The dog wagged his tail and looked up at me.
“Did he go overboard after me?” said I.
“You shall hear. It was break of day, the water quiet, the brig under all plain sail, the speed some five knots. I was walking the quarter-deck, and there was a man on the forecastle keeping a lookout. Suddenly that chap Galloon there”—here the “chap” wagged his tail and looked up at me again as though perfectly sensible that we were talking about him—“sprang on to the taffrail and barked loudly. I ran aft and looked over, but not having a dog’s eye saw nothing. ‘What is it, Galloon?’ said I. He barked again, and then with a short but most piercing and lamentable howl he sprang overboard. I love that dog as I love the light of day, Mr. Fielding, much better than I love dollars, and better than I love many ladies with whom I am acquainted. The brig was brought to the wind, a boat lowered, and the people found Galloon with his teeth in the jacket of a man who was laying over an oar.”
“The noble fellow!” said I, looking down at the dog.
Greaves picked him up and put his head over the edge of the hammock, and I kissed the creature’s nose, receiving in return a caressing lick of the tongue that swept my face.
“Why do you call him Galloon?” said I.
“I have been dreaming of galleons all my life,” he answered.
He relighted his pipe and resumed his seat, and the dog lay at his feet, gazing up at me.
“I took the liberty,” said I, “of asking the youth called Jimmy to tell me what port this brig was bound to. He answered that he did not know.”
“He does not know,” said Captain Greaves. “No man on board the Black Watch, saving myself, knows where we are bound to.”