AT THE END OF THE SPECTRUM 1 63 



the passing of numberless little creatures. I watched pale 

 gray beings only an inch or two in length come out of the 

 darkness toward the window, puzzled over them for a 

 moment and then knew them for Cyclothones, or round- 

 mouth fishes, remembering them from two years ago. 



We took stock of the conditions in our little world. 

 Barton found the door and oxygen valve in perfect shape, 

 and the hose from the stuffing box showed not a drop of 

 moisture. I flashed the light toward the windows and saw 

 trickles of water coming from under the electric light 

 screen. For a moment I had that peculiar feeling of mo- 

 mentary panic with which every honest explorer must 

 admit familiarity, and then I saw that all the walls showed 

 meandering trickles of moisture, and we knew that it 

 was the normal condensation on the cold steel from the 

 heat of our bodies. 



Violent fanning every few minutes kept the air cool 

 and fresh, and we regulated the oxygen valve to exactly 

 two litres a minute. Nevertheless, it was being used up 

 more rapidly than we liked, so Barton began giving his 

 reports on the instruments in as few words as possible and 

 my observations began to lack unnecessary adjectives and 

 adverbs. 



Our arrival at 1426 feet was announced by loud whistles 

 from the tugs floating far above our heads, celebrating 

 our passing the lowest record of our dive in 1930. The 

 first deep-sea eels appeared, slender, silvery creatures with 

 long jaws and sharp teeth. A pair of them, swimming side 



