It was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in November, before the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up Shooter's Hill. He walked uphill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy that the horses had three times already come to a stop, beside once drawing the coach across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had read that article of war which forbad a purpose otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with Reason; and the team had capitulated and returned to their duty.

With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling he between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the large 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 hat roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, 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 horse 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 cheek-bones 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 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 nondescript, 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 king's 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 it; they remained 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 he 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 o] 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, an' 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. `Wham 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 he 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 Door 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 tile 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!'

十一月下旬的一个星期五晚上，多佛大道伸展在跟这段历史有关的几个人之中的第一个人前面。多佛大道对此人说来就在多佛邮车的另一面。这时那邮车隆隆响着往射手山苦苦爬去。这人正随着邮车跟其他乘客一起踏着泥泞步行上山。倒不是因为乘客们对步行锻炼有什么偏爱，而是因为那山坡、那马具、那泥泞和邮件都太叫马匹吃力，它们已经三次站立不动，有一次还拉着邮车横过大路，要想叛变，把车拖回黑荒原去。好在缰绳、鞭子、车夫和卫士的联合行动有如宣读了一份战争文件的道理。那文件禁止擅自行动，因为它可以大大助长野蛮动物也有思想的理论。于是这套马便俯首投降，回头执行起任务来。

几匹马低着头、摇着尾，踩着深深的泥泞前进着，时而歪斜，时而趔趄，仿佛要从大骨节处散了开来。车夫每次让几匹马停下步子休息休息并发出警告，“哇嗬！嗦嗬，走！”他身边的头马便都要猛烈地摇晃它的头和头上的一切。那马仿佛特别认真，根本不相信邮车能够爬上坡去。每当头马这样叮叮当当一摇晃，那旅客便要吓一跳，正如一切神经紧张的旅人一样，总有些心惊胆战。

四面的山洼雾气氤氲，凄凉地往山顶涌动，仿佛是个邪恶的精灵，在寻找歇脚之地，却没有找到。那雾粘乎乎的，冰寒彻骨，缓缓地在空中波浪式地翻滚，一浪一浪，清晰可见，然后宛如污浊的海涛，彼此渗诱，融合成了一片。雾很浓，车灯只照得见翻卷的雾和几码之内的路，此外什么也照不出。劳作着的马匹发出的臭气也蒸腾进雾里，仿佛所有的雾都是从它们身上散发出来的。

除了刚才那人之外，还有两个人也在邮车旁艰难地行进。三个人都一直裹到颧骨和耳朵，都穿着长过膝盖的高统靴，彼此都无法根据对方的外表辨明他们的容貌。三个人都用尽多的障碍包裹住自己，不让同路人心灵的眼睛和肉体的眼睛看出自己的形迹。那时的旅客都很警惕，从不轻易对人推心置腹，因为路上的人谁都可能是强盗或者跟强盗有勾结。后者的出现是非常可能的，因为当时每一个邮车站，每一家麦酒店都可能有人“拿了老大的钱”，这些人从老板到最糟糕的马厩里的莫名其妙的人都有，这类花样非常可能出现。一千七百七十五年十一月底的那个星期五晚上，多佛邮车的押车卫士心里就是这么想的。那时他正随着隆隆响着的邮车往射手山上爬。他站在邮件车厢后面自己的专用踏板上，跺着脚，眼睛不时瞧着面前的武器箱，手也搁在那箱上。箱里有一把子弹上膛的大口径短抢，下面是六或八支上好子弹的马枪，底层还有一把短剑。

多佛邮车像平时一样“愉快和睦”：押车的对旅客不放心，旅客彼此不放心，对押车的也不放心，他们对任何人都不放心，车夫也是对谁都不放心，他放心的只有马。他可以问心无愧地把手放在《圣经》上发誓，他相信这套马并不适合拉这趟车。

“喔嗬！”赶车的说。“加劲！再有一段就到顶了，你们就可以他妈的下地狱了！赶你们上山可真叫我受够了罪！乔！”

“啊！”卫兵回答。

“儿点钟了，你估计，乔？”

“十一点过十分，没错。”

“操！”赶车的心烦意乱，叫道，“还没爬上射手山！啐！哟，拉呀！”

那认真的头马到做出个动作表示坚决反对，就被一鞭子抽了回去，只好苦挨苦挣着往上拉，另外三匹马也跟着学样。多佛邮车再度向上挣扎。旅客的长统靴在邮车旁踩着烂泥叭卿叭哪地响。刚才邮车停下时他们也停下了，他们总跟它形影不离。如果三人之中有人胆大包天敢向另一个人建议往前赶几步走进雾气和黑暗中去，他就大有可能立即被人当作强盗枪杀。

最后的一番苦挣扎终于把邮车拉上了坡顶。马匹停下脚步喘了喘气，押车卫士下来给车轮拉紧了刹车，然后打开车门让旅客上去。

“你听，乔！”赶车的从座位上往下望着，用警惕的口吻叫道。

“你说什么，汤姆？”

两人都听。

“我看是有匹马小跑过来了。”

“我可说是有匹马快跑过来了，汤姆，”卫士回答。他放掉车门,敏捷地跳上踏板。
“先生们：以国王的名义，大家注意！”

他仓促地叫了一声，便扳开几支大口径短抢的机头，作好防守准备。

本故事记述的那位旅客已踩在邮车踏板上，正要上车，另外两位乘客也已紧随在后，准备跟着进去。这时那人却踩着踏板不动了--他半边身子进了邮车，半边却留在外面，那两人停在他身后的路上。三个人都从车夫望向卫士，又从卫士望向车夫，也都在听。车夫回头望着，卫兵回头望着，连那认真的头马也两耳一竖，回头看了看，并没有表示抗议。

