The ocean-bed is held to be generally flat, though with gradual slopes here and there, leading up or down to higher or lower levels. Many submarine mountains rear their heads, sometimes near the surface, sometimes above it. In places high mountain-ridges run for a long distance below the sea, with profound depths on either side; and these again often show their peaks, forming groups of islands.
Broad reaches of the ocean are between two and three miles deep, and here and there spots are found where the sounding-line goes sheer down three miles, four miles, five miles, even six miles, before touching bottom. These greater depressions have been named “Deeps.”
At least fifteen of them are known in the Atlantic, and twenty-four in the Pacific; many of the latter lying close to islands. Some are long in shape, some short; some are broad, some narrow. One of the most profound, and almost the only one known to exceed five thousand fathoms, lies towards the south-east of the Friendly Islands. A depth there has been found five hundred and thirty feet beyond five geographical miles; and five geographical miles are equal to almost six of our common miles.
For a good while the notion was entertained that, probably, the loftiest mountain-peak on land, and the deepest depth in the ocean, would about match one another, reckoned from the sea-level. But this particular “deep” in the Pacific sinks two thousand feet lower than the topmost peak on Earth rises. Mount Everest, in the Himalayas, is twenty-nine thousand feet high; and this ocean-depth is about thirty-one thousand feet deep. Only one other equal to it has yet been discovered.
No abyss divides England from France. The “silver streak,” though sufficient for purposes of defence, is comparatively shallow. All West Europe, indeed, rises from a plateau, reaching from Norway into the Atlantic, on no part of which is the water more than six hundred feet in depth. The “transitional area” in this case makes a true stepping-stone or ledge between dry land and ocean’s abyss.
But another great plateau in the Atlantic, which may be called the “backbone” of that Ocean, is far from land, running roughly from north to south. It follows the outlines of the eastern and western shores, and rises often to within a mile and a half of the surface. On either side of the “backbone,” which seems to be largely volcanic, is a deep trough, lying north and south, and varying in depth from two to four miles. This plateau unites Europe with Iceland; and it forms a bond between the Islands of the Azores, Ascension, and Tristan D’Acunha.
If by any means the whole ocean-surface could be lowered six hundred feet, remarkable results would be seen.
At once the British Isles would cease to be Islands. They would become a part of the Continent of Europe, joined thereto by dry land. The Hebrides, the Orkneys, the Shetlands, would share in this change. The Continents of Asia and North America would be united at the Behring Straits; Ceylon would find itself a part of India; Papua and Tasmania would be one with Australia; and all places hitherto on the coasts of different countries would find themselves six hundred feet above the sea.
Such a change in the position of the British Isles, transforming them into a Continental Country, would mean far-reaching consequences to ourselves as a People. One such consequence may be briefly given in the words of a recent newspaper article: “Dry up the Atlantic to the 100-fathom line, and in six months we should bear the load of Conscription as cheerfully and more efficiently than any nation in Europe.”
Suppose that another great fall in the ocean-surface could follow. Not this time to six hundred feet, but to three thousand feet, below its present level. The resulting alterations would be still more sweeping. Not only Iceland and the Färoe Islands, but Greenland also—and not only Greenland, but the Continent of North America itself—would become one with the Continent of Europe, no longer cut off from the Old World.