Dutch the Diver: or, A Man's Mistake

As he moved forward, he gave a twitch or two at the life-line to signal all well; and then had to make the signal that he required more air. An increased supply of the life-giving stream was forced down directly, and, raising his spade, he began to investigate the place more closely. In an instant the bottom seemed to have become alive, for curious flat-fish, whose sides assimilated so strangely to the sand, in which they lay half buried, rose at every step, making little clouds, and going off with a peculiar undulating motion to settle down again, flick the sand and tiny stones over their sides by a peculiar motion of their broad fins, and the next minute they had become invisible.

As to the wreck, there was not much to see beyond the rows of rib timbers on either hand, while where he stood was there nothing but sand, which covered the whole of the interior, though now, probably through the explosions, it was in hillocks, with their accompanying depressions.

Knowing that those above must be anxiously watching, he thrust the spade down into the bottom and began to dig slowly and with great excitement, to find that the tool penetrated easily through; and as he raised the sand, and placed it on one side, it softly flowed back again.

“I ought to have brought an iron rod to probe with,” he thought to himself, as he gave the spade another thrust down, to find that nothing obstructed him, when he became aware of a dull shock, and he was thrown down, for the water seemed to rush by him with considerable violence.

The next moment there was a violent pull at the life-line, and he was raised from his feet in a most uncomfortable position; and, but for a sudden snatch at his signal-cord to signify “All right,” one which he repeated again and again, he would have been drawn to the surface.

In obedience to his signals, the rope was slackened, but he had hardly recovered himself when it was tightened once more, and but for his vigorous snatch to show that he wanted no assistance, those on the schooner’s deck would have drawn him to the surface. He knew well enough now what was the meaning of the shock, and felt how necessary it was for a diver to be full of the calm nerve and courage of a man ready to battle with difficulties, for his safety depended entirely upon his taking the dangers he encountered in the coolest manner.

The conclusion was evidently due to the firing of a dynamite cartridge, but, in spite of this, here was the reason for their trying to drag him to the surface, in the shape of something dim and large approaching him slowly, and apparently without effort. As he saw it at first coming end on, it seemed to him like some very short, thick fish, but as it neared him, and grew more distinct, it swerved off to his right, and his heart beat fast as he saw from its altered position that it was a shark seven or eight feet long.

He signalled again, “More air – all right,” and the tightening life-rope slackened as he drew the long, keen-bladed knife from its wooden sheath.

It was a terrible weapon, with a fine point, and about eighteen inches long beyond the handle, while its two edges were ground as sharp as a razor. Armed with this he awaited the coming of the shark, feeling that to it he must prove as he looked, a monster as deadly in his power. For Dutch agreed that to leave the field on this first encounter with one of the creatures that infested these waters was to confess to himself that he was beaten, and morally to consent to a defeat of their project, while could he nerve himself to boldly meet the attack, and so disable his enemy by skilful tactics as to kill it, or compel its retreat, he would give himself so much confidence, and Rasp as well, that they would in the future have little compunction in descending, and scarcely any fear of their dangerous enemies.

“If I fail,” he said to himself bitterly; “well, it is a horrible death, but why should I mind dying? I have nothing to live for now.”

“Bah! Dying,” he went on, mastering his trepidation, and feeling a savage energy of will. “I, a man with reasoning powers, with ingenuity enough to help to invent the apparatus by which I can stay down here and meet this creature with arms in my hand in his own element. Pooh! it is absurd. I shall – I will kill it.”

He had plenty of time to think, and he had once more to impatiently signal “All right,” for he became aware of a tightening of the life-line, while the shark, with its curious, crafty look, undulated by him, its long, unequally-lobed tail waving softly as it nearly passed him with the greatest apparent ease, turned, sailed back some little distance, and then turned once more as if to pass him on the other side.

“That is where he has the advantage,” thought Dutch, as he saw the ease with which the creature glided along, on about a level with the top of his helmet, and knew for his own part what an effort it needed for him to move through the water.

He felt very little alarm now in the excitement of these moments, and as he watched the shark’s manoeuvres he grew more and more determined to make this the test of the future. He had often read of how the South Sea Islanders made no scruple about bathing where there were sharks, and how ready they were to attack them in their own element, while protected as he was on head, back, neck, and breast, by his copper armour and weights, he felt that it would be cowardly to retreat.

“Poor thing! I hope she cannot see me now,” he muttered, as for a fleeting moment his thoughts reverted to Hester. Then, with set teeth and knit brows, he waited the coming of the shark, feeling that his one most vulnerable point was the air-tube, and dreading lest the creature should make a snap at that in passing. For either that or the continuous stream of bright air bubbles had evidently excited its attention, and for a few moments it swam up eight or ten feet, giving Dutch a good view of its white under-portions, and the great gash of a mouth that seemed as if formed by one cut of a large knife.

