At a small table placed at the head of the room sat DeNortier, stroking his black beard. He arose as we entered.
"Welcome!" he cried. "Welcome to the last revel! Gentlemen, to-morrow we sail for the Spanish Main; who knows how many of us will ever return? Come, be seated here with me," and he motioned us to seats at his table.
There was only one vacant chair left; he noticed my glance at it.
"An old friend, detained by important business; he will not be here to-night. I am sure that thou must regret it," and he grinned at me.
"It is perhaps best that he did not come," I answered. "The night air possibly would not agree with him;" for I guessed that he referred to Dunraven.
He did not answer me, but beat upon his table for silence. The hubbub and noise ceased, and he arose to his feet, goblet in hand.
"My men," he said, "we go on a voyage long and perilous; I know not how many will meet with us again. When we return, I leave thee forever; Davis shall take my place, and be thy chief. I shall return to the Old World and dwell in peace. But before we drink to our voyage, I have one toast that I will give thee in honor of our guest, the Englishman. I give thee the Virgin Queen, Elizabeth of England!—may her years be full of glory and happiness!"
The men had arisen to their feet, glasses in hand; many of them were Englishmen, and, degraded and besotten as they were, they still felt a love for old England and a pride in the achievements of her Queen, whose name and fame rang around the world. As DeNortier ceased, there arose a shout that made the very candles upon the wall flicker in their sockets; once, twice, thrice it rose and fell, like the deep beat of the surf upon the beach—then it died out.
I arose to my feet, cup in hand.