"Well, then, let it have my soup," cried little Jack. "I can do without it very well."
At that moment the barking was more distinctly heard. Three hundred feet, at the most, separated the two ships. Almost immediately a dog of great height appeared on the starboard netting, and clung there, barking more despairingly than ever.
"Howik," said Captain Hull, turning toward the master of the
"Pilgrim's" crew, "heave to, and lower the small boat."
"Hold on, my dog, hold on!" cried little Jack to the animal, which seemed to answer him with a half-stifled bark.
The "Pilgrim's" sails were rapidly furled, so that the ship should remain almost motionless, less than half a cable's length from the wreck.
The boat was brought alongside. Captain Hull, Dick Sand and two sailors got into it at once.
The dog barked all the time. It tried to hold on to the netting, but every moment it fell back on the deck. One would say that its barks were no longer addressed to those who were coming to him. Were they then addressed to some sailors or passengers imprisoned in this ship?
"Is there, then, on board some shipwrecked one who has survived?" Mrs.
Weldon asked herself.
A few strokes of the oars and the "Pilgrim's" boat would reach the capsized hull.
But, suddenly, the dog's manner changed. Furious barks succeeded its first barks inviting the rescuers to come. The most violent anger excited the singular animal.