"I understand that you did good work in the Prince Alfred in time of trouble," said Lord Hawkes, looking at me with approval. He was manager of the Prince Line, and, when he sent for any of us to tell us that we had done well, it was time to—well, he didn't often do that, and I must have shown some embarrassment.
I remained silent, holding my cap in my hands and looking at Boldwin, my skipper, who had done me the honor to report me favorably in the log book.
"I hear, also," continued Lord Hawkes, "that you are a good diver, a master workman under water——"
"Pardon me, your lordship," I interrupted, "I'm but a licensed ship's officer, and what I don't know about diving would fill a dozen empty log books."
"Well, at all events, you showed resource. Yes, my good Garnett, you are a man of infinite resource. There's no doubt about that, and that's what I'm coming to. You are also resolute in time of trouble, and the two qualities are what I need in the work I am going to send you to do."
Bill Boldwin looked scared. He didn't want to lose his mate. He had simply spoken for me that I might get in the good books of the company, not get away from his ship.
The manager of the Bay Line seemed to be studying some papers upon the desk before him while we two stood respectfully in front as became seamen in the presence of our mighty ruler. Boldwin was keen on lords. I hadn't associated with them to any great extent myself, but I was willing—no matter what might be said about them.
"The Princess Heraldine, our Cape liner, left port August the fifth," said Lord Hawkes. "She had aboard in her safe the famous Solander diamond, a stone nearly as large as the Cullinan and worth something like a round half-million dollars. Also she had about three million more in various stones uncut and consigned to the firm here. In running up the West African coast, she broke her crank shaft and drove it through her bottom, tearing the compartment to pieces, and forcing Captain Sumner to head for Lagos in the hope of beaching her before she sank. He managed to get her into ten fathoms on that low, sandy coast, and she went down about a mile or two offshore.
"All the passengers were saved, but by some oversight the combination of the safe was lost at the time they needed it, owing to the agent, Grimes, being either too frightened or too ill to remember it.
"Captain Sumner—the only other man aboard who knew the combination—was unable to either leave the bridge at the critical moment of her sinking, owing to the necessity of saving the passengers in the small boats, or tell any one before the Heraldine suddenly settled and went down, carrying five of the crew and the entire contents of the safe along with her."
Lord Hawkes looked up at me shrewdly as he finished and gazed into my eyes.
I saw no necessity for a reply. There was a few minutes' silence, then he went on:
"The wrecking company is now on the way there, but there has been some trouble experienced with them and with the underwriters. Therefore we've deemed it worth while to send a ship—one of our regular Cape boats on her lay-up voyage—to Lagos, and try for the safe.
"The ship is a total loss, and will be covered all right, but the diamonds are not insured, owing, as I have said, to some disagreement with the underwriters lately, and it has been just our luck to lose them this voyage.
"You are to take the Prince John, and go to Lagos. There you will find the wrecking crew waiting orders. You are to see that we get that safe intact—you understand? We want that safe just as it was before it went to the bottom. Your orders are here." And he handed me a folded document. "You will leave at once."
"Aye, aye, sir," I said, somewhat bewildered, but getting the lay of the thing straight enough. "Is that all, sir?"
"That's all. If you wish anything regarding details, you will see Mr. Smith of the main office. I wish again to impress you that this mission is important."
It struck me so at once. A few millions in diamonds in ten fathoms—in a ten-ton safe! Yes, that was something worth looking after. It was important, all right. Seemed easy enough. Any one who knows anything about wrecking, knows that ten fathoms isn't too deep to work, although it's some little ways down. It depends also upon other conditions, which might or might not prevail. I'd get that safe easy enough—yank it aboard all standing, as we say at sea.
Well, within two days I was standing on the bridge of the Prince John, and wondering how the poor fellows in Africa managed to keep a ship of her class afloat long enough to lay her up.
It was the company's policy to have their African steamers laid up at Cape Town—helped labor, local progress, and all that sort of thing. In reality they got the work done for about half what it would cost them in England.
The Prince John could make ten knots under most favorable circumstances, but as this was her lay-up voyage, she, as might be imagined, was not doing her best. I think she rammed along about eight, most of the way down; and McDougal, the chief engineer, was working like a machinist from daylight till dark to get her to do that.
