Gwen Wynn: A Romance of the Wye. Reid Mayne

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СКАЧАТЬ commence it. Almost instantly after he is called on to take action, though not against the four riotous Foresters, but a silly salmon, which has conceived a fancy for his fly. A purl on the water, with a pluck quick succeeding, tells of one on the hook, while the whizz of the wheel and rapid rolling out of catgut proclaims it a fine one.

      For some minutes neither he nor his oarsman has eye or ear for aught save securing the fish, and both bend all their energies to “fighting” it. The line runs out, to be spun up and run off again; his river majesty, maddened at feeling himself so oddly and painfully restrained in his desperate efforts to escape, now rushing in one direction, now another, all the while the angler skilfully playing him, the equally skilled oarsman keeping the boat in concerted accordance.

      Absorbed by their distinct lines of endeavour they do not hear high words, mingled with exclamations, coming from above; or hearing, do not heed, supposing them to proceed from the four men they had met, in all likelihood now more inebriated than ever. Not till they have well-nigh finished their “fight,” and the salmon, all but subdued, is being drawn towards the boat – Wingate, gaff in hand, bending over ready to strike it. Not till then do they note other sounds, which even at that critical moment make them careless about the fish, in its last feeble throes, when its capture is good as sure, causing Ryecroft to stop winding his wheel, and stand listening.

      Only for an instant. Again the voices of men, but now also heard the cry of a woman, as if she sending it forth were in danger or distress!

      They have no need for conjecture, nor are they long left to it. Almost simultaneously they see a boat sweeping round the bend, with another close in its wake, evidently in chase, as told by the attitudes and gestures of those occupying both – in the one pursued two young ladies, in that pursuing four rough men readily recognisable. At a glance the Hussar officer takes in the situation – the waterman as well. The sight saves a salmon’s life, and possibly two innocent women from outrage. Down goes Ryecroft’s rod, the boatman simultaneously dropping his gaff; as he does so hearing thundered in his ears —

      “To yours oars, Jack! Make straight for them! Row with all your might!”

      Jack Wingate needs neither command to act nor word to stimulate him. As a man he remembers the late indignity to himself; as a gallant fellow he now sees others submitted to the like. No matter about their being ladies; enough that they are women suffering insult; and more than enough at seeing who are the insulters.

      In ten seconds’ time he is on his thwart, oars in hand, the officer at the tiller; and in five more, the Mary, brought stem up stream, is surging against the current, going swiftly as if with it. She is set for the big boat pursuing – not now to shun a collision, but seek it.

      As yet some two hundred yards are between the chased craft and that hastening to its rescue. Ryecroft, measuring the distance with his eyes, is in thought tracing out a course of action. His first instinct was to draw a pistol, and stop the pursuit with a shot. But no. It would not be English. Nor does he need resort to such deadly weapon. True there will be four against two; but what of it?

      “I think we can manage them, Jack,” he mutters through his teeth, “I’m good for two of them – the biggest and best.”

      “An’ I t’other two – sich clumsy chaps as them! Ye can trust me takin’ care o’ ’em, Captin.”

      “I know it. Keep to your oars, till I give the word to drop them.”

      “They don’t ’pear to a sighted us yet. Too drunk I take it. Like as not when they see what’s comin’ they’ll sheer off.”

      “They shan’t have the chance. I intend steering bow dead on to them. Don’t fear the result. If the Mary get damaged I’ll stand the expense of repairs.”

      “Ne’er a mind ’bout that, Captain. I’d gi’e the price o’ a new boat to see the lot chastised – specially that big black fellow as did most o’ the talkin’.”

      “You shall see it, and soon!”

      He lets go the ropes, to disembarrass himself of his angling accoutrements; which he hurriedly does, flinging them at his feet. When he again takes hold of the steering tackle the Mary is within six lengths of the advancing boats, both now nearly together, the bow of the pursuer overlapping the stern of the pursued. Only two of the men are at the oars; two standing up, one amidships, the other at the head. Both are endeavouring to lay hold of the pleasure-boat, and bring it alongside. So occupied they see not the fishing skiff, while the two rowing, with backs turned, are equally unconscious of its approach. They only wonder at the “wenches,” as they continue to call them, taking it so coolly, for these do not seem so much frightened as before.

      “Coom, sweet lass!” cries he in the bow – the black fellow it is – addressing Miss Wynn. “’Tain’t no use you tryin’ to get away. I must ha’ my kiss. So drop yer oars, and ge’et to me!”

      “Insolent fellow!” she exclaims, her eyes ablaze with anger. “Keep your hands off my boat. I command you!”

      “But I ain’t to be c’mmanded, ye minx. Not till I’ve had a smack o’ them lips; an’ by Gad I s’ll have it.”

      Saying which he reaches out to the full stretch of his long, ape-like arms, and with one hand succeeds in grasping the boat’s gunwale, while with the other he gets hold of the lady’s dress, and commences dragging her towards him.

      Gwen Wynn neither screams, nor calls “Help!” She knows it is near.

      “Hands off!” cries a voice in a volume of thunder, simultaneous with a dull thud against the side of the larger boat, followed by a continued crashing as her gunwale goes in. The roughs, facing round, for the first time see the fishing skiff, and know why it is there. But they are too far gone in drink to heed or submit – at least their leader seems determined to resist. Turning savagely on Ryecroft, he stammers out —

      “Hic – ic – who the blazes be you, Mr White Cap! An’ what d’ye want wi’ me?”

      “You’ll see.”

      At the words he bounds from his own boat into the other; and, before the fellow can raise an arm, those of Ryecroft are around him in tight hug. In another minute the hulking scoundrel is hoisted from his feet, as though but a feather’s weight, and flung overboard.

      Wingate has meanwhile also boarded, grappled on to the other on foot, and is threatening to serve him the same.

      A plunge, with a wild cry – the man going down like a stone; another, as he comes up among his own bubbles; and a third, yet wilder, as he feels himself sinking for the second time!

      The two at the oars, scared into a sort of sobriety, one of them cries out —

      “Lor’ o’ mercy! Rob’ll be drownded! He can’t sweem a stroke.”

      “He’s a-drownin’ now!” adds the other.

      It is true. For Rob has again come to the surface, and shouts with feebler voice, while his arms tossed frantically about tell of his being in the last throes of suffocation!

      Ryecroft looks regretful – rather alarmed. In chastising the fellow he had gone too far. He must save him!

      Quick as the thought off goes his coat, with his boots kicked into the bottom of the boat; then himself over its side!

      A splendid swimmer, with a few bold sweeps he is by the side of the drowning man. Not a moment too soon – just as the latter СКАЧАТЬ