那是最美好的時代，那是最糟糕的時代；那是智慧的年頭，那是愚昧的年頭；那是信仰的時期，那是懷疑的時期；那是光明的季節，那是黑暗的季節；那是希望的春天，那是失望的鼕天；我們全都在直奔天堂，我們全都在直奔相反的方向--簡而言之，那時跟現在非常相象，某些最喧囂的權威堅持要用形容詞的最高級來形容它。說它好，是最高級的；說它不好，也是最高級的。
英格蘭寶座上有一個大下巴的國王和一個面貌平庸的王後；法蘭西寶座上有一個大下巴的國王和一個面貌姣好的王後。對兩國支配着國傢全部財富的老爺來說，國傢大局足以萬歲千秋乃是比水晶還清楚的事。
那是耶穌一幹七百七十五年。靈魂啓示在那個受到歡迎的時期跟現在一樣在英格蘭風行一時。騷斯柯特太太剛滿了她幸福的二十五歲，王室衛隊一個先知的士兵已宣佈這位太太早已作好安排，要使倫敦城和西敏寺陸沉，從而為她崇高形象的出現開闢道路。即使雄雞巷的幽靈在咄咄逼人地發出它的預言之後銷聲匿跡整整十二年，去年的精靈們咄咄逼人發出的預言仍跟她差不多，衹是少了幾分超自然的獨創性而已。前不久英國國王和英國百姓纔得到一些人世間的消息。那是從遠在美洲的英國臣民的國會傳來的。說來奇怪，這些信息對於人類的影響竟然比雄雞巷魔鬼的子孫們的預言還要巨大。
法蘭西的靈異事物大體不如她那以盾和三叉戟為標志的姐妹那麽受寵。法蘭西正在一個勁兒地往坡下滑，印製着鈔票，使用着鈔票。除此之外她也在教士們的指引下建立些仁慈的功勳，尋求點樂趣。比如判决一個青年斬去雙手，用鉗子拔掉舌頭，然後活活燒死，因為他在一群和尚的骯髒儀仗隊從五六十碼之外他看得見的地方經過時，竟然沒有跪倒在雨地裏嚮它致敬。而在那人被處死時，生長在法蘭西和挪威森林裏的某些樹木很可能已被“命運”這個樵夫看中，要砍倒它們，鋸成木板，做成一種在歷史上以恐怖著名的可以移動的架子，其中包含了一個口袋和一把鍘刀。而在同一天，巴黎近郊板結的土地上某些農戶的簡陋的小披屋裏也很可能有一些大車在那兒躲避風雨。那些車很粗糙，濺滿了郊野的泥漿，豬群在它旁邊嗅着，傢禽在它上面棲息。這東西也極有可能已被“死亡”這個農民看中，要在時給它派上死囚囚車的用場。可是那“樵夫”和“農民”儘管忙個不停，卻總是默不作聲，躡手躡腳，不讓人聽見。因此若是有人猜想到他們已在行動，反倒會被看作是無神論和大逆不道。
英格蘭幾乎沒有秩序和保障，難以為民族自誇提供佐證。武裝歹徒膽大包天的破門搶劫和攔路翦徑在京畿重地每天晚上出現。有公開的警告發表：各傢各戶，凡要離城外出，務須把傢具什物存入傢具店的倉庫，以保安全。黑暗中的強盜卻是大白天的城市商人。他若是被他以“老大”的身份搶劫的同行認了出來，遭到挑戰，便瀟灑地射穿對方的腦袋，然後揚長而去。七個強盜搶劫郵車，被押車衛士擊斃了三個，衛士自己也不免“因為彈盡援絶”被那四個強盜殺死，然後郵件便被從從容容地弄走。倫敦市的市長大人，一個神氣十足的大員，在特恩安森林被一個翦徑的強徒喝住，衹好乖乖地站住不動。那強盜竟當着衆隨員的面把那個顯赫人物擄了個精光。倫敦監獄的囚犯跟監獄看守大打出手；法律的最高權威對着囚犯開槍，大口徑短槍槍膛裏填進了一排又一排的子彈和鐵砂。小偷在法庭的客廳裏扯下了貴族大人脖子上的鑽石十字架。火槍手闖進聖.嘉爾斯教堂去檢查私貨，暴民們卻對火槍手開槍。火槍手也對暴民還擊。此類事件大傢早已習以為常，見慣不驚。在這樣的情況之下劊子手不免手忙腳亂。這種人無用勝於有用，卻總是應接不暇。他們有時把各色各樣的罪犯一大排一大排地挂起來。有時星期二抓住的強盜，星期六就絞死； 有時就在新門監獄把囚犯成打成打地用火刑燒死；有時又在西敏寺大廳門前焚燒小册子。今天處决一個窮兇極惡的殺人犯，明天殺死一個衹搶了農傢孩子六便士的可憐的小偷。
諸如此類的現象，還加上一千樁類似的事件，就像這樣在可愛的古老的一千七百七十五年相繼發生，層出不窮。在這些事件包圍之中，“樵夫”和“農民”仍然悄悄地幹着活，而那兩位大下巴和另外兩張平常的和姣好的面孔卻都威風凜凜，專橫地運用着他們神授的君權。一幹七百七十五年就是像這樣表現出了它的偉大，也把成幹上萬的小人物帶上了他們前面的路--我們這部歷史中的幾位也在其中。
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.
