i}6 TO DAVY Jones's locker 



remembering that when diving in a helmet off Marlbor- 

 ough in the Galapagos I had recorded on my zinc tablet 

 a passing visit from two penguins. 



Immediately after, to a question as to what was happen- 

 ing, I retorted that two Ipnops had taken our hooks — this 

 fish being one that we much desired but had not yet 

 seen or caught. Down came the statement that one of 

 the men had just scooped up a big deep-sea fish with his 

 hands on the surface. I jeered — and then, seeing a luminous 

 fish, snapped into an excited account of what began to 

 come into view. When we returned to the surface I was 

 astonished to discover that the capture of the deep-sea 

 fish was not a rather pointless joke but a fact. In some 

 way a giant specimen of the lanternfish, Myctophtim 

 affine, had got mixed up with the sphere or hose, and had 

 come to the surface somewhat damaged. Once disabled 

 it had fallen up, as is the horrible fate of deep-sea fish in 

 trouble. It was the world's record for size. 



We stepped out of the bathysphere at 11:52 after a 

 submergence of almost two hours, with good air to breathe, 

 perfect telephonic communication, and the memory of 

 living scenes in a world as strange as that of Mars. 



I never doubted the success of the adventure as a whole, 

 but I had much less faith in the possibility of seeing many 

 living creatures from the windows in the bathysphere. 

 The constant swaying movement due to the rolling of the 

 barge high overhead, the great, glaring white sphere itself 

 looming up through the blue murk, the apparent scarcity 



