Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and II

by G. P. R. James

"They'll lose their boat," he exclaimed, "if they do not mind what they are about;" and he turned his horse's head in order to tell the people at the cottage; but Mr. Driesen, who had remarked the same fact before him, and had turned for the same purpose, exclaimed, "I'll go, I'll go. You and Miss Effingham are picturesque and contemplative; an old fellow like I am can afford to have his reveries broken into."

Thus saying, he rode up to the cottage first, but found nobody. He then rode on leisurely to the second, and called in at the door: "Good woman, are there no men about? You'll lose your boat to a certainty, for it's adrift there--afloat."

A loud, shrill cry was the woman's only answer; and rushing out to the spot where Charles and Lucy stood, with an infant at her breast, she exclaimed, in a voice of agony, "Oh, the child, the child!" and at the same moment, though the boat had drifted out some way, the whole party could see a little pair of hands stretched over the gunwale of the boat, and part of the head and face of a child of about three or four years old.

The woman uttered another loud scream when she saw it; but Charles Tyrrell was off his horse in a moment, and casting down his coat and waistcoat on the sand, he plunged at once into the sea.

The ground, for a space of about ten yards from the spot where the line of the rising water was rippling over the sand, was very nearly level, but the boat was considerably beyond that by this time; and after rushing across that first space, with the sea scarcely above his knees, Charles Tyrrell found the ground rapidly shelved down beneath him, while some low black rocks, slippery with seaweed, impeded his way and made him fall twice. The second time he cut his knee so severely as to cause him great pain; but, nevertheless, exerting all his strength as he saw the boat getting farther and farther out, he dashed on till he was clear of the rocks and out of his depth; and then, swimming as rapidly as he could, approached the boat and endeavoured to catch hold of the rope by which it had been attached.

In the mean time, two, at least, of those who stood upon the seashore watched with terrible anxiety for his success, and saw with pain and apprehension that twice, as he attempted to catch hold of the rope, a slight turn of the boat drew it out of his reach.

The child, by this time aware of its danger, was leaning over the side towards the person who sought to deliver it, and they saw Charles Tyrrell, unable to catch the rope, and apparently fatigued by swimming in his clothes, place his hands on the gunwale of the boat as if to get in and guide it back to the shore. The boat, however, which was small and light, heeled under his weight and nearly capsized; the child, thrown off its balance, pitched out, and for a moment both Charles and the boy were lost to the sight. The next instant, however, Charles appeared again, holding the child firmly with his left hand and striking towards the shore with his right; and Lucy Effingham and the mother saw him reach the rocks, sit down for a moment as if to recover strength, and appear to sooth the terrors of the child, placing it so as to be able to carry it more conveniently to land. He waved with his hand at the same moment to show that all was safe, and then slowly and carefully rose and made the best of his way back to the sands with the child.

Three various impulses seized upon the fisherman's wife as soon as she found that her boy was safe. The first was to clasp him to her breast with all the vehemence of maternal affection; the next was to scold him angrily for getting into the boat at all; the next was to pour forth a torrent of grateful thanks to Charles Tyrrell for saving the child. The principal force of her gratitude seemed to be excited by the fact that such a gentleman as he seemed should have gone into the sea and spoiled his clothes for the purpose of saving her Johnny.

Mr. Driesen grinned a cynical smile at the turns taken by the woman's emotion; but the eyes of Lucy Effingham, she could not tell why, filled with tears, ay, and overflowed. She felt a little ashamed of being so much moved, and, having no other refuge but a jest, she laid her hand upon Charles's arm, saying, "Pray come home, Mr. Tyrrell, and change your clothes as fast as possible! You have been quite selfish enough, according to Mr. Driesen's opinion, already." And her eye lighted up with a gay smile, though not enough to dry up the tears through which it shone.

Charles Tyrrell thought her very lovely indeed at that moment; but though he was not only wet, but suffering great pain from a bleeding gash on his knee, he did not follow her counsel of returning home till he had asked several questions of the fisherman's wife. He found that her husband was partner in the fishing boats with the master of the next cottage and his son, and that they had gone away early that morning to try their fortune, with other boats, at some distance. They had at first proposed to go in the boat which had now drifted out, and had pushed her down nearly into the water, when some circumstance, which the wife did not know, had caused them to change their mind and take the larger boat. By some carelessness they had forgotten to moor the boat they left to anything; and while the little boy who was saved played about at the door, as she thought, the poor woman had remained within, nursing the child at her breast, and tending an elder child than either, who was sick in the cottage.