Chapter Eleven.
Tells of bold Plans, followed by bolder Deeds
Months passed away, and Miss Pritty, sitting in her little boudoir sipping a cup of that which cheers, received a letter.
“I know that hand, of course I do. How strange it is there should be such a variety of hands—no two alike, just like faces; though for my part I think that some faces are quite alike, so much so that there are one or two people who are always mistaken for each other, so that people don’t know which is which. Dear me! What an awful thing it would be if these people were so like that each should forget which was the other! Nobody else being able to put them right, there would be irretrievable confusion. What do you want, eh?”
The first part of Miss Pritty’s mutterances was a soliloquy; the query was addressed to her small and only domestic with the dishevelled head, who lingered at the door from motives of curiosity.
“Nothink, ma’am. Do you wish me to wait, ma’am?”
“No;—go.”
She went, and Miss Pritty, opening the letter, exclaimed, “From my nephew, Edgar! I knew it. Dear fellow! I wonder why he writes to me.”
The letter ran as follows:—
“Dear Aunt,—You will doubtless be surprised to receive a letter from me. It must be brief; the post leaves in an hour. Since I saw you we have had a charming voyage out, but at the last we ran on a rocky island off the coast of China, and became a total wreck in a few minutes.”
At this point Miss Pritty gasped “oh!” and fainted—at least she went into a perfect semblance of the state of coma, but as she recovered suddenly, and appealed to the letter again with intense earnestness, it may have been something else that was the matter. She resumed her perusal:—
“We succeeded in getting a hawser on shore, by means of which, through God’s mercy, nearly all the passengers were saved, including, of course, your friend Miss Hazlit and her father. It is mournful to have to add, however, that before the work was finished the wreck slipped into deep water and sank with all her crew on board. We remained only one day on the rock, when a passing ship observed our signals, took us off, and carried us safely into Hong-Kong.
“Mr Hazlit and his daughter immediately left for—I know not where! I remained here to make some inquiries about the wreck, which I am told contains a large amount of gold coin. Now, I want you to take the enclosed letter to my father’s old servant, Joe Baldwin; help him to read it, if necessary, and to answer it by return of post. It is important; therefore, dear aunt, don’t delay. I think you know Baldwin’s address, as I’ve been told he lives in the district of the town which you are wont to visit. Excuse this shabby scrawl, and the trouble I ask you to take, and believe me to be your loving nephew, Edgar Berrington.”
Miss Pritty was a prompt little woman. Instead of finishing her tea she postponed that meal to an indefinite season, threw on her bonnet and shawl, and left her humble abode abruptly.
Joe Baldwin was enjoying a quiet pipe at his own fireside—in company with his buxom wife and his friends Mr and Mrs Rooney Machowl—when Miss Pritty tripped up to his door and knocked.
She was received warmly, for Joe sympathised with her affectionate and self-denying spirit, and Mrs Joe believed in her. Woe to the unfortunate in whom Mrs Joe—alias Susan—did not believe.
“Come away, Miss,—glad to see you—always so,” said Joe, wiping a chair with his cap and extinguishing his pipe out of deference; “sit down, Miss.”
Miss Pritty bowed all round, wished each of the party good-evening by name, and seating herself beside the little fire as easily and unceremoniously as though it had been her own, drew forth her letter.
“This is for you, Mr Baldwin,” she said; “it came enclosed in one to me, and is from my nephew, Edgar Berrington, who says it is important.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Joe, taking the letter, opening it, and looking at it inquiringly.
“Now Miss,” said he, “it’s of no manner o’ use my tryin’ to make it out. You mustn’t suppose, Miss, that divers can’t read. There’s many of ’em who have got a good education in the three R’s, an’ some who have gone further. For the matter of that I can read print easy enough, as you know, but I never was good at pot-hooks and hangers, d’ee see; therefore I’ll be obliged, Miss, if you’ll read it to me.”