We carried only the crew of six seamen and ten firemen, with two engineers, a donkeyman, a pair of mates, a cook, and galley boy. Just two dozen of us all told; and, while I had never commanded a ship of any size before, I was not suffering much from swelled cranium as I stood upon the bridge and gave orders.
Low-powered, black-sided, with the regulation Clyde bow and round stern, she was no better than a tramp. We carried extra diving and hoisting gear for the wrecking crew that had preceded us. Our winches were heavy, and built for working in the African trade where a ship must handle her own cargo. They would be useful in the work ahead.
My mates, Simpson and Dennison, were good men, and knew their little book all right. Simpson had a very red nose, and looked as if he liquored on the sly, but he never showed groggy on duty, so I had no chance to call him down. He would continue the voyage as captain after I got that safe up and on its way to England. Dennison was young and boyish. He was a good lad, and never slept in his watch on deck—at least I never caught him.
The run was uneventful, and we were sooner or later close to the West African coast, running through an oily sea, and pointing for Lagos.
One hot and stifling morning after I had worked the sight, I was sitting in a deck chair at the pilot-house door, thinking of Lucy Docking, and how I might make a saving of fifteen pounds a month out of a salary fixed at twelve. This mathematical problem was unfinished when Dennison hailed me from the bridge.
"Vessel right ahead, sir, anchored about a mile and a half offshore," he said.
It was our friends, the wrecking crew, and we had arrived.
The topmasts of the Heraldine stuck clear of the oily sea. She had been a three-masted ship with square rig forward and fore and aft upon the main and mizzen. She had sails upon her spars already bent after the old-time style of low-powered ships. She lay easily in about ten or twelve fathoms, and had a slight list to port owing to her settling a bit upon her bilge.
Being very flat and wide-bottomed, she looked almost ready to rise and continue her voyage lying as she did in that smooth sea, and being unhurt save for that gash in her bilge where the broken crank tore through, thrashing her life out before the engineer could shut off steam.
I pictured for a moment the huge flail, the piston with the broken crank attached, the pieces not less than half a ton, whirling up and down under the full pressure of her cylinders with nothing to stop it. There must have been a wild mess in that engine room with a crazy hammer going full tilt like that.
As in most single-screw ships, her crank must have thrown down when connected but a foot or two above her bilge, and when it tore loose it must have struck full power at each and every wild throw of the piston.
My business was not to raise her, however. She was not worth it, having insurance, and being better as a total loss. I was after getting into the treasure room situated just beneath the main deck forward of the boilers.
The room, from the drawings furnished by her builders, was an iron compartment ten by fifteen feet. At one end of it—the forward one—was built the huge safe. This was bolted down, and to the beams.
It was not a new affair, having done duty for years in the African trade, but it had a very effective combination lock of the usual kind, and, as one would have to open the strong-room door before being able to get to the combination of the safe, it was considered perfectly competent to carry any amount of treasure.
Mr. Haswell, of Haswell & Jones, submarine experts, came aboard from the powerful wrecking tug, which lay near us. He was a little man, but quite fat. Red hair and whiskers gave his pale face a peculiar sickly tint, but he was not a sickly man. He was reckoned one of the best deep-water workers in England, and could stand a very high pressure for a long time. Little pale eyes looked shrewdly at me as he presented his card, coming aboard as he did from a boat rowed by six sturdy blacks—"kroo boys," he called them. I met him at the side, and shook hands.
"We're ready to begin whenever you say," he said. "I got the firm's letter, and have only just arrived myself. They told me you had the gear aboard with you."
"Yes, I have plenty of gear, all right," I answered, "and you can commence work to-day if you want to. This place is too cold for me, and I'd just as soon get away from here the next day, if possible."
"It's some hot, all right, but one don't notice it below so much. I suppose those derricks you've got will hold all right—what?" And he gazed at our hoisting gear.
The thermometer was one hundred and six under the after awning, and not a breath of air stirring. The hot, sandy coast shone like a white band, fringing the blue water, and I wondered what kind of weather it was on that white, sandy shore.
