Adventures of a Dog, and a Good Dog Too

by Alfred Elwes

  THE INUNDATION.

  That evening it seemed as if Nip and I had changed characters. It was hewho did all the talking, while I sat in a corner, full of thought, andanswered yes or no to everything he said, and sometimes in the wrongplace, I am sure; for once or twice he looked at me very attentively, andwinked in a way which proved that he was puzzled by my manner.

  The reason of his talkativeness was the success I had attained in myfirst morning's walk, for I had sold nearly all the meat, and broughthome a pocket full of small money. The cause of my silence was theunexpected meeting with Fida, and the annoyance I felt at having beenseen by her in such a position. This was the first time I had set eyes onher for several days. When we left our pretty country lodging, I wroteher a letter, which Nip carried as usual to her house, but he was toldthat she had gone on a visit to some friends at a distance, but that theletter should be given to her on her return. I had not, therefore, beenable to inform her of what we had been compelled to do, as I would havewished; but thus, without preparation, quite unexpectedly, I had been metby her in the public street, acting the poor dogs' butcher, with theimplements of my business before me, and a dirty cur growling and gnawinghis dinner at my feet. What made the matter more serious, for serious itseemed to me, though I can but smile _now_ to think why such a thingshould have made me uncomfortable, was, that the whole scene had takenplace in so open a part, with so many grand and gay dogs all round, to bewitnesses of my confusion. I did not reflect that, of all the puppies whowere strutting past, there was probably not one who could have rememberedso common an event as the passing of a butcher's barrow; and if theylooked at me at all, it was, doubtless, for no other reason than to avoidrunning against my greasy coat and spoiling their fine clothes. Theseconfessions will prove to you that I was very far from being a wise dogor even a sensible one; all the books I had read had, as yet, served noother purpose than that of feeding my vanity and making me believe I wasa very superior animal; and you may learn from this incident, that thosewho wish to make a proper figure in the world, and play the part they arecalled on to perform in a decent manner, must study their lesson in theworld itself, by mingling with their fellows, for books alone can no moreteach such knowledge than it can teach a dog to swim without his goinginto the water.

  Nip and I had our dinner; and when it was over, my old friend went out toprocure a supply of meat for the next day's business. I sat at the windowwith my nose resting on the ledge, at times watching some heavy cloudswhich were rolling up the sky, as if to attend a great meeting overhead;at another moment, looking at the curs in the streets, who were playingall sorts of games, which generally turned into a fight, and oftenstaring at the house opposite without seeing a single stone in the wall,but in their place, Fidas, and puppies with stiff collars, and barrowswith piles of meat, ready cut and skewered. I was awoke from thisday-dream by the voice of an old, but very clean doggess, inquiring if myname was Mr. Job? I answered that I was so called, when she drew from herpocket and gave me a pink-coloured note, which smelt like a nice garden,and even brought one to my view as plainly as if it had suddenly dancedbefore me, and saying there was no reply, returned by the way she hadcome.

  I did not require to be told by whom it was sent. I knew the writing toowell. The neat folding, the small but clean address assured me that alady's paw had done it all, and every word of the direction--

  +---------------------------------------+ | MASTER JOB, | | | | In the Little Dogs' Street, | | | | F. LOWER CANEVILLE. | +---------------------------------------+

  spoke to me of Fida, and did not even need the F. in the corner toconvince me of the fact. With her permission, I here give you thecontents:--

  "MY DEAR JOB,

  "I am sorry I was away from home when your letter arrived, and would have told you I was going, but that I thought the news might cause you pain, as I, by some mischance, had got my tail jammed in a door, and was forced to leave home in order to visit a famous doctor, who lives at some distance. He fortunately cured me after a few days' illness, and the tail wags now as freely as ever, although it was very annoying, as well as ridiculous, to see me walking up and down the room with that wounded member so wrapped up that it was as thick as my whole body, and was quite a load to drag about.

  "But, dear Job, I do not write this to talk about myself, though I am forced to give you this explanation of my silence: what I wish is to say something about _you_. And to begin, as you have always been a good, kind dog, and listened to me patiently when I have praised, you must now be just as kind and good, and even more patient, because I am going to scold.

  "Dear Job, when I met you this morning in your new dress and occupation, I had not then read your letter. I had but just returned, and was taking a walk with my brother, who had arrived from abroad during my absence. I knew you at once, in spite of your change of costume, and though I did not particularly like the business you had chosen, I felt certain you had good reasons for having selected it. But when I looked in your face, instead of the smile of welcome which I expected from you, I could read nothing but shame, confusion, and annoyance. Why? dear Job, why? If you were _ashamed_ of your occupation, why had you chosen it? I suppose when you took it up, you resolved to do your duty in it properly; then why feel _shame_ because _your friend_ sees you, as you must have thought she would one day see you, since the nature of your new business carries you into different parts of the city?

