"Ay, dressed in a plain cloth suit, made by an ill country tailor; his linen coarse and unclean; his band unfashionable, and often spotted with blood; his hat without a band; his sword close to his side; his countenance swollen and reddish; and, as to his nose, it looked to me more purple than aught else. But, sir, to see Cromwell, see him in battle--he is a right noble horseman; and the beast (a black one especially he was once so fond of) seemed to have been tutored by the evil one: its eye was as vigilant as its rider's. Cromwell sits his saddle not gracefully, but firmly, just as if he were part and portion of the animal; then, with a sword in his right hand, and a pistol in his left---- Sir, it was unlike any thing I ever saw! He must have managed the horse by the pressure of his heel; for I never could make out, such was the decision yet rapidity of hism movements, whether he held reins or not: now here, now there--firing--preaching--shouting--praying--conquering--yet everything done in its right place and time, never suffering the excitement of the moment to bear down one of his resolves. Had he been born a king----" "He would never have been what he is," said the Cavalier; "for contention is the school of greatness." "It's mighty fine to see you two sit there," exclaimed Robin, "praising up that man in the high place: pretty Cavaliers indeed! Well, my opinion is, that--but indeed it is rude to give an opinion unasked, so I'll keep mine to myself. You were talking of the conveniences of this place; why, bless you, sir, it's nothing to fifty others along St. George's Channel. 'Twould do your heart good to see those our captain has among the Cornish rocks; such comfortable dwellings, where you could stow away twenty people, never to chirrup to the sun again; such hiding-holes, with neat little trains of gunpowder, winding like snakes in summer, so that, to prevent discovery, one crack of a good flint would send the caverns and the cliffs high into the air, to tell stories to the stars of the power of man's skill to destroy the most sublime as well as the most beautiful works of nature." "Robin, you ought to have been a preacher." "No," said Robin mournfully, and shaking his head, as was his custom, "for I know nothing of your book-holiness; only I can't bear anything moulded and made by the hand of God to be ruined by that of man." "What ails ye, lad?" inquired the Buccaneer; "I thought ye had got over all your shadows, as ye used to call them."