Miss Pritty graciously acceded to the request, and read:—
“Dear Baldwin,—My aunt, Miss Pritty, who will hand this letter to you, will tell you about our being wrecked. Now, in regard to that I have a proposal to make. First, let me explain. The wreck of the Warrior, after slipping off the ledge on which she struck, sank in twenty fathoms water. On our arrival at Hong-Kong, the agent of the owners sent off to see what could be done in the way of recovering the treasure on board—there being no less than fifty thousand pounds sterling in gold in her treasure-room, besides valuables belonging to passengers. A Lloyds’ agent also visited the place, and both came to the conclusion that it was utterly impossible to recover anything from such a depth by means of divers. This being so, and I happening to be on the spot, offered to purchase the right to recover and appropriate all the gold I could fish up. They laughed at me as a wild enthusiast, but, regarding the thing as hopeless themselves, were quite willing to let me have the wreck, etcetera, for what you would call ‘an old song.’ Now, although nominally a ‘penniless man,’ I do happen to possess a small property, in the form of a block of old houses in Newcastle, which were left to me by an uncle, and which I have never seen. On these I have raised sufficient money for my purpose, and I intend to make the venture, being convinced that with the new and almost perfect apparatus now turned out in London by our submarine engineers, bold divers may reach even a greater depth than twenty fathoms. My proposal then is, that you should come to my aid. I will divide all we bring up into three equal portions. One of these you shall have, one I’ll keep to myself, and the third shall be shared equally by such divers as you think it advisable to employ. What say you? Do the prospects and terms suit, and will you come without delay? If so, reply at once, and send all the requisite material to this place. Be particular to bring dresses made by the first makers in London. I wish this to be a sort of semi-scientific experiment—to recover property from a great depth, to test the powers and properties of the various apparatus now in use and recently invented, and, while so doing, to make my fortune as well as yours, and that of all concerned! Perhaps you think the idea a wild one. Well, it may be so, but wilder ideas than this have been realised. Remember the noble house of Mulgrave!—Yours truly,—
“Edgar Berrington.”
The last sentence in the letter referred to a fact in the history of diving which is worthy of mention. In or about the year 1683 a man named Phipps, the son of an American blacksmith, was smitten with a mania, then prevalent, for recovering treasure from sunken wrecks by means of diving. He succeeded in fishing up a small amount from the wreck of a Spanish galleon off the coast of Hispaniola, which, however, did not pay expenses. Being a man of indomitable perseverance as well as enthusiasm, Phipps continued his experiments with varying success, and on one occasion—if not more—succeeded in reducing himself to poverty. But the blacksmith’s son was made of tough material—as though he had been carefully fashioned on his father’s anvil. He was a man of strong faith, and this, in material as well as spiritual affairs, can remove mountains. He was invincibly convinced of the practicability of his schemes. As is usual in such men, he had the power to impart his faith to others. He had moved Charles the Second to assist him in his first efforts, which had failed, but was unable to similarly influence the cautious—not to say close-fisted—James the Second. The Duke of Albemarle, however, proved more tractable. Through his aid and influence, and with funds obtained from the public, Phipps was enabled in 1687 once more to try his fortune. He set sail in a 200-ton vessel, and after many fruitless efforts succeeded in raising from a depth of between six and seven fathoms, (considered but a small depth now-a-days) property to the value of about 300,000 pounds. Of this sum the usurious Earl obtained as his share 90,000 pounds while Phipps received 20,000 pounds. Although James the Second had refused to aid in the expedition, he had the wisdom to recognise the good service done to mankind in the saving of so much valuable property at so great personal risk. He knighted Phipps, who thus became the founder of the house of Mulgrave—now represented by the Marquis of Normanby.
When Miss Pritty had concluded the letter, Joe Baldwin turned to Rooney Machowl:—
“What think you, lad,” he said, “would you venture down to twenty fathom?”
“To twenty thousand fathom, if you’ll consint to watch the pumps and howld the life-line,” replied the daring son of Erin.
“Will you let me go, Susan?” said Baldwin, turning to his wife.
“How could I hinder you, Joe?” answered Mrs Baldwin, with a face reddened by suppressed emotion at the bare idea.
“And will you go with me, Susan?”
“I’d sooner go to the—” she stopped, unable to decide as to what part of earth she would not sooner go to than China, but not being versed in geography she finished by asserting that she’d sooner go to the moon!
Pretty little Mrs Machowl, on the contrary, vowed that no power on earth should separate between her and her Rooney, and that if he went she should go, and the baby too.
