114 TO DAVY JONES S LOCKER 



outer rim of one of the quartz windows had not increased. 

 The only novelty in the way of unexpected happenings 

 after this two hours' submergence, was that about three 

 feet of the hose had been forced inside the sphere. When 

 this was rectified, Barton and I climbed inside and started 

 enthusiastically for a deeper plunge. Everything went well 

 until at 150 feet we began to experience bad static on 

 the phone. A sentence would come through clearly and 

 then only a mixture of spluttered words. It improved for 

 a while, but at 250 feet Barton said, "My God! The phone 

 is broken." It was a tragic exclamation, and I felt exactly 

 as he did. The leak on our other trip, the short circuiting, 

 the static today — these were all annoying but not terrify- 

 ing, and as I have already mentioned, the sound of the 

 human voice had, all unconsciously to us, seemed a much 

 surer bond than the steel cable or the sturdiness of the 

 sphere. We had neither of us felt before quite the same 

 realization of our position in space as we did now. It 

 seemed as if hose, cable, and all had gone. We had become 

 veritable plankton. I visualized us as hanging in mid- 

 water for as long as the Flying Dutchman roamed the 

 surface above. The silence was oppressive and ominous, 

 and our whispers to each other did nothing to alleviate 

 it. The greenish blue outside became cold and inimical. 

 We did our best to signal with the searchlight, knowing 

 that answering flickering must be reflected in the check- 

 ing bulb on deck. We felt a sudden weight beneath us 

 and knew that we were being reeled swiftly to the sur- 



