming with bags of time to do what's next. This is the place and the weather for peace, for the cultivation of a friendly mind.

Any coward can be a peacekeeper! In fact, that comes to one naturally. But they are blessed, the peacemakers...and all those who know the difference.

One can always win a war, but how does one conquer peace?