"That's queer," said Topsail.
Eli looked deep into the night. The dog left a luminous wake. Beyond, in the direction the dog had taken, the man caught sight of a phosphorescent glow. Watt saw it at the same moment.
"What's that?" said he. "They's fiery water, back there!"
"Man," cried Eli, "the dog knowed! Sure, it must be Bobby, swimmin' up, an' too beat out t' cry. Fetch her about, lads. We're on the wrong course. Haste! He'll not be able t' last much longer."
Eli was right. The dog had known. It was Bobby. When they picked him up he was too much exhausted to speak. It was afterwards learned that he had mistaken the spray of the Old Moll breaker for Deep Down and had been turned over by the outer rock when he thought himself safe. He had heard the call of his name, and had seen the lantern of the rescuing skiff, as it drew near; but, long before, he had worn his voice out with screaming for help, and could make no answer. He had heard the barking of Bruce, too; had known its significance, and had wondered whether or not the dog would be understood. But all that he could say, when they lifted him aboard—and that in a hoarse, weak whisper—was:
"Bruce!"
At that moment the crew heard a piteous whine near at hand. It was Bill Watt who pulled the exhausted old dog over the gunwale.
"Good dog!" said he.
And so said they all.