Two Cities

Chapter 2 The Mail Car
One Friday night in late November, one of our protagonists was standing in front of Dover Avenue.Dover Avenue was to this man on the other side of the Dover Mail.At this time, the mail truck was rumbling and climbing hard towards the Archer Mountain.He was following the mail uphill on foot.The passengers had no preference for exercise on foot, but because the muddy hillside, the harness, and the mail were too taxing for the horses, who had three times been unable to stand, and once dragged the mail-car across the road. The car was towed back to the Black Wasteland.Fortunately, the joint actions of reins, whips, coachmen and guards are like an immutable document.That document forbids unauthorized action because it can promote the theory that beasts have minds too.So the horses bowed their heads and surrendered, and were immediately tamed.

Several horses lowered their heads and wagged their tails, stepping forward on the deep muddy road, sometimes leaning, sometimes staggering, as if they were about to disperse from the big joints.Every time the coachman stopped several horses to rest and gave a warning, "Wow! Suho, let's go!" The leading horse beside him would violently shake his whole head.The horse seemed very serious, never sure that the mail car could climb it.Whenever the horse rattles and shakes in this way, the traveler is startled, as all nervous travelers are, always a little frightened.

The mountain depressions on all sides were filled with mist, surrounding and rising to the top of the mountain, as if an evil elf was looking for a resting place, but couldn't find it.The fog was sticky and icy cold, rolling slowly in the air, wave after wave, clearly visible, and then the dirty sea waves penetrated each other and merged into one piece.The fog was so thick that visibility was limited to a few yards, and that was all the headlights could see, and nothing else.The stench of the working horses also seeped into the mist, and it looked as if all the mist emanated from them.

In addition to the man just now, there were two other people who were also trekking with the mail car.All three of them kept their clothes tightly wrapped around their cheekbones and ears, and all wore knee-high boots, so that it was impossible to tell which was which.All three of them covered themselves as much as possible, so as not to let the spiritual eyes and physical eyes of fellow travelers see their traces.Passengers at that time had a strong sense of defense, and they never confided in others easily, because anyone traveling with them might hurt themselves.This is very possible, because at that time every post station and every Mai hotel might have colluded with robbers.That was what worried the Dover mail guard that Friday night at the end of November, 770.He was climbing Archer Hill with the rumbling mail truck.He stood on the running board at the back of the mail car, stomping his feet, keeping his eyes on the weapons case in front of him, and his hands on it.There was a loaded blunderbuss in the box, and under it were six or eight loaded carbine guns, and at the bottom was a short sword.

The Dover mail coach was as "happy and harmonious" as ever: the escort did not trust the passengers, the passengers did not trust each other, the escort did not trust anyone, and the driver did not trust anyone, only the horses he trusted. .He could swear with a clear conscience on the Bible that he believed that this set of horses was not fit for the carriage.

"Oho!" said the driver. "Hold on! We'll be at the top of the hill in a little while, and you're useless! It's going to hurt me to drive you up the hill! Joe!"

"Ah!" replied the guard. "You see what time it is, Joe?" "Ten past eleven, that's right." "Fuck!" cried the distracted driver, "we haven't got to the top of Archer's Hill yet! Speech! Yo, huh!" Ah!" The first horse was disobedient and seemed to be resolutely opposed, so it was pulled back by a whip, and had to struggle desperately to pull it up, and the other three horses followed suit.The Dover mail coach struggled upward again.Passengers at Mailcoach Bend thumped and thumped in the mud.They stopped when the mail van stopped, and they were always with it.Only a bandit would advise a man to go into the mist and darkness by himself.

After a final struggle, the mail car was finally pulled up to the top of the slope.The horses stopped to catch their breath, the escort came down and braked the wheels, and then opened the door to let the passengers get on.

"Listen, Joe!" the driver looked down from his seat, warily
shouted.

"What's your name, Tom?" Both listened. "It sounds like a pony is running over."

"I mean there's a horse coming at a gallop, Tom," answered the guard.He let go of the door and jumped quickly onto the running board. "Gentlemen: In the name of the king, attention!"

Before he finished speaking, he opened the noses of several large-caliber short guns and began to prepare for defense.

The protagonist of this story has stepped on the pedal of the mail car, and just about to get on the car, the other two passengers have followed closely, ready to follow in.Then the man stood still on the running board—he was halfway into the mail car, and the two men stopped in the road behind him.All three looked at each other and were listening.The coachmen, the guards, even the horses pulling the mail-coach looked back without protesting.