“Well then, Miss,” said Baldwin to his visitor, “if you’ll be so kind as to write for me I’ll be obliged. Say to Mister Eddy—I can’t forget the old name, you see—that I’m agreeable; that I’ll undertake the job, along with Rooney Machowl here, and mayhap another man or two. I’ll get all the dresses and apparatus he requires, and will set sail as soon as I can; but, you see, I can’t well start right off, because I’ve a job or two on hand. I’ve a well to go down an’ putt right, an’ I’ve some dock repairs to finish. However, to save time I’ll send Rooney off at once with one dress and apparatus, so that they can be tryin’ experiments till I arrive—which will be by the following steamer. Now, Miss, d’you think you can tell him all that?”
“I will try,” said Miss Pritty, making rapid entries in a small note-book, after completing which and putting a few more questions she hurried home.
Meanwhile Rooney’s wife went off to make arrangements for a long voyage, and a probably prolonged residence in foreign parts, and Joe Baldwin went to visit the well he had engaged to descend, taking Rooney as his assistant. During his visit to this well, Joe underwent some experiences, both physical and mental, which tried his nerve and courage more severely than any descent he had ever made in the open sea.
It is a well-known fact among divers that various temperaments are suited to various works, and that, among other things, many men who are bold enough in open water lose courage in confined places such as wells. They say—so powerful is imagination!—that they “cannot breathe” down in a well, though, of course, the means of breathing is the same in all cases. Joe Baldwin, being gifted with cool blood and strong nerves, and possessing very little imagination, was noted among his fellows for his readiness and ability to venture anywhere under water and do anything.
The well in question was connected with the waterworks of a neighbouring town. Having got himself and his apparatus conveyed thither he spent the night in the town and proceeded on the following morning at day-break to inspect the scene of his operations.
The well was an old one and very deep—about fifteen fathoms. That, however, was a matter of small importance to our diver. What concerned him most was the narrowness of the manhole or entrance at the top, and the generally dilapidated state of the whole affair.
The well, instead of being a circular hole in the ground lined with brick, like ordinary wells, was composed of huge iron cylinders four feet in diameter, fitted together and sunk ninety feet into the ground. This vast tube or circular iron well rested on a foundation of brick-work. When sunk to its foundation its upper edge was just level with the ground. Inside of this tube there were a variety of cross-beams, and a succession of iron ladders zigzagging from top to bottom, so that it could be descended when empty. At the time of Joe’s visit it was found nearly full of water. Down the centre of the well ran two iron pipes, or pumps, each having a “rose” at its lower end, through which the water could be sucked and pumped up to a reservoir a hundred feet high for the supply of the town. These two pumps were worked by an engine whose distinguishing features were noise and rickets. It could, however, just do its work; but, recently, something had gone wrong with one of the pumps—no water was thrown up by it. Two results followed. On the one hand the water-supply to the town became insufficient, and, on the other, the surplus water in the well could not be pumped out so as to permit of a man descending to effect repairs. In these circumstances a diver became absolutely necessary. Hence the visit of Baldwin and Machowl.
“Now then, diver,” said the managing engineer of the works to Joe, after he had examined everything above ground with care, “you see it is impossible to pump the well dry, because of the defective pump and the strength of the spring which feeds it. Water is admitted into the great cylinder through a number of holes in the bottom. These holes therefore must be stopped. In order to this, you will have to descend in the water with a bag of wooden pegs and a hammer—all of which are ready for you—and plug up these holes. You see, the work to be done is simple enough.”
“Ay,” asserted Baldwin, “but the way how to set about it ain’t so simple or clear. How, for instance, is a man of my size to squeeze through that hole at the top?”
“You are large,” said the engineer, regarding the diver for a moment, “but not too large, I should think, to squeeze through.”
“What! With a divin’ dress on?”
“Ah, true; I fear that is a puzzling difficulty at the outset, for you see the well is frail, and we dare not venture to enlarge the hole by cutting the beams that support the pumps.”
While he was speaking the diver put his head through the hole in question, and gazed down into darkness visible where water was dripping and gurgling, and hissing a sort of accompaniment to the discordant clanking and jarring of the pump-rods. The rickety engine that worked them kept puffing close alongside—grinding out a horrible addition to the din. As his eyes became more accustomed to the subdued light, Baldwin could see that there was an empty space between the surface of the water and the top of the well, great part of the first length of zigzag ladder being visible, and also the cross-beams on which its foot rested. He also observed various green slimy beams, which being perpetually moistened by droppings from the pumps, seemed alive like water snakes.
