When it was ascertained that it was a dog--which followed upon additional pathetic appeals from the water--there was wild excitement all along the line. Men tumbled over barrels and boxes, and ran plump up against walls, and fell into pits, and even into the river itself, in their anxiety to keep pace with the sounds from the fog. Others began hastily to get out boats, and ran about with lanterns and oars and ends of rope and other life-saving paraphernalia. These boats put off simultaneously from either side, and contained police agents, bargemen, roustabouts, watchmen, watermen, and bums. As the inhabitants of the Long Island shore at the cry of "A whale!" man the boats and race to get in the first harpoon, so these rivermen of the Seine now pulled for a drowning dog. The conflicting sounds of human voices, the grating of boats against the stones, the rattle of chains, the splash of oars, were plainly heard and as plainly understood by the intelligent animal now struggling with death. Through his set jaws, which still clung to the child's clothing, or, rather, through his nose, there came occasional whines of distress that were almost heart-rending in their intensity. These last faint appeals for help directed the rescuers. "Mon Dieu!" exclaimed a waterman, nearing the spot and rowing alongside. "It's a child!" screamed another. "No, it's a dog," said a third. The light was still uncertain and objects confusing. "It's dog and child----" "It's dead!" "Not yet, monsieur." "I mean the child." "Dead?" "No; the dog has held its face above water." "The dog,--quick! he's sinking!" "Here!" "A rope!" "There!" "No, no! Catch him by the neck!" "Save the child first!" "I've got him!" "And I've got her!" "Hang on to the dog! Pull him into the boat, stupid!" "Why, she's strapped down to something!" "What is this, anyhow?" "Pull the dog loose, man!--he'll drown her yet!" "There!" "Your knife, Pierre!" "Hold!" This was from the river policeman, who held up his bull's-eye lantern so that it threw a yellow glare on the white upturned face. "She's dead, poor little thing!" "We shall bring in the body just as it is," said the official. "But----" "That's the law!" "Tonnerre! Is it the law to let a child drown in one's sight?" "Oh, she's dead enough, I'm afraid." "I don't know about that." "Bring it in just as it is," repeated the official, adjusting a rope to the mysterious thing beneath the body. "Sacré bleu! And if she's alive?" "Poor doggie! He's about done for too." And so it really seemed, for Tartar lay in the bottom of the boat, still breathing, but in convulsive gasps. In his teeth remained a portion of the child's clothing, torn away with him. He had hung to his charge to the last. His jaws had never relaxed.