TO DAVY JONES S LOCKER III 



that we were again sinking. The twiKght (the word had 

 become absurd, but I could coin no other) deepened, but 

 we still spoke of its brilliance. It seemed to me that it 

 must be like the last terrific upflare of a flame before it 

 is quenched. I found we were both expecting at any mo- 

 ment to have it blown out, and to enter a zone of abso- 

 lute darkness. But only by shutting my eyes and opening 

 them again could I realize the terrible slowness of the 

 change from dark blue to blacker blue. On the earth at 

 night in moonlight I can always imagine the yellow of 

 sunshine, the scarlet of invisible blossoms, but here, when 

 the searchlight was off, yellow and orange and red were 

 unthinkable. The blue which filled all space admitted no 

 thought of other colors. 



We spoke very seldom now. Barton examined the drip- 

 ping floor, took the temperatures, watched and adjusted 

 the oxygen tank, and now and then asked, "What depth 

 now?" "Yes, we're all right." "No, the leak's not increas- 

 ing." "It's as brilliant as ever." 



And we both knew it was not as brilliant as ever, but 

 our eyes kept telling us to say so. It actually seemed to 

 me to have a brilliance and intensity which the sunshine 

 lacked; sunshine, that is, as I remembered it in what 

 seemed ages ago. 



"800 feet" now came down the wire and I called a halt. 

 There seemed no reason why we should not go on to a 

 thousand; the leak was no worse, our palm-leaf fan kept 

 the oxygen circulating so that we had no sense of stuffi- 