In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers' warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow- tradesman whom he stopped in his character of "the Captain," gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mall was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four, "in consequence of the failure of his ammunition:" after which the mall was robbed in peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles's, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy of sixpence.
All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures--the creatures of this chronicle among the rest--along the roads that lay before them.
英格蘭寶座上有一個大下巴的國王和一個面貌平庸的王後；法蘭西寶座上有一個大下巴的國王和一個面貌姣好的王後。對兩國支配着國傢全部財富的老爺來說，國傢大局足以萬歲千秋乃是比水晶還清楚的事。
那是耶穌一幹七百七十五年。靈魂啓示在那個受到歡迎的時期跟現在一樣在英格蘭風行一時。騷斯柯特太太剛滿了她幸福的二十五歲，王室衛隊一個先知的士兵已宣佈這位太太早已作好安排，要使倫敦城和西敏寺陸沉，從而為她崇高形象的出現開闢道路。即使雄雞巷的幽靈在咄咄逼人地發出它的預言之後銷聲匿跡整整十二年，去年的精靈們咄咄逼人發出的預言仍跟她差不多，衹是少了幾分超自然的獨創性而已。前不久英國國王和英國百姓纔得到一些人世間的消息。那是從遠在美洲的英國臣民的國會傳來的。說來奇怪，這些信息對於人類的影響竟然比雄雞巷魔鬼的子孫們的預言還要巨大。
法蘭西的靈異事物大體不如她那以盾和三叉戟為標志的姐妹那麽受寵。法蘭西正在一個勁兒地往坡下滑，印製着鈔票，使用着鈔票。除此之外她也在教士們的指引下建立些仁慈的功勳，尋求點樂趣。比如判决一個青年斬去雙手，用鉗子拔掉舌頭，然後活活燒死，因為他在一群和尚的骯髒儀仗隊從五六十碼之外他看得見的地方經過時，竟然沒有跪倒在雨地裏嚮它致敬。而在那人被處死時，生長在法蘭西和挪威森林裏的某些樹木很可能已被“命運”這個樵夫看中，要砍倒它們，鋸成木板，做成一種在歷史上以恐怖著名的可以移動的架子，其中包含了一個口袋和一把鍘刀。而在同一天，巴黎近郊板結的土地上某些農戶的簡陋的小披屋裏也很可能有一些大車在那兒躲避風雨。那些車很粗糙，濺滿了郊野的泥漿，豬群在它旁邊嗅着，傢禽在它上面棲息。這東西也極有可能已被“死亡”這個農民看中，要在時給它派上死囚囚車的用場。可是那“樵夫”和“農民”儘管忙個不停，卻總是默不作聲，躡手躡腳，不讓人聽見。因此若是有人猜想到他們已在行動，反倒會被看作是無神論和大逆不道。
英格蘭幾乎沒有秩序和保障，難以為民族自誇提供佐證。武裝歹徒膽大包天的破門搶劫和攔路翦徑在京畿重地每天晚上出現。有公開的警告發表：各傢各戶，凡要離城外出，務須把傢具什物存入傢具店的倉庫，以保安全。黑暗中的強盜卻是大白天的城市商人。他若是被他以“老大”的身份搶劫的同行認了出來，遭到挑戰，便瀟灑地射穿對方的腦袋，然後揚長而去。七個強盜搶劫郵車，被押車衛士擊斃了三個，衛士自己也不免“因為彈盡援絶”被那四個強盜殺死，然後郵件便被從從容容地弄走。倫敦市的市長大人，一個神氣十足的大員，在特恩安森林被一個翦徑的強徒喝住，衹好乖乖地站住不動。那強盜竟當着衆隨員的面把那個顯赫人物擄了個精光。倫敦監獄的囚犯跟監獄看守大打出手；法律的最高權威對着囚犯開槍，大口徑短槍槍膛裏填進了一排又一排的子彈和鐵砂。小偷在法庭的客廳裏扯下了貴族大人脖子上的鑽石十字架。火槍手闖進聖.嘉爾斯教堂去檢查私貨，暴民們卻對火槍手開槍。火槍手也對暴民還擊。此類事件大傢早已習以為常，見慣不驚。在這樣的情況之下劊子手不免手忙腳亂。這種人無用勝於有用，卻總是應接不暇。他們有時把各色各樣的罪犯一大排一大排地挂起來。有時星期二抓住的強盜，星期六就絞死； 有時就在新門監獄把囚犯成打成打地用火刑燒死；有時又在西敏寺大廳門前焚燒小册子。今天處决一個窮兇極惡的殺人犯，明天殺死一個衹搶了農傢孩子六便士的可憐的小偷。
諸如此類的現象，還加上一千樁類似的事件，就像這樣在可愛的古老的一千七百七十五年相繼發生，層出不窮。在這些事件包圍之中，“樵夫”和“農民”仍然悄悄地幹着活，而那兩位大下巴和另外兩張平常的和姣好的面孔卻都威風凜凜，專橫地運用着他們神授的君權。一幹七百七十五年就是像這樣表現出了它的偉大，也把成幹上萬的小人物帶上了他們前面的路--我們這部歷史中的幾位也在其中。
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.
