Living Lights that Never Die 277 



and buckets on that ship were scarce; besides, I did not 

 fancy an explanation for the loss, which would be cer- 

 tain to invite a suspicion of my sanity), but managed 

 finally to bring up the bucket with its luminous burden. 

 Setting it on the deck, it stood out clearly in the sur- 

 rounding darkness. By the glow of its bluish light, I 

 could easily see the freckles on my hand. Dipping some 

 of it up in the hollow of my palm, the escaping water 

 fell to the deck in sparkling drops and ran in shining 

 rivulets along the seams. Yet I could detect nothing 

 therein that gave it this remarkable and mysterious 

 property. Looking as closely as I could, I saw little 

 patches of pulsating colors, which swiftly increased in 

 brightness and then as swiftly died out again some- 

 what like the embers of a fire revived to topaz bril- 

 liancy by the passing breeze, and that was all. I 

 emptied the contents of the bucket overboard, and re- 

 mained for many minutes with my attention on the 

 waters below, watching and wondering. But the sea 

 did not vouchsafe its answer at that time. Indeed, little 

 did I think, as I stood there, stripped to the waist, 

 grimy, and still sweating from my turn in the hot stifling 

 air of the stokehold, that later I would be revealing 

 that and other secrets of the sea to curious readers. 

 It was my first voyage, and I had never seen the ocean 

 before. My knowledge of it was limited to what I had 

 read in stories of adventure and travel, while living in 

 a mid-Western hamlet. Of its animals I knew nothing, 

 save what every boy knows regarding the creatures 

 which are often called upon to lend color to the exploits 

 of fictional heroes. No, at that time my dream was 

 that I, too, would write the selfsame manner of tales 



