“We shall need your help, sir, soon,” he said. “Can we call on you when it is needed?”
“Of course,” said the Count.
Brown appeared with barrel staves, hammer, and nails, some lengths of cord.
“Excellent!” said Hornblower.
Feverishly they went to work on the boat. In two places both strakes and frames were smashed. To patch the holes was a comparatively simple matter, but the broken frames presented a more difficult problem. To cross that fast current they would have to row vigorously, and the boat might buckle under the strain. The simplest way to stiffen it would be to strengthen the strakes with one or two diagonal thicknesses of new planking.
“When we turn her over we’ll see how she looks,” said Hornblower.
The hammers rang out as they drove the nails home and clinched them. Hornblower thought of the lusty tugs on the oars necessary to drive the boat through those turbulent waters. Both longitudinally and transversely the strain on the fabric would be severe. They worked furiously. The old man hovered round them. He expected the Hussars back again at any moment, he said — they were constantly patrolling along the river bank. He told them this with that seeming delight in calamity that distinguished his type.
And he had hardly repeated his warning when the sound of hoofs caused them to look up from their work; it was Marie, pushing her horse down the slope as hard as it would move.
“Hussars!” she said briefly. “Coming along the main road from the south. Twenty of them, I should think.”
It did not seem possible that Fate could be as unkind as she appeared to be. Another hour’s work would see the boat ready to float.
“They’ll come down here,” said the old man gloatingly. “They always do.”
Once more it was a matter for instant decision.
“We must ride off and hide,” said Hornblower. “Nothing else for it. Come on.”
“But the repairs on the boat, sir? They’ll see ’em,” said Brown.
“They were only a mile away,” said Marie. “They’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Come on,” said Hornblower. “Count, please get on your horse.”
“Tell the Hussars if they come it was you who was making these repairs,” said Brown to the old man. Brown thrust his shaggy face close to the wrinkled one.
“Come along, Brown,” said Hornblower.
They rode back to the hollow place where they had hidden themselves before. They tethered the horses to the willows, and crawled back among the rocks to watch. They had hardly settled themselves when a murmur from Marie called their attention to the coming of the Hussars. It was only a small patrol — half a dozen troopers and a non-commissioned officer. The plumed busbies came in sight first, over the ridge, and then the grey jackets. They trotted down the cart-track beside the vineyard to the farm. The old man was waiting for them at the entrance to the courtyard, and the fugitives watched as they reined up and questioned him. There was a catch in Hornblower’s breath as he watched the old man, his face raised to the mounted men, replying to the questions. Hornblower saw the non-commissioned officer lean out of his saddle and take the old man by the breast of his coat and shake him. He knew now they would get the truth out of him. Those threats in Clausen’s proclamation were not empty ones. A single reminder would make the old man talk — he would only hesitate long enough to salve his conscience. The non-commissioned officer shook him again; a trooper apparently idly walked his horse towards the river and the boat and returned at once with the news of the repairs. Now the old man was talking; excitement was infecting the Hussars’ horses, which were moving about restlessly. At a wave from the non-commissioned officer’s hand a trooper set his horse up the slope, clearly to carry word to the remainder of the squadron. The old man was pointing in their direction; the Hussars wheeled their horses about, and, spreading out, began to trot towards them. This was the end.
Hornblower glanced at his companions, who looked back at him. In the flying seconds minds worked quickly. There was no purpose in trying to ride away — the fresh horses of the Hussars would overtake them in an instant. The Count had drawn his pistols and looked to the priming.