“Three and a half, isn’t it, Josh?” said Will in a low tone. “Mike always says there’s three and a half here at this time of the tide.”
“And I says it’s three fathom,” growled Josh dogmatically. “My, but it’s a gashly sight for a man to go down like that!”
“Why, I wouldn’t mind diving down, Josh,” said Will excitedly.
“Diving down! Ay, I wouldn’t mind diving down. It’s being put in prison, and boxed up in them gashly things as makes it so horrid. Here, let’s be off. I can’t stand it. That there poor chap’ll never come up again alive.”
“Nonsense, Josh! He’s all right. There, you can see him moving about. That pump sends him down plenty of air.”
“Lor’, what a great soft sort of a chap you are, William Marion!” said Josh. “You’ll never larn nothing. The idee of a pump pumping air! They’re a-pumping the water from all round him, so as to give the poor chap room to breathe. Can’t you see the long soft pipe? Here, I don’t like it. I want to go.”
“No, no: not yet,” cried Will excitedly. “I want to watch the diver.”
“An’ I don’t,” said Josh, turning his face away. “I never could abear to see things killed, and I never would go and see it. I can stand fish, but that’s enough for me. Here’s a human bein’ goin’ to be as good as murdered, and I won’t be one o’ them as stands by and sees it done.”
“What nonsense, Josh!” cried Will. “This is regular diving apparatus. That’s an air-pump; and the man has air pumped down into his helmet through that india-rubber pipe.”
“Garlong; don’t tell me, boy,” cried Josh indignantly. “Into his helmet indeed! Why, you can see all the water bubbling up round him. That’s what it is—pumped away. I tell ’ee I’m off. I won’t stop and see the gashly work going on.”