Rooney kept his word. When he deemed his assistants perfect at their work, he went one morning to the river with all his gear, hired a boat, pushed off till he had got into two fathoms water, and then, dressing himself with the aid of the Chinamen, prepared to descend.
“Are you ready?” asked his wife.
“Yis, cushla, but you’ve forgot the kiss.”
“Am I to kiss all the divers we shall have to do with before sending them down?” she asked.
“If you want all the divers to be kicked you may,” was the reply.
Molly cut short further remark by giving the order to pump, and affixing the glass. For a few seconds the diver looked earnestly at the Chinamen and at his better half, who may have been said to hold his life in her hands. Then he stepped boldly on the short ladder that had been let down outside the boat, and was soon lost to view in the multitude of air-bells that rose above him.
Now, Rooney had neglected to take into his calculations the excitability of female nerves. It was all very well for his wife to remember everything and proceed correctly when he was in the verandah of the pagoda, but when she knew that her best-beloved was at the bottom of the sea, and saw the air-bells rising, her courage vanished, and with her courage went her presence of mind. A rush of alarm entered her soul as she saw the boiling of the water, and fancying she was giving too much air, she said hurriedly, “Pump slow, boys,” but immediately conceiving she had done wrong, she said, “Pump harder, boys.”
The Chinamen pumped with a will, for they also had become excited, and were only too glad to obey orders.
A signal-pull now came for “Less air,” but Molly had taken up an idea, and it could not be dislodged. She thought it must be “More air” that was wanted.
“Pump away, boys—pump,” she cried, in rapidly increasing alarm.