“He may die, of course,” he said, as the mate suggested some precaution, “but I won’t have him killed; and as to tying him up just because he won’t eat, I shan’t do that either. He may be all right again in a day or two.”
Although the animal slept much, he would often get up and turn around as if he were not easy in any position. His eyes, too, had a very strange, glassy stare.
He remained in this state for a week, sometimes moving a few feet, but generally asleep.
He growled at every one who came near him, and I believe that even the captain, although too obstinate to acknowledge it, would at last have been glad to see him knocked on the head.
When the crisis finally came, it came suddenly. Most of the foremast hands were aloft in the rigging, I myself being in the maintop. The mate was busy somewhere about the deck, and the captain was leaning over the quarter rail, watching his opportunity to strike a porpoise which had come under the ship’s counter.
Presently we heard him shout to the mate:
“I’ve got him, Mr. Gibson! Come and lend a hand.”
The officer hurried to assist him; but at that moment another cry came from the man at the wheel:
“Look out, Captain Gale! Look out, Mr. Gibson! The dog is raving mad!”
As he spoke he let go of the wheel and sprang for the mizzen rigging. The captain and mate, looking hastily round, saw the mad brute close behind them, leaping up aimlessly and snapping at the air. I need not tell you that they went into the shrouds probably more quickly than they had ever done before.