“Don’t let that fellow be so rude to you, Horatio,” said Maria from the cabin. “Can’t you stop him?”
“Not so easy, dear,” replied Hornblower. “It’s he who’s captain of this craft, and I’m only a passenger.”
“Well, if you can’t stop him, come in here where he can’t be rude to you.”
“Yes, my dear, in a minute.”
Hornblower chose to risk the jeers of the boatman rather than miss looking round him; this was the best opportunity he had had of watching the working of the canals which in the last thirty years had changed the economic face of England. And not far ahead was Sapperton Tunnel, the engineering marvel of the age, the greatest achievement of the new science. He certainly wanted to see that. Let the steersman laugh his head off if he wanted to. He must be an old sailor, discharged as disabled by the loss of his hand. It must be a wonderful experience for him to have a naval captain under his command.
The grey stone tower of a lock‑house showed ahead, with the minute figure of the lock‑keeper opening the gates. A yell from the postillion-boatman checked the speed of the horses; the boat glided on, its speed diminishing greatly as the bows slid off the bow wave. As the boat entered the lock the one‑handed steersman leaped ashore with a line which he flipped dexterously round a bollard; a smart tug or two took most of the way off the boat, and the boatman, running forward, secured the line to another bollard.
“Heave us that line, Captain,” he cried, and Hornblower obediently threw up the bow line for him to secure forward. The law of the sea applied equally in inland waters — the ship first and personal dignity a long way second.
Already the lock‑keeper was closing the gates behind them and the lock‑keeper’s wife was opening the paddles of the upper gate, the water swirling in. The lower gates closed with a crash with the mounting pressure, and the boat rose with the gurgling water. The horses were changed in a twinkling; the postillion scrambled into his saddle, and proceeded to tilt a black bottle against his lips during the remaining few seconds while the lock filled. The steersman was casting off the lines — Hornblower took the bow‑line from him — and the lock‑keeper’s wife was thrusting at one upper gate while the lock‑keeper, running up from the lower gate, thrust at the other. The postillion yelled and cracked his whip, the boat sprang forward while the helmsman leaped to his place astern, and they were off again with not a second wasted. Assuredly this canal traffic was a miracle of modernity, and it was gratifying to be on board the very fastest of the canal boats, the Queen Charlotte, that took priority over all other traffic. On her bow she carried a glittering scythe‑blade as the proud symbol of her superior importance. It would sever the towline of any approaching boat which did not drop her line quickly enough to let her through. The two score of farmers’ wives and wenches who sat aft in the second class with their chickens and ducks and eggs and butter were all of them travelling as much as twenty miles to market, in the confident expectation of returning the same day. Quite astonishing.
Here, as they climbed to the summit level, lock succeeded lock at frequent intervals, and at each the postillion held his black bottle to his lips, and his yells to his horses became more raucous and his whip-cracking more continuous. Hornblower obediently handed the bow‑line at each lock, despite Maria’s urgings to the contrary.
“My dear,” said Hornblower, “we save time if I do.”
“But it isn’t right,” said Maria. “He knows you’re a captain in the Navy.”
“He knows it too well,” said Hornblower with a lopsided smile. “And after all I have a command to take up.”
“As if it couldn’t wait,” snorted Maria.
It was hard to make Maria understand that to a captain his command was all in all, that he wished to lose not an hour, not a minute, in his journey to assume command of his sloop of war in London River; he was yearning to see what Atropos was like, with the mingled hope and apprehension that might be expected of an Oriental bridegroom affianced to a veiled bride — that was not a simile that it would be wise to mention to Maria, though.