“Well,” said the diver, withdrawing his head, “I’ll try it. I’ll dress inside there. You’re sure o’ the old ingine, I fancy?”
“It has not yet failed us,” answered the engineer, with a smile.
“What would happen if it broke or stopped working?” asked Joe.
“The well would fill to the brim and overflow in a minute or two.”
“So that,” rejoined the diver, “if it caught me in the middle o’ dressin’, me and my mate would be drownded.”
“You’d stand a good chance of coming to that end,” replied the engineer, with a laugh. “Your mate might get out in time, but as you say the dress would prevent you getting back through the hole, there would be no hope for you.”
“Well then, we’ll begin,” said Baldwin; “come, Rooney, get the gear in order.” So saying, the adventurous man went to work with his wonted energy. The air-pumps were set up, and two men of the works instructed in the use of them. Then Baldwin squeezed himself with difficulty through the manhole, and the dress was passed down to him. Rooney then squeezed himself through, and both went a few steps down the iron ladder until they stood on the cross-beams behind and underneath it. The position was exceedingly awkward, for the ladder obliged them to stoop, and they did not dare to move their feet except with caution, for fear of slipping off the beams into the water—in which, even as it was, they were ankle-deep while standing on the beams. They were soon soaked to the skin by the drippings and spirtings from the pipes, and almost incapable of hearing each other speak, owing to the din. If Rooney had dropped the lead-soled boots or the shoulder-weights, they would have sunk at once beyond recovery, and have rendered the descent of the diver very difficult if not impossible.
Realising all this, the two comrades proceeded with great care and slowness. Dressing a diver in the most favourable circumstances involves a considerable amount of physical exertion and violence of action. It may therefore be well believed that in the case of which we write, a long time elapsed before Baldwin got the length of putting on his helmet. At last it was screwed on. Then a hammer and a bagful of wooden pins were placed in his hands.
“Now, Joe, are ye aisy?” asked Rooney, holding the front-glass in his hand, preparatory to sealing his friend up.
“All right,” answered Baldwin.
“Set a-goin’ the air-pumps up there,” shouted Rooney, from whose face the perspiration flowed freely, as much from anxiety about his friend as from prolonged exertion in a constrained attitude.
In a few seconds the air came hissing into the helmet, showing that the two men who wrought it were equal to their duty, though inexperienced.
“All right?” asked Rooney a second time.
The reply was given, “Yes,” and the bull’s-eye was screwed on.
Rooney then sprang up the ladder and through the manhole; took his station at the signal-line and air-pipe, while the engineer of the works watched the air-pump. The rickety steam-engine was then stopped, and, as had been predicted, the water rose quickly. It rose over Baldwin’s knees, waist, and head, and, finally, rushed out at the manhole, deluging Rooney’s legs.
Our diver was now fairly imprisoned; an accident, however trifling in itself, that should stop the air-pump would have been his death-knell. Fully impressed with this uncomfortable assurance, he felt his way slowly down the second ladder, knocking his head slightly against cross-beams as he went, holding on tightly to his bag and hammer, and getting down into darkness so profound as to be “felt.” He soon reached the head of the third ladder, and then the fourth.
But here, at a depth of about thirty feet, an unexpected difficulty occurred which had well-nigh caused a failure. The head of the fourth ladder was covered with wood, through which a square manhole led to the bottom of the well. Of course Joe Baldwin discovered this only by touch, and great was his anxiety when, passing his hand round it, he found the hole to be too small for his broad shoulders to pass. At this point, he afterwards admitted, he “felt rather curious,” the whole structure being very frail. However, with characteristic determination he muttered to himself, “never mind, Joe, do it if you can,” and down he went through the hole, putting one arm down with his body, and holding the other up and drawing it down after him, by which process he squeezed his shoulders through at an angle. After reaching the bottom of the well, a feeling of alarm seized him lest he should be unable to force his way upwards through the hole. To settle this question at once he ascended to it, forced himself through, and then, being easy in mind, he redescended to the bottom and went to work with the hammer and wooden pegs.