We went over the gear together, and then sat sweating and panting for air, while the steward brought us something cool to drink—that is, as cool as could be procured. Then I went with Mr. Haswell aboard the wrecking tug, and was introduced to the working force.
Ten white men and twenty blacks were the outfit. This with what I had was enough to raise the ship had we so wished. Only two of the white men were divers—Williams, a sturdy fellow weighing nearly three hundred; and Mitchell, a short, powerful man, about two hundred and fifty. Both were under forty, and had done plenty of deep-water work. They looked upon the job as trifling.
"We'll blow the deck off to-morrow, and then tear out a side of the room," said Haswell. "After that we can disconnect the safe, and you can get your winches to do the rest. In three days we ought to cover the job."
The hot, oily calm continued. The night was something fierce to contemplate. The sun came out again like a molten ball of metal, and Haswell donned his suit lazily, while the air pumps, manned by four blacks, were started.
A ladder reaching a fathom down under the sea was fastened to the tug's side, and Haswell lowered himself over upon it, and waited for his helmet. This was fastened by Williams, and then the air was started.
As it whistled into the dome, the front glass was screwed on, and the little man was shut off from us. Slowly he went down and swung clear, dropping out of sight in a storm of bubbles which rose from his helmet.
I took out the water glass. This was a cylindrical bucket with a glass bottom. By jamming one's head into the bucket and sinking the bottom of the affair under the sea to a depth of three or four inches, objects could be seen about twice as distinctly as without it—this owing to the fact that in the open the reflection and motion of the light upon the always moving sea surface, prevent the gaze from following objects distinctly.
In order to use the water glass it was, of course, necessary to get close to the sea.
I dropped into the small boat lying alongside the wrecking tug, and leaned far over the gunwale, peering down. The long, easy swell, the sure sign of an immense calm area of sea, came slowly from the westward and rolled the boat gently but enough to keep me from getting a good look until I caught my balance. Then I managed to get the glass down firmly, and hold it about four inches under with my head in the bucket.
At first I could make out little or nothing. The sea was not very clear at the spot, owing to the close proximity of the low, sandy shore where the surf rolled incessantly, stirring up the bottom. Soon I could make out the outline of the deck below where the flying bridge rose within three fathoms of the surface.
The Heraldine was drawing about twenty-two feet when she sank, and her flying bridge was fully twenty-five to thirty above the sea. I tried to see farther, but could make out nothing at all.
The lines of the diver led toward the fore part of the ship, and moved slightly. Williams, who tended them, sat listlessly upon the rail of the tug, and gave or drew in as the occasion called. I kept looking to see things, but could make out nothing further in the way of the wreck.
A huge shadow passed under me—a long, dark shape. It was a gigantic shark nosing about the wreck.
I called out to Williams.
"No fear," he replied lazily; "they won't hurt him in that dress—might if he was naked."
The shark passed along forward, and sank down out of sight. Then Haswell signaled that he was coming up.
He came slowly, and I watched the lines coming in. Soon the metal helmet appeared, and then he climbed with seeming difficulty up the ladder, helped by Williams. When he came above the rail, he hung over it, and his front glass was unscrewed, the pumps stopped working, and we came close to hear the news.
"Located her all right," he said. "You can fix up about twenty pounds of number two gelatine—better put it in a tube, and be sure to make the wires fast—have to pull it through some wreckage down there."
"See anything of a big shark?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, I gave him a poke in the stomach with a stick—he won't bother me in this dress—but I did get nipped by one of those poisonous snakes—see?" And he held out his hand, where a small trickle of blood ran down from the second joint of his forefinger.
Williams gave an exclamation. The natives looked at him anxiously.
"I'll come aboard and rest a while before going down again," said Haswell. And he was helped aboard, and undressed.
His finger swelled while this was being done, and, by the time he stood in his flannels, he had a hand that was fast turning black. Williams said little. The poisonous water snakes that infest certain tropical seas close to the river mouths were known to him. Those in the Indian Ocean are especially dangerous.
Haswell gazed at the blackening finger, and shook his head.
"Better give me some whisky," he said. He drank, and sat down. Williams stood near, and Mitchell came up.
"That's a bad bite," said Mitchell.
"Well, I suppose there's no use waiting any longer—cut it off, and be quick," said Haswell.
