Читать книгу Captain Fosdyke's Gold - Percy Francis Westerman - Страница 9

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Meanwhile on board the Gleaner preparations had been completed for the reception of the unconscious diver.

Blankets had been warmed, hot-water bottles filled, and oxygen held in readiness to administer to the patient. The motor-launch had been dispatched at full speed to Brixham, there to enlist the services of a doctor. She returned before the decompression chamber had been brought to the surface, and instead of one medical man three had volunteered to give their services to the gravely affected man.

At length the massive metal cylinder was hoisted clear and swung inboard. The doctors, not being in direct contact with their patient, had to communicate with Polglaze by telephone and tell him what to do until sufficient time elapsed before the decompression chamber could be opened to admit air at normal pressure.

Rob, once he knew that White was alive and that all that could be done for him was being done, centred all his attention upon the diver who was dangling from his life-line forty feet from the bottom and a hundred feet below the surface.

There were no comforts for Diver Black. Since there was only one decompression chamber—and that was in use—he had to be brought to the surface in the old-fashioned way. Suspended in almost utter darkness, affected by the numbing cold of the water, liable to be attacked by dog-fish and other ferocious denizens of the depths, he had to endure the prolonged ordeal of being hauled a few feet nearer the surface, left stationary for twenty minutes or more, and then lifted another few feet. This procedure was necessary because the molecules of air forced into his blood passages must be allowed to disappear gradually, otherwise apoplexy would inevitably result. To make matters worse, the diver himself had to be his own judge of the slow speed of his ascent. There were fixed tables giving the distances of each “lift” and the intervening periods of passive suspension; but if in spite of adherence to this table the diver had reason to believe that decompression was too rapid, he must telephone to his attendants and get them to lower him to a greater depth again.

Rob did his best to cheer the man by maintaining a telephonic conversation with him. But the young engineer had to confess to himself that he felt anything but cheerful. Things on this, his first independent operation, had not gone well. True, the wreck had been located even though it had not been identified, and then only after one costly failure. And now one of the three divers was incapacitated. Perhaps his nerve would be gone and then he would never be able to descend again. Had it been merely a case of lost nerve the remedy would have been simple. The man would have been ordered to make another descent immediately. But White was physically incapable of so doing. As far as Messrs. Findon & Rayse, Ltd., were concerned, another diver would have to be forthcoming, and the once-skilled and daring man now imprisoned in the decompression chamber would have to be “taken on” in some other capacity, or perhaps invalided and given a pension for the rest of his life.

Rob found himself debating whether he was in any way responsible for the mishap. Theoretically, of course, he was responsible for everything in connexion with the operations, whether successful or otherwise. But had he done anything that might have caused or had he left anything undone that might have averted the accident? Ought he to have made the descent himself? He wished he had; but on that point the Company’s regulations were emphatic—“On no account must the officer in charge of salvage operation permit himself to make a descent. All diving must be performed by skilled men upon whose report the Officer-in-Charge will rely.”

“What’s the time, sir?” inquired Black.

Rob told him, adding that in another twenty minutes he would be up.

“It’s always the last half-hour that seems longest,” rejoined the diver.

All the while the coupled air-pumps were kept steadily at work, men relieving each other at regular intervals. The only indication that that task was approaching its end was the steadily receding needle of the pressure gauge.

Presently Rob felt a hand laid upon his shoulder. Removing his headphones he turned and saw Captain Condor standing close to him.

“Tide’ll be slack in a couple o’ hours, Mr. Wroxall,” he announced. “Maybe you’ll be wanting tu get the for’ard lifting hawsers in position?”

Rob stared at him.

“But I say—” he protested. “These two men?”

The Cornishman smiled.

“Black’ll be up in a few minutes,” he remarked. “An’ White’s out of the decompression room. The doctors are giving him something that fair does wonders tu him.”

“He’ll have to be taken ashore to hospital.”

“Lor’ a mussy me!” exclaimed Captain Condor. “How you do talk, Mr. Wroxall! One ’ud think White wur a babby! ’Tain’t the first time he’s been in a tight fix, not by long chalks! I’ll warrant he’ll be fit an’ willing tu go down again afore you’m a day older!”

The young engineer smiled in return. Cap’n Condor’s optimistic outlook and good spirits were infectious. Apparently he, Rob, had been making mountains out of molehills. Evidently a man of White’s physique and temperament quickly recovered from a harrowing experience such as he had just passed through, although there was no denying that the consequences might easily have proved fatal.

Black’s helmet appearing over the side, as two attendants assisted his cumbersome progress, brought Rob and the Captain to the spot.

Quickly the diver’s front helmet glass was unscrewed. The man’s face looked a bit blue and moisture was oozing from under his red woollen cap.

“Didn’t see much, sir,” he reported. “Slings are under the stern all right. Can’t get near the bows. They’re bunged up with cast-off nets, same as caught White. How is he, sir?”

“Alive, and getting on splendidly,” replied Captain Condor.

“Thanks to your bravery,” added Rob.

