The Mighty Deep 



continuous midnight blackness, unrelieved by the 

 faintest gleam of sunshine. 



No plant-life here. No ocean-weeds of any 

 kind. Those things we have left behind us, far 



above. 



Dead sea-weed fronds are indeed abundant, 

 sinking slowly downward, in company with our- 

 selves; and dead Diatoms, with dead microscopic 

 creatures of many kinds, rain incessandy from 

 the surface waters to the ocean's bed. But they 

 are far too minute for us to feel them, as they 

 slip noiselessly past. Seeing anything, small or 

 large, is out of the question. 



No light ; no waves ; no colour ; no beauty. 

 Only unbroken stretches of silent water, with 

 intense and penetrating cold. 



A mile or more below we find ourselves on 

 firm ground. This is the topmost peak of a sub- 

 ocean mountain range, rising from the bottom 

 of the sea. In the darkness we grope our way 

 to the verge, then slowly walk down its sloping 

 side, under a ponderous weight of water, while 

 our feet are upon a sticky unpleasant ooze, which 

 seems to be everywhere. 



Only not quite everywhere. The nature of the 

 ocean-floor varies. 



Here, for instance, we come to a patch of hard 

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