Talbot Reed - The Willoughby Captains

“You wouldn’t have said so if the right boat had won,” said Silk, with a sneer.

“I can’t make it out,” said Gilks, looking very miserable.

“Fools never can,” snarled Silk, turning on his heel.

Willoughby reassembled after the eventful boat-race in a state of fever. The great event which was to settle everything had settled nothing, and the suspense and excitement which was to have been set at rest remained still as unsatisfied as ever, and intensified by a feeling of rage and disappointment.

As boys dropped in in groups from the course, and clustered round the school gate, one might have supposed by their troubled faces that instead of a rudder-line having broken both crews had been capsized and drowned.

The Parrett’s partisans particularly were loud in their clamour for a new race, and many of them freely insinuated foul play as the cause of the accident.

The schoolhouse, on the other hand, indignantly repelled the charge, and dared their opponents defiantly to meet them again. And amidst all this wrangling and bickering, the Welchers dispensed their taunts and invectives with even-handed impartiality, and filled in just what was wanted to make the scene one of utter confusion and Babel.

“I tell you we’d have beaten them hollow,” shouted Wibberly to the company in general.

“No you wouldn’t!” retorted Wyndham; “we were ahead and our men were as fresh as yours, every bit!”

“Ya — boo — cheats! Told you there’d be no fair play with such a pack,” shouted the Welchers.

“Look here, who are you calling a cheat?” said Wyndham, very red in the face, edging up to the speaker.

“You, if you like,” shouted Pilbury and Cusack.

“I’ll knock your heads together when I catch you,” said Wyndham, with lofty disgust, not intending to put himself out for two juniors.

A loud laugh greeted the threat.

Meanwhile, fellows were running up every moment. Some who had been waiting for the boats at the winning-post had only just heard the news, and came in red-hot with excitement to learn particulars.

“It’s all a vile dodge,” howled Wibberly, “to get their boat to the head of the river.”

“I’ll bet anything the precious captain’s at the bottom of it,” shouted another. “He’d stick at nothing, I know.”

“Yes, and you’ll see, now they’ll funk another race!”

“Who’ll funk another race?” roared the hot-headed Wyndham. “I’ll row you myself, you asses, the lot of you.”

Another derisive laugh followed at the speaker’s expense.

“It’s not our fault if your line broke,” cried a schoolhouse boy. “It’s your lookout. You should have seen it was right before you started.”

“Yes. You wouldn’t have been so anxious for a new race if it was our line had broken,” said Wyndham.

“Yes, we would. We’re not afraid of you!”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, we aren’t. You’re a set of cheats. Couldn’t win by fair means, so you’ve tried foul.”

“I’ll fight any one who says so,” retorted Wyndham.

How long the wrangle might have gone on, and to what riot it might have led, cannot be told. It was at its hottest, and a general fight seemed imminent, when a diversion was caused by the sudden appearance of Parson running at full speed up the path from the river.

There was something unusual in the looks and manner of the Parretts’ coxswain, which even his misadventure that afternoon was not sufficient to account for. He bore tidings of some sort, it was evident, and by common consent the clamour of the crowd was suspended as he approached.

Among the first to hail him at shouting distance was Telson.

“What’s up, old man?” he cried.

Parson rushed on a dozen yards or so before he answered. Then he yelled, in a voice half-choked with excitement, “The line was cut! It’s foul play!”

The howl which arose from the agitated crowd at this amazing piece of news — amazing even to those who had most freely raised the cry of foul play — was one the like of which Willoughby never heard before or since. Mingled rage, scorn, incredulity, derision, all found vent in that one shout — and then suddenly died into silence as Parson began again.

“They’ve looked at the place where it broke,” he gasped. “It’s a clean cut half-way through. I knew it was foul play!”

Once again the shout drowned his voice.

“Who did it?” shrieked a voice, before Parson could resume.

Parson glared round wrathfully for the speaker.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Sorry for him if I did!”

This valiant invective from the honest little fag failed even to appear ludicrous in the midst of the general excitement. Further words were now interrupted by the appearance of the Parretts’ crew coming slowly up the walk.

This was the signal for a general cheer and rush in their direction, in the midst of which the defeated heroes with difficulty struggled up to the school. Wrath and indignation were on all their faces. In reply to the hundred inquiries showered upon them they said nothing, but forced their way through the press sullenly, heedless of the cheers of their sympathisers or the silence of their opponents.

The crowd slowly fell back to let them pass, and watched them disappear into the school. Then they turned again towards the path from the river, and waited with grim purpose.

The news announced by Parson and confirmed by the black looks of the injured crew had fallen like a thunderbolt, and for the moment Willoughby was stunned. The boys could not — would not — believe that one of their number could be guilty of such an act. And yet, how could they disbelieve it?

In a few minutes there was a cry of “Here they are!” and at the same moment the schoolhouse crew appeared on the walk. They, victors though they were, looked troubled and dispirited as they approached, talking eagerly among themselves, and unconcerned apparently about the crowd which in ominous silence awaited them.

They certainly did not look like guilty persons, and it is most probable not even the wildest libeller in Willoughby would have cared positively to charge any one of them with the dishonourable deed.

But for all that, they had won in consequence of that deed, and that was quite sufficient to set three-fourths of the crowd against them.

As they came up a loud groan and cries of “Cheats! Foul play!” suddenly arose. Startled by the unexpected demonstration, the five heroes looked up with flushed faces.

“Cheats! Cowards!” reiterated the hostile section, beginning at the same time to surge towards them.

Foremost among these was Tucker of Welch’s house and Wibberly of Parrett’s, who, as the crowd behind pressed forward, were carried with their abusive taunts on their lips into the midst of the schoolhouse group. The latter, as may be imagined, were in anything but the humour for an assault of this sort, and their leaders instantly resented it in a very practical manner.

“Where are you coming to?” demanded Fairbairn, flinging Wibberly from him into the arms of his followers.

Before Wibberly could recover his balance the crowd had closed in by a sudden impulse, and with a loud shout had set upon the crew.

“Have them over, Parrett’s!” shouted a voice, as Wibberly staggered back a second time before Fairbairn’s stalwart arm, while at the same moment Tucker received a similar rebuff from Crossfield.

The summons was promptly answered, and a dash was made on the five schoolhouse boys with a view to carrying out the threat literally, when Wyndham’s voice shouted, “Rescue here! schoolhouse, come on!”

Instantly the whole crowd seemed to resolve itself by magic into two parties, and a short but desperate battle ensued.