Saved by a Seal 2/3

The second part of the fortieth tale from The Animal Book

I was in high spirits, for shad would tempt Nab as no other fish could. In less than two minutes I had my clothes off, the lariat knotted round my waist, and the short string that tied the fish together between my teeth.

The seals were still where I had first seen them, out less than two hundred yards from shore. I waded quickly into the water until the waves began to break over my head and then swam. Before I had taken three strokes, one of the fishes I held by my teeth began to lend assistance, jumping and splashing about so under my nose that I thought best to beat a retreat.

When I turned to gain shallow water again, however, I felt at once the strength of the undertow, which in my excitement I had entirely forgotten. I could make no headway against it until a couple of big waves came up from behind and sent me far enough in to get a firm footing.

With confidence that my shad would give me no more trouble, I again turned to swim out. The water of the big waves that had boosted me in now began to draw me out in the undertow. I hesitated when I felt the strength of its sweep and still more as I thought of the greater force it would have when the tide turned. Where I stood I could withstand it, but a little deeper in I well knew it would be impossible to do so without the help of incoming waves.

“They just washed me ashore once; I guess they will again,” I thought, and I threw myself into the current.

As I approached the seals, most of them began to swim off, but two or three of the larger males stood their ground, letting me come to within a couple of rods of them. Nearer, however, they would not let me draw, although their curiosity about me was great. From the way they went circling round me, stretching their long necks up out of the water to get a good view, I concluded I was of a different species of water animal from those with which they were familiar. Of Nab, however, I could see nothing.

“Fish, Nab, fish, fish!” I called, and held up for inspection one of the shad I had brought.

At the sound of my voice there was a sharp little bark from behind, such as Nab alone could give when I had an exceptionally delicate morsel for him. I turned quickly and saw at a distance his shining dog-shaped head.

“Fish, Nab, a fine shad for you, fish!” I coaxed.

He came a little nearer, and I was confident the bait would prove irresistible. But my assurance was ill-founded, for in spite of all my coaxing, Nab only circled round and round me until I was dizzy trying to keep track of him. Either he had had fairly good luck fishing for himself that morning and was not suffering very keen pangs of hunger, or else he still associated my benevolence too closely with the little square splash tub of the seal house.

When I had begun to grow weary from the incessant motion necessary to keep myself afloat, Nab suddenly made a dash so close that his flippers brushed my side. He snapped the fish out of my hand, and in the same instant he was again beyond reach. The fact that he had come up for one fish encouraged me to hope he would come also for the second, and I began to coax with renewed energy.

Nab was seemingly as much on his guard as before, however, and again went through his complete list of maneuvers, first rearing high out of the water, turning one side of his head and then the other toward me, then ducking into the depths with a final flourish of his tail, to reappear presently on the other side of me, as sportive as before.

By this time I had begun to feel pretty well exhausted, and when I suddenly thought of the undertow, I decided to swim back. So intent had I been upon urging Nab near enough to get the lariat about his neck that I had not once looked toward shore. As I now did so, I was terrified to find that one of the unaccountably shifting currents along Moss Beach had swept me a long distance out to sea.

Without more nonsense, I dropped my remaining shad and started back with long, even strokes. Nab snapped up the fish and disappeared in the deep green water.

In spite of my efforts, I found that I was making small speed against the current. The rock and tree on the point of land to my right, by which I judged my progress, kept almost in the same straight line. Knowing it was useless to spend my strength directly against a current, I shifted my course in the direction of the point. From the sand hills to my left I could see that I now made more progress, but the distance I had to cover was greater than straight to Moss Beach.

Before I had covered half the distance I was almost too fatigued to take another stroke; then the feeling of weariness seemed to leave me, and I swam on as if turned into a machine. It was in a mechanical way, too, that my brain seemed to work.

“If the undertow’s as strong as when I came out,” I thought, “I can never get through the breakers.”

I wished I had told Father my plans. He might have come out with a boat to get me. Then I wondered how it was that my arms and legs kept on moving when there was so little feeling in them.

The roar of the breakers had suddenly grown louder, and I saw I was within twenty yards of shore. I swam on with the same steady strokes, but at a certain distance from the waterline came to a standstill.

I knew I was held back by the undertow, and that there was need of all my remaining strength to get ashore. I increased my efforts, but surged helplessly forward and backward with the rising and falling waves. When I thought I had given my last stroke, a big wave boosted me in, followed by a second and third, until it seemed I must be where I could reach bottom.

The End, Part Two