I took a light line and over I went.
The water was fine. The light filtered down under the ship's bilge, and it was only dark after I swept well under the curve of the side. Still, I could see a little, and soon made out a mass which I rightly took to be the mattress and stuff filling the hole.
I tried to get the line fast to the thing, feeling quickly, but I lost my breath before I got it fast and, letting go, struggled to the surface again.
"What luck?" asked Mac, grinning over at me.
I wasted no time in idle words. I recovered and grasped the line again and hauled myself furiously toward the opening underneath. I could not get the line fast, and had to come up and confess that I had failed so far.
"Look out a shark don't get you," said some one with an idea of wit.
"Give me a marline spike," I ordered that bos'n, and the beggar got one, handing it to me by a line. I dove again, and this time managed to drive the spike in between the turns of the line holding the mattress. The next dive I got the small line fast to it, and, coming up, told them to slack away on the big line inside and haul the small one outside and get the stuffing away. It came easy enough, and the line of interested faces peering over the rail above bore a different look as I hung with one hand and rested from the exertion.
"Now for the bolts," I said, and one was handed down. I hauled under again and inserted it, feeling with some satisfaction the other end being grasped by some one inboard. Mr. Donkey Man had hold of it all right, and, putting on a nut, set it up without delay. This much of the job was not so hard, but I was now getting tired, and found that I could hardly get below before I wanted to get my breath again. I was no diver—no, not to speak of, but I thought of that woman sitting up there waiting, taking it easy with her insolence and white dress——
Seven other inch bolts were to be inserted before the job could be finished inside, and the water was pouring through the bolt holes in streams that kept the pumps working full stroke and made working about the opening difficult. I came on deck, and Bill Boldwin gave me a noggin of rum, grinning at me all the time.
"You ain't so bad for a mate—I've sailed with worse," said he.