'Yes.'
'You wouldn't think a man's body could make that? Mine did: and all those
dark splashes on the plaster are the marks of my blood!'
The poor fellow had been brought within a hair's-breadth of death, and the
long months during which he could do nothing but lie down or sit in a heap
after his accident had, he said, nearly ruined him.
This night, although we had but one room, we had two beds. I lingered at
the open window, and watched the swiftly-running mill-stream a few feet
below. It had an evil sound. Then I felt the bad power that lies in water;
above all, its treachery. Had not this small stream, by lending its
strength to a wheel that turned other wheels, taken up a man as if he
were a feather, and dashed him through a wall? When the morning light and
sunshine returned, the chant of the running water was as soothing as the
song of birds.
We contrived, after infinite torture, to put on our boots again, and then
walked up the hill to the village-like town. Besides the church of mixed
Romanesque and Gothic, there was nothing worth seeing there, unless the
spectacle of a woman holding up a rabbit by the hind-legs, while her
daughter, a tender-hearted damsel of about sixteen, whacked it behind the
ears with a fire-shovel, may be thought improving to the mind. At a shop
where we bought some things, Hugh was deeply offended by a woman who
insisted that some rather small bathing-drawers were large enough for him,
and especially for speaking of him as the _petit garçon_. He talked about
her 'cheek' all the way back to the boat. It was on returning that I
noticed the picturesque charm of our mill, with the old Gothic bridge
adjoining it, a weather-beaten, time-worn stone cross rising from the
parapet. Fresh provisions having been put on board the boat, we wished our
friends of the mill good-bye. They and their children, with about a dozen
neighbours and their children, assembled upon the bank to see us off. A
long line of dancing rapids lay in front of us, so that we were really able
to astonish the people by the speed at which we went away where any boat
of the Dronne would have quickly gone aground. In a few minutes the strong
current had carried us a mile, and then, looking back, we saw the little
crowd still gazing at us. A turn of the stream, and they had lost sight of
us for ever.
Under the next mill-dam was some deep water free from reeds and weeds. On
the banks were tall trees; behind us was the rocky weir, over which the
stream fell in a thousand little rivulets and runnels, and less than a
hundred yards in front rose the seemingly impenetrable reedy forest. The
spot so enclosed had a quiet beauty that would have been holy in days gone
by when the mind of man peopled such solitudes with fluvial deities. Here
the desire to swim became irresistible. What a swim it was! The water was
only cold enough to be refreshing, while its transparency was such that
even where it was eight or ten feet deep every detail could be seen along
the gravelly bottom, where the gudgeons gambolled. After the bath we
paddled until we saw a very shady meadow-corner close to the water. Here
we spread out upon the grass eggs that had been boiled for us at the mill,
bread, cheese, grapes, and pears, and what other provisions we had. Now and
again the wind carried to us the sound of water turning some hidden, lazy
wheel. Those who would prefer a well-served lunch in a comfortable room to
our simple meal in the meadow-corner under the rustling leaves should never
go on a voyage down the Dronne.
Some time in the afternoon we came to a broad weir that was rather
difficult to pass, for there was no water running over, and a dense
vegetation had sprung up during the summer between the rough stones. The
miller saw us from the other end of his dam, which was a rather long way
off, for these weirs do not cross at right angles with the banks, but
start at a very obtuse one at a point far above the mill. After a little
hesitation, inspired by doubtfulness as to what manner of beings we were,
he came towards us over the stones and through the water-plants with a
bog-trotting movement which we, who had scraped most of the skin off our
own bare ankles, quite understood.
He was a rough but good fellow, and he lent us a helping hand, which was
needed, for every time we lifted the boat now it seemed heavier than it
was before. The hard work was telling upon us. The sound of voices caused
another head to appear on the scene. It came up from the other side of the
weir, and it was a cunning old head, with sharp little eyes under bushy
gray brows, overhanging like penthouses. Presently the body followed the
head, and the old man began to talk to the miller in patois, but failing,
apparently, to make any impression upon him, he addressed me in very bad
French.
'Why give yourselves the devil's trouble,' said he,' in pulling the
boat over here, when there is a beautiful place at the other end of the
_barrage_, where you can go down with the current? The water is a bit
jumpy, but there is nothing to fear.'
For a moment I hesitated, but I saw the miller shake his head; and this
decided me to cross at the spot where we were. The old man looked on with
an expression that was not benevolent, and when the boat was ready to be
dropped on the other side, the motive of his anxiety to send us down a
waterfall came out. He had spread a long net here in amongst the reeds, and
he did not wish us to spoil his fishing.
When we got below the mill we saw the water that was not wanted for the
wheel, tumbling in fury down a steep, narrow channel, in which were set
various poles and cross-beams. And it was down this villainous _diversoir_
that the old rascal would have sent us, knowing that we should have come to
grief there. The boat would almost certainly have struck some obstacle and
been overturned by the current.