The creature came down again, though, directly, in the most leisurely way gazing full now at the helmet, and, poising itself almost motionless in the water, it remained gazing straight at him while Dutch awaited the attack.

This was not long in coming, for the shark, after altering its position once or twice, and descending to about the level of the young man’s shoulders, made a forward movement, but with no great rapidity, and Dutch gave a sharp signal once more, to ensure liberty of action before the shark, as it came gliding through the clear water as if to seize his left arm, rolled softly over on its side, opened its great jaws, which glistened with saw-like teeth, and was in the act of closing them, when, with a thrust like lightning, Dutch buried his knife to the haft between the monster’s pectoral fins, which offered a fair mark, dragged it out, and prepared to strike again.

As the blade entered its yielding body the shark gave a spasmodic jerk and shot straight up, with the water becoming tinged with a ruddy hue, but, turning, it darted down once more, leaving a red trail behind it, and again made to attack.

There was a sudden tightening of the life-line, but Dutch met it with the signal, “All right,” just before the shark once more approached, turned over to seize him, and again received the full length of the blade, while as the monster darted forward and dragged itself free it was at the expense of so fearful a gash that a cloud of blood darkened the water, the shark struggled feebly for a few minutes, and then floated, belly up, to the surface.

Dutch gave his knife a wave or two through the water to remove the blood, replaced it in his belt, and stood gazing up at the ruddy cloud above his head for a few moments, gave a signal or two with the rope such as would show them on deck that he was unhurt, and, stooping down, once more took his spade to try the sand.

It was with a strange feeling of elation that he resumed his task, knowing now, as he did, that by the exercise of ordinary courage a man might readily defend himself from any of these monsters. In fact, so far from feeling alarm now, he was ready to encounter another whenever it might appear; but now the only one in sight was the creature floating far above his head, and more distinctly seen each moment, for the ruddy cloud was becoming rapidly diffused, and the outline of the schooner’s hull and the ladder, which had seemed misty and dull, were now well defined and plain to see.

Dutch now began to feel that he must soon ascend once more, but not wishing to do so without making some discovery, he thrust down the spade here and there, in all directions, but encountered nothing. It was evident that if the treasure existed, it must be far below the sand that had gone on accumulating for centuries.

There was one place, though, that he had not tried, and that was the depression scooped out by the dynamite, a spot which he had reserved to the last. Wading here, then, a task which necessitated his passing right under the schooner and farther from the ladder than he had yet been, he began to examine the surface, and detecting nothing, he thrust down his spade, working it about so as to make it penetrate farther and farther, but still there was no resistance, and, faint and weary, he was about to give up when he thought he would try once more.

This he did, thrusting in the spade and forcing it down till his hand was nearly on a level with the sand, and then – Yes! No! Yes! there was a slight obstruction.

He forced it down again, his heart beating painfully the while, for here was the test.

It might be only a copper bolt in the rotten old wood, or a stone; he might have reached the rock below the sand, but a second thought told him that the keel must be eight or ten feet lower, and that the touch was not that of stone or rock. Neither could it be wood. It was either a metal bolt or that of which he was in search.

Dutch forgot now all about the necessity for ascending; his sole thought was the sunken treasure, and, working as vigorously as he could in his cumbersome garments, he shovelled out the sand, though it was a slow and laborious task, as it kept running back into the hole he made.

Still he dug down more and more till he had made a fair-sized excavation, when, once more thrusting in the spade, he found it checked against something, and his heart sank as he fancied that he might have struck upon a bed of old shells. Still he persevered, not that he expected to lift that which he touched, but in the hope that he might reach it more easily, and satisfy himself that he was touching metal.

He was getting quite exhausted, and had already been down far too long. Nothing but the strong desire to have something definite to say kept him toiling on, and at last he unwillingly gave up, when something dark amongst the sand he had thrown out took his attention, and reaching down he picked up a lump of shells concreted together, and with an impatient gesture he was about to throw them down again, when it struck him that they were uncommonly heavy. To an inexperienced man this would have passed unnoticed, for the difficulty of telling the difference of weight in so dense a medium as the water was not one easily mastered, but Dutch had been down too many times not to have a good idea of such matters, and, checking himself just as he was about to throw the mass down, he raised it to the front of his helmet.

Shells, shells, nothing but shells of several kinds joined together by the calcareous deposit of some kind of sea worm; but, all the same, it was very heavy, and, wrong or right, determining to take the lump up with him, he turned to go under the schooner and reach the ladder.

For, he argued, those little ingots the Cuban had shown them had shelly accretion firmly attached, and it was probable that a good deal had been knocked off. At all events, he must ascend now, and going slowly along, placing the piece of concrete in a net pouch at his back, he was in the shadow of the schooner with its keel nearly above his head, when a peculiar sensation that he knew too well suddenly attacked him. His head began to swim, blood seemed to gorge the vessels of his eyes, and a horrible sensation of oppression to attack his chest.

