"If a man could dive under her a few times," said Sackett, "he might see, with the light as good as it is now. What do you think, Mr. Rolling?"
"It would take a good swimmer to go clear under her broad beam," I answered. "I don't believe there's any one aboard who could do it, even with a line around him."
England, the stout sailor, was standing near the rail while I spoke.
"If ye don't mind, sir, I'll try me hand at it. Put a line about me body to haul me in if a shark takes a notion to make a run fer me. Don't haul unless ye have to, mind, or ye'll scrape the hide off me body."
"Go ahead at it," said Sackett.
The heavy man slipped off his jumper in a moment, and I noticed the huge muscles of his chest and arms. He must have made a good prize fighter in his day. Coming out on the frame, he had the line stopped around his waist and then started at the fore rigging to go under the ship to the other side.
Nearly all hands came to the rail to watch him, although the water was knee deep on the deck at this point. He dived gracefully under the side, and as the bubbles disappeared I could see him going like a fish beneath the shimmering copper, which gave forth a greenish light in the sunshine. The line was payed out fast, and in a few moments he arose to port none the worse for the trip.
Nothing came of this, as he was too much taken up with the endeavor to go clear to see anything. His next trip was a fathom or so further aft, and this time he saw nothing save a very foul bottom. After taking a rest and a nip of grog he started again, going more slowly as he gained confidence.
Six trips tired him greatly in spite of his strength, and he sat for some minutes upon the frame before making his plunge. Then he stood up and dived again.
I could see him swimming down, down, down under the ship's bilge, growing to a faint brownish yellow speck which wavered and shook with the refraction of the disturbed surface. Then while I looked the line slacked, and the brownish yellow object beneath wavered into a larger size. Evidently he was coming up and had failed to make the five fathoms necessary to go clear of the keel. I hauled in the line rapidly, for I knew that he must be exhausted to give it up so soon. The wavering brown spot grew quickly in size, and in a moment, outlined upon it, I made out the figure of England straining away for the surface. I hauled frantically to aid him, and the next moment he broke water and was landed upon the frame, while the great brown object beneath rose right behind him, and took the form of a tremendous hammer-headed shark. It came up in an instant and broached clear of the water at least three feet, but failed to reach the frame where Bull England clung panting and gasping for breath.