Just then there was a cry from one of the men by the gangway, for the life-line was jerked.
“More air!” he shouted; and the men spun the wheel round faster; but the line jerked again.
“There’s something wrong!” shouted one of the others. “Here, lay hold there—quick! Keep on there with that handle, stupids! Do you want the man to choke? Pump, I tell you. Now, then, haul!”
“There, I told you so, Will,” cried Josh, whose ruddy-brown face was looking mottled with white. “I know’d the gashly old job was wrong. Come away, boy, come away.”
For answer, in his excitement Will thrust his arm aside and ran to the line to help haul.
“No, no, my lad; stand aside,” cried the man who seemed to be captain of the diving-crew, and who was dressed for the work all but his helmet. “Haul away, do you hear?”
The men were hauling hard, but the rope had come taut; and instead of their bringing up the diver it was plain to all that the poor fellow had got the line hitched round a piece of rock, or else one of his legs wedged in some crevice of the rocks he was exploring.
“Shake the rope loose for a moment and haul again,” cried the leader.
The men obeyed and then hauled again, but the line came taut once more; and if they had hauled much harder it would have parted.
“Lend a hand here quick with that other helmet. Make fast there! I’ll go down and cast him loose. Here, quick, some of you!”