Micah Clarke by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle — Read

I had slept several hours when I was suddenly aroused by a prodigious / crash, followed by the clash of arms and shrill cries from the lower / floor. Springing to my feet I found that the bed upon which my comrade / had lain was vacant, and that the door of the apartment was opened. As / the uproar still continued, and as I seemed to discern his voice in the / midst of it, I caught up my sword, and without waiting to put on either / head-piece, steel-breast, or arm-plates, I hurried to the scene of the / commotion.

The hall and passage were filled with silly maids and staring drawers, / attracted, like myself, by the uproar. Through these I pushed my way / into the apartment where we had breakfasted in the morning, which was / a scene of the wildest disorder. The round table in the centre had / been tilted over upon its side, and three broken bottles of wine, with / apples, pears, nuts, and the fragments of the dishes containing them, / were littered over the floor. A couple of packs of cards and a dice-box / lay amongst the scattered feast. Close by the door stood Decimus Saxon, / with his drawn rapier in his hand and a second one beneath his feet, / while facing him there was a young officer in a blue uniform, whose face / was reddened with shame and anger, and who looked wildly about the room / as though in search of some weapon to replace that of which he had been / deprived. He might have served Cibber or Gibbons as a model for a statue / of impotent rage. Two other officers dressed in the same blue uniform / stood by their comrade, and as I observed that they had laid their hands / upon the hilts of their swords, I took my place by Saxon's side, and / stood ready to strike in should the occasion arise.