“Yes,” commented Mr. Henderson, “and some men never can dive. Divers are born not made.”
“Well it’s the next best thing to be able to watch him,” said Frank philosophically. “Oh, look, Tom, he’s nearly at the wreck!”
Rawlins was, as Frank said, close to the mound of coral and sea-growth that he had told the boys was the wreck of the old galleon and a moment later they saw him stoop and begin working with the heavy crowbar he carried.
Breathessly the boys watched, thrilled with the idea of thus seeing a deep-sea diver at work and speculating on whether he would find treasure. Then they saw Rawlins suddenly start back, almost losing his balance and in recovering himself the crowbar dropped to the ocean’s floor. The next instant Tom uttered a frightened, horrified cry. From among the mass of corals a long, snake-like object had shot forth and had whipped itself around Rawlins’ body like a living rope. They saw Rawlins grasp it, strain at it, and then, before the white-faced, terrified watchers in the submarine fully realized what was taking place, another and another of the livid, serpent-like things were writhing and coiling about the diver.
“It’s an octopus!” cried Mr. Pauling.
“Oh, oh! He’ll be killed!” screamed Frank. “Oh, isn’t it terrible?”
But they were helpless, powerless to aid. All they could do was to gaze fascinated and terror-stricken at the awful tragedy, the fearful struggle taking place there at the bottom of the sea before their very eyes.
And now they could see the loathsome creature itself. Its great pulpy body, now pink, now blue, now green; its huge, lusterless, unwinking eyes—an enormous creature whose sucker-clad tentacles encircled Rawlins in a grip of steel, binding his signal line and making it useless, reaching about as if to grasp the air-hose, swaying like serpents about to strike before his helmet. Madly the diver was fighting for his life, bracing himself against the corals, grappling with the slimy tentacles, wrenching his hands and arms free. Then the terrified, breathless watchers gazing at the nightmare-like scene saw Rawlins lift his arm and through the water they saw the blade of his sheath knife flashing in the beam of light. Again and again he brought it slashing down, hacking, stabbing at the clinging tentacles. Bits of the writhing flesh dropped off at the blows and a cloud of inky water that shot from the repulsive creature’s syphon for a moment obscured the scene. But the savage blows, the slashing cuts, the lopped-off tentacles seemed not to affect the giant devil fish in the least and slowly, steadily, inexorably Rawlins was being drawn closer and closer to the cruel eyes, the soft toad like body and the wicked, parrot-like beak.
The boys screamed aloud, the men muttered under their breath. Members of the crew, attracted by the frightened cries, rushed to the port and peered horrified at the terrible scene being enacted under the sea.
Rawlins’ fate seemed sealed, he was now bound fast by the eight tentacles, even the hand with the knife was wrapped around by the relentless, sucker-armed things.