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TRADITION OF EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND FOUR




The widely discussed possibility of an invasion of England through a
Channel tunnel has more than once recalled old Solomon Selby's story
to my mind.

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 notch in which it habitually rested, he leaned back in the
recess behind him and smiled into the fire. The smile was neither
mirthful nor sad, not precisely humorous nor altogether thoughtful.
We who knew him recognized it in a moment: it was his narrative
smile. Breaking off our few desultory remarks we drew up closer, and
he thus began:-

'My father, as you mid know, was a shepherd all his life, and lived
out by the Cove 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 mounds of
earth and a few broken bricks that are still lying about. It was a
bleak and dreary 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 bide 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 standing 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 cannon and horses across he had contrived 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 muster his multitude of soldiers
on the beach, draw 'em up in line, practise 'em in the manoeuvre of
embarking, horses and all, till they could do it without a single
hitch. 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, sergeant of foot (who used to know all
about these matters), that Bonaparte meant to cross with oars on a
calm night. The grand query 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 skilful 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 Isle 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 haven. 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 uncertainty 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 ashore, 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 cargo 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 tyrant (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 maker 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 gentry 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 hurdles 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 scattered straw.

'While we lay there Uncle Job amused me by telling me strange stories
of the wars he had served in and the wownds 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 rustle of the ewes in the straw, the bleat
of the lambs, and the tinkle 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 spoke
in a tongue that was not ours--in French, as I afterward 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 pointed 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 slanting hurdle, 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 consultation, as they pointed here and there on the paper,
and then hither and thither 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 gasped, 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.

'"Boney!" he groaned out.

'"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 draughts 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 immediate, 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 vessel, 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 testimony of his own eyes could persuade
an auditor 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 narrating the adventure which befell him on the
down.

Christmas 1882.






Life's Little Ironies by Thomas Hardy
Category:
19th century fiction

Short stories
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