邮车的挣扎和隆隆声停止了，随之而来的沉寂使夜显得分外安谧平静，寂无声息。马匹喘着气，传给邮车一份轻微的震颤，使邮车也仿佛激动起来，连旅客的心跳都似乎可以听见。不过说到底，从那寂静的小憩中也还听得出人们守候着什么东西出现时的喘气、屏息、紧张，还有加速了的心跳。

一片快速激烈的马蹄声来到坡上。

“嗦嗬！”卫兵竭尽全力大喊大叫。“那边的人，站住！否则我开枪了！”

马蹄声戛然而止，一阵泼刺吧唧的声音之后，雾里传来一个男入的声音，“前面是多佛邮车么？”

“别管它是什么！”卫兵反驳道，“你是什么人？”

“你们是多佛邮车么？”

“你为什么要打听？”

“若是邮车，我要找一个旅客。”

“什么旅客？”

“贾维斯.罗瑞先生。”

我们提到过的那位旅客马上表示那就是他的名字。押车的、赶车的和两位坐车的都不信任地打量着他。

“站在那儿别动，”卫兵对雾里的声音说，“我若是一失手，你可就一辈子也无法改正了。谁叫罗瑞，请马上回答。”

“什么事？”那旅客问，然后略带几分颤抖问道，“是谁找我？是杰瑞么？”

（“我可不喜欢杰瑞那声音，如果那就是杰瑞的话，”卫兵对自己咕噜道，“嘶哑到这种程度。我可不喜欢这个杰瑞。”）

“是的，罗瑞先生。”

“什么事？”

“那边给你送来了急件。Ｔ公司。”

“这个送信的我认识，卫兵，”罗瑞先生下到路上--那两个旅客忙不迭地从后面帮助他下了车，却未必出于礼貌，然后立即钻进车去，关上车门，拉上车窗。“你可以让他过来，不会有问题的。”

“我倒也希望没有问题，可我他妈的放心不下，”那卫兵粗声粗气地自言自语。“哈罗，那位！”

“嗯，哈罗！”杰瑞说，嗓子比刚才更沙哑。

“慢慢地走过来，你可别介意。你那马鞍上若是有枪套，可别让我看见你的手靠近它。我这个人失起手来快得要命，一失手飞出的就是子弹。现在让我们来看看你。”

一个骑马人的身影从盘旋的雾气中慢慢露出，走到邮车旁那旅客站着的地方。骑马人弯下身子，却抬起眼睛瞄着卫士，交给旅客一张折好的小纸片。他的马呼呼地喘着气，连人带马，从马蹄到头上的帽子都溅满了泥。

“卫兵！”旅客平静地用一种公事公办而又推心置腹的口气说。

充满警惕的押车卫士右手抓住抬起的大口径短枪，左手扶住枪管，眼睛盯住骑马人，简短地回答道，“先生。”

“没有什么好害怕的。我是台尔森银行的--伦敦的台尔森银行，你一定知道的。我要到巴黎出差去。这个克朗请你喝酒。我可以读这封信么？”

“可以，不过要快一点，先生。”

他拆开信，就着马车这一侧的灯光读了起来-一他先自己看完，然后读出了声音：“‘在多佛等候小姐。’并不长，你看，卫士。杰瑞，把我的回答告诉他们：死人复活了。”

杰瑞在马鞍上愣了一下。“回答也怪透了”，他说，嗓子沙哑到了极点。

“你把这话带回去，他们就知道我已经收到信，跟写了回信一样。路上多加小心，晚安。”

说完这几句话，旅客便打开邮车的门，钻了进去。这回旅伴们谁也没帮助他。他们早匆匆把手表和钱包塞进了靴子，现在已假装睡着了。他们再也没有什么明确的打算，只想回避一切能引起其他活动的危险。

邮车又隆隆地前进，下坡时被更浓的雾像花环似地围住。卫士立即把大口径短抢放回了武器箱，然后看了看箱里的其它枪支，看了看皮带上挂的备用手枪，再看了看座位下的一个小箱子，那箱里有几把铁匠工具、两三个火炬和一个取火盒。他配备齐全，若是邮车的灯被风或风暴刮灭（那是常有的事），他只须钻进车厢，不让燧石砸出的火星落到铺草上，便能在五分钟之内轻轻松松点燃车灯，而且相当安全。

“汤姆！”马车顶上有轻柔的声音传来。

“哈罗，乔。”

“你听见那消息了么？”

“听见了，乔。”

“你对它怎么看，汤姆？”

“什么看法都没有，乔。”

“那也是巧合，”卫士沉思着说，“因为我也什么看法都没有。”

杰瑞一个人留在了黑暗里的雾中。此刻他下了马，让他那疲惫不堪的马轻松轻松，也擦擦自己脸上的泥水，再把帽檐上的水分甩掉--帽檐里可能装上了半加仑水。他让马缰搭在他那溅满了泥浆的手臂上，站了一会儿，直到那车轮声再也听不见，夜已十分寂静，才转身往山下走去。

“从法学会到这儿这一趟跑完，我的老太太，我对你那前腿就不大放心了。我得先让你平静下来，”这沙喉咙的信使瞥了他的母马一眼，说。“死人复活了！”这消息真是奇怪透顶，它对你可太不利了，杰瑞！我说杰瑞！你怕要大倒其霉，若是死人复活的事流行起来的话，杰瑞！