Mitchell, iron-nerved and steady, cut the finger off close to the hand, and stopped the flow of blood with a strong bandage. The swelling continued, and the arm began to pain greatly.
"Cut away the hand," said Haswell, white and shaky, but showing an amazing coolness. He realized his danger. Mitchell performed another amputation.
Within an hour they had his arm off at the elbow, and Haswell was turning blue all over.
It was an uncanny thing—right there in that bright sunshine, a man done a mortal injury by some foul sea vermin that had attacked him in the depths. I had heard of the sea snakes that come down the African rivers and go well offshore, but had never seen one. Those in the Indian Ocean I had seen often, and remembered that they were about four or five feet long and a few inches in circumference.
Haswell, with remarkable nerve, faced his end unflinchingly. It was wonderful to see him sitting there, unafraid, with his arm three times its natural size at the shoulder where the last bandage of Mitchell had been fastened.
"I reckon I'll last about an hour longer," he finally said. "It's—no—use." His strength was leaving him, and he spoke haltingly, in hardly more than a whisper.
They gave him more whisky, and waited. Then Williams took down his last words in reference to his family affairs, and Haswell laid himself down on a transom. Two hours later he was stone dead.
That was a beginning that would have shaken the nerve of many men. Mitchell had his partner sewn up in canvas, and they buried him far out at sea, rowing off in the small boat.
The next day Williams started down. He found the location of the strong room, and was careful to wear heavy gloves while working. Then he placed the charge.
The crack that followed was not loud—deep down as it was. A storm of bubbles arose to the surface, and the sea lifted a few inches just over the place where the gelatine exploded. Then Mitchell prepared to go down and examine the result.
The oily sea heaved and sank with the long swell, and there was nothing to indicate that there would be any trouble. Nothing could move the wreck. Mitchell went under at eleven that morning, and, after he had been down half an hour, Williams signaled him. He received no answer. With some anxiety, the big man started to haul line, when, to the horror of all, the two lines—hose and life line—came in easily without anything at their end.
The hose showed a clean cut well down near the helmet, and the life line showed a ragged cut or break which stranded it out a full foot. Mitchell was left below, cut off from us as clean as if he had been left upon the moon.
Williams strove with all haste to get into another suit, but it was a good ten minutes before he did so. He went down with a man of his outfit holding line for him, and came back in ten minutes with a white face and staring eyes.
"Whole side of the room fell on him," he said; "cut his hose and—and left him there. Give me a line, I'll get him out."
"Dead?" I whispered.
He looked up at me from the circular hole in the helmet, and seemed to think me mad.
"Dead? Of course, he's dead—a ton or two of iron on top of him, and no air—sure he's dead. We'll have to put the line to the winch to haul him out from under it."
We buried Mitchell as we had Haswell, hauling him from under the wreckage by a line to our steam winch, and afterward carrying him well out to sea, where he was weighted and sunk. It was bitter work, and all the time that hot sun shone down upon us until the seams of the decks warped and the tar ran out of the lanyards.
Williams was shaken. The next day he refused to go down, and pleaded a rest necessary. His men were silent and awed. I could say nothing to urge them on, as I felt that they had endured enough for a few days, at least.
Then Williams was taken with the African fever, and there was no one left who would go below for any amount of money offered. The horror of the thing had shaken the nerves of the entire outfit. There might be millions below there, but no man of that crew would touch them just at present, and we were lying there in that oily sea, eating up the company's money and cursing at the strange chance that had made our expedition so fatal.
At the end of a week Williams was so bad that I gave him up as a factor to help us. At times he was delirious, and raved horribly. His men were for abandoning the work, and putting into Lagos, and from there clearing for home.
I refused to hear of such a thing, although I was a bit worked up at the outcome of what had at first appeared to be an easy job. To send North for more divers was to delay the work months. To await the coming of the next coast steamer meant delay of at least three weeks—and even then there was no certainty of help from her. She didn't carry divers, and, although she would naturally give me any aid in her power, belonging to our company as she did, I felt that I would rather not ask anything from her skipper until the last act.
