The sun had broken through the mist now, and was shining at them almost level over the ridge on their right hand; the river’s surface still steamed a little. Certainly it was going to be a hot day. And then they saw what they were seeking, a small farm and outbuildings sheltering below the ridge and above the water’s edge. It stood bold and black against the mist with the sun on it. The instinct of war made them wheel instantly into a low basin screened by willows, and dismount for concealment.
“Shall I go ahead, my lord?” asked Brown.
Perhaps it was his way of keeping himself sane, thus to speak formally and with the bearing of the good servant.
“Yes, go on,” said Hornblower.
Hornblower edged himself forward to a position of advantage whence he could watch Brown carefully worm his way towards the farm. If there were troops anywhere near, they would be quartered here. But then, on the other hand, at this time in the morning troops would be moving about round the outbuildings, and not a uniformed man was visible. A young woman made her appearance, and then an old man, while Hornblower watched. And then he saw something else, something which made him choke with anticipation and hope. Lying on the rocky bank of the river, at the water’s edge below the farm, was a boat — the outline was unmistakable. The young woman was on her way towards the vineyard above the farm, when Brown, concealed in the ditch, attracted her attention. Hornblower saw the two in conversation, saw Brown rise to his feet, and walk towards the building. A minute later he appeared again and waved an arm to tell them all was well. They mounted, and with Marie leading Brown’s horse and Hornblower leading the spare they trotted down to the farm. Brown awaited them, his pistol handy in his belt, and the old man stared at them as they dismounted. They were something to stare at, Hornblower realised, dirty and bedraggled and unshaven. Marie looked like a beggar’s wench.
“The Frogs were here yesterday, my lord,” said Brown. “Cavalry, the same Hussars as we beat last week, as far as I can make out. But they left early yesterday morning.”
“Very good,” said Hornblower. “Let’s get the boat launched.”
“The boat!” exclaimed the old man, staring at them. “The boat!”
“Why do you say that?” asked Hornblower sharply, wondering with a pang what fresh blow Fate had to deal him.
“Look at the boat!” said the old man.
They walked down towards it. Someone with an axe had struck it four powerful blows; in four different places the bottom was smashed in.
“The Hussars did that,” piped the old man, dwelling on the horrid details with zest. “‘Smash that boat’ said the officer, so they smashed it.”
The troops had been as fully aware, of course, as Hornblower had been of the importance of keeping the river barred. They had taken all the precautions they could think of to prevent unauthorised persons crossing. That was why Marie’s ford would have been invaluable if they had been able to cross it yesterday.
It was a staggering blow; Hornblower looked out over the raging river and the fields and vineyards warm in the young day. Marie and the Count were waiting for a decision from him.
“We can make that boat float,” said Hornblower. “The oars are still here. Two empty kegs fastened under the thwarts — there’ll be kegs to be found here, seeing they make wine. We can patch a little, stuff the holes, and with the kegs to keep her afloat we’ll cross all right. Brown, you and I had better get it done.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said Brown. “There’ll be tools in the wagon shed yonder.”
It was necessary to guard against surprise; the repair work on the boat would take some hours.
“Marie,” said Hornblower.
“Yes, ‘Oratio?”
“Ride up above the vineyard there. Keep a watch on the highroad. Remember to keep yourself and your horse hidden.”
“Yes, ‘Oratio.”
Simply ‘Yes, ‘Oratio’, as Hornblower realised a moment later. Any other woman would have made it clear by word or intonation that the last sentence of his instructions was superfluous to someone who had learned her job. As it was she mounted and rode off in simple obedience. Hornblower caught the Count’s eye. He wanted to tell him to rest — the Count’s face was as grey as the stubble that grew thick on his cheeks — but he refrained from brutally saying so. It was necessary to keep the Count in good spirits, and that was not the way to do so.