A DESCENT INTO PERPETUAL NIGHT 191 



fall was as inexorable as the movement of some mighty 

 engine, and we had to throw our gear with precision and 

 time our jumps accurately to avoid serious trouble. As 

 it was, part of our gunwale was torn away, and later, when 

 the Skink was towing behind, at a slightly deeper swell 

 than usual the stem-post was broken off, the ropes parted 

 like threads and I had to send the launch back to the har- 

 bor. 



Two hours later Bermuda was only a string of pale 

 beads seen through a mist of rain along the horizon, and 

 careful sights showed that we were well within our eight- 

 mile circle. Here I knew I had a mile or more of water 

 under the keel, and we slowed down. 



The bathysphere had been stripped for a test dive, the 

 two instruments left inside being a temperature and hu- 

 midity recorder and Mr. Barton's automatic camera. 



The only difference between this dive and a regular one 

 is that we were not inside, and of course no messages came 

 and went over the telephone wires. 



As a prospective passenger I was idle on deck and able 

 to watch the intricate routine from beginning to end. 

 When everything was set, each person at his post, and the 

 Ready momentarily balanced on an even keel, Mr. Tee- 

 Van gave a signal, Captain Sylvester threw a thread of 

 steam into the great winch and, delicately as a Swiss watch, 

 the huge drum began to turn, the cable tightened and 

 the bathysphere rose slowly, straight upward to the nose 

 of the boom. It swung there for a moment, then a second 