A man named Rokeby of the tug's working crew offered to tend line for me if I chose to go down. He assured me that the pressure at fifty or even sixty feet would not injure me. I might suffer some from the splitting headache natural to the pressure, but that was all. I could blow open the safe or get chains fast to it, or cut it adrift somehow.
I thought over the matter while Williams raved and rolled in his sweltering bunk, and the sun shone down upon that dead ocean full of crawling life and hidden treasure.
"Gimme the gloves and plenty of air," I finally said, after waiting three days, hoping that some of the wrecking crew would get their nerve back.
They all showed willingness to work if I went down, and I was soon incased in the suit of Williams.
If you think I was not nervous, you should have had an inside photo of my mind as I stood there upon the rounds of the ladder waiting for Rokeby to screw fast the front glass. I would have given it up but for the looks of the men. They seemed to gaze upon me with a sort of awe and amazement, but they made no comment whatever.
The kroo boys swung the pump handles with a will, and when I heard the hiss of the air I must say my heart gave two jumps and came near landing overboard—at least, it felt that way; but I would have died rather than let those men see that I was afraid. Such is the ego, the vanity of us all.
"Shall I screw her on, sir?"
The voice was Rokeby's, and it aroused me from the contemplation of the thing to do. I tried to look bored and annoyed.
"Yes, screw it down—mind the lines tenderly, and pull me right up if I give the signal," I said.
"Aye, aye, sir," he answered, and he screwed in the front glass.
The air whistled into the helmet back of my head, and the noise aroused me to a sense of the danger should it suddenly cease. I put one foot and then another upon the ladder rungs, and went down until I swung off.
It seemed as if I was about to fly off into space, and for a few moments I almost lost my balance. Then my heavy leaden shoes sank me straight down, and I dropped slowly until my feet touched something.
The light had gradually faded as I left the surface, and where I now stood it seemed to be pitch dark. The pressure of the air appeared to swell my head, and a roaring was in my ears. Then I determined to do something, and bent forward to see if I could.
Gradually the dim outline of the ship's deck took form before the glass—that is, the deck in my immediate vicinity. I could make out the rail, and began pulling myself along by it. Soon I came to the pilot house forward, and recognized it by feeling the panels of the glass front with my hands.
I knew that I was just about right in regard to position, and started for the rail to get over the side and down to the place where the blow-out had been made. I carefully swung one leg over and then another, amazed at the ease with which I lifted the immense leaden shoes. Then guiding my air hose and line clear of the rail, I slipped off, and dropped down to the bottom far below.
In spite of the fact that I had now been under several minutes, I could not make out objects well enough to do anything; but determined to try to feel for the opening to the safe. After ten minutes spent groping about, I felt an immense hole in the ship's side, my fingers going carefully around the edges where the torn plates told of the force of the blast.
I entered and felt for the sides of the room within where the blast had torn out the iron and held it hanging to drop upon the unfortunate Mitchell. I now saw I could do nothing without more light, and carefully made my way out to the sea floor, where I signaled to haul me up.
I came slowly, and as I did so my brain appeared swelling until it seemed no longer possible to hold it within my skull. The pain was intense, and I hardly noticed the growing light until I was at the foot of the ladder. Then I climbed up, being dragged bodily by my life line. The front was taken off my helmet, and I spoke.
"It's all right," I panted, "get the lamp out, and stand by to send me down the tools I'll need."
Rokeby gave me a small drink of whisky, and the rest soon had the electric lamp ready. I went below again. This time I had no trouble in finding my way, for the light from the spark penetrated the sea for several feet about me.
In the watery darkness I made out the hole, and saw the damage done by the charge. The entire wall of the compartment had been blown in, and, in going into the room, Mitchell had gotten under it so that he had dislodged an immense piece of plate which had fallen upon him, and cut off his air and line.
I went forward cautiously, and poked the lamp ahead of me. It seemed a long way to the safe, but I finally came up against it, and made out its outline in the lamplight. Its edge stood out sharply. Beyond was the inky blackness of a tomb.
I saw that it would be necessary for me to blow it loose from the beams, as I was not good enough workman to cut or loosen the bolts. Making a hasty but pretty good examination of the bottom and sides, I determined to go back aboard and study it out. A little powder underneath would loosen the floor bolts, and then, with a stout chain about it, we might start the winches to haul it through the opening, which I saw would have to be enlarged at the bottom. I came up, and was satisfied for the day.
