I had expected to reach at sundown the
little town of Aubeterre, in the department of the Charente, but all ideas
of distance based upon a map are absurdly within the mark when one follows
the course of a winding river, and the information of the inhabitants is
equally misleading, for they always calculate distances by the road.
When we reached the next weir there was very little light left, so, without
attempting to pass it, we paddled down to the mill. It was kept by three
brothers, who treated us with much kindness and attention. I learnt that we
were not far from the village of Nabinaud in the Charente, where there was
a small inn at which it would be possible to pass the night.
Aubeterre was still some miles off by water, and there were weirs to
overcome. Tired out, with legs and feet scraped and scratched by stones and
stumps, and smarting still more from sun-scorch, we were glad enough to
find a sufficient reason for getting out of the boat here.
One of the brothers carried politeness so far--I saw from the importance
of the mill that remuneration was not to be thought of--as to walk about a
mile uphill in order to show the inn and to see us settled in it.
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