Great Britain -- History -- Commonwealth and Protectorate, 1649-1660 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
“True, worthy sir—right as a judicious exposition. But there was
something about this man (if he was a man) whom I, for one, could not
look upon without trembling; nor the musketeers,—who were in the hall,
without betraying much alarm, and swallowing, as they will themselves
aver, the very bullets—which they had in their mouths for loading their
carabines and muskets. Nay, the wolf and deer-dogs, that are the
fiercest of their kind, fled from this visitor, and crept into holes
and corners, moaning and wailing in a low and broken tone. He came into
the middle of the hall, and still he seemed no more than an ordinary
man, only somewhat fantastically dressed, in a doublet of black velvet
pinked upon scarlet satin under his cloak, a jewel in his ear, with
large roses in his shoes, and a kerchief in his hand, which he
sometimes pressed against his left side.”
“Gracious Heavens!” said Wildrake, coming close up to Everard, and
whispering in his ear, with accents which terror rendered tremulous, (a
mood of mind most unusual to the daring man, who seemed now overcome by
it)—“it must have been poor Dick Robison the player, in the very dress
in which I have seen him play Philaster—ay, and drunk a jolly bottle
with him after it at the Mermaid! I remember how many frolics we had
together, and all his little fantastic fashions. He served for his old
master, Charles, in Mohun’s troop, and was murdered by this butcher’s
dog, as I have heard, after surrender, at the battle of Naseby-field.”
“Hush! I have heard of the deed,” said Everard; “for God’s sake hear
the man to an end.—Did this visitor speak to thee, my friend?”
“Yes, sir, in a pleasing tone of voice, but somewhat fanciful in the
articulation, and like one who is speaking to an audience as from a bar
or a pulpit, more than in the voice of ordinary men on ordinary
matters. He desired to see Major-General Harrison.”
“He did!—and you,” said Everard, infected by the spirit of the time,
which, as is well known, leaned to credulity upon all matters of
supernatural agency,—“what did you do?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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