Sometimes people rushed from the fields where they were working to the
banks to watch us. Dark men, with bare chests, and as hairy as monkeys;
women, likewise a good deal bare, with heads covered by great sun-bonnets,
and children burnt by the sun to the colour of young Arabs, stood and gazed
speechless with astonishment. Who were we in this strange-looking boat that
went so fast, and whence had we come? They knew that we must have come a
long, long way; but, how did we do it? How did we get over the _barrages_?
These were the thoughts that puzzled them. No boat had ever been known to
treat the obstacles of the Dronne in this jaunty fashion before.
Several more weirs were passed; one with great difficulty, for the canoe
had to be dragged and jolted thirty or forty yards through the corner of a
wood. Then the evening fell again when we were following the windings of a
swift current that ran now to the right and now to the left of what seemed
to be a broad marsh covered with reeds and sedges. Sometimes the current
carried us into banks gloomy with drooping alders, or densely fringed with
brambles. When I heard squeals behind, I knew that Hugh was diving through
a blackberry-bush, or a hanging garden of briars.
I was sorry for him; but my business was to keep the canoe's head in the
centre of the current, and leave the stern to follow as it might. At every
sudden turning Hugh became exceedingly watchful; but in spite of his
steering the stern would often swing round into the bank, and then there
was nothing for him to do but to duck his head as low as he could, and try
to leave as little as possible of his ears upon the brambles. Before the
end of this day he gave signs of restlessness and discontent.
Our stopping-place to-night was to be La Roche Chalais, a rather important
village, just within the department of the Dordogne. We still seemed to be
far from it, notwithstanding all the haste we had made. While the air and
water were glowing with the last flush of twilight, myriads of swallows,
already on their passage from the north, spotted the clear sky, and settled
down upon the alders to pass the night. At our approach they rose again,
and filled the solitude with the whirr of their wings. We likewise
disturbed from the alders great multitudes of sparrows that had become
gregarious. They stayed in the trees until the boat was about twenty yards
from them, and then rose with the noise of a storm-wind beating the leaves.
One of the charms of this waterfaring is, that you never know what surprise
the angle of a river may bring. Very tired, and rather down at heart, we
turned a bend and saw in front of us a clear placid reach, on which the
reds and purples were serenely dying, and at a distance of about half a
mile, a fine bridge with the large central arch forming with its reflection
in the water a perfect ellipse.
On the left of the bridge was a wooded cliff, the edges of the trees
vaguely passing into one another and the purple mist, and above them all,
against the warmly-fading sky was the spire of a church. That, said I, can
be no other than the church of La Roche Chalais; and so it turned out.
There was a large mill below the bridge, where we met with much politeness,
and where our boat was taken charge of. Here we were told there was a good
hotel at La Roche, and we set off to find it. But how did we set off?
With bare feet, carrying our boots in our hands, and looking the veriest
scarecrows after our four days of amphibious life. We had tried to put on
our boots, but vainly, for they had been flooded. Now, this was the chief
cause of the unpleasantness that soon befell us, for no pilgrims ever had
more disgraceful-looking feet than ours. Fortunately it was nearly dark,
and the people whom we met did not examine us very attentively. Moreover,
they saw bare feet on the road and in the street every day of their lives
during the summer.
At the inn, however, our appearance made an instantaneously bad impression.
It was the most important hotel in a considerable district. It lay in the
beat of many commercial travellers--men who never go about with bare
feet, or in dirty flannel and battered straw hats, but are always dressed
beautifully. We walked straight into the house, with that perfect composure
which the French say is distinctly British, and sudden consternation fell
upon the people there. Two elderly ladies, sister hotel-keepers--one of
whom had a rather strongly-marked moustache, for which, of course, poor
woman, she was not responsible--came out of the kitchen, and stood in the
passage fronting us. It was not to welcome us to their hostelry, but to
prevent us penetrating any farther, that they took up this position.
'Mesdames,' said I, 'we want rooms, if you please, to-night, and also
dinner.'
'Monsieur,' replied the lady with the moustache, 'I am sorry, but--but--all
our rooms are occupied.'
'You are afraid of us, madame?'
'Yes, monsieur, I am.'
This I thought very frank indeed; and I was turning over in my mind what I
had better say next, when she continued:
'We never take travellers without baggage.'
'But,' said I, holding out my knapsack in one hand, and my boots in the
other, 'I have baggage.' Perceiving that the expression did not change, I
added:
'I have also a boat.'
'A boat!'
'Yes, a boat.'
'Where is it?'
'On the river. I have left it at the mill just below here. We have come
from St. Apre.'
'St. Apre! And where are you going?'
'To Coutras, I hope.'
By this time several persons who had collected in the passage and the
kitchen were grinning from ear to ear. I felt that all eyes were fixed upon
my red feet, and not liking the situation, I resolved to end it.
