"What is that?" he cried, suddenly, pointing to a new sight, which even I had not often seen on our river. It was a mass of water, three or four feet high, which came surging along the midstream, upright as a wall.
"It is the eger; I've often seen it on Severn, where the swift seaward current meets the spring-tide. Look what a crest of foam it has, like a wild boar's mane. We often call it the river-boar."
"But it is only a big wave."
"Big enough to swamp a boat, though."
And while I spoke I saw, to my horror, that there actually was a boat, with two men in it, trying to get out of the way of the eger.
"They never can! they'll assuredly be drowned! O John!"
But he had already slipped from my side and swung himself by furze-bushes and grass down the steep slope to the water's edge.
It was a breathless moment. The eger travelled slowly in its passage, changing the smooth, sparkling river to a whirl of conflicting currents, in which no boat could live—least of all that light pleasure-boat, with its toppling sail. In it was a youth I knew by sight, Mr. Brithwood of the Mythe House, and another gentleman.
They both pulled hard—they got out of the mid-stream, but not close enough to land; and already there was but two oars' length between them and the "boar."
"Swim for it!" I heard one cry to the other: but swimming would not have saved them.