latter portion of the cargo that Baldwin and his men had been engaged by Mr Hazlit. Hitherto the divers had been extremely successful. With the usual appliances of slings, chains, shears and windlasses, etcetera, they had already recovered a large quantity of goods, and were still busy in the hold when Edgar went down.
As we have said, the wreck lay in comparatively deep water—about ten fathoms. The ladder which descended from the side of the diver’s vessel was not two fathoms in length, so that after reaching the lowest round, Edgar had to continue his descent by slipping down the rope which hung from the ladder and was weighted at the bottom with a stone.
On reaching the ground he knelt, set down the lamp, and attached his guide-line to the stone. While thus engaged he looked with much interest at his little lamp, which burned as brightly and steadily down in the depths of ocean as if on land, while, from its chimney the air which gave it life rose upwards in a constant stream of bubbles. The water being dense and very dark its light did not penetrate far, but close to the bull’s-eye it was sufficiently strong to enable our hero to see what he was about. Having fixed the line, he was about to move in the direction of the wreck when he received one pull on his life-line. Replying to it with one pull—“all right”—he was again about to move, when a strange unearthly sound filled his ears, and he smiled to think that in his interest about the lamp and fastening his guide-line he had totally forgotten the speaking apparatus connected with his helmet.
“How d’ee git on down there?” inquired the voice, which sounded strangely mysterious, not to say unpleasant, in his confined metal head-piece.
“Splendidly,” he replied, not applying his mouth to any orifice in his helmet—for there was no opening into the speaking-tube—but simply giving utterance to the word in his usual manner. “I’ve just fixed my line and am going to move on.”
“Go ahead, and luck go with ’ee,” was the prompt reply from Joe Baldwin.
We have said that there was no opening into the helmet in connection with the speaking apparatus, such not being necessary. It was quite sufficient that the speaking-tube was fastened to the outside of the helmet, just over a sort of cavity formed inside by means of what we may style an interior patch of metal. The sound passed through the head-piece and up the tube—or vice versa—and thus even though the tube should get broken and filled with water, no evil result could follow to the diver.
Suddenly Berrington was again arrested.
“Hallo!” shouted Baldwin.
“Hallo! Well?” was sent up in reply, and the voice that came from below came out at the mouth-piece above, so soft and faint and far-far-away-like that it seemed to Joe to belong to another world, and had to be listened to attentively to be understood.
“D’you think you could read by the light of your lamp?”
“Yes, I’m sure I could.”
“Look out then; I’m sending you down a copy o’ the Times.”
The youth looked up, and now perceived the advantage of the fourth hole or window, just over the forehead, which is peculiar to the Denayrouze helmet, most others having only three openings. He could look up by merely raising his eyes, whereas with the other helmets it is necessary to bend well back in order to get the front-glass to face upwards. Afterwards he found that there were some who objected to this glass on the ground that as divers when below, and in total or partial darkness, are constantly butting their heads against beams and other portions of wrecks, the upper glass would be in frequent danger of being broken, but to this it was replied that it might be well guarded by powerful cross-bars. The point we believe is still an open question. At all events the upper glass was found useful on the occasion to which we refer, for, looking up through it, our amateur diver saw a stone coming down to him. It was lowered by a piece of twine, and tied to it was an old Times newspaper. Detaching and unfolding it Berrington set his lamp on the sand, and, seating himself beside it, found that he could read with perfect ease!
Intimating the fact to his friend above, he returned the paper and began his explorations.
He had been lowered close beside the stern of the wreck, that he might be as far as possible from the divers who were at work in the hold, and had taken only half a dozen steps in the direction of it when its vast bulk appeared above him, looming through the dark water like a darker cloud. For some time he went carefully round it, minutely examining the rudder and stern-post and the parts connected therewith, all of which he found to be uninjured. Then, passing along the starboard side, he proceeded in his inspection until he reached a point which he judged to be nearly amidships. Glancing upwards, he thought he could see the life-lines and air-pipes of the other divers. To make sure he signalled for more air. This he did by means of the air-pipe—two pulls—instead of using the speaking-tube, because the air-pipe and life-line are never for a single instant let go or neglected by the attendants above, whereas the speaking-tube, on that occasion, was merely tried for the first time by these divers as an experiment. Immediately the puffing at the airhole showed that the men at the pumps were on the alert. Edgar now closed his front-valve so that no air at all was suffered to escape through it; the dress began to inflate, and in a few seconds was swelled out pretty tightly.
Up to that period he had felt no further inconvenience than a slight pressure on the drums of his ears, which was relieved by the usual method of swallowing the saliva, which action has the effect of opening a small, and not easily opened, internal orifice or passage to the drum, and thus, by admitting the condensed air to the interior of the ear, enables it to resist the pressure on the outside. Each inspiration of air has the same effect on the lungs, and the pressure, inside and outside, being at once equalised, is in their case unfelt, although it remains and tests the strength of the animal tissues. Hence it is a recognised rule that a man who has at any time spat blood is unsuited to a diver’s work, as his weak blood-vessels are apt to burst. But now, under the increased pressure, our hero felt his ears affected considerably, and other disagreeable sensations came on—such as singing in the head, etcetera; nevertheless, confident in his strength, he persevered.
Presently the amount of air in his dress more than counterbalanced the weight of lead about him—great though it was—and he began to rise like a cork—slowly. In a few seconds his head was close to the lines and air-pipes which he observed passing over the bulwarks of the wreck and down into the hold. Afraid lest he should get entangled in them he caught hold of the end of a piece of iron which projected near him and checked his upward rise. At the same time he opened his valves; the air rushed out, and he immediately descended. On reaching the bottom he regulated the valves so as to give himself just enough of air to permit of his keeping the ground, and moving about as before.
He had observed, while up, that one set of lines diverged away from the wreck, but this did not strike him at the time as being noteworthy. After a few minutes he signalled his friends above, and shouted by means of the speaking-tube—
“Pay out the air-pipe and life-lines and give me free play.”
This being done he could pass under the lines of the other divers, and examined the wreck as far as the bow, where he found an immense hole, partially filled by a mass of the rock which had originally driven it in. This of itself was sufficient to have sunk the vessel. In order to examine the port side of the wreck he returned towards the stern and signalled for more air. As before, he rose to the bulwarks, over which he passed by a slight effort, and, opening the valves, dropt gently, like a bird, upon the deck. Walking across it slowly, and with some difficulty, owing to the broken spars and cordage with which it was encumbered, he passed over the port bulwarks and lowered himself again to the bottom. A careful examination showed him that no injury worth mentioning had been sustained on that side, and he finally came to the conclusion that the large hole in the starboard bow was the only serious damage done to the hull.
To make sure of this he returned to it, and satisfied himself as to its exact nature and extent. While thus engaged, his attention was again directed to the diverging line and air-pipe before referred to. Following these up he came to a mass of rocks, in a snug corner of which he found a diver fast asleep. At first he could scarcely believe his eyes, but when he cautiously held the lantern close to the man’s front-glass all doubt was