Free The Spuddy by Lillian Beckwith

strength. Weak as he was the effort was enough to release the Spuddy and the next sea did the rest, washing the dog into the water. Relieved, Jake saw that he could still swim. The Spuddy might stand a chance of getting ashore alive. A dog’s chance. No more. In the next instant he perceived the Spuddy was trying to turn to swim back to him.
    â€˜No, Spuddy! No!’ Jake’s voice came out in a rasping shout. ‘Ashore Spuddy! Ashore! Skipper’s orders!’ Through a thinning swirl of snow Jake thought he caught a glimpse of land. He retched again and slowly his hands released their grip of the boat.

Chapter Twelve

    Back in Rhuna the crew, caught up in the jollity of the wedding, failed to notice the passing of the time and the threatening storm. Even Andy was too entranced by the old fiddler’s playing to give a thought about getting back to the Spuddy. He had seen the sky darken and a few snow-flakes whirling about but the house in which they were being entertained was tucked in behind the hill out of sight of the sea so it was not until they judged the time had come for them to return to the boat and they had rounded the shoulder of the hill that they became aware of the full force of the blizzard. When they reached the shore they were concerned to find that the sea was breaking so viciously over the shingle it was impossible to launch the dinghy. Andy could not hide his anxiety but the crew, feeling guilty over their inattention to the weather, tried to reassure themselves that there was nothing to worry about. When the tide ebbed there’d be a chance to launch the dinghy, they consoled themselves. And this blizzard couldn’t last long, surely: not coming down as thickly as it was. They accepted the hospitality of a cottage near the shore where they drank tea and smoked and bit their fingernails and stared as though hypnotized at the snow masked windows. From his corner beside the fire Andy watched, feeling their unspoken apprehension. It was almost dark before the blizzard ceased and the sea was calm enough for them to get out in the dinghy and by that time there was no ‘Silver Crest’ in the bay.
    â€˜She must have started draggin’ her anchor an’ so he thought he’d best get out of it,’ suggested the youngest member of the crew.
    â€˜I daresay that’s the way of it,’ agreed the cook expressionlessly.
    â€˜In that case he’ll soon be back to pick us up,’ said the oldest and they clustered around the dinghy, kicking at the shingle, stamping their cold feet; flapping their arms; smoking; muttering; exclaiming and all the time staring out across the bay willing the lights of the ‘Silver Crest’ to appear round the point. The wind died to a frosty calm and a full moon rose, polishing the dark rocks against the snowy collar of the bay and still the men waited on the shore, refusing the proffered warmth of the cottage. When the dawn came and there was still no sign of the boat the crew and some of the crofters walked out to the point to scan the sea. What they saw impaled on the jagged rocks sent some of them to summon help while others hurried to search the rocky shores.
    When the sea had flung the Spuddy on the sandy inlet between the rocks on Rhuna’s west coast it was the top of the tide and after dragging himself out of reach of the water he lay quite still. All through the night, oblivious of the thrashing surf, the cold and the pain of his crushed body he waited for the peace he knew would not be long in coming. When dawn came, lifting his head as if for one last look, he saw lying just above the now calm water the body of his skipper. He tried to move, digging his paws into the sand and laboriously, shuddering every now and then with pain, he dragged himself down until he was lying beside Jake. As he nuzzled under the cold hand that had given him so many rough caresses his tail lifted and dropped once and his breath came