“That I was to get up?” said Mark.
“Yes, and quiet your dog. There, do you hear that?”
A long piteous howl now fell upon Mark’s ears, and recalling how the dog had gone below, he concluded that the animal was eager to escape on deck, but after his experience in falling down the steps he did not care to attack them again.
“What a noise!” cried Mark, as the long persistent howl came up. “Has he got stuck somewhere in the cargo?”
“No; he could not be, I think. Hark, there’s the monkey too.”
An angry chattering sound came up, followed by another howl and an angry bark.
“There, go down and quiet him. The men in the forecastle can’t sleep.”
Mark, now thoroughly awake, went sharply to the hatchway and descended, wondering why one of the sailors had not been sent down to quiet Bruff, and of course ignorant of the fact that they had one and all declined to go and face him, for certain reasons associated with the sharpness of his teeth and strength of his jaws, while the mate felt that it would be an easier way of solving the difficulty to send down the dog’s master than to go himself.
It was very dark below, and the dog’s howl came once more as Mark took a lantern from where it was swinging.
“Why, where can he be? Here, Bruff, Bruff!”