He turned to the five, and as they answered, one by one, the eyes of the young Spanish lieutenant opened wider and wider in astonishment. They had never tasted rum and were quite sure they would not care for it. Wine they knew, almost as little about, using that they had found on "The Galleon" chiefly as a medicine, and they ended, one and all, by choosing a mild West Indian drink, a kind of orange water. Lieutenant Bernal reached over and with his two hands felt gingerly of Henry's mighty right arm.
"Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that such a muscle and such a body have been built up and nourished by things as mild as orange water?"
"Not orange water, but plain water," replied Henry laughing. "But in Maryland where I was born, and in Kentucky, where I've been growing up, the water is very good, clear, pure, and cold."
"Will you kindly stand up a moment?" said the lieutenant.
Henry promptly stood up and then Lieutenant Diégo Bernal, standing by the side of him, was about a head the shorter. Then the young lieutenant made a wry face.
"And I have drunk wine all my life," he said plaintively, "and he has drunk only water!"
The two sat down again, and the others laughed. Their talk and actions had attracted the attention of a number in the room, and a large man with great gold bands in his ears, rose and sauntered over toward them. He was a dark fellow, evidently a West Indian Spaniard with a dash of Carib.
"I have drunk rum and wine and all other liquors all my life," he said, "but I am neither little nor weak."
His tone was truculent, and his flushed face indicated that he had already taken too much.
"Go away, Menocal," said Monsieur Gilibert, in a voice half soothing, half warning. "I do not wish my guests to be annoyed."