“Rip off the scuttle quick, boys; he’s suffocated.”
The boys did not at all understand what had happened, but they acted promptly in obedience to their wisest comrade’s order. When the scuttle was opened and a lantern brought, Jim was seen lying limp at the foot of the little ladder.
“Now, be careful,” said Ed. “Irving, you and Phil—you’re the strongest—go down, hold your breath, and drag him up. Be sure to hold your breath. Do just as you do when you’re diving.”
They made an effort, but almost instantly came back, gasping for air, sneezing, and with eyes and noses tingling.
“Catch your breath quick,” said Ed, “and go down again. You must get him out, or he will be dead, if he isn’t dead already.”
They made another dash, this time acting more carefully upon the instruction to treat the descent as if it were a dive, and carefully holding their breath. In a brief while they dragged the body of the pilot out upon the deck, and Ed gave directions for restoring life by artificial respiration.
“You see, he’s practically a drowned man,” he said.
“Drowned?” said Will Moreraud. “Why, he’s not even been in the water, and that little dash with the hose wouldn’t drown a kitten.”
“Never mind that,” said Ed; “quick now; he’s drowned, or just the same thing. We must bring him to life.”