  "But, dear Job, I feel certain, and I would like you to be equally sure, that there is no need of _shame_ in following any busines which is _honest_, and which can be carried on without doing injury to others. It is not the business, believe me, dear Job, which lowers a dog; _he himself_ is alone capable of _lowering_ himself, and one dog may be truly good and noble, though he drive a meat-barrow about the streets, while another may be a miserable, mean animal, though living in a palace and never soiling his paws.

  "I have a great deal more to say, my dear Job, upon this subject, but I must leave the rest till I see you. I have already crossed and recrossed my note, and may be most difficult to understand where I most want to be clear. Here is a nice open space, however, in the corner, which I seize on with pleasure to write myself most distinctly,

  "Your friend,

  "FIDA."

  A variety of feelings passed through my mind as I read these lines. Butthey were all lost in my wonder at Fida's cleverness in being able toread my face, as if it had been a book. I was grateful to her for thegood advice she gave me, and now felt ashamed for having been ashamedbefore. The best way I thought to prove my thankfulness would be to actopenly and naturally as Fida had pointed out, for I could not helpconfessing, as my eyes looked again and again over her note, that she wasquite right, and that I had acted like a very silly animal.

  I was interrupted during my reflections by the bursting of rain upon thehouse-roofs, and the stream which rose from the streets as the largedrops came faster and faster down. I went to the door to look for my oldfriend, but not a dog was to be seen. I was surprised at the sight of thesky where I had observed the clouds rising a little while before, for nowthose same clouds looked like big rocks piled one above another, withpatches of light shining through great caverns.

  As I stared eagerly down the street, torrents of water poured from above,which, instead of diminishing, seemed to be growing more terrible everymoment. I had never seen so fearful a storm. It did not appear like mererain which was falling; the water came down in broad sheets, and changedthe road into a river. I got more and more anxious about old Nip. It wasgetting dark, and I knew he was not strong. My hope was that he hadtaken shelter somewhere; but I could not rest, for I was sure he wouldtry and get home, if only to quiet me. While running in and out in myanxiety--t
he water having meanwhile risen above the sill of the door, andpoured into our little house, where it was already above my paws--I spieda dark figure crawling along the street, and with great difficulty makingway against the beating of the storm. I at once rushed out, and swimmingrather than running towards the object, I found my poor friend almostspent with fatigue, and scarcely able to move, having a heavy load tocarry besides his own old limbs, which were not fit to battle with such atempest. I caught up his package; and assisting him as well as I wasable, we at length got to our cottage, though we were forced to get uponthe bench that stood by the wall to keep our legs out of the water. Therain had now become a perfect deluge. A stream of water went hissing downthe street, and rushed in and out of the houses as if they had beenbaths.

  When Nip recovered breath, he told me that terrible things were happeningin the parts of the city by the waterside. The river had swollen so much,that some kennels had been carried away by the current, and it wasimpossible to learn how many poor dogs had been drowned. This news mademe jump again from the bench where I had been sitting.

  "What is it?" said Nip.

  "I am going out, Nip," replied I. "I must not be idle here, when I can,perhaps, be of use somewhere else."

  "That is true," said Nip; "but, Job, strong as you are, the storm isstronger."

  "Yes, Nip," answered I; "but there are dogs weaker than myself who mayrequire such assistance as I can give them, and it is not a time for adog to sit with his tail curled round him, when there arefellow-creatures who may want a helping paw. So good-bye, old friend; tryand go to sleep; you have done your duty as long as your strength letyou, it is now for me to do mine." Without waiting for a reply, I rushedout at the door.

  It did not need much exertion to get through our street or the next, orthe next after that, for as they all sloped downwards, the water morethan once took me off my legs, and carried me along. Sad as Nip's newshad been, I was not prepared for the terrible scene which met my eyeswhen I got near the river. The houses at the lower part of the street Ihad reached had been swept away by the torrent, and a crowd of shiveringdogs stood looking at the groaning river as it rolled past in great wavesas white as milk, in which black objects, either portions of some kennelor articles of furniture, were floating. Every now and then, a howl wouldbreak from a doggess in the crowd, as a dead body was seen tossed aboutby the angry water; and the same dolorous cries might be heard fromdifferent quarters, mixed up with the roar of the river.

