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.