were gathered a number of the adventurers who had staked life and goods
in this enterprise. Not all were there who had sailed from England to
the Spanish seas. Then as now England paid tithes of her younger sons to
violent death. Many men were missing whose voices the air seemed yet to
hold. They had outstripped their comrades, they had gone before: what
bustling highways or what lonely paths they were treading, what fare
they were tasting, for what mark they were making, and upon what long,
long adventure bound--these were hidden things to the travellers left
behind in this murky segment of life. But to the strained senses of the
men upon whom, as yet, had hardly fallen the upas languor of accepted
defeat, before whose eyes, whether shut or open, yet passed insistent
visions of last night's events, like an echo, like a shade, old
presences made themselves felt. Swinging lanterns dimly lit the cabin of
the _Mere Honour_, and in ranks the shadows rose and fell along its
swaying walls. From without, the sound of the sea came like an
inarticulate murmur of far-away voices. There were vacant places at the
table, and upon the long benches that ran beneath the windows; yet,
indefinably, there seemed no less a company than in the days before the
taking of the galleon _San José_ and the town of Nueva Cordoba. One
arose restlessly and looked out upon the star-rimmed sea, then in haste
turned back to the lit cabin and passed his hand before his eyes. "I
thought I saw the _Phoenix_," he said, "huge and tall, with Robert
Baldry leaning over the side." Another groaned, "I had rather see the
_Cygnet_ that was the best-loved ship!" At the mention of the _Cygnet_
they looked towards a door. "How long his stupor holds!" quoth Ambrose
Wynch. "Well, God knows 'tis better dreaming than awaking!" The door
opened and Sir Mortimer Ferne stood before them.

From the Admiral to the last ne'er-do-weel of a noble house all sprang
to their feet. "God!" said one, under his breath, and another's tankard