they could hire any horses, so keen was he to get away from the town
and from the sights which offended him. No spare horses could be
found. Then Col. Ménard, who was born in the Midi, and knew the
district perfectly, observed that the road from Lyon to Avignon was
in such a poor state of repair that the coaches might be badly
damaged if they attempted it, and it would be better to embark them
on the Rhône, the descent of which would offer us an enchanting
spectacle. My father, who was no great lover of the picturesque,
would, at any other time, have rejected this advice, but as it gave
him the opportunity to leave the town a day earlier, he agreed to
take to the Rhône.

Col. Ménard then hired a large boat, the coaches were put on
board, and the next day, early in the morning, we all embarked: a
decision which was very nearly the end of us.

It was autumn. The water was very low. All the time the boat
touched and scraped along the bottom. One feared that it might be
torn open. We slept the first night at Saint-Péray, next at Tain, and
took two days to get as far down as the junction with the Drôme.
There we had much more water, and went along rapidly; but a dangerous
high wind called the Mistral hit us when we were about a quarter
league above the bridge known as Pont Saint-Esprit. The boatmen were
unable to reach the bank. They lost their heads, and set themselves
to praying instead of working, while a furious wind and a strong
current were driving the boat towards the bridge! We were about to
crash against the pier of the bridge and be sunk, when my father and
all of us, taking up boat-hooks, hurried forward to fend off from the
pier which we were about to strike.