  While standing with a group of three or four, staring with astonishmentat the frightful scene, uncertain what to do, a howl was heard fromanother direction, so piercing that it made many of us run to learn thecause. The pale light showed us that the torrent had snapped the supportsof a house at some distance from the river's bank, but which the swollenstream had now reached, and carried away at least half the building. Bysome curious chance, the broken timbers had become fixed for the momentin the boiling water, which, angry at the obstruction, was rushing roundor flying completely over them; and it was easy to see that in a veryshort time the mass would be swept away. Upon the timbers thus exposedwere three little pups scarce two months old, yelping most dismally asthey crouched together, or crawled to the edge of their raft; while onthe floor of the ruin from which this side had been torn away, was theirpoor mother, whose fearful howl had attracted us thither, and who wasrunning from side to side of the shattered hut as if she was frantic.

  Great as the danger was, I could not bear to think the wretched mothershould see her little ones swallowed up by the stormy water, before hervery eyes, without a single attempt being made to save them. Although Icould scarcely hope even to reach them in safety, and in no case couldbring more than one of them to land at once, if I even got so far, Iresolved to make the trial. Better save one, I thought, than let all die.

  Holding my breath, I launched into the current in the direction of theraft, and soon found that I had not been wrong in calculating thedifficulties and dangers of the undertaking. It was not the water alonewhich made the peril so great, though the eddies seemed at every momentto be pulling me to the bottom, but there were so many things rushingalong with the stream as to threaten to crush me as they flew by; and hadthey struck me, there is no doubt there would have been an end of myadventures. Avoiding them all, though I know not how, I was getting nearthe spot where the little pups were crying for their mother, when I feltmyself caught in an eddy and dragged beneath the water. Without losingcourage, but not allowing myself to breathe, I made a strong effort, andat last, got my head above the surface again; but where was the raft?Where were the helpless puppies? All had gone--not a trace was left totell where they had been--the river foamed over the spot that had heldthem for a time, and was now rushing along as if boasting of itsstrength.

  Seeing my intentions thus defeated, I turned my head towards the shore,resolving to swim to land. To my surprise, I found that I made noprogress. I put out all my strength--I fought with the water--I threwmyself forward--it was in vain--I could not move a paw's breadth againstthe current. I turned to another point--I again used every exertion--allwas useless--I felt my tired limbs sink under me--I felt the streamsweeping me away--my head turned round in the agony of that moment, and Imoaned aloud.

  My strength was now gone--I could scarce move a paw to keep my head downthe river. A dark object came near--it was a large piece of timber,probably a portion of some ruined building. Seizing it as well as myweakness would permit me, I laid my paws over the floating wood, and,dragging my body a little more out of the water, got some rest from myterrible labours.

  AFLOAT]

  Where was I hurrying to? I knew not. Every familiar object must have beenlong passed, but it was too obscure to make out anything except the angrytorrent. On, on I went, in darkness and in fear--yes, great fear, not ofdeath, but a fear caused by the strangeness of my position, and theuncertainty before me; on, on, till the black shores seemed to fly fromeach other, and the river to grow and grow until all land haddisappeared, and nothing but the water met my aching eyes. I closed themto shut out the scene, and tried to forget my misery.

  Had I slept? And what was the loud noise which startled me so that I hadnearly let go my hold? I roused myself--I looked around--I was tossing upand down with a regular motion, but could see nothing clearly, I was nolonger carried forward so swiftly as before, but the dim light preventedme making out the place I was now in.

  Suddenly, a flash broke from the black clouds, and for a single momentshed a blue light over everything. What a spectacle! All around, formiles and miles and miles, was nothing but dancing water, like shininghills with milky tops, but not a living creature beside myself to keep mecompany, or say a kind word, or listen to me when I spoke, or pity mewhen I moaned! Oh! who could tell what I then felt, what I feared, andwhat I suffered! Alone! alone!

  When I think, as I often do now, of that terrible scene, and figure tomyself my drenched body clinging to that piece of timber, I seem to feela strange pity for the miserable dog thus left, as it seemed, to die,away from all his fellows, without a friendly howl raised, to show therewas a single being to regret his loss--and I cannot help at such timesmurmuring to myself, as if it were some other animal, "Poor Job! poordog!"

  I remember a dimness coming over my eyes after I had beheld that world ofwater--I have a faint recollection of thinking of Fida--of poor Nip--ofthe drowning puppies I had tried in vain, to save--of my passing throughthe streets of Caneville with my meat-barrow, and wondering how I couldhave been so foolish as to feel ashamed of doing so--and then--andthen--I remember nothing more.