THE CROSSING
Noticing that several of the ship’s officers whom they passed eyed Pep
askance, the doctor singled out the most affable looking one and went
straight to the point.
“What about dogs?” he asked. “My dog followed me to the very gangplank
and I had to bring him along or miss the boat. He is a very valuable
dog. I wouldn’t have anything happen to him for the world. He is a blue
ribbon dog.”
The officer looked at the dog doubtfully. “If you really value him,” he
said, “you had better not let the first mate see him. He is death on
dogs. Why, the last trip across he had four thrown overboard. They were
pets of wounded soldiers, too. It made the crew as mad as March hares.
There wasn’t any sense in it, either.”
At this the doctor looked troubled, but he was a diplomat and a man
of quick action. He knew there was many a way of circumventing unjust
regulations like this.
“Here is a five-dollar bill,” he said, slipping the greenback into the
hand of the officer. “You introduce me to the official who is the most
of a dog lover.”
“That’s the old man,” said the official doubtfully. “I wouldn’t dare
to approach him, but you might appeal to him if the worst came. He is
the captain of the ship, but we call him the old man. The head steward
keeps a little dog in his cabin. Perhaps he might accommodate you.”
So they went to the chief steward’s cabin, where they found that
necessary official swearing at his associates.
“Another dog,” he snorted, when the proposition had been put up to him.
“Well, I guess not. Ginger worries me nearly to death.”
“He is a blue ribbon dog,” explained the doctor. “They would keep each
other company. Take a look at him.” He held Pep up for inspection.
The steward gave Pep a hurried glance, then came nearer to get a better
view. He stroked his sleek head and tweaked his ears fondly.
“The very picture of my old Sally. Why I sailed fifteen years with
that dog. She was better company than half the folks. Why, yes, I can
make a place for him. Here, Ginger, come here and take a sniff at your
shipmate.”
The doctor set Pep down on the floor and the small black and tan dog
approached gingerly as suited his name, but Pep gave him just one
disdainful glance then looked the other way.
“They’ll be all right when they get acquainted,” said the doctor. “You
see Pep is rather exclusive.”
Finally the dogs touched noses and were friends. Pep was given an old
souwester to lie upon and the steward promised to keep an eye on him
while the doctor went to look for his cabin.
Although the doctor visited Pep twice that evening and he seemed snug
and comfortable, yet he could not forget the horrible picture of the
first mate’s having the pets of the wounded soldiers thrown overboard,
so he determined to have it out with the old man as they called him the
very next day.
All that night the great ship plowed her way through the darkness. Her
lights were all out, but half a mile to the north and half a mile to
the south a long rakish torpedo boat ran parallel with her. These were
her escort. No one knew at what moment a submarine might appear, so
every precaution was taken against those devils of the deep.
The following morning was bright and beautiful, with a stiff wind
blowing at the ship’s bow. Every one was in the best of spirits and all
danger was forgotten.
In the middle of the forenoon the doctor discovered the ship’s captain
standing near the wheel. He had been talking with the man at the wheel,
but he was not busy then. The moment seemed auspicious and the doctor
approached him without delay.
“Sir,” he said, saluting. “I understand you like dogs.”
The captain was a man of sixty, but he looked much older. His face
was wrinkled and weatherbeaten, but a smile shone through his
weatherstained visage.
“Who told you that?” he asked. “It wasn’t the first mate.”
“No, sir,” returned the doctor. “It wasn’t the first mate, but you do
like dogs.”
“Rather,” said the captain, looking off across the broad expanse of
blue rolling sea.
“Would you like to see the champion of the recent New York dog show? He
is a gentleman. An English bull terrier.”
“There isn’t any such animal aboard,” returned the captain.
“Yes, there is,” replied the doctor. “If you have a few minutes, come
with me and I will show him to you.”
The captain followed, incredulous and excited. If there really was a
blue ribbon English bull terrier aboard, he wanted to know it. It would
never do to risk such a prize with his present mate, the dog hater.
They found Pep waiting for them and straining at his leash. The doctor
picked him up that the captain might better admire him. For several
seconds he looked him over in silence, then put out his hand and
stroked his sleek head.
“He’s a blue ribbon dog sure enough,” he said at last. “I’ll speak to
the mate about him. We don’t want him swimming for his life in the
Atlantic. That mate is a strange man. There is something wrong about
him, but he is a good officer. Pep is to be a regular passenger with
all the privileges of the ship, sir.”
Pep became a prime favorite with several of the passengers, once he was
permitted to come out of hiding. Although the first mate glowered at
him and muttered ominously, he did not dare lay hands on him since the
old man had said he was a regular passenger, with all the privileges of
the ship.
One little girl in particular, Hilda Converse, the daughter of an
importer who was going across in the interests of his firm, fairly
worshiped Pep. Hilda had just lost her mother and that was why her
father was taking her with him under such dangerous circumstances.
