American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
Three hundred feet is a long jump. He turned over twice in that
terrible descent, and once, looking upward, he saw the sprawling form
of the captain, and above it the quiescent airship. But when he looked
again he did not distinguish the man, and a lessening spot in the
western sky was all that could be seen of the airship.
With consciousness nearly gone he struck the water feet first and was
almost split in two by the impact; but the cold shock brought back
his lapsing senses, and he found himself feebly swimming, in which
direction he could not tell, for it was pitch dark in the depths to
which he had sunk. With aching lungs he swam and turned, looking for
light that would indicate the surface, but saw nothing to guide him,
and in utter despair was about to give up when light appeared. It
was not a dim glow, like diffused sunlight, but a spark, a point of
yellow, that grew larger and became a disk. It was approaching and now
another appeared beside it, fainter, and crescent shaped. On the other
side appeared a third and, dazed with physical agony that reached from
lungs to brain, he recognized the dead lights of a submarine's conning
tower. He looked for the hull beneath, and saw it, a dark blur that was
growing in size.
It came swiftly at him, and just as he was reaching out, to ward
himself from the pointed nose, there was a coughing thud, and something
brushed by him in a blast of bubbles and went on. Then, with many sharp
knocks on head, ribs, and knuckles, he was sucked with the inrush of
water squarely into the open tube that had just discharged its torpedo.
He heard a clang behind him, the shutting of the forward tube door,
then a whistling sound; then he felt the pressure of air on his face
and with a groan of thanksgiving he expelled the long breath he had
taken above, and drew it into his lungs. But the pressure had nearly
burst his ear drums before the tube was emptied of water, and the inner
door was opened. With a gasping call for help, he crawled and hitched
along the tube and men reached in to him. They pulled him out into the
lighted handling room, where, too weak to stand, he fell to the floor,
breathing in deep, convulsive gasps.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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