In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night; families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture to upholsterers' warehouses for security; the highwayman in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by his fellow- tradesman whom he stopped in his character of "the Captain," gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the mall was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and then got shot dead himself by the other four, "in consequence of the failure of his ammunition:" after which the mall was robbed in peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles's, to search for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the hand at Newgate by the dozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door of Westminster Hall; to-day, taking the life of an atrocious murderer, and to-morrow of a wretched pilferer who had robbed a farmer's boy of sixpence.
All these things, and a thousand like them, came to pass in and close upon the dear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Environed by them, while the Woodman and the Farmer worked unheeded, those two of the large jaws, and those other two of the plain and the fair faces, trod with stir enough, and carried their divine rights with a high hand. Thus did the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five conduct their Greatnesses, and myriads of small creatures--the creatures of this chronicle among the rest--along the roads that lay before them.
十一月下旬的一個星期五晚上，多佛大道伸展在跟這段歷史有關的幾個人之中的第一個人前面。多佛大道對此人說來就在多佛郵車的另一面。這時那郵車隆隆響着往射手山苦苦爬去。這人正隨着郵車跟其他乘客一起踏着泥濘步行上山。倒不是因為乘客們對步行鍛煉有什麽偏愛，而是因為那山坡、那馬具、那泥濘和郵件都太叫馬匹吃力，它們已經三次站立不動，有一次還拉着郵車橫過大路，要想叛變，把車拖回黑荒原去。好在繮繩、鞭子、車夫和衛士的聯合行動有如宣讀了一份戰爭文件的道理。那文件禁止擅自行動，因為它可以大大助長野蠻動物也有思想的理論。於是這套馬便俯首投降，回頭執行起任務來。
幾匹馬低着頭、搖着尾，踩着深深的泥濘前進着，時而歪斜，時而趔趄，仿佛要從大骨節處散了開來。車夫每次讓幾匹馬停下步子休息休息並發出警告，“哇嗬！嗦嗬，走！”他身邊的頭馬便都要猛烈地搖晃它的頭和頭上的一切。那馬仿佛特別認真，根本不相信郵車能夠爬上坡去。每當頭馬這樣叮叮當當一搖晃，那旅客便要嚇一跳，正如一切神經緊張的旅人一樣，總有些心驚膽戰。
四面的山窪霧氣氤氳，凄涼地往山頂涌動，仿佛是個的精靈，在尋找歇腳之地，卻沒有找到。那霧粘乎乎的，冰寒徹骨，緩緩地在空中波浪式地翻滾，一浪一浪，清晰可見，然後宛如污濁的海濤，彼此滲誘，融合成了一片。霧很濃，車燈衹照得見翻捲的霧和幾碼之內的路，此外什麽也照不出。勞作着的馬匹發出的臭氣也蒸騰進霧裏，仿佛所有的霧都是從它們身上散發出來的。
除了剛纔那人之外，還有兩個人也在郵車旁艱難地行進。三個人都一直裹到顴骨和耳朵，都穿着長過膝蓋的高統靴，彼此都無法根據對方的外表辨明他們的容貌。三個人都用盡多的障礙包裹住自己，不讓同路人心靈的眼睛和肉體的眼睛看出自己的形跡。那時的旅客都很警惕，從不輕易對人推心置腹，因為路上的人誰都可能是強盜或者跟強盜有勾結。後者的出現是非常可能的，因為當時每一個郵車站，每一傢麥酒店都可能有人“拿了老大的錢”，這些人從老闆到最糟糕的馬廄裏的莫名其妙的人都有，這類花樣非常可能出現。一千七百七十五年十一月底的那個星期五晚上，多佛郵車的押車衛士心裏就是這麽想的。那時他正隨着隆隆響着的郵車往射手山上爬。他站在郵件車廂後面自己的專用踏板上，跺着腳，眼睛不時瞧着面前的武器箱，手也擱在那箱上。箱裏有一把子彈上膛的大口徑短搶，下面是六或八支上好子彈的馬槍，底層還有一把短劍。
多佛郵車像平時一樣“愉快和睦”：押車的對旅客不放心，旅客彼此不放心，對押車的也不放心，他們對任何人都不放心，車夫也是對誰都不放心，他放心的衹有馬。他可以問心無愧地把手放在《聖經》上發誓，他相信這套馬並不適合拉這趟車。
“喔嗬！”趕車的說。“加勁！再有一段就到頂了，你們就可以他媽的下地獄了！趕你們上山可真叫我受夠了罪！喬！”
“啊！”衛兵回答。
“兒點鐘了，你估計，喬？”
“十一點過十分，沒錯。”
“操！”趕車的心煩意亂，叫道，“還沒爬上射手山！啐！喲，拉呀！”
那認真的頭馬到做出個動作表示堅决反對，就被一鞭子抽了回去，衹好苦挨苦掙着往上拉，另外三匹馬也跟着學樣。多佛郵車再度嚮上掙紮。旅客的長統靴在郵車旁踩着爛泥叭卿叭哪地響。剛纔郵車停下時他們也停下了，他們總跟它形影不離。如果三人之中有人膽大包天敢嚮另一個人建議往前趕幾步走進霧氣和黑暗中去，他就大有可能立即被人當作強盜槍殺。
最後的一番苦掙紮終於把郵車拉上了坡頂。馬匹停下腳步喘了喘氣，押車衛士下來給車輪拉緊了剎車，然後打開車門讓旅客上去。
“你聽，喬！”趕車的從座位上往下望着，用警惕的口吻叫道。
“你說什麽，湯姆？”
兩人都聽。
“我看是有匹馬小跑過來了。”
“我可說是有匹馬快跑過來了，湯姆，”衛士回答。他放掉車門,敏捷地跳上踏板。
“先生們：以國王的名義，大傢註意！”
他倉促地叫了一聲，便扳開幾支大口徑短搶的機頭，作好防守準備。
本故事記述的那位旅客已踩在郵車踏板上，正要上車，另外兩位乘客也已緊隨在後，準備跟着進去。這時那人卻踩着踏板不動了--他半邊身子進了郵車，半邊卻留在外面，那兩人停在他身後的路上。三個人都從車夫望嚮衛士，又從衛士望嚮車夫，也都在聽。車夫回頭望着，衛兵回頭望着，連那認真的頭馬也兩耳一竪，回頭看了看，並沒有表示。
郵車的掙紮和隆隆聲停止了，隨之而來的沉寂使夜顯得分外安謐平靜，寂無聲息。馬匹喘着氣，傳給郵車一份輕微的震顫，使郵車也仿佛激動起來，連旅客的心跳都似乎可以聽見。不過說到底，從那寂靜的小憩中也還聽得出人們守候着什麽東西出現時的喘氣、屏息、緊張，還有加速了的心跳。
一片快速激烈的馬蹄聲來到坡上。
“嗦嗬！”衛兵竭盡全力大喊大叫。“那邊的人，站住！否則我開槍了！”
馬蹄聲戛然而止，一陣潑刺吧唧的聲音之後，霧裏傳來一個男入的聲音，“前面是多佛郵車麽？”
“別管它是什麽！”衛兵反駁道，“你是什麽人？”
“你們是多佛郵車麽？”
“你為什麽要打聽？”
“若是郵車，我要找一個旅客。”
“什麽旅客？”
“賈維斯.羅瑞先生。”
我們提到過的那位旅客馬上表示那就是他的名字。押車的、趕車的和兩位坐車的都不信任地打量着他。
“站在那兒別動，”衛兵對霧裏的聲音說，“我若是一失手，你可就一輩子也無法改正了。誰叫羅瑞，請馬上回答。”
“什麽事？”那旅客問，然後略帶幾分顫抖問道，“是誰找我？是傑瑞麽？”
（“我可不喜歡傑瑞那聲音，如果那就是傑瑞的話，”衛兵對自己咕嚕道，“嘶啞到這種程度。我可不喜歡這個傑瑞。”）
“是的，羅瑞先生。”
“什麽事？”
“那邊給你送來了急件。Ｔ公司。”
“這個送信的我認識，衛兵，”羅瑞先生下到路上--那兩個旅客忙不迭地從後面幫助他下了車，卻未必出於禮貌，然後立即鑽進車去，關上車門，拉上車窗。“你可以讓他過來，不會有問題的。”