Hilda and Pep were inseparable, once she had found her way to his warm
dog heart.
The morning of the fifth day out dawned dark and stormy. The wind had
kicked up a great sea and the mighty swells rolled mountain high.
Finally the wind increased to the dimensions of a hurricane, and all
but the most hardy sought their cabins. The doctor, however, liked to
stay out in the open where he could watch the storm. The winds fairly
shrieked in the rigging and about the tall smokestacks. The sea hissed
and seethed, and the winds whipped it and beat upon it, until the air
was filled with flying spray. Finally such a yeast was kicked up that
one could gather hands full of the feathery foam from the air. Sky and
water seemed to meet, and the mighty ship and its human freight were
at the very heart of this terrible storm. So far as they could see or
feel this was all there was to the world--a world of wind and foam, all
turbulence and frightfulness. One of the ship’s boats was broken loose
by a mighty sea and swept away. It rose upon the top of a great swell,
then sank into the trough and was seen no more.
The doctor watched the ship’s crew narrowly as they worked. They worked
like soldiers, each doing his part with dispatch and decision. The
captain stood on the bridge, the master mind. The ship, the crew, all
obeyed him implicitly. He was the will of the ship, and an iron will at
that.
Finally the fury of the storm spent itself and the skies cleared,
but the effect of the hurricane was still manifest in the sea. Great
foam-covered swells rolled by, many of them breaking over the lower
deck. But they were rhythmic and one always knew when to expect the
next one. This was all right as long as the waves ran at the regulation
height, but the combers were quite different. In them is an element of
danger that no seamanship can guard against, no matter how skillful it
may be.
A comber is a wave twice or three times as high as its fellows. It is
the king of waves, riding head and shoulders above its fellows, and
often carrying death and destruction in its wake. Combers sixty feet
high have been observed by trustworthy witnesses.
The ship had experienced several combers about five o’clock, none of
which did any damage, although they drenched the lower deck and sent
hogsheads of water into the cabin. The sun had come out and many of the
passengers had reappeared on deck. Little Hilda had gone down into the
steerage to visit another girl with whom she had become acquainted.
They were standing by the rail chattering away excitedly about the
storm, when the father of all combers reared its foam-covered crest
close to the ship. The ship’s officers had seen it coming, but had not
appreciated how tall it was, because the seas were running so high.
It struck the side of the ship with a noise like heaviest thunder and
submerged the lower deck three feet deep with hissing water. It fairly
covered the two little girls, but would have done no special harm had
not the return impulse of the wave picked Hilda up and carried her over
the rail into the boiling sea.
The doctor and the second mate, who were standing on the hurricane
deck, saw the frightful accident and gave the alarm. Although the sea
was still running mountains high, and it was doubtful if a boat could
live in it, yet a crew sprang to the nearest lifeboat and began slowly
lowering it.
The doctor strained his eyes to see if Hilda came up on the crest of
the next wave, for she had immediately disappeared in the trough. To
his great joy the red dress appeared on the very crest.
“My God!” cried the mate, “there she is.” If there was only something
or somebody to keep her afloat until the boat could reach her, but no
man could swim in that sea.
Pep was whimpering at his master’s legs, trying to climb up that he
might see over the rail. He knew instinctively that something terrible
had happened, he read his master’s thought like an open book.
His sharp yelp of excitement called the doctor’s attention to him. The
surgeon stooped down and lifted him to the rail and in that moment a
sudden inspiration came to him. “Pep, see Hilda. Bring Hilda.”
One of the tricks the doctor had taught him was to retrieve and now the
accomplishment stood them all in good stead.
Could he reach the girl? Should he send him? The chance looked slim,
but in his profession human life was always set above animal life. So
he repeated, “Look, Pep. Hilda, bring.” With these words, he raised the
dog above the rail and pitched him into the raging sea.
It was a good fifty feet down to the water, but the dog landed right
side up and did not seem to mind the plunge, for he began swimming
directly towards the girl whom he had recognized from his perch on the
rail.
The minute following was a tense one for all concerned. There was the
raging sea on one hand, trying to suck up the little human life, and
there was the brave dog and the boat battling for her life.
A great shout went up from the ship as Pep reached his playmate and
fastened his teeth firmly in her dress. The first part of the battle
against the elements had been won. Could the faithful dog hold on till
the boat reached them?
[Illustration: “Pep reached his playmate and fastened his teeth firmly
in her dress.”]
All held their breath as the dog struggled to keep his place above the
wave while the lifeboat fought its way toward them. Could they hold
out? Would the boat be able to reach them? These were the questions
on all lips. The minute seemed like an hour, so tense it was. But all
minutes come to an end, and this one did, with glorious victory.
Not victory for the sea, but victory for the dog and the boat. For
at last the watchers saw the boat reach them and the strong arm of a
sailor reach out and drag them both to safety. Then they fought their
way back to the ship while the passengers cheered themselves hoarse.
