The occasion on which I numbered myself among his audience was one evening when he was sitting in the yawning chimney-corner of the inn-kitchen, with some others who had gathered there, and I entered for shelter from the rain. Withdrawing the stem of his pipe from the dental notch1 in which it habitually2 rested, he leaned back in the recess3 behind him and smiled into the fire. The smile was neither mirthful nor sad, not precisely4 humorous nor altogether thoughtful. We who knew him recognized it in a moment: it was his narrative5 smile. Breaking off our few desultory6 remarks we drew up closer, and he thus began:—
‘My father, as you mid7 know, was a shepherd all his life, and lived out by the Cove8 four miles yonder, where I was born and lived likewise, till I moved here shortly afore I was married. The cottage that first knew me stood on the top of the down, near the sea; there was no house within a mile and a half of it; it was built o’ purpose for the farm-shepherd, and had no other use. They tell me that it is now pulled down, but that you can see where it stood by the mounds9 of earth and a few broken bricks that are still lying about. It was a bleak10 and dreary11 place in winter-time, but in summer it was well enough, though the garden never came to much, because we could not get up a good shelter for the vegetables and currant bushes; and where there is much wind they don’t thrive.
‘Of all the years of my growing up the ones that bide12 clearest in my mind were eighteen hundred and three, four, and five. This was for two reasons: I had just then grown to an age when a child’s eyes and ears take in and note down everything about him, and there was more at that date to bear in mind than there ever has been since with me. It was, as I need hardly tell ye, the time after the first peace, when Bonaparte was scheming his descent upon England. He had crossed the great Alp mountains, fought in Egypt, drubbed the Turks, the Austrians, and the Proossians, and now thought he’d have a slap at us. On the other side of the Channel, scarce out of sight and hail of a man standing13 on our English shore, the French army of a hundred and sixty thousand men and fifteen thousand horses had been brought together from all parts, and were drilling every day. Bonaparte had been three years a-making his preparations; and to ferry these soldiers and cannon14 and horses across he had contrived15 a couple of thousand flat-bottomed boats. These boats were small things, but wonderfully built. A good few of ’em were so made as to have a little stable on board each for the two horses that were to haul the cannon carried at the stern. To get in order all these, and other things required, he had assembled there five or six thousand fellows that worked at trades—carpenters, blacksmiths, wheelwrights, saddlers, and what not. O ’twas a curious time!
‘Every morning Neighbour Boney would muster16 his multitude of soldiers on the beach, draw ’em up in line, practise ’em in the manoeuvre17 of embarking18, horses and all, till they could do it without a single hitch19. My father drove a flock of ewes up into Sussex that year, and as he went along the drover’s track over the high downs thereabout he could see this drilling actually going on—the accoutrements of the rank and file glittering in the sun like silver. It was thought and always said by my uncle Job, sergeant20 of foot (who used to know all about these matters), that Bonaparte meant to cross with oars21 on a calm night. The grand query22 with us was, Where would my gentleman land? Many of the common people thought it would be at Dover; others, who knew how unlikely it was that any skilful23 general would make a business of landing just where he was expected, said he’d go either east into the River Thames, or west’ard to some convenient place, most likely one of the little bays inside the Isle24 of Portland, between the Beal and St. Alban’s Head—and for choice the three-quarter-round Cove, screened from every mortal eye, that seemed made o’ purpose, out by where we lived, and which I’ve climmed up with two tubs of brandy across my shoulders on scores o’ dark nights in my younger days. Some had heard that a part o’ the French fleet would sail right round Scotland, and come up the Channel to a suitable haven25. However, there was much doubt upon the matter; and no wonder, for after-years proved that Bonaparte himself could hardly make up his mind upon that great and very particular point, where to land. His uncertainty26 came about in this wise, that he could get no news as to where and how our troops lay in waiting, and that his knowledge of possible places where flat-bottomed boats might be quietly run ashore27, and the men they brought marshalled in order, was dim to the last degree. Being flat-bottomed, they didn’t require a harbour for unshipping their cargo28 of men, but a good shelving beach away from sight, and with a fair open road toward London. How the question posed that great Corsican tyrant29 (as we used to call him), what pains he took to settle it, and, above all, what a risk he ran on one particular night in trying to do so, were known only to one man here and there; and certainly to no maker30 of newspapers or printer of books, or my account o’t would not have had so many heads shaken over it as it has by gentry31 who only believe what they see in printed lines.
