Flying Colours

“Excellent!” said the Count, when this had been translated and expurgated for him. “And yet I ca

“Yes,” said Hornblower. “Unless we could avoid all contact with police officers.”

“That is quite impossible,” said the Count with decision. “In this French Empire there are police officers everywhere. To travel you will need horses certainly, a carriage very probably. In a journey of a hundred leagues horses and a carriage will bring you for certain to the notice of the police. No man can travel ten miles along a road without having his passport examined.”

The Count pulled in perplexity at his chin; the deep parentheses at the corners of his mobile mouth were more marked than ever.

“I wish,” said Hornblower, “that our boat had not been destroyed last night. On the river, perhaps—”

The idea came up into his mind fully formed and as it did so his eyes met the Count’s. He was conscious afresh of a strange sympathy between him and the Count. The same idea was forming in the Count’s mind, simultaneously—it was not the first time that he had noticed a similar phenomenon.

“Of course!” said the Count, “the river! How foolish of me not to think of it. As far as Orleans the river is u

“U

“There is no commercial traffic. There are fishermen’s boats here and there, and there are a few others engaged in dredging sand from the river bed. That is all. From Orleans to Nantes Bonaparte has been making efforts to render the river available to barges, but I understand he has had small success. And above Briare the new lateral canal carries all the traffic, and the river is deserted.”

“But could we descend it, sir?” persisted Hornblower.

“Oh, yes,” said the Count, meditatively. “You could do so in summer in a small rowing boat. There are many places where it would be difficult, but never dangerous.”

“In summer!” exclaimed Hornblower.

“Why, yes. You must wait until the lieutenant here is well, and then you must build your boat—I suppose you sailors can build your own boat? You ca

This was something entirely unexpected, this prospect of waiting for four months the opportunity to start. Hornblower was taken by surprise; he had supposed that a few days, three or four weeks at most, would see them on their way towards England again. For ten years he had never been as long as four months consecutively in the same place—for that matter during those ten years he had hardly spent four months on shore altogether. His mind sought unavailingly for alternatives. To go by road undoubtedly would involve horses, carriages, contact with all sorts of people. He could not hope to bring Bush and Brown successfully through. And if they went by river they obviously would have to wait; in four months Bush could be expected to make a complete recovery, and with the coming of summer they would be able to dispense with the shelter of i

“If you have fishing rods with you,” supplemented the Count, “anyone observing you as you go past the towns will look on you as a fishing party out for the day. For some reason which I ca

Hornblower nodded. It was odd that at that very moment he too had been visualizing the boat drifting downstream, with rods out, watched by incurious eyes from the bank. It was the safest way of crossing France which he could imagine.

And yet—April? His child would be born. Lady Barbara might have forgotten that he ever existed.

“It seems monstrous,” he said, “that you should be burdened with us all through the winter.”

“I assure you, Captain, your presence will give the greatest pleasure both to Madame la Vicomtesse and myself.”

He could only yield to circumstances.

Chapter Nine

Lieutenant Bush was watching Brown fastening the last strap of his new wooden leg, and Hornblower, from across the room, was watching the pair of them.

“’Vast heaving,” said Bush. “Belay.”

Bush sat on the edge of his bed and moved his leg tentatively.

“Good,” he said. “Give me your shoulder. Now, heave and wake the dead.”

Hornblower saw Bush rise and stand; he watched his lieutenant’s expression change to one of hurt wonderment as he clung to Brown’s burly shoulders.

“God!” said Bush feebly, “how she heaves!”

It was the giddiness only to be expected after weeks of lying and sitting. Evidently to Bush the floor was pitching and tossing, and, judging by the movement of his eyes, the walls were circling round him. Brown stood patiently supporting him as Bush confronted this unexpected phenomenon. Hornblower saw Bush set his jaw, his expression hardening as he battled with his weakness.

“Square away,” said Bush to Brown. “Set a course for the captain.”

Brown began walking slowly towards Hornblower, Bush clinging to him, the leather-tipped end of the wooden leg falling with a thump on the floor at each effort to take a stride with it—Bush was swinging it too high, while his sound leg sagged at the knee in its weakness.

“God!” said Bush again. “Easy! Easy!”

Hornblower rose in time to catch him and to lower him into the chair, where Bush sat and gasped. His big white face, already u

“Take a rest,” said Hornblower, “before you start again.”

Desperately anxious as Bush had been to walk, weary as he was of helplessness, there were times during the next few days when Hornblower had to give him active encouragement while he was learning to walk. All the difficulties that arose had been unforeseen by him, and depressed him out of proportion to their importance. It was a matter of some days before he mastered his giddiness and weakness, and then as soon as he was able to use the wooden leg effectively they found all ma