For an instant, Flash’s courage nearly failed him. Never in his life had he dived more than thirty feet. The water looked miles away. But he dared not think about it or he would be lost.
Taking a deep breath, he jumped. As he shot down feet foremost, Joe Wells shouted something after him which sounded suspiciously like: “Get names!”
At the moment, Flash’s one concern was to keep from losing his balance and being toppled head over heels in the air. He must strike the water feet first. If he didn’t, he would suffer a nasty blow, and perhaps crack a rib or injure his back.
Fighting a desire to look downward, he kept his head held high. Straight as a bullet he shot downward, gathering speed. The wind rushed past his face, taking his breath.
Then the water loomed up and he bent slightly to take it with as little shock as possible. Even so, he struck it with a resounding crack and a jar which shook every muscle.
The force of the fall plunged Flash to a tremendous depth. He fought his way to the surface, only to have a wave sweep over his head, burying him again.
Once more he struggled up, gasping for breath. Taking air in great gulps, he rolled over on his back and rested.
The seaplane had banked and was heading in the direction of shore. Three hundred yards away the Belmonia plowed steadily on her course.
Flash waited a moment and then began to wave to attract attention. He felt certain the skipper of the Belmonia must be aware of his plight, yet there was no indication from the steamship that he had been seen.
Wave upon wave pounded down upon the photographer, burying him and cutting off his view of the steamship. Minutes passed, and Flash’s panic grew. The seaplane no longer was visible as a speck in the sky so he could not expect rescue from his friends. What a fool he had been! He had not realized that he must battle such high waves. Unless the Belmonia picked him up he could not hope to keep afloat until Wells and French returned.