William Shakespeare as He Lived: An Historical Tale

by Henry Curling

Returning to his couch he re-fastened the door, trimmed his lamp, placed it in the chair beside his bed, examined his petronel, and again lay down with the weapon firmly grasped in his hand. "If there be any deceit in this," he said to himself, "and which I feel inclined to believe is the case, I will make sure work of it with the practiser. A bullet through his heart or lungs, will lay his ghostship in the Red Sea."

There had never been much good feeling in existence between the shrewd Martin and the priest Eustace. At the present moment the former held the Jesuit in especial dislike. He had a suspicion that the difficulties in which Sir Hugh was now placed, arose from some intrigues of the priest, whom he knew to be of an unscrupulous and designing nature. The present noises he conceived to be some contrivance of this iron-hearted bigot, in order to scare the servants of the establishment from that wing of the building, and he accordingly resolved to make a severe example of whoever he detected. This idea nerved him to so great a degree, that the extraordinary sounds he heard at first failed in completely frightening him. The situation, however, was not altogether a pleasant one. The silence, the loneliness, the dangerous illness of his favourite Charlotte, the peril in which the old knight was placed, all crowded themselves upon his imagination as he lay and watched.

For some time nothing occurred to disturb his melancholy reflections, reflections which at length took him from the present horror of the time; and led on to other thoughts, till, at length, the heavy summons of sleep began to weigh upon his eyelids.

At this moment the clock from the old tower in the stabling struck two. Scarcely had it done so when a distant whirling sound was heard; it seemed at first like a rushing wind stirring the trees in the shrubbery without, and steadily advancing towards the house. It increased in sound as it did so, till it appeared to enter the house, and rushing up the staircase with fearful violence the door again was dashed open with a tremendous burst, the lamp was extinguished at the same moment, and the room seemed filled with some strange and unnatural visitants.

Starting up at the moment of the door being burst in, Martin discharged his pistol full at the entrance, and at the very instant the light was extinguished. He then jumped, sword in hand, into the middle of the room, whilst a rushing sound, as of persons moving about, was all around him.

The darkness, added to the horrors of his situation, almost unmanned the bold Martin, and spite of his determined character his heart now beat violently and his hair bristled on his head. Nay, so impressed was he with the idea that some spectral beings were in the apartment, and even in his own vicinity,—nay, perhaps, that the enemy of mankind was at his very elbow and about to clutch him, that, as he uttered a hasty prayer for the protection of Heaven, he executed several furious backstrokes round the apartment, cutting a huge gash in the bed furniture, demolishing the back of an elaborately carved oaken chair, and bringing down a cumbrous mirror, smashed into a dozen pieces with as many blows. Indeed, the natural sounds of this ruin in some measure did away with the awe the supernatural noises had created. There is always some relief in action in such cases. The coward, for instance, makes use of his legs, in the midst of apprehension, the brave man takes to his arms, and as the strange sounds gradually subsided, seeming to traverse through the rooms below in their progress, Martin ceased from his exertions.

He was, however, now completely converted to the opinion of the domestics that there was something most strange and most unnatural in this visitation. He felt awed and struck with dread, and, lowering the point of his weapon, he stood in the centre of the apartment listening attentively as the noise passed through the lower rooms. "There is surely something in all this," he said to himself, "which is beyond my comprehension. 'Tis a sound of warning. I fear me some dire misfortune is in store. Peradventure Sir Hugh is dead: great Heaven, perhaps executed on the scaffold! Alas, my poor Charlotte! But no, it cannot be so. Heaven help us in our need, for we seem a doomed people here."

A deep sigh sounded close to his ears as he finished his soliloquy, so heavy, so long drawn, and so startling, that his blood curdled in his veins. He felt that he could no longer remain in the apartment, and hastily leaving it he descended the stairs, and opening the sliding pannel, passed into the rooms usually habited when Sir Hugh was at home.

Here he felt in something reassured, and groping his way to the door which admitted to the garden, he threw it open and sought relief in the free air.

The night was dark and a drizzling rain descended; he stepped on to the grass-plat and looked up at the apartment of his sick charge. A light was in the room, a pale and sickly gleam, which seemed to speak of watching and woe at that dead hour. As he passed beneath the window he thought he perceived a figure gliding away, but the night was too dark for him to be quite certain; still he felt sure that he had seen the outline of a form which, gloomy as was the night, he recognized.