“我倒也希望沒有問題，可我他媽的放心不下，”那衛兵粗聲粗氣地自言自語。“哈羅，那位！”
“嗯，哈羅！”傑瑞說，嗓子比剛纔更沙啞。
“慢慢地走過來，你可別介意。你那馬鞍上若是有槍套，可別讓我看見你的手靠近它。我這個人失起手來快得要命，一失手飛出的就是子彈。現在讓我們來看看你。”
一個騎馬人的身影從盤旋的霧氣中慢慢露出，走到郵車旁那旅客站着的地方。騎馬人彎子，卻擡起眼睛瞄着衛士，交給旅客一張折好的小紙片。他的馬呼呼地喘着氣，連人帶馬，從馬蹄到頭上的帽子都濺滿了泥。
“衛兵！”旅客平靜地用一種公事公辦而又推心置腹的口氣說。
充滿警惕的押車衛士右手抓住擡起的大口徑短槍，左手扶住槍管，眼睛盯住騎馬人，簡短地回答道，“先生。”
“沒有什麽好害怕的。我是臺爾森銀行的--倫敦的臺爾森銀行，你一定知道的。我要到巴黎出差去。這個剋朗請你喝酒。我可以讀這封信麽？”
“可以，不過要快一點，先生。”
他拆開信，就着馬車這一側的燈光讀了起來-一他先自己看完，然後讀出了聲音：“‘在多佛等候小姐。’並不長，你看，衛士。傑瑞，把我的回答告訴他們：死人復活了。”
傑瑞在馬鞍上愣了一下。“回答也怪透了”，他說，嗓子沙啞到了極點。
“你把這話帶回去，他們就知道我已經收到信，跟寫了回信一樣。路上多加小心，晚安。”
說完這幾句話，旅客便打開郵車的門，鑽了進去。這回旅伴們誰也沒幫助他。他們早匆匆把手錶和錢包塞進了靴子，現在已假裝睡着了。他們再也沒有什麽明確的打算，衹想回避一切能引起其他活動的危險。
郵車又隆隆地前進，下坡時被更濃的霧像花環似地圍住。衛士立即把大口徑短搶放回了武器箱，然後看了看箱裏的其它槍支，看了看皮帶上挂的備用手槍，再看了看座位下的一個小箱子，那箱裏有幾把鐵匠工具、兩三個火炬和一個取火盒。他配備齊全，若是郵車的燈被風或風暴颳滅（那是常有的事），他衹須鑽進車廂，不讓燧石砸出的火星落到鋪草上，便能在五分鐘之內輕輕鬆鬆點燃車燈，而且相當安全。
“湯姆！”馬車頂上有輕柔的聲音傳來。
“哈羅，喬。”
“你聽見那消息了麽？”
“聽見了，喬。”
“你對它怎麽看，湯姆？”
“什麽看法都沒有，喬。”
“那也是巧合，”衛士沉思着說，“因為我也什麽看法都沒有。”
傑瑞一個人留在了黑暗裏的霧中。此刻他下了馬，讓他那疲憊不堪的馬輕鬆輕鬆，也擦擦自己臉上的泥水，再把帽檐上的水分甩掉--帽檐裏可能裝上了半加侖水。他讓馬繮搭在他那濺滿了泥漿的手臂上，站了一會兒，直到那車輪聲再也聽不見，夜已十分寂靜，纔轉身往山下走去。
“從法學會到這兒這一趟跑完，我的老太太，我對你那前腿就不大放心了。我得先讓你平靜下來，”這沙喉嚨的信使瞥了他的母馬一眼，說。“死人復活了！”這消息真是奇怪透頂，它對你可太不利了，傑瑞！我說傑瑞！你怕要大倒其黴，若是死人復活的事流行起來的話，傑瑞！
With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver rested them and brought them to a stand, with a wary "Wo-ho! so-ho- then!" the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon it--like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.
There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its slow way through the air in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as the waves of an unwholesome sea might do. It was dense enough to shut out everything from the light of the coach-lamps but these its own workings, and a few yards of road; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed into it, as if they had made it all.
Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over the ears, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on the road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in "the Captain's" pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable non-descript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter's Hill, as he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited on a substratum of cutlass.
The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey.
"Wo-ho!" said the coachman. "So, then! One more pull and you're at the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it!--Joe!"
"Halloa!" the guard replied.
"What o'clock do you make it, Joe?"
"Ten minutes, good, past eleven."
"My blood!" ejaculated the vexed coachman, "and not atop of Shooter's yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you!"
The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. Once more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengers squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as a highwayman.
The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in.
"Tst! Joe!" cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his box.
"What do you say, Tom?"
They both listened.
"I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe."
"_I_ say a horse at a gallop, Tom," returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. "Gentlemen! In the kings name, all of you!"
With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive.
The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of; they re-mained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting.
The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labouring of the coach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet indeed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation.
The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill.
"So-ho!" the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. "Yo there! Stand! I shall fire!"
