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his face and voice； that he had never tasted wine that seemed to
him so sweet and sound。 And long afterwards； the Bottle graced his
table。 And the last time I saw him in this world that misses him；
he took me aside in a crowd； to say； with his amiable smile： 'We
were talking of you only to…day at dinner； and I wished you had
been there； for I had some Claret up in Carlavero's Bottle。'
CHAPTER XVIII … THE CALAIS NIGHT MAIL
It is an unsettled question with me whether I shall leave Calais
something handsome in my will； or whether I shall leave it my
malediction。 I hate it so much； and yet I am always so very glad
to see it； that I am in a state of constant indecision on this
subject。 When I first made acquaintance with Calais； it was as a
maundering young wretch in a clammy perspiration and dripping
saline particles； who was conscious of no extremities but the one
great extremity； sea…sickness … who was a mere bilious torso； with
a mislaid headache somewhere in its stomach … who had been put into
a horrible swing in Dover Harbour； and had tumbled giddily out of
it on the French coast； or the Isle of Man； or anywhere。 Times
have changed； and now I enter Calais self…reliant and rational。 I
know where it is beforehand； I keep a look out for it； I recognise
its landmarks when I see any of them； I am acquainted with its
ways； and I know … and I can bear … its worst behaviour。
Malignant Calais！ Low…lying alligator； evading the eyesight and
discouraging hope！ Dodging flat streak； now on this bow； now on
that； now anywhere； now everywhere； now nowhere！ In vain Cape
Grinez； coming frankly forth into the sea； exhorts the failing to
be stout of heart and stomach： sneaking Calais； prone behind its
bar； invites emetically to despair。 Even when it can no longer
quite conceal itself in its muddy dock； it has an evil way of
falling off； has Calais； which is more hopeless than its
invisibility。 The pier is all but on the bowsprit； and you think
you are there … roll； roar； wash！ … Calais has retired miles
inland； and Dover has burst out to look for it。 It has a last dip
and slide in its character； has Calais； to be especially commanded
to the infernal gods。 Thrice accursed be that garrison…town； when
it dives under the boat's keel； and comes up a league or two to the
right； with the packet shivering and spluttering and staring about
for it！
Not but what I have my animosities towards Dover。 I particularly
detest Dover for the self…complacency with which it goes to bed。
It always goes to bed （when I am going to Calais） with a more
brilliant display of lamp and candle than any other town。 Mr。 and
Mrs。 Birmingham； host and hostess of the Lord Warden Hotel； are my
much esteemed friends； but they are too conceited about the
comforts of that establishment when the Night Mail is starting。 I
know it is a good house to stay at； and I don't want the fact
insisted upon in all its warm bright windows at such an hour。 I
know the Warden is a stationary edifice that never rolls or
pitches； and I object to its big outline seeming to insist upon
that circumstance； and； as it were； to come over me with it； when I
am reeling on the deck of the boat。 Beshrew the Warden likewise；
for obstructing that corner； and making the wind so angry as it
rushes round。 Shall I not know that it blows quite soon enough；
without the officious Warden's interference？
As I wait here on board the night packet； for the South…Eastern
Train to come down with the Mail； Dover appears to me to be
illuminated for some intensely aggravating festivity in my personal
dishonour。 All its noises smack of taunting praises of the land；
and dispraises of the gloomy sea； and of me for going on it。 The
drums upon the heights have gone to bed； or I know they would
rattle taunts against me for having my unsteady footing on this
slippery deck。 The many gas eyes of the Marine Parade twinkle in
an offensive manner； as if with derision。 The distant dogs of
Dover bark at me in my misshapen wrappers； as if I were Richard the
Third。
A screech； a bell； and two red eyes come gliding down the Admiralty
Pier with a smoothness of motion rendered more smooth by the
heaving of the boat。 The sea makes noises against the pier； as if
several hippopotami were lapping at it； and were prevented by
circumstances over which they had no control from drinking
peaceably。 We； the boat； become violently agitated … rumble； hum；
scream； roar； and establish an immense family washing…day at each
paddle…box。 Bright patches break out in the train as the doors of
the post…office vans are opened； and instantly stooping figures
with sacks upon their backs begin to be beheld among the piles；
descending as it would seem in ghostly procession to Davy Jones's
Locker。 The passengers come on board； a few shadowy Frenchmen；
with hatboxes shaped like the stoppers of gigantic case…bottles； a
few shadowy Germans in immense fur coats and boots； a few shadowy
Englishmen prepared for the worst and pretending not to expect it。
I cannot disguise from my uncommercial mind the miserable fact that
we are a body of outcasts； that the attendants on us are as scant
in number as may serve to get rid of us with the least possible
delay； that there are no night…loungers interested in us； that the
unwilling lamps shiver and shudder at us； that the sole object is
to commit us to the deep and abandon us。 Lo； the two red eyes
glaring in increasing distance； and then the very train itself has
gone to bed before we are off！
What is the moral support derived by some sea…going amateurs from
an umbrella？ Why do certain voyagers across the Channel always put
up that article； and hold it up with a grim and fierce tenacity？ A
fellow…creature near me … whom I only know to BE a fellow…creature；
because of his umbrella： without which he might be a dark bit of
cliff； pier； or bulkbead … clutches that instrument with a
desperate grasp； that will not relax until he lands at Calais。 Is
there any analogy； in certain constitutions； between keeping an
umbrella up； and keeping the spirits up？ A hawser thrown on board
with a flop replies 'Stand by！' 'Stand by； below！' 'Half a turn a
head！' 'Half a turn a head！' 'Half speed！' 'Half speed！'
'Port！' 'Port！' 'Steady！' 'Steady！' 'Go on！' 'Go on！'
A stout wooden wedge driven in at my right temple and out at my
left； a floating deposit of lukewarm oil in my throat； and a
compression of the bridge of my nose in a blunt pair of pincers； …
these are the personal sensations by which I know we are off； and
by which I shall continue to know it until I am on the soil of
France。 My symptoms have scarcely established themselves
comfortably； when two or three skating shadows that have been
trying to walk or stand； get flung together； and other two or three
shadows in tarpaulin slide with them into corners and cover them
up。 Then the South Forela