With returning vitality came back Maxwell’s inbred obstinacy. He would not hold his tongue, but insisted on explaining his sensations to his comrades as they busied themselves taking off his dress—a rather violent operation at all times, and very difficult in the circumstances.
“W’y messmates,” he said, “I hadn’t even time to guess wot ’ad ’appened. Got no warnin’ wotsomedever. I just felt a tree-mendous shock all of a suddent that struck me motionless—as if Tom Sayers had hit me a double-handed cropper on the top o’ my beak an’ in the pit o’ my bread-basket at one an’ the same moment. Then came an ’orrible pressure as if a two-thousand-ton ship ’ad bin let down a-top o’ me, an’ arter that I remembers nothin’.”
It is probable that the poor fellow would have gone on with his comments, though he spoke with difficulty and in a feeble voice, in which none of his characteristic gruffness remained, if he had not been cut short by Joe Baldwin and Rooney Machowl lifting him up and carrying him below.
Rooney, who carried his shoulders, took occasion to say while on the way down:—
“David, boy, did ye find anny treasure?”
“No;—see’d nothin’.”
“Ow, ow, worse luck!” sighed Rooney.
Maxwell was made comfortable with a glass of weak brandy and water—hot—and his comrades returned on deck, where they found Edgar Berrington commencing to put on the diving-dress.
“Goin’ down, sir?” inquired Joe.
“Yes. We have fortunately another air-tube, and I want to complete the work we have begun.”