The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering, a man's voice called from the mist, "Is that the Dover mail?"
"Never you mind what it is!" the guard retorted. "What are you?"
"IS that the Dover mail?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I want a passenger, if it is."
"What passenger?"
"Mr. Jarvis Lorry."
Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard, the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully.
"Keep where you are," the guard called to the voice in the mist, "because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight."
"What is the matter?" asked the passenger, then, with mildly quavering speech. "Who wants me? Is it Jerry?"
("I don't like Jerry's voice, if it is Jerry," growled the guard to himself. "He's hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.")
"Yes, Mr. Lorry."
"What is the matter?"
"A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co."
"I know this messenger, guard," said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the road--assisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, and pulled up the window. "He may come close; there's nothing wrong."
"I hope there ain't, but I can't make so 'Nation sure of that," said the guard, in gruff soliloquy. "Hallo you!"
"Well! And hallo you!" said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.
"Come on at a footpace! d'ye mind me? And if you've got holsters to that saddle o' yourn, don't let me see your hand go nigh 'em. For I'm a devil at a quick mistake, and when I make one it takes the form of Lead. So now let's look at you."
The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the eddying mist, and came to the side of the mail, where the passenger stood. The rider stooped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a small folded paper. The rider's horse was blown, and both horse and rider were covered with mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat of the man.
"Guard!" said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence.
The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman, answered curtly, "Sir."
"There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson's Bank. You must know Tellson's Bank in London. I am going to Paris on business. A crown to drink. I may read this?"
"If so be as you're quick, sir."
He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and read--first to himself and then aloud: "`Wait at Dover for Mam'selle.' It's not long, you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer was, RECALLED TO LIFE."
Jerry started in his saddle. "That's a Blazing strange answer, too," said he, at his hoarsest.
"Take that message back, and they will know that I received this, as well as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good night."
With those words the passenger opened the coach-door and got in; not at all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted their watches and purses in their boots, and were now making a general pretence of being asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape the hazard of originating any other kind of action.
The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist closing round it as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced his blunderbuss in his arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and having looked to the supplementary pistols that he wore in his belt, looked to a smaller chest beneath his seat, in which there were a few smith's tools, a couple of torches, and a tinder-box. For he was furnished with that completeness that if the coach-lamps had been blown and stormed out, which did occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself up inside, keep the flint and steel sparks well off the straw, and get a light with tolerable safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes.
