THE KINGDOM OF THE HELMET 8 I 



own fault, the coming of the first enables one to guard 

 against the next. Days such as I am describing are infre- 

 quent, usually with a veneer of danger, and with a solid 

 core for permanent memory. 



So far, the present day had been full of interest but 

 with nothing to make it outstanding. It was the thirteenth 

 of August, and I had sandwiched this North Rock trip 

 between a deep bathysphere dive and an anticipated deep 

 trawl on the morrow. I watched the ladder sink rung by 

 rung, until it swung just clear of the sand, and I then 

 prepared for a second dive. 



From this moment on the day speeded up, and it holds 

 its own among some of the best dives I have ever had. I 

 submerged four times in seven fathoms, and except for 

 the fact that all my activities were watched through water 

 glasses from the launch overhead, I should hesitate to re- 

 late the sequence of happenings which befell me within 

 a half hour, and in a space of not more than twenty 

 square feet. 



We had thrown overboard some pieces of very high 

 meat, so when I reached the bottom I saw that fish had 

 already gathered in numbers. I dropped to the sand from 

 the lowermost rung, and found myself in a little bay of 

 the reef, the entrance partly closed by a giant boulder 

 which had fallen off years or centuries ago. The reef 

 stretched up and up, all alive with waving plumes and 

 sea-fans, with rounded brain coral and sharp-spined ur- 

 chins. I explored far out on the sand, circling at the end 



