CHAPTER I
_In Which Young Billy Topsail of Ruddy Cove Puts Out to His First Adventure with His Dog in the Bow of the Punt_
FROM the very beginning it was inevitable that Billy Topsail shouldhave adventures. He was a fisherman's son, born at Ruddy Cove, whichis a fishing harbour on the bleak northeast coast of Newfoundland; andthere was nothing else for it. All Newfoundland boys have adventures;but not all Newfoundland boys survive them. And there came, in thecourse of the day's work and play, to Billy Topsail, many adventures.The first--the first real adventure in which Billy Topsail wasabandoned to his own wit and strength--came by reason of a gust of windand his own dog. It was not strange that a gust of wind should overturnBilly Topsail's punt; but that old Skipper should turn troublesome inthe thick of the mess was an event the most unexpected. . . .
* * * * *
Skipper was a Newfoundland dog, born of reputable parents at Back Armand decently bred in Ruddy Cove. He had black hair, short, straight andwiry--the curly-haired breed has failed on the Island--and broad, ampleshoulders, which his forbears had transmitted to him from generationsof hauling wood.
He was heavy, awkward and ugly, resembling somewhat a greatdraft-horse. But he pulled with a will, fended for himself, and withinthe knowledge of men had never stolen a fish; so he had a high placein the hearts of all the people of the Cove, and a safe one in theirestimation.
"Skipper! Skipper! Here, b'y!"
The ringing call, in the voice of Billy Topsail, never failed to bringthe dog from the kitchen with an eager rush, when the snow lay deep onthe rocks, and all the paths of the wilderness were ready for the sled.He stood stock-still for the harness, and at the first "Hi, b'y! Gee upthere!" he bounded away with a wagging tail and a glad bark. It was asif nothing pleased him so much on a frosty morning as the prospect of ahard day's work.
If the call came in summer-time when Skipper was dozing in the coolshadow of a flake--a platform of boughs for drying fish--he scrambledto his feet, took his clog[1] in his mouth and ran, all a-quiver forwhat might come, to where young Billy waited. If the clog were takenoff, as it was almost sure to be, it meant sport in the water. ThenSkipper would paw the ground and whine until the stick was flung outfor him. But best of all he loved to dive for stones.
At the peep of many a day, too, he went out in the punt to thefishing-grounds with Billy Topsail, and there kept the lad good companyall the day long. It was because he sat on the little cuddy in the bow,as if keeping a lookout ahead, that he was called Skipper.
"Sure, 'tis a clever dog, that!" was Billy's boast. "He would savelife--that dog would!"
This was proved beyond doubt when little Isaiah Tommy Goodman toddledover the wharf-head, where he had been playing with a squid. IsaiahTommy was four years old, and would surely have been drowned had notSkipper strolled down the wharf just at that moment.
Skipper was obedient to the instinct of all Newfoundland dogs todrag the sons of men from the water. He plunged in and caught IsaiahTommy by the collar of his pinafore. Still following his instinct, hekept the child's head above water with powerful strokes of his forepaws while he towed him to shore. Then the outcry which Isaiah Tommyimmediately set up brought his mother to complete the rescue.
For this deed Skipper was petted for a day and a half, and fed withfried caplin and salt pork, to his evident gratification. No doubt hewas persuaded that he had acted worthily. However that be, he continuedin merry moods, in affectionate behaviour, in honesty--although thefish were even then drying on the flakes, all exposed--and he carriedhis clog like a hero.
"Skipper," Billy Topsail would ejaculate, "you _do_ be a clever dog!"
* * * * *
One day in the spring of the year, when high winds spring suddenlyfrom the land, Billy Topsail was fishing from the punt, the _NeverGive Up_, over the shallows off Molly's Head. It was "fish weather,"as the Ruddy Cove men say--gray, cold and misty. The harbour entrancelay two miles to the southwest. The bluffs which marked it were hardlydiscernible, for the mist hung thick off the shore. Four punts and askiff were bobbing half a mile farther out to sea, their crews fishingwith hook and line over the side. Thicker weather threatened and theday was near spent.
"'Tis time to be off home, b'y," said Billy to the dog. "'Tis gettingthick in the sou'west."
Skipper stretched himself and wagged his tail. He had no word to say,but Billy, who, like all fishermen in remote places, had formed thehabit of talking to himself, supplied the answer.
"'Tis that, Billy, b'y," said he. "The punt's as much as one hand canmanage in a fair wind. An' 'tis a dead beat to the harbour now."
Then Billy said a word for himself. "We'll put in for ballast. Thepunt's too light for a gale."
He sculled the punt to the little cove by the Head, and there loadedher with rocks. Her sails, mainsail and tiny jib, were spread, and shewas pointed for Grassy Island, on the first leg of her beat into thewind. By this time two other punts were under way, and the sails ofthe skiff were fluttering as her crew prepared to beat home for thenight. The _Never Give Up_ was ahead of the fleet, and held her lead insuch fine fashion as made Billy Topsail's heart swell with pride.
The wind had gained in force. It was sweeping down from the hills ingusts. Now it fell to a breeze, and again it came swiftly with angrystrength. Nor could its advance be perceived, for the sea was choppyand the bluffs shielded the inshore waters.
"We'll fetch the harbour on the next tack," Billy muttered to Skipper,who was whining in the bow.
He put the steering oar hard alee to bring the punt about. A gustcaught the sails. The boat heeled before it, and her gunwale was underwater before Billy could make a move to save her. The wind forced herdown, pressing heavily upon the canvas.
"Easy!" screamed Billy.
But the ballast of the _Never Give Up_ shifted, and she toppled over.Boy and dog were thrown into the sea--the one aft, the other forward.Billy dived deep to escape entanglement with the rigging of the boat.He had long ago learned the lesson that presence of mind wins half thefight in perilous emergencies. The coward miserably perishes where thebrave man survives. With his courage leaping to meet his predicament,he struck out for windward and rose to the surface.
He looked about for the punt. She had been heavily weighted withballast, and he feared for her. What was he to do if she had been tooheavily weighted? Even as he looked she sank. She had righted underwater; the tip of the mast was the last he saw of her.
The sea--cold, fretful, vast--lay all about him. The coast was halfa mile to windward; the punts, out to sea, were laboriously beatingtowards him, and could make no greater speed. He had to choose betweenthe punts and the rocks.
A whine--with a strange note in it--attracted his attention. The bigdog had caught sight of him, and was beating the water in a franticeffort to approach quickly. But the dog had never whined like thatbefore.
"Hi, Skipper!" Billy called. "Steady, b'y! Steady!"
Billy took off his boots as fast as he could. The dog was comingnearer, still whining strangely, and madly pawing the water. Billy wasmystified. What possessed the dog? It was as if he had been seizedwith a fit of terror. Was he afraid of drowning? His eyes were fairlyflaring. Such a light had never been in them before.
In the instant he had for speculation the boy lifted himself high inthe water and looked intently into the dog's eyes. It was terror hesaw in them; there could be no doubt about that, he thought. The dogwas afraid for his life. At once Billy was filled with dread. He couldnot crush the feeling down. Afraid of Skipper--the old, affectionateSkipper--his own dog, which he had reared from a puppy! It was absurd.
But he _was_ afraid, nevertheless--and he was desperately afraid.
"Back, b'y!" he cried. "Get back, sir!"
FOOTNOTE:
[1] In Newfoundland the law requires that all dogs shall be clogged asa precaution against their killing sheep and goats which run wild. Theclog is in the form
of a billet of wood, weighing at least seven and ahalf pounds, and tied to the dog's neck.
The Adventures of Billy Topsail Page 4
