The hush was absolute.
"It must be," said I, "that such service as I have had the honor to render has made me worthy, else this commission had been an affront to the Rangers of Tryon County. And so, my brothers, that I may not shame you, I ask two things: obedience to orders; respect for my rank; and if you render not respect to my character, that will be my fault, not your own."
I raised my pewter: "The sentiment I give you is: 'The Rangers! My honor in their hands; theirs in mine!' Pewters aloft! Drink!"
Then the storm broke loose; they surged about the table, cheering, shaking their rifles and pewters above their heads, crying out for me to have no fear, that they would aid me, that they would be obedient and good--a mob of uproarious, overgrown children, swayed by sentiment entirely. And I even saw the watchman, maudlin already, dancing all by himself in a corner, and waving pike and lanthorn in martial fervor.
"Lads," I said, raising my hand for silence, "there is ale here for the asking, and nothing to pay. But we leave at daybreak for Butlersbury."
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?"
"Mars' Carus, suh, de Kunnel done gone to de Foht, suh--Foht Orange on de hill."