Read Online The Crystal City Under the Sea by André Laurie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: André Laurie
Tags: 978-1-61824-998-2
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Hélène, don’t be hard and unjust. He, whom you are keeping at a distance, is sadly misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood? So be it!” said Hélène, decidedly. “What can I do?”
“It is a misunderstanding that a word could put right,” said Bertha, dreamily to herself, and, without insisting any more, she came back to the subject on which they never disagreed, the cruise of the yacht Cinderella and the great work Rend was doing.
The very moment the two friends were discussing his plans and wishing him success, the young lieutenant was embarking on his first descent in the submarine cabin he had designed. Comfortably installed at his writing-table, over which was placed a chronometer, an aneroid barometer, a thermometer, and a dial-plate for registering the length of cable paid out by the steam capstan, he recorded with a steady hand his slightest impressions, that he might transmit them to his family. And the following is what was written on the first pages of the “ Journal of a Diver:”
René’s Journal.
“June 11th. 17 minutes past 12 P. M. Longitude, 24° 17' 23" East; Latitude, 30° 40' 7" North. Here I am, sealed up in my cell for my first descent. The fastenings of the door and of the port-holes appear to be quite water-tight. All is in order and everything in its place. I have poured into the tub thirty pints of water of baryta, the oxygen flagon is ready to act. The electric light is all one could wish. Off we go! I sound the telephone, and give the order to start; ‘Reel off twenty-five yards! Au revoir, gentlemen’—It is done. The only sounds I hear are the steam-engine above my head, and the movement of the hand on the dial registering my descent; otherwise all is as smooth and insensible as can be wished. At the precise moment when the needle marks twenty-five yards, it stops. All is going capitally, I telephone that message, and receive in reply the echo of my host’s sonorous congratulations. A rapid glance through each port-hole shows me clear green water all round me; excepting that through the roof I distinguish the keel of the yacht and its shadow. Not the slightest oozing at the joints; the caulkers of the Cinderella are first-rate, like all the workmen on board.
“12.20. Gave the order to pay out a hundred yards more cable.
“12.22. The needle points to one hundred and twenty-five, and stops. The water is opaque and dark. In the rays of electric light projected to
The first descent of the diving-bell.
larboard I see file past me huge fish, terrified by this submarine light. Telephoned: ‘All going well. Pay out three hundred yards!’
“12.28. The needle marks four hundred and twenty-five yards. Around me the water is black. Not a ray of sunlight can pierce the gruesome wall interposed between the atmosphere and my cell. Is it an illusion? It seems to me that the silence is more intense, more complete, more black, so to speak, than at the start. That is the only difference. The air of the room does not appear to have suffered any appreciable modification. The temperature is stationary. Telephoned; ‘Pay, out Jive hundred yards, slowly, ready to stop at the first call!’
“12.36. Needle marks seven hundred and forty yards. Telephoned: ‘Slow down the paying out of the cable, gently, and with attention!’
“12.38. I did right to go slowly. A pretty rough shake informed me that I had reached the bottom. Telephoned: ‘Stop!’ The order is executed in less than a twentieth of a second. The needle points to nine hundred and thirty-four yards. Thus, the descent has not taken more than twenty-one minutes. I feel the strange sensation of arriving on shore after a voyage, and finding dry land once more,—a singular illusion, truly, at a distance of one thousand yards below the surface! Can it be that the bottom of the sea is my real country, my home? Telephoned: ‘All well! Have touched the bottom. Nine hundred and thirty-four yards.’ Answer: ‘A volley of cheers.’
“Misunderstood? So be it!” said Hélène, decidedly. “What can I do?”
“It is a misunderstanding that a word could put right,” said Bertha, dreamily to herself, and, without insisting any more, she came back to the subject on which they never disagreed, the cruise of the yacht Cinderella and the great work Rend was doing.
The very moment the two friends were discussing his plans and wishing him success, the young lieutenant was embarking on his first descent in the submarine cabin he had designed. Comfortably installed at his writing-table, over which was placed a chronometer, an aneroid barometer, a thermometer, and a dial-plate for registering the length of cable paid out by the steam capstan, he recorded with a steady hand his slightest impressions, that he might transmit them to his family. And the following is what was written on the first pages of the “ Journal of a Diver:”
René’s Journal.
“June 11th. 17 minutes past 12 P. M. Longitude, 24° 17' 23" East; Latitude, 30° 40' 7" North. Here I am, sealed up in my cell for my first descent. The fastenings of the door and of the port-holes appear to be quite water-tight. All is in order and everything in its place. I have poured into the tub thirty pints of water of baryta, the oxygen flagon is ready to act. The electric light is all one could wish. Off we go! I sound the telephone, and give the order to start; ‘Reel off twenty-five yards! Au revoir, gentlemen’—It is done. The only sounds I hear are the steam-engine above my head, and the movement of the hand on the dial registering my descent; otherwise all is as smooth and insensible as can be wished. At the precise moment when the needle marks twenty-five yards, it stops. All is going capitally, I telephone that message, and receive in reply the echo of my host’s sonorous congratulations. A rapid glance through each port-hole shows me clear green water all round me; excepting that through the roof I distinguish the keel of the yacht and its shadow. Not the slightest oozing at the joints; the caulkers of the Cinderella are first-rate, like all the workmen on board.
“12.20. Gave the order to pay out a hundred yards more cable.
“12.22. The needle points to one hundred and twenty-five, and stops. The water is opaque and dark. In the rays of electric light projected to
The first descent of the diving-bell.
larboard I see file past me huge fish, terrified by this submarine light. Telephoned: ‘All going well. Pay out three hundred yards!’
“12.28. The needle marks four hundred and twenty-five yards. Around me the water is black. Not a ray of sunlight can pierce the gruesome wall interposed between the atmosphere and my cell. Is it an illusion? It seems to me that the silence is more intense, more complete, more black, so to speak, than at the start. That is the only difference. The air of the room does not appear to have suffered any appreciable modification. The temperature is stationary. Telephoned; ‘Pay, out Jive hundred yards, slowly, ready to stop at the first call!’
“12.36. Needle marks seven hundred and forty yards. Telephoned: ‘Slow down the paying out of the cable, gently, and with attention!’
“12.38. I did right to go slowly. A pretty rough shake informed me that I had reached the bottom. Telephoned: ‘Stop!’ The order is executed in less than a twentieth of a second. The needle points to nine hundred and thirty-four yards. Thus, the descent has not taken more than twenty-one minutes. I feel the strange sensation of arriving on shore after a voyage, and finding dry land once more,—a singular illusion, truly, at a distance of one thousand yards below the surface! Can it be that the bottom of the sea is my real country, my home? Telephoned: ‘All well! Have touched the bottom. Nine hundred and thirty-four yards.’ Answer: ‘A volley of cheers.’
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