“What the devil is it, Judith? What o’clock is it?’ ‘I don’t know, but … There it is again!’ The knocking at the door was unmistakable, and Faulkner could hear the servants stirring above him. He swore, to his wife’s disapproval, and reached for a robe, wrenching the night-cap from his bare head. A thin light could be seen through the chinks in the shutters, marking the approach of sunrise, as he left the bed-chamber, bumped into a squealing kitchen maid, and descended the stairs, bawling that h...e was coming as if the person in the street was aloft on the fore-topsail yard and a gale of wind was blowing. Drawing the bolts of the front door he beheld a tall man wrapped in a cloak against the chill, a hat upon his bewigged head and his face in the gloom of its brim. Faulkner had no idea of the man’s identity but this did not arouse his suspicion; his first thought was that one of his ships was on fire in the tiers and this stranger had been sent to bring him the news. His second followed as swiftly: that the deteriorating state of public order, the misconduct of elements in the Army that went wandering about the city demanding taxes at the point of the sword, and the prevailing turbulence of the resentful citizenry had provoked some riot.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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