But in spite of all that the first sensations nigh paralyzed me. I reached bottom and wallowed around without the least thought or remembrance regarding what I had been told to do. A freight-train seemed to be roaring around inside my helmet and I was gasping like a dying skate-fish.
Then in scuffing around in a sort of panic, taking no care of what I was about, I hooked my shoe onto something and began to yank and thresh around in a perfect frenzy. The result was that I pulled the shoe off and my lightened foot was snapped above my head in a finer spread-eagle than any acrobatic dancer ever pulled off. To drag that foot down was beyond my powers, and I tripped and went onto my back. Being up-ended is a diver’s chief peril, because the air bellies up into the legs of the dress and leaves scant supply in the helmet.
In that crisis there was one idea which stuck to me: I must get that lost shoe!
And I did get it. I groped and rolled and struggled and pulled until I did get it. A half-dozen times in my efforts I felt them trying to haul me up. I suppose I must have given signals telling them to quit that. I fought them as best I could, anyway, until I had recovered the shoe; then I yanked for a lift and went up.
Captain Vose was standing in front of me with the helmet in his hands when I had recovered my wits enough to notice anybody.
“Been dancing a jig?” he inquired, caustically.
I shook my head, for I was not able to utter words.
“Which did you lose first down there, your nerve or that shoe?”
When I hesitated, he snapped, “Give me the truth, now, or we sha’n’t get along after this!”
“My nerve!” I told him.