Rolling and labouring, heeling over gunwales under sometimes, the _Martin_ managed to reach Spithead in the teeth of a stormy south- easter, which was sending the surf over Southsea Castle as the big rollers coming in from the offing broke against the pile-protected rampart below; and, we were just going to anchor in our usual berth under the lee of the Spit, `Gyp' standing as well as he could with his rickety sea-legs by the taffrail. He was watching me coming down from aloft, where I had gone with some of the other boys of the starboard watch to furl the mizzen-topsail, waiting, poor fellow, to greet me with a sniff of welcome; when, in the excitement of my near approach, he wagged his tail somewhat incautiously and, thereby losing his footing, the affectionate animal fell overboard. CHAPTER TWELVE. "DRAFTED." Shouting out without thinking as loud as I could, "Man overboard!" I plunged into the tideway after him; and, before `Gyp' knew where he was or had time to shake the water out of his eyes and ears after rising from his unexpected plunge, breasting the choppy seas with his quick- working paws and paddling all round in a circle in his flurry, I had struck out after him, gripping him by the collar in half a dozen strokes. Poor old chap, he whined and licked my face as I came alongside him, his wistful eyes saying as plainly as dog could speak, "Thank God, Tom, you've come to help me," or something to that effect. I was a good swimmer, having won the long-distance prize in our summer sports off Haslar Creek; but, I now found the task of battling with the big billows brought in by the south-easter, which were all the rougher from the cross tide setting against them, none too easy, wind and sea- going one way and the tide another. I could hardly make a stroke towards the beach, which I aimed for at first, the undercurrent pulling me back and sweeping me out seaward; while, the rough water, smacking against my face, bothered me and palsied my every effort. They had let go the life-buoy, of course, on board the brig when I sang out before jumping off from the taffrail; but the buoy was more difficult to reach than the shore, the wind catching it up and tossing it from wave crest to wave crest till it was cast up on top of one of the piles in front of the Castle far ahead. Treading water to regain my breath after a futile struggle of some minutes' duration, and holding poor `Gyp's' head well up so that he should not be drowned by the spent seas that broke against us, I squinted round to see what they were doing on board the _Martin_ in the way of trying to pick us up. A boat, I saw, was being lowered to leeward; but, the brig was such a long way off now that I was afraid they wouldn't be in time to save us. I must look for assistance in another direction.