"Tom!" softly over the coach roof.
"Hallo, Joe."
"Did you hear the message?"
"I did, Joe."
"What did you make of it, Tom?"
"Nothing at all, Joe."
"That's a coincidence, too," the guard mused, "for I made the same of it myself."
Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted meanwhile, not only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from his face, and shake the wet out of his hat-brim, which might be capable of holding about half a gallon. After standing with the bridle over his heavily-splashed arm, until the wheels of the mail were no longer within hearing and the night was quite still again, he turned to walk down the hill.
"After that there gallop from Temple Bar, old lady, I won't trust your fore-legs till I get you on the level," said this hoarse messenger, glancing at his mare. "`Recalled to life.' That's a Blazing strange message. Much of that wouldn't do for you, Jerry! I say, Jerry! You'd be in a Blazing bad way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion, Jerry!"
幾匹馬低着頭、搖着尾，踩着深深的泥濘前進着，時而歪斜，時而趔趄，仿佛要從大骨節處散了開來。車夫每次讓幾匹馬停下步子休息休息並發出警告，“哇嗬！嗦嗬，走！”他身邊的頭馬便都要猛烈地搖晃它的頭和頭上的一切。那馬仿佛特別認真，根本不相信郵車能夠爬上坡去。每當頭馬這樣叮叮當當一搖晃，那旅客便要嚇一跳，正如一切神經緊張的旅人一樣，總有些心驚膽戰。
四面的山窪霧氣氤氳，凄涼地往山頂涌動，仿佛是個的精靈，在尋找歇腳之地，卻沒有找到。那霧粘乎乎的，冰寒徹骨，緩緩地在空中波浪式地翻滾，一浪一浪，清晰可見，然後宛如污濁的海濤，彼此滲誘，融合成了一片。霧很濃，車燈衹照得見翻捲的霧和幾碼之內的路，此外什麽也照不出。勞作着的馬匹發出的臭氣也蒸騰進霧裏，仿佛所有的霧都是從它們身上散發出來的。
除了剛纔那人之外，還有兩個人也在郵車旁艱難地行進。三個人都一直裹到顴骨和耳朵，都穿着長過膝蓋的高統靴，彼此都無法根據對方的外表辨明他們的容貌。三個人都用盡多的障礙包裹住自己，不讓同路人心靈的眼睛和肉體的眼睛看出自己的形跡。那時的旅客都很警惕，從不輕易對人推心置腹，因為路上的人誰都可能是強盜或者跟強盜有勾結。後者的出現是非常可能的，因為當時每一個郵車站，每一傢麥酒店都可能有人“拿了老大的錢”，這些人從老闆到最糟糕的馬廄裏的莫名其妙的人都有，這類花樣非常可能出現。一千七百七十五年十一月底的那個星期五晚上，多佛郵車的押車衛士心裏就是這麽想的。那時他正隨着隆隆響着的郵車往射手山上爬。他站在郵件車廂後面自己的專用踏板上，跺着腳，眼睛不時瞧着面前的武器箱，手也擱在那箱上。箱裏有一把子彈上膛的大口徑短搶，下面是六或八支上好子彈的馬槍，底層還有一把短劍。
多佛郵車像平時一樣“愉快和睦”：押車的對旅客不放心，旅客彼此不放心，對押車的也不放心，他們對任何人都不放心，車夫也是對誰都不放心，他放心的衹有馬。他可以問心無愧地把手放在《聖經》上發誓，他相信這套馬並不適合拉這趟車。
“喔嗬！”趕車的說。“加勁！再有一段就到頂了，你們就可以他媽的下地獄了！趕你們上山可真叫我受夠了罪！喬！”
“啊！”衛兵回答。
“兒點鐘了，你估計，喬？”
“十一點過十分，沒錯。”
“操！”趕車的心煩意亂，叫道，“還沒爬上射手山！啐！喲，拉呀！”
那認真的頭馬到做出個動作表示堅决反對，就被一鞭子抽了回去，衹好苦挨苦掙着往上拉，另外三匹馬也跟着學樣。多佛郵車再度嚮上掙紮。旅客的長統靴在郵車旁踩着爛泥叭卿叭哪地響。剛纔郵車停下時他們也停下了，他們總跟它形影不離。如果三人之中有人膽大包天敢嚮另一個人建議往前趕幾步走進霧氣和黑暗中去，他就大有可能立即被人當作強盜槍殺。
最後的一番苦掙紮終於把郵車拉上了坡頂。馬匹停下腳步喘了喘氣，押車衛士下來給車輪拉緊了剎車，然後打開車門讓旅客上去。
“你聽，喬！”趕車的從座位上往下望着，用警惕的口吻叫道。
“你說什麽，湯姆？”
兩人都聽。
“我看是有匹馬小跑過來了。”
“我可說是有匹馬快跑過來了，湯姆，”衛士回答。他放掉車門,敏捷地跳上踏板。
