“Is nothing known about this traveller?” asked Mrs. Weldon.
“Nothing was ever heard of him after his first departure. It appears quite certain that he failed to reach the east coast, and it can only be conjectured either that he died upon his way, or that he was made prisoner by the natives; and if so, and this dog ever belonged to him, the animal might have made his way back to the seacoast, where, just about the time that would be likely, the captain of the Waldeck picked him up.”
“But you have no reason to suppose, Captain Hull, that Vernon ever owned a dog of this description?”
“I own I never heard of it,” said the captain; “but still the impression fixes itself on my mind that the dog must have been his; how he came to know one letter from another, it is not for me to pretend to say. Look at him now, madam! he seems not only to be reading the letters for himself, but to be inviting us to come and read them with him.”
Whilst Mrs. Weldon was watching the dog with much amusement, Dick Sands, who had listened to the previous conversation, took the opportunity of asking the captain whether the traveller Vernon had started on his expedition quite alone.
“That is really more than I can tell you, my boy,” answered Captain Hull; “but I should almost take it for granted that he would have a considerable retinue of natives.”
The captain spoke without being aware that Negoro had meanwhile quietly stolen on deck. At first his presence was quite unnoticed, and no one observed the peculiar glance with which he looked at the two letters over which Dingo still persisted in keeping guard. The dog, however, no sooner caught sight of the cook than he began to bristle with rage, whereupon Negoro, with a threatening gesture which seemed half involuntary, withdrew immediately to his accustomed quarters.
The incident did not escape the captain’s observation.
“No doubt,” he said, “there is some mystery here;” and he was pondering the matter over in his mind when Dick Sands spoke.
“Don’t you think it very singular, sir, that this dog should have such a knowledge of the alphabet?”
Jack here put in his word.
“My mamma has told me about a dog whose name was Munito, who could read as well as a schoolmaster, and could play dominoes.”
Mrs. Weldon smiled.
“I am afraid, my child, that that dog was not quite so learned as you imagine. I don’t suppose he knew one letter from another; but his master, who was a clever American, having found out that the animal had a very keen sense of hearing, taught him some curious tricks.”
“What sort of tricks?” asked Dick, who was almost as much interested as little Jack.
“When he had to perform in public,” continued Mrs. Weldon, “a lot of letters like yours, Jack, were spread out upon a table, and Munito would put together any word that the company should propose, either aloud or in a whisper, to his master. The creature would walk about until he stopped at the very letter which was wanted. The secret of it all was that the dog’s owner gave him a signal when he was to stop by rattling a little toothpick in his pocket, making a slight noise that only the dog’s ears were acute enough to perceive.”
Dick was highly amused, and said—
“But that was a dog who could do nothing wonderful without his master.”
“Just so,” answered Mrs. Weldon; “and it surprises me very much to see Dingo picking out these letters without a master to direct him.”
“The more one thinks of it, the more strange it is,” said Captain Hull; “but, after all, Dingo’s sagacity is not greater than that of the dog which rang the convent bell in order to get at the dish that was reserved for passing beggars; nor than that of the dog who had to turn a spit every other day, and never could be induced to work when it was not his proper day. Dingo evidently has no acquaintance with any other letters except the two S V; and some circumstance which we can never guess has made him familiar with them.”
“What a pity he cannot talk!” exclaimed the apprentice; “we should know why it is that he always shows his teeth at Negoro.”
“And tremendous teeth they are!” observed the captain, as Dingo at that moment opened his mouth, and made a display of his formidable fangs.
VI
A Whale in Sight
It was only what might be expected that the dog’s singular exhibition of sagacity should repeatedly form a subject of conversation between Mrs. Weldon, the captain, and Dick. The young apprentice in particular began to entertain a lurking feeling of distrust towards Negoro, although it must be owned that the man’s conduct in general afforded no tangible grounds for suspicion.
Nor was it only among the stern passengers that Dingo’s remarkable feat was discussed; amongst the crew in the bow the dog not only soon gained the reputation of being able to read, but was almost credited with being able to write too, as well as any sailor among them; indeed the chief wonder was that he did not speak.
“Perhaps he can,” suggested Bolton, the helmsman, “and likely enough some fine day we shall have him coming to ask about our bearings, and to inquire which way the wind lies.”
“Ah! why not?” assented another sailor; “parrots talk, and magpies talk; why shouldn’t a dog? For my part, I should guess it must be easier to speak with a mouth than with a beak.”
“Of course it is,” said Howick, the boatswain;
