“He’ll be a dead un afore you get to him,” growled the skipper of the lighter, “if you arn’t sharp.”
“I knowed it, I knowed it,” whispered Josh hoarsely. “I see it all along.”
“Screw that on,” panted the leader; “and you, Winter, stand by the engine. Be cool. Now, the helmet. Hah!”
There was a loud crash just then as the trembling and excited man who was handing the second helmet let it fall upon an iron bar lying upon the deck, so injuring the delicate piece of mechanism that the men stared at each other aghast, and Will’s hands grew wet with horror.
“Is there a man here who can dive?” shouted the skipper coming forward with a thin coil of line. And, amidst a breathless silence Will stepped forward.
“No, no, he can’t,” shouted Josh excitedly; and then he stood open-mouthed and with one hand clasping the other as he saw Will make a rapid hitch in the line, throw it round his waist, tighten it, and then, after a quick glance round, seize one of the diver’s leaden weights lying on an upturned cask. Then stepping to the side he said quickly, “Josh, look to the line!” and with the heavy weight held out at arm’s-length he leaped from the gangway, right where the air-bubbles were still rising, and plunged headforemost into the sea.
Note: Net-making in Cornwall is called net-breeding.