Already exhausted by his too long stay and extra exertion, combined with the nervous excitement of his fight with the shark, he was not master of himself, and in spite of his old experience he literally lost his head, becoming so unnerved that he sank down upon his knees, forgetting his signal-line, and tugging at the helmet to get it from his head.

One drag at that thin cord should have been sufficient to secure help, but it was forgotten, even though he touched it with his hands as they went to his helmet, and to make matters worse, he was kneeling now out of sight of those on deck; and for the moment all seemed over. He was blind, for a thick darkness had, as it were, come over him, mentally and bodily, in the intense horror of the moment, but through that darkness flashed scene after scene of the past, and he saw Hester, looking young and beautiful, gazing pityingly down at him, but without stretching out a hand to save, while, with a smile of triumph upon his countenance, there stood Lauré, the bane of his existence. Then came pleasant thoughts of his old childish days, mingled with a dull sense of drowsiness that it was impossible to fight against, and then a reaction, as Dutch made a violent effort to reach his feet, but only to sink down prone upon his face.

For though, like some gigantic sea worm, the india-rubber tube meandered over the sand, out of the shadow of the schooner into the sunshine, and then straight up towards the surface, the supply of air had stopped!

Story 1-Chapter XXIII.

A Crafty Foe

It was with a feeling of intense agony that Hester Pugh watched her husband as he stepped on to the ladder and gradually descended below the surface of the water, and then with beating heart she altered her position, going beyond the others and leaning over the bulwark, so that she could peer down into the clear water and follow his every motion.

It would have been painful enough if they had parted lovingly, but, with the knowledge that his doubts had been strengthened by her refusal to explain, her position was doubly painful. In bygone days, before their marriage, Dutch had been one of the most successful and daring of divers, more from choice than necessity; but of late he had devoted himself to drawing and making plans at her desire, though his old love of submarine adventure was strong within him still; and now it almost seemed as if his resumption of his old pursuit had been caused by hatred of her.

For the time being all thought of the hidden peril to which those on board were exposed was swallowed up in the present danger, and, not noticing who was her nearest neighbour, she watched the progress of her husband with the great drops of anguish starting to her forehead. Every movement he made was plainly to be seen by all on board, and when Mr Meldon first raised the cry of “Shark!” so intense was the interest in the proceedings that no one paid the slightest heed to her. Thus it was that, in a state that made her ask herself sometimes whether this was not some wild dream, she saw the bustle on deck accompanying Mr Parkley’s efforts to drive off the unwelcome visitors, of which there were two. A cartridge was thrown, and exploded close to one of them, with the result that it seemed to sink to the bottom, for they saw it no more, while, when the other was seen to be making straight for the diver, the cry arose that he should be drawn up, and under Rasp’s direction the men were starting the life-line with a run, when —

“Hold hard!” cried Rasp, “he’s a signalling ‘All right.’”

“But it is madness,” cried Mr Parkley and the captain in a breath.

“He’s a signalling ‘All right,’” cried Rasp sternly. “You should never touch a diver when he does that. See there.”

Rasp quickly pulled the line, so as to tighten it, when the impatient jerk at the signal-cord came again.

“Can you see exactly what is going on, Mr Meldon?” said the captain.

“Yes, quite plainly,” was the reply, “he has his knife out, and is going to fight the shark.”

Hester had already seen this, and had shrunk aside, covering her eyes with her hands, fearing to listen to the conversation that ensued as Mr Meldon described in vivid words what we already know. She heard, too, the various impatient suggestions that Dutch should be drawn up, and in an agony of supplication she prayed that this might take place, but always, till she felt that she hated him with an intensity of dislike, she heard Rasp’s harsh voice dominating the others as, with the sense of responsibility that he had a diver’s life in his hands, he absolutely refused. He was lord of the proceedings, having been invested by Dutch with his duties, and he maintained his position after nearly yielding two or three times and tightening the life-line.

“There, you may say what you like,” he growled, “I know my dooty, and I’m a-doing on it. You should never meddle with a man as is down till he asks for help – go on with that pumping, my lads, keep it up,” he said, interrupting his didactic remarks to admonish the sailors at the air-pump – “’cause if you do, you means well p’raps, but you only flurries the man, and that’s the very thing as you oughtn’t to do. Do you know what would make the best divers, Oakum?”

“No,” growled that worthy.

“Cowcumbers, ’cause they’re so cool. Now, lookye here everybody, he’s going on as right as can be. Mr Dutch keeps on giving the signal ‘All right,’ so why should we interfere. I’m master o’ this descent, and he shan’t be interfered with.”

“But, you madman, there’s a huge shark just going to dash at him,” cried Mr Meldon excitedly.