At first he had some difficulty in finding the holes in the great cylinder, but after a dozen of them had been plugged it became easier, as the water rushed in through the remaining holes with greater force. While thus engaged his foot suddenly slipped. To save himself from falling—he knew not whither—he let go the bag of pegs and the hammer—the first of which went upwards and the latter down. To find the hammer in total darkness among the brick-work at the bottom was hopeless, therefore Joe signalled that he was coming up, and started for the top after the bag, but failed to find it. In much perplexity he went to the upper manhole and put up one of his hands.
To those who were inexperienced it was somewhat alarming to see the hand of an apparently drowning man with the fingers wriggling violently, but Rooney understood matters.
“Arrah, now,” said he, giving the hand a friendly shake, “it’s somethin’ you’re wantin’, sure. What a pity it is wan can’t spake wid his fingers!”
Presently the hand shut itself as if grasping something, and moved in a distinct and steady manner.
“Och! It’s a hammer he wants. He’s gone an’ lost it. Here you are, boy—there’s another.”
The hand disappeared, transferred the implement to the left hand, and reappeared, evidently asking for more.
“What now, boy?” muttered Rooney, with a perplexed look.
“Doubtless he wants more pegs,” said the engineer of the works, coming up at the moment.
“Sure, sur, that can’t be it, for if he’d lost his pegs wouldn’t they have comed up an’ floated?”
“They’ve caught somewhere, no doubt, among the timbers on the way up. Anyhow, I had provided against such an accident,” said the engineer, putting another bag of pegs into the impatient hand.
It seemed satisfied, and disappeared at once.
Joe returned to the bottom, and succeeded in plugging every hole, so that the water from the outside spring could not enter. That done, he ascended, and signalled to the engineer to begin pumping. The rickety engine was set to work, and soon reduced the water so much that Rooney was able to re-descend and undress his friend. Thereafter, in about five hours, the well was pumped dry. The engineer then went down, and soon discovered that one of the pump-rods had been broken near the foot, and that its bucket lay useless at the bottom of the pipe. The repairs could now be easily made, and our divers, having finished their difficult and somewhat dangerous job, returned home.2
Next day Joe Baldwin paid a visit to the neighbouring harbour, where a new part of the pier was being built by divers. His object was to sound our surly friend David Maxwell about joining him in his intended trip to the antipodes, for Maxwell was a first-rate diver, though a somewhat cross-grained man.
Maxwell was under water when he arrived. It was Baldwin’s duty to superintend part of the works. He therefore went down, and met his man at the bottom of the sea. Joe took a small school-slate with him, and a piece of pencil—for, the depth being not more than a couple of fathoms, it was possible to see to read and write there.
The spot where Maxwell wrought was at the extreme end of the unfinished part of the breakwater. He was busily engaged at the time in laying a large stone which hung suspended to a travelling-crane connected with the temporary works overhead. Joe refrained from interrupting him. Another man assisted him. In the diver fraternity, there are men who thoroughly understand all sorts of handicrafts—there are blacksmiths, carpenters, stone-masons, etcetera. Maxwell was a skilled mechanic, and could do his work as well under water as many a man does above it—perhaps better than some! The bed for the stone had been carefully prepared on a mass of solid masonry which had been already laid. By means of the signal-line Maxwell directed the men in charge of the crane to move it forward, backward, to the right or to the left, as required. At last it hung precisely over the required spot, and was lowered into its final resting-place.
Then Baldwin tapped Maxwell on the shoulder. The latter looked earnestly in at the window—if we may so call it—of his visitor, and, recognising Joe, shook hands with him. Joe pointed to a rock, and sat down. Maxwell sat down beside him, and then ensued the following conversation. Using the slate, Baldwin wrote in large printed letters:—
“I’ve got a splendid offer to go out to dive in the China seas. Are you game to go?”
Taking the slate and pencil, Maxwell wrote—“Game for anything!”
“We must finish this job first,” wrote Joe, “and I shall send Rooney out before us with some of the gear—to be ready.”
“All right,” was Maxwell’s laconic answer.
Baldwin nodded approval of this, but the nod was lost on his comrade owing to the fact that his helmet was immovably fixed to his shoulders. Maxwell evidently understood it, however, for he replied with a nod which was equally lost on his comrade. They then shook hands on it, and Joe, touching his signal-line four times, spurned the ground with a light fantastic toe, and shot to the realms above like a colossal cherub.