The struggle and rumbling of the mail car ceased, and the ensuing silence made the night all the more peaceful, still, and soundless.The horse panted, causing the mail car to vibrate slightly, and the mail car also began to vibrate, as if the heartbeat of the passengers could be heard.But at the end of the day, from that silent nap, the gasping, breath-holding, nervousness, and racing heartbeat when one realizes that something is about to appear.

There was a rapid and violent sound of horseshoes on the slope. "Soo ho!" the guard yelled with all his might. "Stop all of you! Or I'll shoot!" The sound of horseshoes stopped abruptly, and after a burst of noise, a man's voice sounded, "Is the Dover mail in front?" "It doesn't matter what it is!" The guard Retorted, "Who are you?" "Is it the Dover mail?"

"What business does it matter to you?" "Because I'm looking for a passenger in the Dover mail." "Which passenger?" "Mr. Jarvis Lorry."

The passenger immediately stated that he was the person the man was looking for.The escort, the driver, and the two drivers looked at him suspiciously.

"Stand still," said the guard to the voice in the mist. "I might kill you if I'm not careful. Who is Rory, please answer at once."

"What's the matter?" asked the passenger, his voice trembling. "Who is looking for me? Is it Jerry?"

("If that's Jerry's voice I don't like it," the guard grunted to himself, "so hoarse. I don't like this Jerry.") "Jerry's looking for you, Mr. Lorry." "Me for what? "

"T Company sent you a dispatch." "I know the messenger, guard." Mr. Lorry wanted to get out of the car—the two passengers hurriedly helped him out of the car, they just wanted to be alone, Then immediately got into the car, closed the door, and closed the window. "You let him come over, it'll be fine." "I hope so, but I'm fucking worried," the guard muttered gruffly to himself. "Hello, man!" "Well, hello!" Jerry said, his voice even more hoarse. "Come slowly, if you don't mind. Don't let me see you with a gun. I'm a man who's quick to miss and can kill you. Now let's see you."

A rider rushed out of the fog and walked over to where Jerry was standing.The rider bent down, but raised his eyes to the guard, and handed him a small folded piece of paper.His horse was panting, and both man and horse were splashed with mud.

"Guards!" said the traveler, politely but kindly.The guard full of vigilance raised the large-caliber short gun with his right hand, held the barrel of the gun with his left hand, looked at the rider, and replied briefly, "Sir." Tellson's Bank, you must know. I'm going to Paris on some business. This crown buys you a drink. Will you let me read this letter?"

"Yes, but quickly, sir." He opened the letter, and read it in the light on the side of the carriage--reading it himself, and then reading it aloud: "'Waiting for Miss at Dover. 'Very short, you see, Guards. Jerry, tell them my answer: the dead are raised."

Jerry froze for a moment in the saddle. "What a strange answer," he said, his voice no longer husky.

"Take my words back, and they will know that I have received the letter, as if I have written a reply. Take care on the way, good night."

As soon as the voice fell, he opened the door and got in.This time no one came to help him.They had hastily stuffed their watches and wallets into their boots and were now pretending to be asleep.They have nothing to do but to avoid all dangers that could lead to other activities.

The mail coach rumbled on again, surrounded by thick fog as it descended.The guard immediately put the blunderbuss back into the weapons case, then checked the other guns in the case, checked the spare pistol hanging on the belt, and checked a small box under the seat, which contained several blacksmith's tools, two or three a torch and a tinder box.He had all his tools ready, and if the lamps of the mail-car were blown out by the usual wind, he had only to get into it, making sure that the flint sparks did not fall on the grass, and he could lighten it in five minutes. Lights up the headlights with ease, and it works time and time again.

"Tom!" came a small voice from the roof of the carriage. "Hello, Joe." "Did you hear the message?" "Yes, Joe." "What did you think, Tom?" "Not much, Joe."

"That may be a coincidence," the guard said thoughtfully, "I just didn't think much of it either."

Jerry was left alone in the foggy night.Now he dismounted, rested his exhausted horse, wiped the muddy water off his face, and shook the water off the brim of his hat—almost half a gallon of water there.Holding the bridle up with his mud-spattered arms, he stood for a while until the mail was far away and the night was very still, before he turned and started down the hill.

"Your front legs are almost gone after the run from the Law Society to here. I need to reassure you first," said the hoarse courier, glancing at his horse. "The dead are back!" That's extraordinary news, and it's too bad for you, Jerry!I say Jerry!You're in for some bad luck if the resurrection of the dead catches on, Jerry!

(End of this chapter)