‘The flocks my father had charge of fed all about the downs near our house, overlooking the sea and shore each way for miles. In winter and early spring father was up a deal at nights, watching and tending the lambing. Often he’d go to bed early, and turn out at twelve or one; and on the other hand, he’d sometimes stay up till twelve or one, and then turn in to bed. As soon as I was old enough I used to help him, mostly in the way of keeping an eye upon the ewes while he was gone home to rest. This is what I was doing in a particular month in either the year four or five—I can’t certainly fix which, but it was long before I was took away from the sheepkeeping to be bound prentice to a trade. Every night at that time I was at the fold, about half a mile, or it may be a little more, from our cottage, and no living thing at all with me but the ewes and young lambs. Afeard? No; I was never afeard of being alone at these times; for I had been reared in such an out-step place that the lack o’ human beings at night made me less fearful than the sight of ’em. Directly I saw a man’s shape after dark in a lonely place I was frightened out of my senses.
‘One day in that month we were surprised by a visit from my uncle Job, the sergeant in the Sixty-first foot, then in camp on the downs above King George’s watering-place, several miles to the west yonder. Uncle Job dropped in about dusk, and went up with my father to the fold for an hour or two. Then he came home, had a drop to drink from the tub of sperrits that the smugglers kept us in for housing their liquor when they’d made a run, and for burning ’em off when there was danger. After that he stretched himself out on the settle to sleep. I went to bed: at one o’clock father came home, and waking me to go and take his place, according to custom, went to bed himself. On my way out of the house I passed Uncle Job on the settle. He opened his eyes, and upon my telling him where I was going he said it was a shame that such a youngster as I should go up there all alone; and when he had fastened up his stock and waist-belt he set off along with me, taking a drop from the sperrit-tub in a little flat bottle that stood in the corner-cupboard.
‘By and by we drew up to the fold, saw that all was right, and then, to keep ourselves warm, curled up in a heap of straw that lay inside the thatched hurdles32 we had set up to break the stroke of the wind when there was any. To-night, however, there was none. It was one of those very still nights when, if you stand on the high hills anywhere within two or three miles of the sea, you can hear the rise and fall of the tide along the shore, coming and going every few moments like a sort of great snore of the sleeping world. Over the lower ground there was a bit of a mist, but on the hill where we lay the air was clear, and the moon, then in her last quarter, flung a fairly good light on the grass and scattered34 straw.
‘While we lay there Uncle Job amused me by telling me strange stories of the wars he had served in and the wounds he had got. He had already fought the French in the Low Countries, and hoped to fight ’em again. His stories lasted so long that at last I was hardly sure that I was not a soldier myself, and had seen such service as he told of. The wonders of his tales quite bewildered my mind, till I fell asleep and dreamed of battle, smoke, and flying soldiers, all of a kind with the doings he had been bringing up to me.
‘How long my nap lasted I am not prepared to say. But some faint sounds over and above the rustle35 of the ewes in the straw, the bleat36 of the lambs, and the tinkle37 of the sheep-bell brought me to my waking senses. Uncle Job was still beside me; but he too had fallen asleep. I looked out from the straw, and saw what it was that had aroused me. Two men, in boat-cloaks, cocked hats, and swords, stood by the hurdles about twenty yards off.
‘I turned my ear thitherward to catch what they were saying, but though I heard every word o’t, not one did I understand. They spoke39 in a tongue that was not ours—in French, as I afterward40 found. But if I could not gain the meaning of a word, I was shrewd boy enough to find out a deal of the talkers’ business. By the light o’ the moon I could see that one of ’em carried a roll of paper in his hand, while every moment he spoke quick to his comrade, and pointed41 right and left with the other hand to spots along the shore. There was no doubt that he was explaining to the second gentleman the shapes and features of the coast. What happened soon after made this still clearer to me.
‘All this time I had not waked Uncle Job, but now I began to be afeared that they might light upon us, because uncle breathed so heavily through’s nose. I put my mouth to his ear and whispered, “Uncle Job.”
‘“What is it, my boy?” he said, just as if he hadn’t been asleep at all.
‘“Hush!” says I. “Two French generals—”
‘“French?” says he.
