HORATIO        Two nights together had these gentlemen,

Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch

In the dead waste and middle of the night

Been thus encountered: a figure like your father

Armed at point, exactly cap-à-pie,

Appears before them and with solemn march

Goes slow and stately by them; thrice he walked

By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes

Within his truncheon’s length whilst they, distilled

Almost to jelly with the act of fear,

Stand dumb and speak not to him.  (1.2.195-205)

Horatio sets it out clearly, exactly, economically, with a forensic attention to the circumstances (where, when, what etc) which would be completely familiar to those familiar with the principles of rhetoric—Hamlet, the audience. He manages to strike a balance between the evocation of atmosphere, of affect, and the precision of authenticating detail. Two nights together—not just the once—had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Barnardo—so, they can corroborate, I’m doing the telling, but this is first-hand, eye-witness testimony, not hearsay evidence—on their watch in the dead waste and middle of the night, while they were on guard duty, in the dead of night (yes, but it’s not just a figure of speech: Horatio’s slight amplification of when here immediately conjures that spooky, uncanny inbetweenness of the Ghost’s appearance), they have been thus encountered. This is what they met with. A figure like your father, armed at point, exactly cap-à-pie, armed and ready, from head to foot. And he appears before them and with solemn march goes slow and stately by them. Horatio captures the Ghost’s measured, majestic stalk, his military bearing; the switch into the present tense here makes it appear once more in the mind’s eye of the audience: yes, it was like that, I can see it all again (Marcellus and Barnardo can see it too). And thrice he walked by their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes. He walked up and down right there, in front of them, three times! They were gripped with fear—and he was so close, within his truncheon’s length, he could have reached out and touched them with his staff, the short stick that, as a military officer he was carrying as a sign of his command. He was THAT close! Marcellus and Barnardo are hanging on every word, nodding—whilst they, distilled almost to jelly with the act of fear, stand dumb and speak not to him. They were petrified, quaking in their boots (more nodding, looking a bit sheepish, perhaps—but it’s a potent memory, the fear of that encounter). They didn’t dare speak; they were struck dumb.