Hilda was unconscious when they placed her in her father’s arms, and
Pep was so weak he could hardly stand, but his eye was full of fight
and he could still wag his tail in appreciation of the petting he
received.
A warm bed and a restorative soon set Hilda right, and Pep only needed
rest. But he had gained his place among the crew and the passengers as
a hero. If he had not been a sensible dog, they would have spoiled him
with petting during the remainder of the trip.
Four days later the ship came close to the Irish coast and precautions
were redoubled. This was the submarine zone and no one knew at what
moment those devils of the deep might appear.
It was nearly midnight. The ship was creeping along through the
darkness with all lights out, closely guarded by two torpedo boats. The
doctor was sleeping soundly in his bunk and Pep was dreaming of home in
the cook’s cabin, when there came a mighty explosion which shook the
great ship from bow to stern. There had been no warning. It had come
like a sudden clap of thunder, but every one knew instinctively that
they had been struck by a torpedo.
Immediately all was confusion. Passengers came hurriedly on deck,
dressing as they came. For a few seconds two powerful searchlights
played upon the water about the ship to discover the submarine if
possible, and the guns at the bow and the stern were made ready for
instant action, but the murderous devilfish had departed as suddenly as
it had appeared.
The ship was listing badly and the hole was fast filling, so the boats
were made ready. The doctor did not know whether he would be allowed to
take Pep with him or not, but he went to the cook’s cabin for the dog.
The crew worked silently and like soldiers. So rapidly they performed
their tasks that when the doctor reappeared with Pep the first boat
load was pulling away from the ship. Soon the doctor’s unit was called
and he went around to the other side of the ship where a boat was
already nearly loaded.
“Can I take the dog with me?” asked the doctor doubtfully as he reached
the rail. A ship’s officer stood at the rail with drawn revolver.
“Not by a damnsight,” he growled. “Look at that boat.”
The doctor looked. The lifeboat was crowded to the gunwale.
“Hurry,” commanded the officer. “The boat is waiting.”
“But what shall I do with my dog?” pleaded the doctor, though he saw
that Pep’s case was hopeless.
“Hurry, I tell you. It’s no time to be haggling about the life of a
dog. Get in or I will give the signal for the boat to pull off.”
“All right,” said the doctor. “Give it. I can’t leave Pep.”
“Here, here, doctor,” growled a stern visaged colonel coming up behind
them. “You are under military orders. Get into that boat. Give the dog
to me.” He snatched the growling dog from his master’s arms and threw
him upon the deck and then fairly shoved the doctor over the rail and
down into the boat.
The doctor heard a dismal howl from Pep as he was left behind and then
he felt the boat lowering towards the water.
“Officer,” he called to the man at the rail, “Shoot the dog. I can’t
leave him in that way.” But instead of shooting him, the officer kicked
at Pep who was trying desperately to climb over the rail.
The doctor sat huddled in the corner of the lifeboat, his head in his
hands as they pulled away from the ship.
It seemed strange to the other passengers that with death all around
them a strong man should feel so deeply the loss of a dog, but only
dog lovers understand these things. No one but a dog lover knows the
comfort of that soft tongue on your cheek, or the muzzle in your hand.
Presently the doctor was aroused from his grief by a wild yelp. He
looked back towards the ship and in the darkness he could just see Pep
balancing himself on the rail, and a second later he sprang into the
sea.
At the sight, hope welled up in the physician’s heart. If it was not
more than five miles to the shore, perhaps the dog could swim. Soon the
white head appeared close to the boat and the dog whimpered to be taken
aboard, but his master could not even do that much for him. The law of
the ship was like the laws of the Persians, irrevocable, but he talked
to Pep and encouraged him as he swam behind.
Half an hour passed and the dog swam steadily. They must have covered
two miles. Another half hour went by and Pep began to weaken and to lag
behind. Occasionally he stopped to tread water.
The doctor’s heart sank within him, it was going to be a losing
fight for brave Pep after all. But at this point the boat stopped to
determine if possible their direction and by a mighty effort Pep
regained the gunwale. Then a bright idea came to the doctor and he
cursed his stupidity for not having thought of it before. He unlaced
his shoes and tied the strings together. Then he coaxed Pep close to
the boat and tied the shoestring in his collar. With that done he
breathed a great sigh of relief. The dog was now as safe as the rest of
them. If the boat made shore, he would.
Two hours later the lifeboat grounded on the beach and the physician
dragged his nearly senseless bull terrier after him to the shore.
He was quite spent, but could still wag his tail and lick his master’s
hands, and the doctor knew that rest was all he needed.
“Good stuff, old pal,” he said, tweaking the dog’s ears as he set him
down on the beach. “It takes more than a submarine to put you and me
out of commission. We will get even with the Boche for this.”
To which Pep responded with a sigh of deep satisfaction.