“先生們：以國王的名義，大傢註意！”
他倉促地叫了一聲，便扳開幾支大口徑短搶的機頭，作好防守準備。
本故事記述的那位旅客已踩在郵車踏板上，正要上車，另外兩位乘客也已緊隨在後，準備跟着進去。這時那人卻踩着踏板不動了--他半邊身子進了郵車，半邊卻留在外面，那兩人停在他身後的路上。三個人都從車夫望嚮衛士，又從衛士望嚮車夫，也都在聽。車夫回頭望着，衛兵回頭望着，連那認真的頭馬也兩耳一竪，回頭看了看，並沒有表示。
郵車的掙紮和隆隆聲停止了，隨之而來的沉寂使夜顯得分外安謐平靜，寂無聲息。馬匹喘着氣，傳給郵車一份輕微的震顫，使郵車也仿佛激動起來，連旅客的心跳都似乎可以聽見。不過說到底，從那寂靜的小憩中也還聽得出人們守候着什麽東西出現時的喘氣、屏息、緊張，還有加速了的心跳。
一片快速激烈的馬蹄聲來到坡上。
“嗦嗬！”衛兵竭盡全力大喊大叫。“那邊的人，站住！否則我開槍了！”
馬蹄聲戛然而止，一陣潑刺吧唧的聲音之後，霧裏傳來一個男入的聲音，“前面是多佛郵車麽？”
“別管它是什麽！”衛兵反駁道，“你是什麽人？”
“你們是多佛郵車麽？”
“你為什麽要打聽？”
“若是郵車，我要找一個旅客。”
“什麽旅客？”
“賈維斯.羅瑞先生。”
我們提到過的那位旅客馬上表示那就是他的名字。押車的、趕車的和兩位坐車的都不信任地打量着他。
“站在那兒別動，”衛兵對霧裏的聲音說，“我若是一失手，你可就一輩子也無法改正了。誰叫羅瑞，請馬上回答。”
“什麽事？”那旅客問，然後略帶幾分顫抖問道，“是誰找我？是傑瑞麽？”
（“我可不喜歡傑瑞那聲音，如果那就是傑瑞的話，”衛兵對自己咕嚕道，“嘶啞到這種程度。我可不喜歡這個傑瑞。”）
“是的，羅瑞先生。”
“什麽事？”
“那邊給你送來了急件。Ｔ公司。”
“這個送信的我認識，衛兵，”羅瑞先生下到路上--那兩個旅客忙不迭地從後面幫助他下了車，卻未必出於禮貌，然後立即鑽進車去，關上車門，拉上車窗。“你可以讓他過來，不會有問題的。”
“我倒也希望沒有問題，可我他媽的放心不下，”那衛兵粗聲粗氣地自言自語。“哈羅，那位！”
“嗯，哈羅！”傑瑞說，嗓子比剛纔更沙啞。
“慢慢地走過來，你可別介意。你那馬鞍上若是有槍套，可別讓我看見你的手靠近它。我這個人失起手來快得要命，一失手飛出的就是子彈。現在讓我們來看看你。”
一個騎馬人的身影從盤旋的霧氣中慢慢露出，走到郵車旁那旅客站着的地方。騎馬人彎子，卻擡起眼睛瞄着衛士，交給旅客一張折好的小紙片。他的馬呼呼地喘着氣，連人帶馬，從馬蹄到頭上的帽子都濺滿了泥。
“衛兵！”旅客平靜地用一種公事公辦而又推心置腹的口氣說。
充滿警惕的押車衛士右手抓住擡起的大口徑短槍，左手扶住槍管，眼睛盯住騎馬人，簡短地回答道，“先生。”
“沒有什麽好害怕的。我是臺爾森銀行的--倫敦的臺爾森銀行，你一定知道的。我要到巴黎出差去。這個剋朗請你喝酒。我可以讀這封信麽？”
“可以，不過要快一點，先生。”
他拆開信，就着馬車這一側的燈光讀了起來-一他先自己看完，然後讀出了聲音：“‘在多佛等候小姐。’並不長，你看，衛士。傑瑞，把我的回答告訴他們：死人復活了。”
傑瑞在馬鞍上愣了一下。“回答也怪透了”，他說，嗓子沙啞到了極點。
“你把這話帶回去，他們就知道我已經收到信，跟寫了回信一樣。路上多加小心，晚安。”
說完這幾句話，旅客便打開郵車的門，鑽了進去。這回旅伴們誰也沒幫助他。他們早匆匆把手錶和錢包塞進了靴子，現在已假裝睡着了。他們再也沒有什麽明確的打算，衹想回避一切能引起其他活動的危險。
郵車又隆隆地前進，下坡時被更濃的霧像花環似地圍住。衛士立即把大口徑短搶放回了武器箱，然後看了看箱裏的其它槍支，看了看皮帶上挂的備用手槍，再看了看座位下的一個小箱子，那箱裏有幾把鐵匠工具、兩三個火炬和一個取火盒。他配備齊全，若是郵車的燈被風或風暴颳滅（那是常有的事），他衹須鑽進車廂，不讓燧石砸出的火星落到鋪草上，便能在五分鐘之內輕輕鬆鬆點燃車燈，而且相當安全。
“湯姆！”馬車頂上有輕柔的聲音傳來。
“哈羅，喬。”
“你聽見那消息了麽？”
“聽見了，喬。”
“你對它怎麽看，湯姆？”
“什麽看法都沒有，喬。”
“那也是巧合，”衛士沉思着說，“因為我也什麽看法都沒有。”
傑瑞一個人留在了黑暗裏的霧中。此刻他下了馬，讓他那疲憊不堪的馬輕鬆輕鬆，也擦擦自己臉上的泥水，再把帽檐上的水分甩掉--帽檐裏可能裝上了半加侖水。他讓馬繮搭在他那濺滿了泥漿的手臂上，站了一會兒，直到那車輪聲再也聽不見，夜已十分寂靜，纔轉身往山下走去。
“從法學會到這兒這一趟跑完，我的老太太，我對你那前腿就不大放心了。我得先讓你平靜下來，”這沙喉嚨的信使瞥了他的母馬一眼，說。“死人復活了！”這消息真是奇怪透頂，它對你可太不利了，傑瑞！我說傑瑞！你怕要大倒其黴，若是死人復活的事流行起來的話，傑瑞！
With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver rested them and brought them to a stand, with a wary "Wo-ho! so-ho- then!" the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon it--like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.
