preparation of the barracuda, which was sputtering ap- 

 petizingly over the fire. 



Assisting Barney at the fire was a good-looking young 

 man with rather bold brown eyes and a heavy shadow of 

 beard on his mobile face. I was impressed to learn that 

 this was Mendel Peterson, acting head of the Department 

 of History at the Smithsonian Institution in Washing- 

 ton. He had joined the expedition as part of his summer 

 vacation, to lend what aid he could in identifying the ma- 

 terial brought up by the divers. It was his first venture in 

 the realms of underwater archeology. 



The others in the party were friends of the Criles, 

 the men and children having the time of their lives with 

 this submarine adventure; the women who had accom- 

 panied their families finding their fun in sunbathing, 

 swimming and watching the activities beneath the water. 

 They made a most congenial group. 



We set out the next morning under a hot summer sun, 

 three iU-assorted craft — a cruiser, which was used for 

 sport fishing the remainder of the year; a sturdy LCP 

 boat with two decks, which had been chartered for the 

 expedition; and Blue Heron, whose sleek lines and delicate 

 grace were never designed for hauling heavy cannon 

 from the ocean floor. 



The sea was calm. Now and then, from the deck, I 

 caught ghmpses of large fish gliding by. Once we sailed 

 through a patch of hundreds of thousands of tiny fish, 

 close-packed. Even as we watched, they spattered the 

 surface like rain as the fringes of the school were raided 

 by avaricious barracuda. 



Vital, our French-Canadian deckhand, who had ac- 

 companied Ed south for the first time from our lodge in the 

 Canadian bush, threw over a fishing line. It had barely hit 

 the water when it was carried away in a wild rush. A few 

 minutes later he pulled aboard a thrashing thirty-pound 



10 Sea Diver 