“ ’Twas naught but any o’ we chaps ’ud do,” protested the Cornishman, breathing deeply, as his attendants removed his copper helmet. “As for that wreck, sir, if you’m guided by me, you’d best drag a hawser under her bows an’ trust tu luck. ’Tain’t no use sendin’ a man down wi’ all that net driftin’ all over the place.”

“Which way is she lying, do you think?” asked Rob.

“ ’Tes difficult tu say, sir. Since you ax me, I should say ’er bows are in that direction “—he pointed in a direction about three miles south of Berry Head—“an’ she’s broadside on tu the shore wi’ a list to port.”

“So White reported before he was trapped,” remarked Rob.

The diver smiled.

“There be confirmation for you,” he said. “I do declare if you sweep on the ebb you’ll pick up the bows surely.”

Renewed energy took possession of the young Assistant Engineer. Supported by such loyal and wholehearted men in his ticklish task his spirits rose.

“If you’re ready, Cap’n Condor.”

“I am that,” responded the Captain. “We’ll get the hawsers ranged and the motor-lighter alongside. Ben!”

“Ay, ay, sir!” answered the Chief Mate.

“Signal No. 18 alongside. We’m sweeping under the bows of the wreck.”

“Ay, ay, sir!”

While Rob was waiting for the lighter to take one end of the sweep one of the doctors strolled up, smoking a cigarette.

“Your man’s making quite a good recovery, captain,” he announced. “He’ll be almost himself by morning. My colleagues will be wanting to be put on shore very shortly, but if you haven’t any objection I’ve a proposition to make.”

“How can I have any objection, sir, if I don’t know your proposition?” inquired the cautious Cornishman. “P’raps Mr. Wroxall, our engineer in charge here, will be the one to say.”

“Well, it’s simply this,” continued the medico. “I’m not in practice in Brixham. I happen to be staying there on a brief holiday. I’m very keen on being afloat and your work interests me immensely. So what do you say to putting me up and putting up with me for a week? I can then give an eye to my patient, and be on the spot if my professional services are required. Of course I’ll stand my shot!”

Captain Condor held out his horny hand.

“We’m only too pleased, sir,” he replied. “As for axin’ you for your victuals we sure wouldn’t think o’ such a thing. Of course,” he added, “the Company’ll pay for the services o’ you three gentlemen, won’t it, Mr. Wroxall?”

“Naturally,” agreed Rob, who had taken a liking to the young doctor. “And, in spite of her appearance, you’ll find accommodation on board the Gleaner very comfortable.”

“What’s wrong wi’ her appearance, Mr. Wroxall?” demanded Captain Condor, jealous for the reputation of his command. “As for her accommodation—you get all the advantage of a crack liner an’ no flunkeys hangin’ around for tips.”

“Then I’ll be perfectly satisfied—my name’s Stanniforth, by the by,” replied the Gleaner’s newly-appointed honorary surgeon. “Ah! I see my colleagues have completed their work, so if you’ve no objection, Captain Condor, I’ll go ashore with them and pick up my sea-going kit. If you won’t mind ordering the boat to wait for ten minutes that will give me ample time.”

While Stanniforth was ashore the task of placing the bow-slings in position proceeded with the least possible delay. It was a race against time and tide.

A six-inch steel hawser was paid out between the Gleaner and No. 18 lighter, both craft manœuvring until at two cables’ distance apart and well “up-stream”, the centre of the span was approximately in a straight line ahead. In the wake of the six-inch wire another of four and a half inches was towed, to serve to prevent the wreck “surging” when lifted clear of the bottom.

Slowly the two craft forged ahead with the tide until a decided increase of the strain on the heavier span indicated that the wire was under some large obstruction. Both vessels then increased the number of their propeller revolutions, the Gleaner’s engine going ahead and the lighter’s motor going astern alternately.

This action had the result of see-sawing the span between what was hoped to be the bows of the wreck and the sand on which she was resting.

Rob, standing on the bridge with Captain Condor, took a rough bearing of the two mark-buoys previously laid to take the extremities of the span laid under the stern of the wreck. Judging by their position it seemed almost certain that the bow span had been hauled into position.

“I think you’m right there, Mr. Wroxall,” agreed Captain Condor. “Now we’re on the track, I should say.”

“Then we’ll take in the slack of the pendants,” decided Rob. “That’s all we can do till next low tide, except for transferring the bow hawser to the mark-buoys. I don’t suppose the tide will be strong enough to shift the span?”

“It ’ud take Niagara to shift ’un,” declared the skipper. “Ben! do ’ee shift over! Make fast an’ cast off; then we’m done for to-night.”

There was quite a jovial supper party aft that evening. All, including the newly-joined doctor, were in high spirits; for the rescued diver having been reported as out of danger and progressing favourably, and with everything in readiness to hoist the mysterious wreck on the morrow, there was every reason to expect the success of the operation.

So with her three green lamps—the recognized sign of a wreck-raising vessel at anchor close to the scene of her work—the Gleaner swung to the change of the tide. On deck two look-outs kept watch, ready to give warning should any change in the weather set in during the night. Down below, sleeping soundly as the result of a day’s labour faithfully performed, the salvage party awaited the call to arise and resume the task they had set themselves to do.