CHAPTER LVI. ON THE RIVER.
The boatman Townes was one of those men who understand
perfectly at a single word, and act quickly. The broken exclamations
of Charles Waters, told him plainly all that had
occurred—he understood in an instant.
“Blast my eyes!” he cried, cramming his tarpaulin on
his head, “I knowed somethin' was a-goin' on! But I
didn't dream o' this! I heard them horse's hoofs, but the
devil himself couldn't a' dreamed this! I'll have the craft
ready in a minute! Stay here, and catch your breath,
Charley, and we'll live or die together!”
With which words the boatman grasped a heavy stick,
threw down another before Waters, who was nearly fainting,
and rushed from the hut.
With two bounds he was at his boat, and slung off the
chain which held the bark to the shore. Then with a rapid
and experienced hand he caught, and tore open the sail—
tied it to the gunwale, and seized his oars. Charles Waters
was at his side panting, his eyes on fire, his looks fixed upon
the other boat.
Obedient to oar and sail, the “Naney” darted from the
-- 312 --
[figure description] Page 312.[end figure description]
shore, and plunged her cutwater into the silver expanse
raising clouds of cold spray.
The other boat was much of the same description:—her
size was greater—she was more ornate—that was all.
On fire with his terrible emotion, his eyes burning, his
body trembling, Charles Waters bent to his oar like a giant:
it was as much as the boatman could do to keep the craft
from whirling round, so tremendous were these strokes. The
boat flew.
“Look!” cried the boatman, “I can see him! It is
young Mr. Effingham!”
“Yes!—don't stop!”
“Him!” cried the boatman, wonderingly.
“Yes! `you would live and die with me!' row!”
“That will I!”
And plunging his oar into the water, the powerful boatman
sent the craft twenty feet.
The men in the other boat, plainly saw that they were
pursued, and bent to their oars.
The bark groaned with its enormous mass of sail, and
careened dangerously. Standing in the bow, with one arm
around Beatrice, Mr. Effingham looked on gloomily. He
knew very well that a deadly encounter was imminent—this
encounter he both desired and dreaded:—dreaded because
Charles Waters was her cousin.
The young girl tried to shrink from him.
“Oh, for pity's sake, do not carry me away!” she cried.
He only gazed bitterly at her.
“Oh, it is cruel!” she cried.
“You were cruel to me!” he muttered, hoarsely.
“They are pursuing us—they will rescue me!”
“Yes, when I am dead.”
“Oh, it is Charles!” she cried.
“Yes, your excellent cousin: we shall meet soon—I see
they are gaining on us!”
And Mr. Effingham drew a pistol.
“Oh, for mercy's sake!—mercy! do not fire!” exclaimed
Beatrice, clinging to his arm.
“Be easy, madam,” said Mr. Effingham, gloomily, “I
only meant to try the lock: the sword will settle it. Row,
there, row!”
-- 313 --
[figure description] Page 313.[end figure description]
And seizing an oar himself, he bent to his task with desperate
energy. He dreaded the encounter more than he
would acknowledge.
Beatrice kneeling and watching the boat which was
pursuing them, could only pray.
That boat fled toward them like a seagull. It seemed to
dart rather than move. Every stroke of the large oars
whirled it onward through the foamy surges, and the mast
groaned.
“We are gaining!' cried the boatman, “look!”
And he raised his hand, to indicate the position of the
two vessels.
“Row! row!” cried Waters, hoarsely.
The boatman bent to his oar again. The little bark flew
over the water, leaving a long track of foam, which glittered
in the moonlight. Her triangular sail bent in the wind—her
mast groaned—she bore on like a living thing.
The excitement of Charles Waters was terrible. His
brain was on fire, his heart felt as if ice were pressed to it.
That woman whom he loved more than all the world, was
being torn from him by his insolent rival—who had plainly
compassed her abduction by some skilful trick!—she was
being borne away before his eyes! And uttering a groan of
rage, he threw in a strength in his oar-strokes which seemed
almost supernatural.