‘“Yes,” says I. “Come to see where to land their army!”
‘I pointed ’em out; but I could say no more, for the pair were coming at that moment much nearer to where we lay. As soon as they got as near as eight or ten yards, the officer with a roll in his hand stooped down to a slanting42 hurdle33, unfastened his roll upon it, and spread it out. Then suddenly he sprung a dark lantern open on the paper, and showed it to be a map.
‘“What be they looking at?” I whispered to Uncle Job.
‘“A chart of the Channel,” says the sergeant (knowing about such things).
‘The other French officer now stooped likewise, and over the map they had a long consultation43, as they pointed here and there on the paper, and then hither and thither38 at places along the shore beneath us. I noticed that the manner of one officer was very respectful toward the other, who seemed much his superior, the second in rank calling him by a sort of title that I did not know the sense of. The head one, on the other hand, was quite familiar with his friend, and more than once clapped him on the shoulder.
‘Uncle Job had watched as well as I, but though the map had been in the lantern-light, their faces had always been in shade. But when they rose from stooping over the chart the light flashed upward, and fell smart upon one of ’em’s features. No sooner had this happened than Uncle Job gasped44, and sank down as if he’d been in a fit.
‘“What is it—what is it, Uncle Job?” said I.
‘“O good God!” says he, under the straw.
‘“What?” says I.
‘“Who?” says I.
‘“Bonaparty,” he said. “The Corsican ogre. O that I had got but my new-flinted firelock, that there man should die! But I haven’t got my new-flinted firelock, and that there man must live. So lie low, as you value your life!”
‘I did lie low, as you mid suppose. But I couldn’t help peeping. And then I too, lad as I was, knew that it was the face of Bonaparte. Not know Boney? I should think I did know Boney. I should have known him by half the light o’ that lantern. If I had seen a picture of his features once, I had seen it a hundred times. There was his bullet head, his short neck, his round yaller cheeks and chin, his gloomy face, and his great glowing eyes. He took off his hat to blow himself a bit, and there was the forelock in the middle of his forehead, as in all the draughts46 of him. In moving, his cloak fell a little open, and I could see for a moment his white-fronted jacket and one of his epaulets.
‘But none of this lasted long. In a minute he and his general had rolled up the map, shut the lantern, and turned to go down toward the shore.
‘Then Uncle Job came to himself a bit. “Slipped across in the night-time to see how to put his men ashore,” he said. “The like o’ that man’s coolness eyes will never again see! Nephew, I must act in this, and immediate47, or England’s lost!”
‘When they were over the brow, we crope out, and went some little way to look after them. Half-way down they were joined by two others, and six or seven minutes brought them to the shore. Then, from behind a rock, a boat came out into the weak moonlight of the Cove, and they jumped in; it put off instantly, and vanished in a few minutes between the two rocks that stand at the mouth of the Cove as we all know. We climmed back to where we had been before, and I could see, a little way out, a larger vessel48, though still not very large. The little boat drew up alongside, was made fast at the stern as I suppose, for the largest sailed away, and we saw no more.
‘My uncle Job told his officers as soon as he got back to camp; but what they thought of it I never heard—neither did he. Boney’s army never came, and a good job for me; for the Cove below my father’s house was where he meant to land, as this secret visit showed. We coast-folk should have been cut down one and all, and I should not have sat here to tell this tale.’
We who listened to old Selby that night have been familiar with his simple grave-stone for these ten years past. Thanks to the incredulity of the age his tale has been seldom repeated. But if anything short of the direct testimony49 of his own eyes could persuade an auditor50 that Bonaparte had examined these shores for himself with a view to a practicable landing-place, it would have been Solomon Selby’s manner of narrating51 the adventure which befell him on the down.
Christmas 1882.
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1
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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4
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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5
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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7
mid
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| adj.中央的，中间的 | |
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8
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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9
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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10
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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11
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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12
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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13
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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14
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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15
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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16
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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17
manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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18
embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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19
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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20
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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21
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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22
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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23
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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24
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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25
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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26
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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28
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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29
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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30
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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31
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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32
hurdles
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| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
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33
hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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34
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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35
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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36
bleat
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| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
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37
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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38
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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39
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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40
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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41
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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42
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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43
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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44
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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45
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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46
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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47
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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48
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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49
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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50
auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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51
narrating
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| v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
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