"Git on to dat line, yo', Sam ... git hold quick ... I got him ... give him de air, yo' Dutchman. ... An' now fer a heave what is a heave."
With a mighty effort the two men threw their whole weight upon the line. It held. Nothing gave for a moment. Bahama Bill, bracing his naked feet upon the rail, bent his mighty loins, and took a deep breath.
"Heave-ho!" he bellowed, and set his muscles to the strain.
Sam lifted with all his force. Almost instantly the two of them plunged backward, and fell over each other on deck. The line became slack, but before they could get to their feet, Heldron had left the pump and was hauling in hand-over-hand, and in a moment the form of Smart showed below the surface.
The black mate sprang to his feet and gave the Dutchman a cuff which sent him over the side, and, seizing the line, he hauled the limp form of the diver on deck quicker than it takes to tell it. In a moment he had the glass off the helmet, and was staring into the white face of the insensible seaman.
"Get somethin' to drink—quick," he said.
Sam rushed for a dipper of water, and, upon bringing it, was knocked over the head with it for his pains.
"Yo' bring me somethin'—quick—yo' understand," roared the mate. "I knows yo' got some forrads—now, then, jump!"
Sam quickly brought a bottle of gin, half-full. Smart had some of the fiery liquid poured between his lips. Then Heldron, who had scrambled back aboard, cursing and spluttering, came aft, and helped them to get off the suit.