oor spectacle was paralyzing.

Angus Jones kept the rope taut as if by his single effort the ravening
beast was alone restrained.

"We would not so hastily deprive ourselves of you," he said. "We require
you to name the drink. 'Tis no light matter. We want the best in the
house. The best, mind you. And if you do not wholly suit us, I bid ye
beware!"

Martinho writhed, but he was not long deciding. He took no chances with
that red pit of a mouth below him. At his direction I drew forth the
cobwebbed flasks, and even in the act he groaned aloud. For this was his
treasure.... No import, but genuine liquid gold of the soil, the kind
that once gave Madeira such great honor. It bore the magic brand
Malvasia, under date of '57, and truly it was the drink of the gods,
smooth as honey and sweet as a nut.

Angus Jones let it trickle slowly over his palate and reverently read
the faded label, and it was as if a holy balm had spread upon his
wounds.

"Sir, I thank you," he said, hushed and solemn. "Sir, you have a thirsty
name I shall long remember. For now I perceive a great truth--that no
title is given wholly in vain. Thus at last we find the good of Madeira,
though extracted before your time."

It was no sample we took with us; we added the whole basket of that
precious wine to our loot when we bade farewell to Martinho and left him
babbling on his shelf....

And here I have recorded the true culmination of our great adventure.
What comes after remains dimmed and mellowed, tinged with joy and also
with a tender sadness, consecrate to a fragrant and incomparable memory.
I know that we came forth from Sousa's in undisputed possession of all
Funchal. I know that we advanced as conquerors through the _ruas_,
_calcades_ and _passeios_ that had witnessed our discomfiture. I know
that as we entered the Praca da Constituicao a mighty shout went up, and
that when we paraded the great plaza from end to end its roofs were
black with spectators, but no man set foot to ground within sight of us.
These things seemed then but trifles, the natural incident to such a
pilgrimage as we made together, we celebrities, now four in
number--Angus Jones, and I, and Thomas, and the basket of Malvasia, '57.

It must have been about the end of the second bottle that we hunted mine
hairy host of the Golden Gate through all the rooms of his barracks and
smoked his Teneriffe cigars at one thousand reis, and made him play
billiards with three orange