Henry Bryden - The Gold Kloof

It was a fine, hot July day on the banks of the Severn river at Tewkesbury, that quaint, old-world, and somewhat decayed town, which offers to the inspection of the visitor and the archæologist some of the most ancient and interesting buildings to be seen in any part of broad England. There was some stir on the banks of the river, for two public schools, one of them situate in the west of England, the other hailing from a Midland shire, were about to contest with one another in their annual boat race. From the Western school a considerable contingent of lads had come over; these were discussing, with the enthusiasm of schoolboys, the prospects of the races. On the banks, gathered near the winning-post, were also to be seen a number of other spectators, some from the town itself, others from the neighbouring country-side.

The fateful moment at length had come; the two boats were to be seen in the distance, their oarsmen battling with one another with all the desperate energy that youth and strength and an invincible determination could put into their task. As they drew nearer it was to be seen that the Midland school was leading by nearly half a length. A quarter of a mile remained to be rowed. Loud cries from the Western school resounded along the banks. Hope struggled against hope in every youthful breast; yet it seemed that if the oarsmen of the Western school were to make that final effort for which they were famous, it was now almost too late. But, no! the Western stroke is seen to be calling upon his crew; their flashing blades dip quicker, and yet quicker; they are well together, all apparently animated by the vigour and the reserve of force displayed by their leader. Foot by foot they diminish the lead of their adversaries, who are striving desperately, yet ineffectually, to retain their advantage. A hundred yards from the winning-post the Western lads are level; and as the post is passed they have defeated their adversaries, after one of the finest races ever rowed between the two schools, by a quarter of a length.

Amid the exultant and tremendous cheering that now greets the triumph of the Western school, both crews paddle to the boat-house and disembark. The boats are got out and housed, and all but the Western captain and stroke, Guy Hardcastle, are inside the boathouse, bathing and changing their clothes. Guy Hardcastle, a strong, well-set-up lad of seventeen, lingers on the platform in conversation with his house-master, Mr. Brimley-Fair, who has come down to congratulate him on his victory. He is a good-looking lad, fresh complexioned, with fair brown hair, a firm mouth, and a pair of steady, blue-gray eyes, which look the world frankly in the face, with an aspect of candour, friendliness, and self-reliance that most people find very attractive.

While master and boy are talking together for a brief minute or two, a sudden cry comes from the river, followed by others. They look that way, and see instantly the reason of the outcry. Some country people, rowing across from the other side, are evidently not accustomed to boating. Two of them attempt to change places in mid-stream: they are womenfolk; they become alarmed and shift in their places, the heavily laden boat is upset, and half a dozen people are struggling in the water.

Guy Hardcastle is nothing if not prompt. His resolution is instantly taken. He is in his light rowing kit, well prepared for swimming. Kicking off his shoes, he dives neatly into the water, and swims rapidly upstream towards the group of struggling people sixty yards away. Of these, three are clinging to the boat; one man is swimming for the shore with a child; the sixth, a girl of fourteen, has just sunk ten yards beyond the boat down-stream. Her danger is manifestly great and imminent. Boats are putting off from the bank, but they may be too late. Guy Hardcastle, surveying the disaster with cool eye as he swims that way, has concentrated all his energies on this drowning and terror-stricken girl. He is within fifteen yards of where she sank; and now, a few seconds later, just as the girl, now partly insensible, comes to the surface again, he grasps her firmly, turns her over on her back-a task of some difficulty-and, himself also swimming on his back, tows her towards the bank. It is not an easy task. The girl is no light weight, encumbered as she is with soddened clothing; the stream is strong, and Guy himself is by no means so fresh as he might have been, after that hard and exhausting race of a few minutes since. Still, with invincible determination, the plucky lad struggles with his burden towards the boat-house. Help comes unexpectedly. His house-master, Mr. Brimley-Fair, has foreseen his difficulties, and, jumping into a dingy, has rowed out to his assistance. Presently he is alongside.

"Here you are, Hardcastle," he cries; "catch hold of her side!"

Guy clutches with one hand at the boat's gunwale, and feels that he and his burden are now pretty safe.

"Now, hang on while I row you in," says Mr. Brimley-Fair, "and we'll soon have you all right."

Guy does as he is told, and in fifty strokes the boathouse is reached, and girl and rescuer are safe. A storm of cheering, greater even than that which greeted the winning of the boat race, now testifies to the gallantry of the boy's second feat and the relief of all that the girl is safe. Meanwhile, the remainder of the overturned crew have been rescued by boats rowed from the bank.

Arrived at the boat-house, willing hands hung on to the dingy while Mr. Brimley-Fair stepped out of her. Then, bringing her side gently to the platform, they grasped Guy Hardcastle and his burden and lifted them into safety. The girl was pale and insensible, but she breathed; a doctor was quickly in attendance; and after the usual restorative methods had been applied for a quarter of an hour, the patient came round, was carried to a neighbouring hotel, put to bed, and by the evening was well enough to be taken home.

After the doctor had taken charge of the half-drowned girl, Mr. Brimley-Fair turned his attention to Guy Hardcastle, still dripping from his immersion.

"Now, my boy," he said, kindly patting him on the shoulder, "you have done splendidly. That was a plucky thing to do. You remembered all your life-saving lessons-which some of the boys seem to think a bore-and deserve, and I hope will get, the Humane Society's Medal. But, medal or no medal, you did your duty and a brave thing, and we are all proud of you. Now go and get your clothes off and a rub down. You look tired and chilled, as well you may, after rowing that fine race and saving a girl's life. I've sent for some brandy, and you'll soon be all right again."

"All right, sir," said the boy, cheerful though shivering. "I shall be quite fit as soon as I get into my clothes."

The brandy soon arrived, and the lad was given a small quantity in some water. Thoroughly dried and rubbed down, he was, not long after, clothed and comfortable again, and quite equal to doing his duty by his adversaries of the recent boat race, who with his own schoolmates were loud in admiration of his latest feat.

The rival crews had some food together, under the chairmanship of Mr. Brimley-Fair; and later on, the Midland crew having been seen off at the station, the Western lads took train for their own school.

About ten days after these events, Guy Hardcastle received news that altered the whole course of his life. The son of a mining engineer, whose duties took him much away from England into distant parts of the world, the lad had had the misfortune to lose his mother at a very early age. He lived during his vacations with an aunt, a sister of his father's, a Miss Hardcastle, who lived at a quiet country house in the county of Durham. Beyond two families of cousins living in the same county, the lad had few other relatives in England. He had, however, an Uncle Charles, his mother's only brother, living in South Africa, who came home occasionally to England, and to whom he was greatly attached. In fact, next to his father, the lad looked upon his Uncle Charles as his greatest friend. Guy was now a month or two past seventeen. He had been four years at his present school, where he was an immense favourite. Captain of the rowing club, he had not time or opportunity to devote himself, as he would have liked, to cricket, and was not therefore in the eleven. But he was in the twenty-two. He was also a distinguished member of the football team, and a good athlete. At the last sports he had won the mile in the record time for his school of four minutes forty-nine seconds, and had, in addition, carried off the half-mile, the quarter-mile, and the grand steeplechase. Winning as well the long jump and throwing the cricket ball, he was easily victor ludorum in the school sports.