Gwen Wynn Part 6

Distractedly she continues to tug at the oars; despairingly as the boats draw near the bend. Before rounding it she will be in the hands of those horrid men--embraced by their brawny, bear-like arms!

The thought restrengthens her own, giving them the energy of desperation. So inspired, she makes a final effort to elude the ruffian pursuers, and succeeds in turning the point.

Soon as round it, her face brightens up, joy dances in her eyes, as with panting breath she exclaims,--

"We're saved, Nelly! We're saved! Thank Heaven for it!"

Nelly does thank Heaven, rejoiced to hear they are saved; but without in the least comprehending how!

CHAPTER VI.

A DUCKING DESERVED.

Captain Ryecroft has been but a few minutes at his favourite fishing-place--just long enough to see his tackle in working condition, and cast his line across the water; as he does the last, saying--

"I shouldn't wonder, Wingate, if we don't see a salmon to-day. I fear that sky's too bright for his dainty kingship to mistake feathers for flies."

"Ne'er a doubt the fish'll be a bit shy," returns the boatman; "but," he adds, a.s.signing their shyness to a different cause, "'tain't so much the colour o' the sky; more like it's that lot of Foresters has frightened them, with their hulk o' a boat makin' as much noise as a Bristol steamer. Wonder what brings such rubbish on the river anyhow. They han't no business on't; an' in my opinion theer ought to be a law 'gainst it--same's for trespa.s.sin' after game."

"That would be rather hard lines, Jack. These mining gentry need outdoor recreation as much as any other sort of people. Rather more I should say, considering that they're compelled to pa.s.s the greater part of their time underground. When they emerge from the bowels of the earth to disport themselves on its surface, it's but natural they should like a little aquatics; which you, by choice, an amphibious creature, cannot consistently blame them for. Those we've just met are doubtless out for a holiday, which accounts for their having taken too much drink--in some sense an excuse for their conduct. I don't think it at all strange seeing them on the water."

"Their faces han't seed much o' it anyhow," observes the waterman, seeming little satisfied with the Captain's reasoning. "And as for their being out on holiday, if I an't mistook, it be holiday as lasts all the year round. Two o' 'em may be miners--them as got the grimiest faces. As for t'other two, I don't think eyther ever touch't pick or shovel in their lives. I've seed both hangin' about Lydbrook, which be a queery place. Besides, one I've seed 'long wi' a man whose company is enough to gi'e a saint a bad character--that's Coracle d.i.c.k. Take my word for 't, Captain, there ain't a honest miner 'mong that lot--eyther in the way of iron or coal. If there wor I'd be the last man to go again them havin'

their holiday; 'cepting I don't think they ought to take it on the river. Ye see what comes o' sich as they humbuggin' about in a boat?"

At the last clause of this speech--its Conservatism due to a certain professional jealousy--the Hussar officer cannot resist smiling. He had half forgotten the rudeness of the revellers--attributing it to intoxication--and more than half repented of his threat to bring them to a reckoning, which might not be called for, but might, and in all likelihood would, be inconvenient. Now, reflecting on Wingate's words, the frown which had pa.s.sed from off his face again returns to it. He says nothing, however, but sits rod in hand, less thinking of the salmon than how he can chastise the "d--d scoun'rels," as his companion has p.r.o.nounced them, should he, as he antic.i.p.ates, again come in collision with them.

"Lissen!" exclaims the waterman; "that's them shoutin'! Comin' this way, I take it. What should we do to 'em, Captain?"

The salmon-fisher is half determined to reel in his line, lay aside the rod, and take out a revolving pistol he chances to have in his pocket--not with any intention to fire it at the fellows, but only frighten them.

"Yes," goes on Wingate, "they be droppin' down again--sure; I dar' say they've found the tide a bit too strong for 'em up above. An' I don't wonder; sich louty chaps as they thinkin' they cud guide a boat 'bout the Wye! Jist like mountin' hogs a-horseback!"

At this fresh sally of professional spleen the soldier again smiles, but says nothing, uncertain what action he should take, or how soon he may be called on to 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 att.i.tudes 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 your 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_ gets 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 chestised--specially that big black fellow as did most o'

the talkin'."

"You shall see it, and soon!"

He lets go the ropes, to disembarra.s.s 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 la.s.s!" 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 G-- 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN ANOTHER MINUTE THE HULKING SCOUNDREL IS FLUNG OVERBOARD.]