There was a dead silence.
"That is all," I said, smiling; and, laying my hand on the table, leaped lightly to the floor.
"Are we to drink no more?" asked Jack Mount, coming up, with round blue eyes widening.
"I did not say so. I said that we march at day-break. You veterans of the pewter know best how much ale to carry with you to bed. All I require are some dozen steady legs in the morning."
A roar of laughter broke out.
"You may trust us, Captain! Good night, Captain! A health to you, sir! We will remember!"
Instead of returning to my chamber to secure a few hours' rest, I went out into the dimly lighted street, and, striking a smart pace, arrived in a few moments at the house of my old friend, Peter Van Schaick, now Colonel in command of the garrison. The house was pitch-dark, and it was only after repeated rapping that the racket of the big bronze knocker aroused an ancient negro servant, who poked his woolly pate from the barred side-lights and informed me, in a quavering voice, that Colonel Van Schaick was not at home, refusing all further information concerning him.
"Joshua! Joshua!" I said gently; "don't you know me?"
There was a silence, then a trembling: "Mars' Renault, suh, is dat you?"
"It is I, Joshua, back again after four years. Tell me where I may find your master?"