—Marlowe, in Edward the Second.
The stern discipline of that evening was broken by one of the colonists, who, having earlier entered the town from the western wood, now reeled through the streets, crazed by inebriety and fear. As the gates were not yet closed, he was permitted once more to leave the enclosure, which he did by the eastern entrance. Beyond the palisade he paused for a moment, swaying heavily, and gazed down at the shore.
The moon, in its first quarter, was sinking behind a film of gray clouds. A few traders, Spanish and English, stood bargaining on the beach. The two vessels, without lights, lay motionless at anchor. A number of canoes were hauled up on the sand, their birch-bark sides shining like silver in the moonlight. The man, looking up and down the coast, recognized Vytal’s gaunt figure in the distance, and he realized hazily that the soldier was inspecting the coast-guard before returning to the town.
But the blear eyes wandered back to that line of silver craft, and now, with uncertain gait, the lonely man descended from the headland. Then, with a wave of his hand to the contemptuous traders, he stepped into one of the canoes, and, unsteadily seating himself, made his way along the coast with wavering sweeps of his paddle.
On coming at last to that part of the beach where Vytal was giving instructions to the arquebusiers, he paused, and, keeping his canoe several paces from shore, spoke quickly to the soldier. “I am going,” he said, pointing with his paddle to the eastward, “away, anywhere, far away.”
Vytal turned in surprise. “You’re mad.”
The other smiled absently, and, waving his wooden blade, held it out toward the forest. “Yes, delightfully mad. Devilish Winginas over there—saw them my own self when I started to go away to the mainland. Long line of red demons waiting—demons ’stremely like those Ralph Contempt described—all waiting to capture the town. You’d better have a care and come away. I’m going away—anywhere—any place whatever, out into the darkness—through the inlet—over the sea—away from it all, from all the danger and trouble, all the nightmares and remorse. I’ve spent my life retreating, now I’ll retreat once more—once more.” The moonlight, falling across his face, showed a look so despairing, haunted, and yet drunkenly cheerful, that for a moment Vytal stood transfixed, staring at him, as at an apparition of the night. The bloodshot eyes were wide open and wet with maudlin tears; the hair was dishevelled and damp with the sweat of terror. Yet even now there was a certain weird beauty in the face, a peculiar and exquisite refinement. But from behind the beauty a despicable soul looked out of the eyes, so that even Vytal shuddered as he saw their glance.
Courage stood face to face with naked Fear.
With a look of disgust, Vytal glanced about for another boat, but none was near them.