If by a miracle he had succeeded, what would they think of him in England when he arrived there with the news that he had left his lieutenant to die?
They might sympathize with him, pity him, understand his motive — he hated the thought of any of that; better to face a firing party at Bush's side, never to see Lady Barbara again, never to see his child.
And better to spend his last few days in apathy than in fretting.
Yet the present circumstances, so different from the monotony of the rest of the journey, had stimulated him.
He laughed and chatted with the others as he had not done since they had left Beziers.
The coach crawled on through the darkness with the wind shrieking overhead.
Already the windows on one side were opaque with the snow which was plastered upon them — there was not warmth enough within the coach to melt it.
More than once the coach halted, and Hornblower, putting his head out, saw that they were having to clear the horses' hoofs of the snow balled into ice under their shoes.
"If we're more than two miles from the next post house," he announced, sitting back again, "we won't reach it until next week."
Now they must have topped a small rise, for the horses were moving quicker, almost trotting, with the coach swaying and lurching over the inequalities of the road.
Suddenly from outside they heard an explosion of shouts and yells.
"He, he, he!"
The coach swung round without warning, lurching frightfully, and came to a halt leaning perilously over to one side. Hornblower sprang to the window and looked out.
The coach was poised perilously on the bank of a river; Hornblower could see the black water sliding along almost under his nose.
Two yards away a small rowing boat, moored to a post, swayed about under the influence of wind and stream.
Otherwise there was nothing to be seen in the blackness.
Some of the gendarmes had run to the coach horses' heads; the animals were plunging and rearing in their fright at the sudden apparition of the river before them.
Somehow in the darkness the coach must have got off the road and gone down some side track leading to the river here; the coachman had reined his horses round only a fraction of a second before disaster threatened.
Caillard was sitting his horse blaring sarcasms at the others.
"A fine coachman you are, God knows.
Why didn't you drive straight into the river and save me the trouble of reporting you to the sous-chef of the administration?
Come along, you men.
Do you want to stay here all night?
Get the coach back on the road, you fools."
The snow came driving down in the darkness, the hot lamps sizzling continuously as the flakes lighted on them.
The coachman got his horses under control again, the gendarmes stood back, and the whip cracked.
The horses plunged and slipped, pawing for a footing, and the coach trembled without stirring from the spot.
"Come along, now!" shouted Caillard.
"Sergeant, and you, Pellaton, take the horses.
You other men get to the wheels!
Now, altogether.
Heave!
Heave!"
The coach lurched a scant yard before halting again.
Caillard cursed wildly.
"If the gentlemen in the coach would descend and help," suggested one of the gendarmes, "it would be better."
"They can, unless they would rather spend the night in the snow," said Caillard; he did not condescend to address Hornblower directly.
For a moment Hornblower thought of telling him that he would see him damned first — there would be some satisfaction in that — but on the other hand he did not want to condemn Bush to a night of discomfort merely for an intangible self-gratification.
"Come on, Brown," he said, swallowing his resentment, and he opened the door and they jumped down into the snow.
Even with the coach thus lightened, and with five men straining at the spokes of the wheels, they could make no progress.
The snow had piled up against the steep descent to the river, and the exhausted horses plunged uselessly in the deep mass.
"God, what a set of useless cripples!" raved Caillard.
"Coachman, how far is it to Nevers?"
"Six kilometres, sir."
"You mean you think it's six kilometres.
Ten minutes ago you thought you were on the right road and you were not.
Sergeant, ride into Nevers for help.
Find the mayor, and bring every able-bodied man in the name of the Emperor.
You, Ramel, ride with the sergeant as far as the high road, and wait there until he returns. Otherwise they'll never find us.
Go on, sergeant, what are you waiting for?