'As you are afraid, I will give you my card.' So saying, I pushed my way
into the _salle à manger_, and pulled out a card, which, marvellous to
say, I had managed to keep dry. Now, the card itself conveyed nothing of
importance to anybody. It was the manner of saying, 'I will give you my
card,' together with the movement that meant, 'I am here, and I intend to
stop,' that broke down the resolution of the two women to turn us from
their door.
Their confidence gradually came, and they gave us a very good dinner,
notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. We had comfortable beds, too, and
the next morning we got our feet into our boots. We bought our provisions
for the day at the inn, and to avoid the curiosity of the natives, we
escaped by a back way, and hobbled down to the boat through a rocky field.
The stream was strong for a few miles below the mill at La Roche. The canoe
went down by itself fast enough, but the water had to be watched carefully,
for the bed was strewn with rocks. Sometimes we shot over blocks of
limestone that were only three or four inches below the surface. We could
not be sure from one minute to another that our rapid flight would not
meet with a sudden check. In this excitement of uncertainty there was true
pleasure. We chose our first spot for bathing where the current was strong,
and had our second swim in a wide and beautiful pool, where the table-like
rocks, smooth and polished, could be seen ten or twelve feet below the
surface. Then having spread out our provisions once more on the river bank
in a nook that seemed to be far from village, or even homestead, we had an
unpleasant surprise. About a dozen boys, on their way home from some hidden
school, suddenly appeared round a wooded corner, and after being brought to
a momentary standstill by their own astonishment, made straight towards
us. Having examined the canoe with much curiosity, they sat down in a
half-circle just behind us, with minds evidently made up to wait and see us
off. They watched us through our meal with much interest, and made jokes in
patois at our expense. They were not, however, so boldly bad as many boys,
and there was no sufficient reason to drive them away. Moreover, they may
have had a better right to be there than we. The field may have belonged to
the father of one of them. I suggested to them that their mothers might be
anxious, if not angry, on account of their loitering; but they were not to
be moved by any such reminders. They had made up their minds to see us off,
and this they did, to their great delight and entertainment.
The river was charming, with its myriads of white water-lilies and forests
of reeds. Once it spread out into a lake, in which was a little island
covered with tall bulrushes and purple loosestrife. But although there was
so much pleasure for the eye, the afternoon was one of suffering. We were
blistering from the heat of the sun, and our bottles being emptied, we were
tormented with thirst. It was true that there was plenty of water always
within reach; but it had already run past a good many villages and small
towns, and, moreover, it was tepid. After leaving La Roche Chalais the
river had on its left bank the department of the Dordogne, and on its
right the Charente Inférieure. Rather late in the afternoon we entered the
Gironde, and soon afterwards heard the familiar sound of women beating
linen with their _battoirs_ by the side of the water. We came upon a crowd
of them, and learnt from them that the village of Les Églisottes was
close by. Having obtained here both water and white wine, we were able to
continue the voyage in better spirits.
This fifth and last day on the Dronne was the most trying of all. The
distance may not have been more than twenty-five miles, but we were very
jaded. There were few weirs, but some of them were not easy to pass. Then
the boat from time to time had to be dragged a long way through reeds,
where there was not enough water to float it. For eight or nine hours the
sun raged above us; but the cool evening came at length--about the time
that we passed the last mill. The river was broad and deep, and I thought
that we could not be far from Coutras; but long reaches succeeded one
another, and the great forests of the Double on the left seemed as if they
would never end.
The river is now running--or, rather, creeping, for it has lost its
current--under densely-wooded hills, and the water is deeply dyed with
interflowing tints of green and gold. These fade, and in the gathering
darkness without a moon the silent Dronne grows very sombre. The boat must
have received an exceptionally hard knock at the last weir, for we feel the
water rising about our feet. The wonder is that our frail craft has taken
its five days' bumping over stumps and stones so well. It would be very
annoying if it were to sink with us now that we are so near the end of our
voyage. But is the end so near? We scan the distance in front of us in
search of twinkling lights, but the only twinkle comes from a brightening
star. We see the long wan line of water, marked with awful shadows near the
banks, from which, too, half-submerged trees, long since dead, lift strange
arms or stretch out long necks and goblin heads that seem to mock and jibe
at us in this fashion: 'Ha! ha! you are going down! We'll drag you under!'
And the interminable black forest stretches away, away, always in front,
until it is lost in the dusky sky.
Ah, there is a sound at length to break the monotonous dip, dip of the
paddles, and it is a sweet sound too. It is the angelus; there is no
mistaking it. It is very faint, but it puts fresh strength into our arms,
and revives the hope that this river will lead us somewhere.
It led us to Coutras. There at about nine o'clock we beached the half
water-logged canoe not far above the spot to which the tide rises from the
broad Atlantic. We felt that we had had quite enough waterfaring to satisfy
us for the present. We had voyaged about eighty miles, and passed about
forty weirs.