86 THE NAUTILUS. 
scene to us, that we smoked and chatted, unmindful of its beauties, 
till we reached a flotilla of punts and barges moored near the Heads. 
After a cup of tea with the overseer, we prepared for our descent 
by divesting ourselves of boots, coat, vest and collar. A couple of 
laborers officiated as my valets de chambre, wrapping me first in 
thick flannel socks, trousers and jacket, and then in a canvas over- 
all garment which ieft only the head and hands uncovered. The 
hands being left bare, the sleeves were secured at the wrists by rub- 
ber cuffs and bracelets. My feet were thrust into a pair of enor- 
mous boots, each sole of which was weighted with 25 pounds of 
lead. Bending my head, two men placed over it a huge diver’s 
helmet and screwed it into a brass collar of the canvas dress. My 
costume completed by slinging on chest and back two large metal 
weights, I was told to rise. Thus encumbered, it was no slight ex- 
ertion to get up, take three steps to the ladder, and descend into the 
water knee-deep. There I halted while my signal cord was belted 
round my waist ; my air-tube, which reminded me ofa garden hose, 
was screwed to my helmet and the pump commenced to force air 
through it. Finally an attendant screwed a plate-glass front, the 
size of a saucer, into my helmet; from the inside, this last operation 
resembled the closing of a coffin-lid. Some one tapped my helmet 
twice, the submarine signal for “all’s well,” and I started. 
Stepping off the bottom rung of the short ladder, down I went, 
till the keel of the barge loomed up, rose and passed me—down, 
down into the green sea water, watching the silvery bubbles stream 
upward—down, down, down, as the water darkened. That sensa- 
tion of gliding down into an emerald abyss, was the weirdest, dream- 
iest thing I ever felt. Then so gently did I alight, that I merely 
noticed that I had ceased to fall. At my feet I saw rock and sand 
and seaweed; looking up, I saw a monster in a helmet with two 
ropes leading away up to where the sky ought to be. The monster’s 
face showed through his little window as a big, fair moustache and 
a pair of kindly blue eyes. Fetching out of a capacious trouser 
pocket a small school slate, he wrote, “ How do you feel? Shall we 
goon?” and held it up. Taking his slate, I wrote, First rate; go 
on.” He read the message, gravely rubbed the slate clean with his 
finger, pocketed it, and held out his hand. I grasped it and we 
started for a walk at the bottom of the sea. 
Then I noticed a pain in my ears; the compressed air was hurt- 
ing me. To cure it, I went through the motion of swallowing once 
