screamed Billy.
But the ballast of the Never Give Up shifted, and she toppled over. Boy and dog were thrown into the sea – the one aft, the other forward. Billy dived deep to escape entanglement with the rigging of the boat. He had long ago learned the lesson that presence of mind wins half the fight in perilous emergencies. The coward miserably perishes where the brave man survives. With his courage leaping to meet his predicament, he struck out for windward and rose to the surface.
He looked about for the punt. She had been heavily weighted with ballast, and he feared for her. What was he to do if she had been too heavily weighted? Even as he looked she sank. She had righted under water; the tip of the mast was the last he saw of her.
The sea – cold, fretful, vast – lay all about him. The coast was half a mile to windward; the punts, out to sea, were laboriously beating towards him, and could make no greater speed. He had to choose between the punts and the rocks.
A whine – with a strange note in it – attracted his attention. The big dog had caught sight of him, and was beating the water in a frantic effort to approach quickly. But the dog had never whined like that before.
"Hi, Skipper!" Billy called. "Steady, b'y! Steady!"
Billy took off his boots as fast as he could. The dog was coming nearer, still whining strangely, and madly pawing the water. Billy was mystified. What possessed the dog? It was as if he had been seized with a fit of terror. Was he afraid of drowning? His eyes were fairly flaring. Such a light had never been in them before.
In the instant he had for speculation the boy lifted himself high in the water and looked intently into the dog's eyes. It was terror he saw in them; there could be no doubt about that, he thought. The dog was afraid for his life. At once Billy was filled with dread. He could not crush the feeling down. Afraid of Skipper – the old, affectionate Skipper – his own dog, which he had reared from a puppy! It was absurd.
But he was afraid, nevertheless – and he was desperately afraid.
"Back, b'y!" he cried. "Get back, sir!"
CHAPTER II
Concerning the Behaviour of Billy Topsail and His Dog in the Water When the Never Give Up Went to the Bottom, and Closing With an Apology and a Wag of the Tail
IT chanced that Billy Topsail was a strong swimmer. He had learned to swim where the water is cold – cold, often, as the icebergs stranded in the harbour can make it. The water was bitter cold now; but he did not fear it; nor did he doubt that he could accomplish the long swim which lay before him. It was the unaccountable behaviour of the dog which disturbed him – his failure in obedience, which could not be explained. The dog was now within three yards, and excited past all reason.
"Back, sir!" Billy screamed. "Get back with you!"
Skipper was not deterred by the command. He did not so much as hesitate. Billy raised his hand as if to strike him – a threatening gesture which had sent Skipper home with his tail between his legs many a time. But it had no effect now.
"Get back!" Billy screamed again.
It was plain that the dog was not to be bidden. Billy threw himself on his back, supported himself with his hands and kicked at the dog with his feet.
Skipper was blinded by the splashing. He whined and held back. Then blindly he came again. Billy moved slowly from him, head foremost, still churning the water with his feet. But, swimming thus, he was no match for the dog. With his head thrown back to escape the blows, Skipper forged after him. He was struck in the jaws, in the throat, and again in the jaws. But he pawed on, taking every blow without complaint, and gaining inch by inch. Soon he was so close that the lad could no longer move his feet freely. Then the dog chanced to catch one foot with his paw, and forced it under. Billy could not beat him off.
No longer opposed, the dog crept up – paw over paw, forcing the boy's body lower and lower. His object was clear to Billy. Skipper, frenzied by terror, the boy thought, would try to save himself by climbing on his shoulders.
"Skipper!" he cried. "You'll drown me! Get back!"
The futility of attempting to command obedience from a crazy dog struck Billy Topsail with force. He must act otherwise, and that quickly, if he were to escape. There seemed to be but one thing to do. He took a long breath and let himself sink – down – down – as deep as he dared. Down – down – until he retained breath sufficient but to strike to the right and rise again.
The dog – as it was made known later – rose as high as he could force himself, and looked about in every direction, with his mouth open and his ears rigidly cocked. He gave two sharp barks, like sobs, and a long, mournful whine. Then, as if acting upon sudden thought, he dived.
For a moment nothing was to be seen of either boy or dog. There was nothing but a choppy sea in that place. Men who were watching thought that both had followed the Never Give Up to the bottom.
In the momentary respite under water Billy perceived that his situation was desperate. He would rise, he was sure, but only to renew the struggle. How long he could keep the dog off he could not tell. Until the punts came down to his aid? He thought not.
He came to the surface prepared to dive again. But Skipper had disappeared. An ejaculation of thanksgiving was yet on the boy's lips when the dog's black head rose and moved swiftly towards him. Billy had a start of ten yards – or something more.
He turned on his side and set off at top speed. There was no better swimmer among the lads of the harbour. Was he a match for a powerful Newfoundland dog? It was soon evident that he was not.
Skipper gained rapidly. Billy felt a paw strike his foot. He put more strength into his strokes. Next the paw struck the calf of his leg. The dog was upon him now – pawing his back. Billy could not sustain the weight. To escape, that he might take up the fight in another way, he dived again.
The dog was waiting when Billy came up – waiting eagerly, on the alert to continue the chase.
"Skipper, old fellow – good old dog!" Billy called in a soothing voice. "Steady, sir! Down, sir – back!"
The dog was not to be deceived. He came, by turns whining and gasping. He was more excited, more determined, than ever. Billy waited for him. The fight was to be face to face. The boy had determined to keep him off with his hands until strength failed – to drown him if he could. All love for the dog had gone out of his heart. The weeks of close and merry companionship, of romps and rambles and sport, were forgotten. Billy was fighting for life. So he waited without pity, hoping only that his strength might last until he had conquered.
When the dog was within reach Billy struck him in the face. A snarl and an angry snap were the result.
Rage seemed suddenly to possess the dog. He held back for a moment, growling fiercely, and then attacked with a rush. Billy fought as best he could, trying to clutch his enemy by the neck and to force his head beneath the waves. The effort was vain; the dog eluded his grasp and renewed the attack. In another moment he had laid his heavy paws on the boy's shoulders.
The weight was too much for Billy. Down he went; freed himself, and struggled to the surface, gasping for breath. It appeared to him now that he had but a moment to live. He felt his self-possession going from him – and at that moment his ears caught the sound of a voice.
"Put your arm – "
The voice seemed to come from far away. Before the sentence was completed, the dog's paws
