The sea-devil was mortally hurt and was failing fast. He came to the surface and made one blind rush at the boat, but he missed and received the last iron fairly between the eyes. Then he began to go slowly away, following the flood tide, and towing both boats in through the breakers to the smooth water beyond. In a short time the motion ceased, and Samuels hauled in the lines until he was just over the body in two fathoms of water and clear of the surf on the bar. Then he turned his attention to his wounded comrade, and by great force pulled the long, barbed spine through the flesh of his thigh and sucked the wound. As the tide was flooding, they left the capsized boat fast to the devil on the bottom below, knowing it would not get far adrift, and made their way to the light, where the keeper’s wound was carefully cauterized and bound up.
The great ray lay quiet for some time, his flukes acting as suckers to hold him down. Then, the feeling that his end was at hand coming gradually upon him, he fought against the deadly weakness of his wounds. Summing up all the remaining energy within his giant frame, he rose to the surface to make one last, desperate rally and annihilate the towing craft. He breached clear of the sea and fell with a resounding crash upon the fabric, smashing it completely. Then he tore it with his teeth and flung the splinters broadcast, reaching wildly for anything which looked like a human form. Then he suddenly stopped and a quiver passed through him. He gave a mighty smash with his flukes upon the remains of the boat, and then his life went out. He sank slowly down upon the clean sand below, and the ground-sharks of the reef came silently in to their feast.
THE SEA DOG
THE SEADOG
He was a yellow brute, mangy, lean, and treacherous-looking. He had been in two ships where dogs were not particularly liked by the officers, and the last one had gone ashore in the darkness during a northeast gale off the Frying Pan. How he had come ashore from the wreck was a detail beyond his reasoning. Here he was on the beach of North Carolina, and not one of his shipmates was left to take care of him.
He had at first foraged among the bushes of beach myrtle and through the pine woods, stealing into the light-keeper’s yard at Bald Head during the hours of darkness, and rummaging through his garbage for a bit of food to keep the life within his mangy hide. He had now been ashore for nearly five months, and during all that time he had shown an aversion to the light-keeper’s society. There was no other human habitation on the island, and the light-keeper had fired a charge of bird-shot at him on two occasions. This had not given him greater confidence in strangers, and that which he had had was of a suspicious kind, born and nurtured aboard ship, where a kick was the usual salutation. He was as sly as a wolf and as wild as a razor-back hog, for he had gradually fallen upon the resources of the wild animal, and his one thought was for himself.
He had broken away into the night howling after the last reception by the light-keeper at the Bald Head tower, and sore and stiff he had crawled into the bushes to pick at the tiny pellets that stung so fiercely. In the future he would be more careful. He must watch. Eternal vigilance was the price for his worthless life. All the evil desires and instincts begotten through a line of rascally curs now began to grow within him. He would not repress them, for was it not manifest that he must exercise every selfish desire to its utmost if he would live? His eyes took on that wild, hunted look of the beast with whom all are at war, and his teeth showed fiercely at each and every sound. A sullen savageness of mind came upon him more and more every day, until after these months of wildness he had dropped back again into the natural state of his forefathers. He was a wild dog in every sense. As wild as the hogs who rooted through the pine woods or tore through the swamp, lean as deer and alert to every danger, the degenerates of the well-bred pigs of the early settlers.
Sometimes he would run along the edge of the beach in the sunlight and watch the surf, but even this was dangerous, for once the light-keeper happened to be out hunting and sent a rifle bullet singing past his ears. He broke for cover again, and seldom ventured forth except after the sun went down. In the daytime he would go slinking through the gloom of the dense thickets with ears cocked and senses alert, watching like a wolf for the slightest sign of danger. A wolf is seldom seen unless he means to be, and the yellow dog soon became as retiring.