Sandoval allowed the first effervescence time to calm down. Himself exciting this enthusiasm, he at length requested silence at the moment when this enthusiasm had attained its paroxysm. For a few minutes his efforts were in vain, for heads were beginning to grow hot under the influence of copious and incessant libations of mezcal, pulque, and Catalonian refino. By degrees, however, and like the sea after a storm, the cries died out, a calm was re-established, and nothing was audible save a dull and confused murmur of whispered words. Sandoval hastened to profit by this transient moment of silence to speak again.
"Señores," he said, "I have a proposal to make, which, I believe, will suit you."
"Speak, speak," the pirates shouted.
"Our association," Sandoval continued, "is founded on the most entire equality of its members, who freely elect the man they consider most worthy to command them."
"Yes, yes," they exclaimed.
"Long live Sandoval!" some said.
"Let him speak, do not interrupt him," the majority vociferated.
Sandoval, negligently leaning on the table, followed with an apparently indifferent glance these various manifestations, though he was suffering from lively anxiety, and his heart beat ready to burst his chest. He was playing for a heavy stake; he knew it, for he had, with the infallible glance of all ambitious men, calculated all the chances for and against. Hence, it was only by the strength of his will that he succeeded in giving his face a marble rigidity which did not permit the supreme agony he was suffering internally to be divined. When silence was nearly re-established, and he might hope to be heard, he continued, in a firm voice:
"You did me the honour to appoint me your Chief, and I believe that hitherto I have rendered myself worthy of that honour."
He paused as if to await a reply. A murmur of assent gently tickled his ear.