The next morning I had recovered my nerve to a great extent, and was eager to get to work. The men were also better pleased at the prospect. My head had bothered me all night, but now eased up, as I donned the rubber.
So far I had seen neither fish nor crawling reptile. The bottom was not very soft, however, and was so covered with weed and sea growths that it may have harbored many things not visible to the eye at that depth. I kept to the gloves, not daring to risk my hands after Haswell's fatal ending.
The first shot tore the bottom off the compartment, and left the safe hanging by the bolts against the bulkhead. The second shot broke away these, and, when I went down again, I found the safe had dropped down to the deck below, the powder, or rather nitrogelatine, having torn the deck away for the space of fifteen feet or more, leaving ragged splinters of deck planking sticking forth.
The electric lamp showed the mass below me as I stood at the edge of the hole, and I very carefully drew my line and air so that they would not foul when I dropped over. Then I went down and found the safe intact, but in a very difficult position to handle.
The next blast required a large charge, in order to blow the side out down to the lower deck, as it was impossible to drag that safe up through the hole. I placed fifty pounds of gelatine in two charges just abreast the safe on the outside of the hull, and blew away the plates until a trolley car could almost have entered the hole in the ship's side.
I was all ready now for getting slings upon the treasure, and I could hardly wait until the next day.
The wreck was in very bad shape below from the effects of the blasts, but I was nearly done now. Another day might find the diamonds upon the deck of the old ship above me. I managed to pass turns of a heavy chain around the safe, and stop them up so that they could be hocked to the fall. Then I got the tackle down, and by means of a whip to the tug started the mass of metal outboard.
It came along all right, and I thought it would go clear. Then something suddenly stopped it below, and I had to go down again to clear it. It was fast in the hole, having jammed against the edge so that no amount of pulling would break it clear.
I lost no time getting another tackle to it, and rigged it to lift it end up, and turn it over, then the first fall would pull it out and clear. I was getting pretty well used to being below by this time, and the headache was lessening. I found that I could remain under fully half an hour now, and work most of that time.
The last time I went below I had a premonition that all was not as it should be down there, and I went along very carefully. I made my way into the ship's hull, and was just getting the new tackle set up taut and ready, when the whole ship heeled suddenly to port. The safe slewed sideways and slid down the now slanting deck, blocking the hole entirely across, but leaving my lines and tackle clear.
I signaled to come up at once. Then my line jerked, hauled me close up to the opening, and there I jammed, stuck so I could not get back. I signaled frantically for help, and they pulled me with all their might. But they might as well have tried to lift the wreck itself. I was caught.
During the next few minutes I thought a great deal. The horror of my situation dawned upon me. I was fast below there—not a chance for getting out. There seemed nothing to do, but wait placidly for the end.
The next few minutes were hours to me. I could signal with the line, but that was all. They knew I was alive, and they knew something must have happened by the heeling of the sunken wreck.
The blasting had probably blown away the sandy bottom under her, and she had simply cast over and slid the stuff to leeward.
There was plenty of room to take that safe out endways, but it was now so fixed that some one would have to slew it around before that could be done. My lamp was still burning, and the blackness lost some of its terrors in that pitiful light.
I was in the hull of a lost ship, and I felt that I was indeed a lost man. Memories came and went with lightning-like rapidity. I thought of Lucy Docking, and wondered how she would take my death. Then I began to feel the effects of the pressure, and my head grew flighty.
I dreamed of beautiful blue skies and green fields, the shore, the mountains; and all the time Lucy was with me, going from place to place. I was not unhappy. There was a feeling of contentment with the woman I had chosen, and it was all real, so real that I only awoke under the vicious pulling upon my life line by the men above.
Then the horror of my situation came back to me, and the roaring in my ears told me of my predicament. I gazed out of the front glass into the dark medium about me, the rays of the lamp making sharp outlines and shadows.