The boats neared—but the greater surface of sail on the
foremost still made escape probable. The strength of the
rowers must soon wear out at the rate they were going—
then the foremost boat would leave her pursuers behind.
She was already flying before the wind, and, as we have said,
careening perilously.
“Oh, they will escape!—I am wearing out!” cried
Waters, with a despairing groan.
“Cheerly, cheerly!” answered the boatman, “we'll give
'em a whack yet.”
And he rowed more powerfully.
“I will throw myself into the water and die there, but
I will overtake them!”
“Look!” shouted the boatman, “her mast's snapped!
hurrah!”
It was true—the boat could not carry the press of sail,
-- 314 --
[figure description] Page 314.[end figure description]
and too well built to capsize easily, the frail mast had broken
under the press, and fallen over the side with all its mass
of canvas.
The craft was no longer any thing but a wreck:—like a
wounded sea-bird, whose wing has been broken by the huntsman,
she paused in her course, veered round and threatened
to go down with every wave.
The pursuers darted toward her like lightning—they were
now not ten yards off.
Again the foiled and infuriated young man drew his pistol,
and this time it seemed with deadly intentions.
The barrel glittered in the moonlight as he levelled it.
Then again he replaced it with a curse, and with one arm
round Beatrice, as though he would die with her, awaited
the approach of his pursuers.
They were but two men—yet he knew they were desperate.
The boat darted toward him—the sides of the small vessels
crushed together: Charles Waters and the boatman,
armed with their heavy clubs, threw themselves from their
own into Mr. Effingham's craft.
“You come to your death!” cried the furious young
man, rushing toward Charles Waters, “woe to you!”
His foot caught in the sail which cumbered the gunwale,
and he half fell.
Beatrice rushed toward her cousin, and he caught her in
his arms. At the same moment Townes levelled the foremost
waterman with his club: the other grappled with him,
and endeavored to plunge a knife into his side.
Mr. Effingham rose overwhelmed with fury. His blood
boiled with rage—he was in one of his madnesses of passion.
He saw only that one sight before him—Beatrice clasped
in the arms of his hated, abhorred rival. He only understood
that that rival had defeated him, despised him.
The blood rushed to his head—he staggered, and drawing
his pistol, levelled it at Charles Waters' breast, and
fired.
A sudden careening of the boat deranged his aim, and
the ball, drawing blood from Beatrice's shoulder, struck the
waterman Junks, just as he had nearly strangled Townes,
and had lifted his knife to stab him.
-- 315 -- p520-320
[figure description] Page 315.[end figure description]
That sudden careening of the boat, saved the life of
Charles Waters and his friend.
“Oh! you've got it! blast you!” cried Townes, as his
adversary fell.
Mr. Effingham saw all: he saw his two companions disabled—
he saw himself left alone to contend against his enemies—
he saw that all was lost.
One thing remained—revenge! And as Charles Waters,
seeing him rise sword in hand, raised his arm, protecting
Beatrice with the other, the infuriated young man plunged
the weapon into his breast.
Waters fell backward, dragging down Beatrice who had
fainted. The sword snapped off in his body within six inches
of the hilt—only the hilt and the stump remained in Mr.
Effingham's hand.
With a wild cry the boatman, Townes, threw himself on
his knees beside his friend, and, crying like a child, sought
to stanch the blood.
“No—do not—mind me!” said Charles Waters, faintly,
and turning deadly pale as he spoke, “attend to — Beatrice!”
And drawing the blade from his breast with a desperate
effort he fell back.
The boatman tore his hair with both hands, and wept
until he was worn out. Suddenly he started up—woe! to
that man! He was alone on the boat, with the wounded
and dying.
A hundred yards from the boat, he saw the young man
swimming desperately toward the shore. Exhausted, overwhelmed
with horror, the boatman sunk back and fell, his
head striking heavily against the side of the boat.
Cooke, John Esten, 1830-1886 [1854], The Virginia comedians, or, Old days in the Old Dominion. Edited from the mss. of C. Effingham, Esq. [pseud] (D. Appleton and Co, New York) [word count] [eaf520v1T].
