A Tradition of
Eighteen Hundred and Four
The widely
discussed possibility of an invasion of
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 a fore 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
'Every morning Neighbour Boney would muster his multitude of soldiers on
the beach, draw 'em up in line, practise
'em in the maneuver 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
'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 into 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
'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
'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
'
"French ? " says he.
'
"Yes," says
'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 short 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.