“I wish,” said Hornblower, “that our boat had not been destroyed last night. On the river, perhaps —”
The idea came up into his mind fully formed and as it did so his eyes met the Count’s. He was conscious afresh of a strange sympathy between him and the Count. The same idea was forming in the Count’s mind, simultaneously — it was not the first time that he had noticed a similar phenomenon.
“Of course!” said the Count, “the river! How foolish of me not to think of it. As far as Orleans the river is unnavigable; because of the winter floods the banks are practically deserted save at the towns, and there are few of those, which you could pass at night if necessary, as you did at Nevers.”
“Unnavigable, sir?”
“There is no commercial traffic. There are fishermen’s boats here and there, and there are a few others engaged in dredging sand from the river bed. That is all. From Orleans to Nantes Bonaparte has been making efforts to render the river available to barges, but I understand he has had small success. And above Briare the new lateral canal carries all the traffic, and the river is deserted.”
“But could we descend it, sir?” persisted Hornblower.
“Oh, yes,” said the Count, meditatively. “You could do so in summer in a small rowing boat. There are many places where it would be difficult, but never dangerous.”
“In summer!” exclaimed Hornblower.
“Why, yes. You must wait until the lieutenant here is well, and then you must build your boat — I suppose you sailors can build your own boat? You cannot hope to start for a long time. And then in January the river usually freezes, and in February come the floods, which last until March. Nothing could live on the river then — especially as it would be too cold and wet for you. It seems to be quite necessary that you should give me the pleasure of your company until April, Captain.”
This was something entirely unexpected, this prospect of waiting for four months the opportunity to start. Hornblower was taken by surprise; he had supposed that a few days, three or four weeks at most, would see them on their way towards England again. For ten years he had never been as long as four months consecutively in the same place — for that matter during those ten years he had hardly spent four months on shore altogether. His mind sought unavailingly for alternatives. To go by road undoubtedly would involve horses, carriages, contact with all sorts of people. He could not hope to bring Bush and Brown successfully through. And if they went by river they obviously would have to wait; in four months Bush could be expected to make a complete recovery, and with the coming of summer they would be able to dispense with the shelter of inns or houses, sleeping on the river bank, avoiding all intercourse with Frenchmen, drifting downstream until they reached the sea.
“If you have fishing rods with you,” supplemented the Count, “anyone observing you as you go past the towns will look on you as a fishing party out for the day. For some reason which I cannot fully analyse a fresh water fisherman can never be suspected of evil intent — except possibly by the fish.”
Hornblower nodded. It was odd that at that very moment he too had been visualizing the boat drifting downstream, with rods out, watched by incurious eyes from the bank. It was the safest way of crossing France which he could imagine.
And yet — April? His child would be born. Lady Barbara might have forgotten that he ever existed.
“It seems monstrous,” he said, “that you should be burdened with us all through the winter.”
“I assure you, Captain, your presence will give the greatest pleasure both to Madame la Vicomtesse and myself.”
He could only yield to circumstances.
CHAPTER NINE
Lieutenant Bush was watching Brown fastening the last strap of his new wooden leg, and Hornblower, from across the room, was watching the pair of them.
“‘Vast heaving,” said Bush. “Belay.”
Bush sat on the edge of his bed and moved his leg tentatively.