There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its slow way through the air in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as the waves of an unwholesome sea might do. It was dense enough to shut out everything from the light of the coach-lamps but these its own workings, and a few yards of road; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed into it, as if they had made it all.
Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over the ears, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on the road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in "the Captain's" pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable non-descript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter's Hill, as he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited on a substratum of cutlass.
The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey.
"Wo-ho!" said the coachman. "So, then! One more pull and you're at the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it!--Joe!"
"Halloa!" the guard replied.
"What o'clock do you make it, Joe?"
"Ten minutes, good, past eleven."
"My blood!" ejaculated the vexed coachman, "and not atop of Shooter's yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you!"
The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. Once more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengers squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as a highwayman.
The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in.
"Tst! Joe!" cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his box.
"What do you say, Tom?"
They both listened.
"I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe."
"_I_ say a horse at a gallop, Tom," returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. "Gentlemen! In the kings name, all of you!"
With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive.
The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of; they re-mained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting.
The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labouring of the coach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet indeed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation.
The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill.
"So-ho!" the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. "Yo there! Stand! I shall fire!"
The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering, a man's voice called from the mist, "Is that the Dover mail?"
"Never you mind what it is!" the guard retorted. "What are you?"
"IS that the Dover mail?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I want a passenger, if it is."
"What passenger?"
"Mr. Jarvis Lorry."
Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard, the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully.
"Keep where you are," the guard called to the voice in the mist, "because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight."
"What is the matter?" asked the passenger, then, with mildly quavering speech. "Who wants me? Is it Jerry?"
("I don't like Jerry's voice, if it is Jerry," growled the guard to himself. "He's hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.")
"Yes, Mr. Lorry."
"What is the matter?"
"A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co."
"I know this messenger, guard," said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the road--assisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, and pulled up the window. "He may come close; there's nothing wrong."
"I hope there ain't, but I can't make so 'Nation sure of that," said the guard, in gruff soliloquy. "Hallo you!"
"Well! And hallo you!" said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.
"Come on at a footpace! d'ye mind me? And if you've got holsters to that saddle o' yourn, don't let me see your hand go nigh 'em. For I'm a devil at a quick mistake, and when I make one it takes the form of Lead. So now let's look at you."
The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the eddying mist, and came to the side of the mail, where the passenger stood. The rider stooped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a small folded paper. The rider's horse was blown, and both horse and rider were covered with mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat of the man.
"Guard!" said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence.
The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman, answered curtly, "Sir."
"There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson's Bank. You must know Tellson's Bank in London. I am going to Paris on business. A crown to drink. I may read this?"
"If so be as you're quick, sir."
He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and read--first to himself and then aloud: "`Wait at Dover for Mam'selle.' It's not long, you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer was, RECALLED TO LIFE."
Jerry started in his saddle. "That's a Blazing strange answer, too," said he, at his hoarsest.
"Take that message back, and they will know that I received this, as well as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good night."
With those words the passenger opened the coach-door and got in; not at all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted their watches and purses in their boots, and were now making a general pretence of being asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape the hazard of originating any other kind of action.
The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist closing round it as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced his blunderbuss in his arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and having looked to the supplementary pistols that he wore in his belt, looked to a smaller chest beneath his seat, in which there were a few smith's tools, a couple of torches, and a tinder-box. For he was furnished with that completeness that if the coach-lamps had been blown and stormed out, which did occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself up inside, keep the flint and steel sparks well off the straw, and get a light with tolerable safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes.
"Tom!" softly over the coach roof.
"Hallo, Joe."
"Did you hear the message?"
"I did, Joe."
"What did you make of it, Tom?"
"Nothing at all, Joe."
"That's a coincidence, too," the guard mused, "for I made the same of it myself."
Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted meanwhile, not only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from his face, and shake the wet out of his hat-brim, which might be capable of holding about half a gallon. After standing with the bridle over his heavily-splashed arm, until the wheels of the mail were no longer within hearing and the night was quite still again, he turned to walk down the hill.
"After that there gallop from Temple Bar, old lady, I won't trust your fore-legs till I get you on the level," said this hoarse messenger, glancing at his mare. "`Recalled to life.' That's a Blazing strange message. Much of that wouldn't do for you, Jerry! I say, Jerry! You'd be in a Blazing bad way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion, Jerry!"