Maria sighed and turned herself on the bench; Hornblower crept down to her to rearrange the heavy coat over her body.
Chapter III
At Brentford, in the early light of the winter’s morning, it was cold and damp and gloomy. Little Horatio whimpered ceaselessly; Maria was uncomfortable and weary, as she stood beside Hornblower while her trunk and Hornblower’s two sea chests were being hoisted out of the boat.
“Is it far to Deptford, my dear?” she asked.
“Far enough,” said Hornblower; between Brentford and Deptford lay the whole extent of London and much more beside, while the river on which they were to travel wound sinuously in wide curves, backwards and forwards. And they had arrived late, and the tide would barely serve.
The wherrymen were soliciting for his custom.
“Boat, sir? Sculls, sir? Oars, sir?”
“Oars,” said Hornblower.
It cost twice as much for a wherry rowed by two oarsmen as for one rowed by a single man with sculls, but with the ebbing tide it was worth it. Hornblower helped Maria and the baby down into the stern‑sheets and looked on while the baggage was handed down.
“Right, Bill. Give way,” said stroke‑oar, and the wherry shot away from the slip out on to the grey river.
“Ooh,” said Maria, a little afraid.
The oars ground in the rowlocks, the boat danced on the choppy water
“They say the old King’s fair mazed, sir, at Lord Nelson’s death,” said stroke, with a jerk of his hand towards Kew, across the river. “That’s where he lives, sir. In the Palace there.”
“Yes,” said Hornblower; in no mood to discuss the King or Lord Nelson or anyone else.
The wind was brisk and westerly; had it been easterly the river would have been far more choppy, and their progress would be delayed, so there was something at least to be said in favour of this grey world.
“Easy, ‘Arry,” said bow, and the wherry began to round the bend.
“Hush, baby. Don’t you like the nasty boat?” said Maria to little Horatio, who was making it plain that Maria had guessed at the truth of the matter.
“Nipper’s cold, likely,” volunteered stroke.
“I think he is,” agreed Maria.
The boatman and Maria fell into conversation, to Hornblower’s relief; he could immerse himself in his thoughts then, in his hopes and his apprehensions — the latter predominating — about his ship that awaited him down river. It would only be an hour or two before he would go on board. Ship, officers sad crew were an unknown to him.
“The Dook lives there, ma’am,” said the boatman, through little Horatio’s yells, “an’ you can see the Bishop’s Palace through the trees.”
This was Maria’s first visit to London; it was convenient that they should have a loquacious boatman.
“See the pretty houses,” said Maria, dancing‑the baby in her arms. “Look at the pretty boats.”
The houses were getting thicker and thicker; they shot bridge after bridge, and the boat traffic on the river was growing dense, and suddenly Hornblower became aware they were at London’s edge.
“Westminster, ma’am,” said the boatman. “I used to ply on the ferry here until they built the bridge. A ha’penny toll took the bread out of the mouths of many an honest boatman then.”
“I should think so, indeed,” said Maria, sympathetically. By now she had forgotten the dignity of her position as a captain’s wife.
“White’all Steps, ma’am, and that ‘ere’s the Strand.”
Hornblower had taken boat to Whitehall Steps often during those bitter days of half‑pay when he was soliciting employment from the Admiralty.
“St Paul’s, ma’am.”
Now they were really within the City of London. Hornblower could smell the smoke of the coal fires.
“Easy, ‘Arry,” said bow again, looking back over his shoulder. Boats, lighters, and barges covered the surface of the river, and there was London Bridge ahead of them.
“Give way, ‘ard,” said bow, and the two oarsmen pulled desperately through a gap in the traffic above the bridge. Through the narrow arches the tide ran fast; the river was piled up above the constriction of the bridge. They shot down through the narrow opening.
“Goodness!” said Maria.
And here was the greatest port in the world; ships at anchor, ships discharging cargo, with only the narrowest channel down the centre. North country collier brigs, Ramsgate trawlers, coasters, grain ships, with the grey tower looking down on them.