Every one not already aloft got there without loss of time, so that the deck was soon entirely deserted.
Meanwhile the dog was traversing the deck at a brisk trot, snapping at everything in his way.
Sometimes he would come to a full stop and spring straight up; at others he would tear away at some large rope, as if trying to devour it. Occasionally he uttered a wild, dismal howl.
What was to be done? Had he been a small dog we might have attacked and killed him with handspikes; but with so large and powerful a creature the case was different.
The captain had a revolver in the cabin, but while we were becalmed off the Orkney Islands he had shot away all his cartridges at sea birds that came near the ship, so that now the firearm was useless.
All this while the ship was left to herself, the topsails backing and filling, and the spanker moving from side to side.
“Why not try to lasso the brute?” called out the mate at last.
The captain thought the suggestion worth acting upon, and a number of us going down to the foot of the shrouds, attempted to take off some coils of the running rigging from the pins.
But the dog was there before us, and, leaping up, he fixed his teeth in the shrouds in a way that showed what would be our fate if we did not keep out of his reach.
However, as some of us were on one side of the ship and some on the other, we finally succeeded in getting at the slack of some of the ropes, and then, standing well up in the shrouds, we did our best at lasso-throwing. But we were no cowboys, and all our efforts resulted in failure.