“Ee, man, you know little about boats,” said the lock‑keeper’s wife, and Hornblower’s ears burned with embarrassment. He thought of the examination he had passed in navigation and seamanship; he thought of how often he had tacked a monstrous ship of the line in heavy weather. That experience was not of much use to him here in inland Gloucestershire — or perhaps it was Oxfordshire by now and in any case the lock was empty, the gates opening, the towlines tightening, and he had to leap down six feet or more in a hurry into the already moving stern, remembering to take the stern‑line down with him. He managed it, clumsily as ever, and he heard the lock‑keeper’s wife’s hearty laugh as he glided on below her; and she said something more, too, but he could pay no attention to it, as he had to grab for the tiller and steer the hurrying boat out under the bridge. And when he had first paid for their passages he had pictured to himself the leisurely life of the canal boatman!
And, heavens and earth! Here was Maria beside him having made her way aft through the second‑class cabin.
“How can you let these people be so insolent to you, dear?” she was asking. “Why don’t you tell them who you are?”
“My dear —” began Hornblower, and then stopped.
If Maria could not see the incongruity of a naval captain mishandling a canal boat it was hopeless to argue. Besides, he had no attention to spare for her, not with those cantering horses whisking the Queen Charlotte along like this.
“And this all seems very unnecessary, dear,” went on Maria. “Why should you demean yourself like this? Is there all this need for haste?”
Hornblower took the boat round a bend — he congratulated himself that he was getting the feel of the tiller now.
“Why don’t you answer me?” went on Maria. “And I have our dinner waiting for us, and little Horatio —”
She was like the voice of conscience — for that matter that was exactly what she was.
“Maria,” snapped Hornblower. “Get for’rard! Get for’rard, I say. Go back to the cabin.”
“But, my dear —”
“Get for’rard!”
Hornblower roared this out — here was another barge approaching and he could spare no time for the niceties of married life.
“You are very heartless,” said Maria, “and in my condition, too.”
Heartless, maybe, but certainly preoccupied. Hornblower pulled the tiller over, and Maria put her handkerchief to her eyes and flounced — as much of a flounce as was possible to her as she was — back into the second class cabin again. The Queen Charlotte shot neatly down the gap between the barge and the towpath, and Hornblower could actually spare enough attention to acknowledge with a wave of his hand the greeting of the bargee’s wife. He had time, too, now, for a prick of conscience about his treatment of Maria, but only a momentary one. He still had to steer the boat.
Chapter II
There was still plenty of daylight when they came out into the Thames valley and Hornblower, looking down to starboard, could see the infant river — not such an infant at its winter level — running below. Every turn and every lock brought the canal nearer to the stream, and at last they reached Inglesham, with Lechlade church steeple in view ahead, and the junction with the river. At Inglesham lock Jenkins left his horses and came back to speak to Hornblower.
“There’s three staunches on the river next that we have to run, sir,” he said.
Hornblower had no idea what a staunch was, and he very much wanted to know before he had to “run” them, but at the same time he did not want to admit ignorance. Jenkins may have been tactful enough to sense his difficulty; at least he gave an explanation.
“They’re dams across the river, sir,” he told Hornblower. “At this time o’ year, with plenty of water, some o’ the paddles are kept out for good, at the towpath end o’ the staunch. There’s a fall o’ five or six feet.”
“Five or six feet?” repeated Hornblower, startled.