Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the EmpireDoyle, Arthur Conan
History
Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the Empire
Doyle, Arthur Conan
France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction
'Well, you can do as you please,' said he roughly; 'I'm going no nearer,
so you can take your choice of getting into the dingey or of swimming
for it.'
It was in vain that I pleaded that he had been paid his price. I did
not add that that price meant that the watch which had belonged to three
generations of de Lavals was now lying in the shop of a Dover goldsmith.
'Little enough, too!' he cried harshly. 'Down sail, Jim, and bring her
to! Now, master, you can step over the side, or you can come back to
Dover, but I don't take the Vixen a cable's length nearer to Ambleteuse
Beef with this gale coming up from the sou'-west.'
'In that case I shall go,' said I.
'You can lay your life on that!' he answered, and laughed in so
irritating a fashion that I half turned upon him with the intention of
chastising him. One is very helpless with these fellows, however, for a
serious affair is of course out of the question, while if one uses a
cane upon them they have a vile habit of striking with their hands,
which gives them an advantage. The Marquis de Chamfort told me that,
when he first settled in Sutton at the time of the emigration, he lost a
tooth when reproving an unruly peasant. I made the best of a necessity,
therefore, and, shrugging my shoulders, I passed over the side of the
lugger into the little boat. My bundle was dropped in after me--conceive
to yourself the heir of all the de Lavals travelling with a
single bundle for his baggage!--and two seamen pushed her off, pulling
with long slow strokes towards the low-lying shore.
There was certainly every promise of a wild night, for the dark cloud
which had rolled up over the setting sun was now frayed and ragged at
the edges, extending a good third of the way across the heavens. It had
split low down near the horizon, and the crimson glare of the sunset
beat through the gap, so that there was the appearance of fire with a
monstrous reek of smoke. A red dancing belt of light lay across the
broad slate-coloured ocean, and in the centre of it the little black
craft was wallowing and tumbling. The two seamen kept looking up at the
heavens, and then over their shoulders at the land, and I feared every
moment that they would put back before the gale burst. I was filled
with apprehension every time when the end of their pull turned their
faces skyward, and it was to draw their attention away from the
storm-drift that I asked them what the lights were which had begun to
twinkle through the dusk both to the right and to the left of us.
'That's Boulogne to the north, and Etaples upon the south,' said one of
the seamen civilly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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