Under the Waves: Diving in Deep Waters. Robert Michael Ballantyne
hand, with the utmost ease—having previously given four pulls on his life-line to signal “coming up.” A few seconds more and his head was seen to emerge from the surface, like some goggle-eyed monster of the briny deep.
A comrade at once advanced and unscrewed his front-glass, and then, but not till then, did the men at the pumps cease their labours.
“All right,” said Maxwell, stepping over the side and seating himself on his plank.
“Stand by,” said Baldwin.
The two satellites did not require that order, for they were already standing by with a small electrical machine. The wire before mentioned as being connected with the charge of powder, now safely lodged in the hole at the bottom of the sea, was connected with the electrical machine, and a few vigorous turns of its handle were given, while every eye was turned expectantly on the surface of the sea.
That magic spark which now circles round the world, annihilating time and space, was evolved; it flashed down the wire; the ocean could not put it out; the dry powder received it; the massive rock burst into fragments; a decided shock was felt on board the barge, and a turmoil of gas-bubbles and dead or dying fish came to the surface, in the midst of which turmoil the shrimp, the crab, and the goby doubtless came to an untimely end.
Thus was cleared out of the way an obstruction which had from time immemorial been a serious inconvenience to that port; and thus every year serious inconveniences and obstructions that most people know very little about are cleared out of the way by our bold, steady, and daring divers, through the wisdom and the wonderful appliances of our submarine engineers.
“Now then, Rooney, come an’ we’ll dress you,” said Baldwin. “As you’re goin’ to be a professional diver it’s right that you should have the first chance and set a good example to Mister Berrington here, who’s only what we may call an amateur.”
“Faix, I’d rather that Mister Berrington shud go first,” said Rooney, who, as he spoke, however, stripped himself of his coat, vest, and trousers preparatory to putting on the costume.
“I’ll be glad to go first, Rooney, if you’re afraid,” said Edgar.
Rooney’s annoyance at being thought afraid was increased to indignation by a contemptuous guffaw from Maxwell.
Flushing deeply and casting a glance of anger at Maxwell, the young Irishman crushed down his feelings and said—
“Sure, I’m only jokin’. Put on the dress Mister Baldwin av ye plaze.”
A diver, like a too high-bred lady, cannot well dress himself. He requires two assistants. Rooney Machowl sat down on the plank beside Maxwell, who was busy taking off his dress, and acted according to orders.
First of all they brought him a thick guernsey shirt, a pair of drawers and pair of inside stockings, which he put on and fastened securely. Sometimes a “crinoline” to afford protection to the stomach in deep water is put on, but on the present occasion it was omitted, the water being shallow. Then Baldwin put on him a “shoulder-pad” to bear the weight of the helmet, etcetera, and prevent chafing.
“If it was cold, Rooney,” said his instructor, “I’d put two guernseys and pairs of drawers and stockin’s on you, but, as it’s warm, one set’ll do. Moreover, if you was goin’ deep you’d have the option of stuffin’ your ears with cotton soaked in oil, to relieve the pressure; some do an’ some don’t. I never do myself. It’s said to relieve the pressure of air on the ears, but my ears are strong. Anyway you won’t want it in this water.—Now for the dress, boys.”
The two assistants—with mouths expanded from ear to ear—here advanced with the strong india-rubber garment whose legs, feet, body, and arms are, as we have already said, all in one piece. Pushing his feet in at the upper opening, Rooney writhed, thrust, and wriggled himself into it, being ably assisted by his attendants, who held open the sleeves for him and expanded the tight elastic cuffs, and, catching the dress at the neck, hitched it upwards so powerfully as almost to lift their patient off his legs. Next, came a pair of outside stockings and canvas overalls or short trousers, both of which were meant to preserve the dress-proper from injury. Having been got into all these things, Rooney was allowed to sit down while his attendants each put on and buckled a boot with leaden soles—each boot weighing about twenty pounds.
“A purty pair of dancin’ pumps!” remarked Rooney, turning out his toes, while Baldwin put on his breast-plate, after having drawn up the inner collar of the dress and tied it round his neck with a piece of spare yarn.
The breast-plate was made of tinned copper. It covered part of the back, breast, and shoulders of the diver, and had a circular neck, to which the helmet was to be ultimately screwed. It rested on the inner collar of the dress, and the outer collar—of stout india-rubber—was drawn over it. In this outer collar were twelve holes, corresponding to twelve screws round the edge of the breast-plate. When these holes had been fitted over their respective screws, a breast-plate-band, in four pieces, was placed over them and screwed tight by means of nuts—thus rendering the connection between the dress and the breast-plate perfectly water-tight. It now only remained to screw the helmet to the circular neck of the breast-plate. Previously, however, a woollen night-cap was drawn over the poor man’s head, well down on his ears, and Rooney looked—as indeed he afterwards admitted that he felt—as if he were going to be hanged. He thought, however, of the proverb, that a man who is born to be drowned never can be hanged, and somehow felt comforted.
The diving helmet is made of tinned copper, and much too large for the largest human head, in order that the wearer may have room to move his head freely about inside of it. It should not touch the head in any part, but is fixed rigidly to the breast-plate, resting on the shoulders, and does not partake of the motions of the head. In it are three round openings filled with the thickest plate-glass and protected by brass bars or guards; also an outlet-valve to allow the foul air to escape; a short metal tube with an inlet-valve, to which the air-pump is screwed; and a regulating cock for getting rid of excess of air. The arrangement is such, that the fresh air enters, and is spread over the front of the diver’s face, while the foul escapes at the back of his head. By a clever contrivance—a segmental screw—the helmet can be fixed to its neck with one-eighth of a turn, instead of having to be twisted round several times. To various hooks and studs on the helmet and breast-plate are hung two leaden masses weighing about forty pounds each.
These weights having been attached, and a waist-belt with a knife in it put round Rooney’s waist, along with the life-line, the air-tube was affixed, and he was asked by Baldwin how he felt.
“A trifle heavy,” replied the pupil, through the front hole of the helmet, which was not yet closed.
“That feeling will go off entirely when you’re under water,” said Baldwin. “Now, remember, if you want more air, just give two pulls on the air-pipe—an’ don’t pull as if you was tryin’ to haul down the barge; we’ll be sure to feel you. Be gentle and quiet, whatever ye do. Gettin’ flurried never does any good whatever. D’ee hear?”
“Yis, sur,” answered Rooney, and his voice sounded metallic and hollow, even to those outside—much more so to himself!
“Well, then, if we give you too much air, you’ve only got to open the front-valve—so, and, when you’re easy, shut it. When you get down to the bottom, give one—only one—pull on the life-line, which means ‘All right,’ and I’ll give one pull in reply. We must always reply to each other, d’ee see? because if you don’t answer, of course we’ll think you’ve been suffocated, or entangled at the bottom among wreckage and what-not, or been took with a fit, an’ we’ll haul you up, as hard as we can; so you’ll have to be particular. D’ee understand?”
Again the learner replied “Yis, sur,” but less confidently than before, for Baldwin’s cautions, although meant to have an encouraging effect, proved rather to be alarming.
“Now,” continued the teacher, leading his pupil to the side of the barge, “be sure to go down slow, and come up slow. Whatever you do, do it slow, for if you do it fast—especially in comin’ up—you’ll come to grief. If a man comes up too fast from deep water, the