I remembered the safe. It lay jammed across the hole, and, while I was too feeble to take great interest, I recall watching it with a sort of fascination. I felt its sides, its edges. Then the combination attracted me, shining as it did in the dim light, like a bit of white in the surrounding blackness. I lazily turned the knob, whirled it about. And all the time they were pumping air to me under the pressure of fifty feet of water.
I felt at the aperture above where the edge of the safe shut off the opening. There was nearly a foot of clear room, but this was not enough for my figure, incased as it was in the suit. It was ample for the life line and hose to pass through without any interruption at all, and all I had to do was to live long enough for them to get that safe away. Surely some one would come down, and try to sling it again properly.
I lay with my front glass to the opening, and held the lamp so that the rays would shine outside. There I watched and tried to control the thoughts that kept coming with a surging feeling of dread that made my heart thump all the harder. Drowsiness would come, and the whirling in my brain would get me back again to the land and beautiful dreams. Then the jerking and hauling, and trying to dislodge me would arouse me again, and I would come back to the present.
I remember watching through the opening, and seeing forms passing. These must have been fish, or denizens of the sea. They flitted through the range of the lamp like sudden ghosts, the light striking their bodies, and then disappearing into the blackness without.
The lamp suddenly went out.
I was seized with the wildest terror at the inky blackness about me. The full horror of it all now came with greater force. That tiny spark had kept me up wonderfully. It had seemed like a ray of hope. I put out my hands with muscles shaking and trembling, feeling that inexorable edge of iron that shut me off from life.
Would Rokeby try it? Would he try to save me?
That was the final thought. I tried to put myself in his place. I would do much for a man dying by inches—dying where he might be saved if one would take a little risk. He might get below in time yet. He might get a whip upon that safe, and, with the powerful wrecking tug working her winches, upset the huge square of steel, and drag it out of the way.
But if he was coming down, he should have come hours ago. As a matter of fact, I had already been down half an hour, and I could stand it for at least twice that long yet. But it seemed to me that I had been abandoned, that they were too cowardly to try to save me. My whirling brain and roaring ears told me a story of days of suffering, of interminable torture.
Would Rokeby try it?
I remembered how it struck me when Mitchell's line came up cut off from him. I knew what that poor fellow had gone through; what he had suffered, at least, for a few moments down there.
No, I would hardly blame Rokeby for not trying it. It was too dangerous for any one to try. And yet——
That latent hope, that feeling that there would be something at last, kept me from dying. The air was still coming down, and I was in no immediate danger.
I tried to make myself think that I was in no danger at all; that all would be well when Rokeby came down, and got a hold of the safe. But I knew in my heart that the men above, the whole general crew, were not the men to help.
As a record of fact, the men above were awed at the disaster, and only Rokeby's steadiness saved my life. He had the pumps kept going, and finally decided that he would have to take a chance down there, or let me die like a hooked fish. He was man enough to overcome the nerve-shaking dangers that had beset us, and he put on another suit. Then, with his breath fairly gone from fright, he went down to help me.
He had never gone below before, except under most favorable conditions and in very shallow water. Still, he knew what to do, and he managed to get a good man above to tend line for him. He found things in bad shape at the opening, but lost no more time than he could help getting a purchase to the end of that safe, and the winches started. In half an hour they had dragged it clear of the ship, and I was hauled aboard insensible, but still alive.
Before I had regained my senses, they had the safe fast aboard the old hooker, and I had the satisfaction of staggering on deck to view it.
There it was, all right, perfectly intact. I had saved the company several millions, and it had cost the lives of two men, and nearly my own.
There was not a moment lost in getting away from that hot, unhealthy coast. We got under way that very evening with Williams still stricken with the fever, and myself too weak to sit up, but I would not stop a minute.
"Get her under way at once," I said, and the mates needed no urging.
The wrecking tug, under full steam, came alongside, and the safe was slung carefully over to her deck, where it was bolted down and made as fast as a sailor could make it. I put a metal line about it, and sealed it up, not even willing to trust to the safe combination that had withstood the blasts and the sea.
"Good-by, and a pleasant voyage to the Cape for you," I said to my former shipmates. They steamed away to the southward to lay the old ship up for repairs, and we, in the mighty wrecker, Viking, under full power and making fifteen knots the hour, stood back for old England, where we arrived safe enough a short time later.