Ocean's Story; or, Triumphs of Thirty Centuries / Maritime Adventures, Achievements, Explorations, Discoveries and Inventions; and of the Rise and Progress of Ship-Building and Ocean Navigation, from the Ark to the Iron Steamships

by Frank B. Goodrich

The work below was also peculiarly arduous. The hulk was crowded with the entangled machinery of sixteen engines, cuddies, posts, spars, levers, hatches, stanchions, floating trunks, boxes, and the confusion worse confounded by the awful, mysterious gloom of the water, which is not night or darkness, but the absence of any ray of light to touch the optic nerve. The sense of touch is the only reliance, and the life-line is the only guide of the diver. The officers and men of the ship were anxious for the recovery of their baggage, and offered the divers salvage for its rescue. One of the officers was very anxious to obtain his trunk, which was in a remote state-room, and offered fifty dollars reward for it. The diver who undertook the task has described the difficulties he encountered in its execution. To find the state-room required that he should descend below the familiar turret-chamber, through the inextricable confusion of the tangled machinery in the engine room, groping among floating and sunken objects. By touch alone he was to find a chest, to handle it in that thickening gloom, to carry it, push it, move it through that labyrinth, to a point where it could be raised, and through all this he had to carry his life-line and his air-hose. Three times the line became entangled in the machinery, and three times he had patiently to follow it up, find the place, and release it. Then the door of the state-room shut when he was in it, and round and round that little chamber he groped, in the dark, before he could find it again. All parts of the chamber seemed the same, a smooth slimy wall, glutinous with the jelly-like deposit of the sea-water. The line, entangled, became, instead of a guide, a further source of error, and the time was passing away, and life was dependent upon the continuity of the tube. There was no chance to hasten; with tedious and patient care he must follow the life-line, find its entanglements and slowly loosen them, then carefully taking up the slack follow the straightened line to the door. Nor must he forget the chest, slowly he heaves and pushes, now at the box, now at the line, which catches on every projecting knob, handle, peg or point of the machinery. Finally, however, his cool-headed patience is rewarded with success. He gets the chest to the open air and restores it to its owner; but in so doing he has made the worst mistake of all; he has mistaken the character of the man; he never paid, or offered to pay, the fifty dollars.

Another instance of cool determination in the unforeseen dangers of submarine diving occurred to a diver who was engaged in the recovery of the valuable dry dock at Pensacola Bay. In the passionate destructiveness which was so violently manifested by the South at the commencement of the civil war, as children in their rage destroy their own playthings, this structure was burned to the water's edge and sunk. Afterward a company was formed to raise it. It was built in compartments, and this method of construction, which originally was intended to prevent it from sinking, now served to prevent it from floating. Each one of the small water-tight compartments, now they were filled, kept it down. It was necessary to break into the lower side of each of them, and allow the water to flow evenly into them.

The interior of the hull was full of these boxes. Huge beams and cross-ties intersected each other at right angles, forming the frame-work of this honeycombed interior. It was necessary to break through the outside of these, and it was a most difficult and tedious job, under water. The net-work of beams was so close that the passage between barely admitted the diver's body. Into one of these holes the diver crawled. The work of tearing off the casing occupied him an hour or more, and when it was done, he thought to back out of his place. But he found he could not. The armor about his head and shoulders, acting like the barb of a hook, caught him; he could pass in, but he could not pass out. In vain attempts to twist himself out he spent so much time that the men above began to be alarmed and increased their work at the pump. The air came surging down, and swelled up his armor, so that he was more effectually caught than ever. He signalled for the pump to stop. The cock at the back of his helmet, to let the air out, was out of his reach. His only chance was to open his dress round the wrists, where the sleeves were tied. This he set out to do, but suddenly found himself affected by breathing over the air in his armor. The carbonized air began to affect him, making his mind dreamy, and inducing an intense desire to sleep. This he could overcome only by a resolute effort of his will. Meanwhile his tugging at his wrists had been successful; the air had escaped and lessened his bulk. With the energy of despair he makes one more supreme effort. It is successful, and he was drawn to the surface dazed, drowsy and only half conscious of the peril he had undergone.

These instances, however, are exceptional, and arose only from their peculiar conditions. At other times there is a pleasure in diving, thus protected; and the divers consider it, as it is, the only true way to visit the submarine world. The first sensation in descending is the sudden, bursting roar of cascades in the ears, caused by the air driven into the helmet from the air-pump. As the flexible hose has to be strong enough to bear a pressure of twenty-five to fifty pounds to the square inch, the force of the current can be estimated. The drum of the ear yields to the strong external pressure. The mouth opens involuntarily, the air rushes in the eustachian tube and strikes the drum, which snaps back to its normal state with a sharp, pistol-like crack. The strain is for a moment relieved, to be again renewed, and again relieved by the same process.

Peering through the goggle eyes of glass arranged about his helmet, the diver sees the curious, strange beauty of the world about him, not as the bather sees it, blurred and indistinct, but clearly, and in its own calm splendor. The first thought is unspeakable admiration of the miraculous beauty of everything about him. Above him is a pure golden canopy, with a rare glimmering lustrousness, something like the soft, dewy, effulgence which is seen when the sun-light breaks through an afternoon's shower. The soft delicacy of that pure straw yellow, which pervades everything, is crossed and lighted by tints and glimmering hues of accidental and complementary colors, which are indescribably elegant. The floor of the sea rises like a golden carpet inclining gently to the surface, in appearance. This is perhaps the first thing which calls attention to the fact that he is in a new medium, and that the familiar light comes altered in its nature. Looking horizontally around him a new and beautiful wealth of color is seen. It is at first a delicate blue, but it soon deepens into a rich violet. As the eye dwells upon it, it darkens to indigo, and deepens into a vivid blue-black, solid and adamantine. It is all around him, he seems encased in the solid masonry of the waters.

The transfiguration of familiar objects is curiously wonderful. The hulk of the ship seems encrusted with emerald and flossy mosses, and glittering with diamonds, gold, and all manner of precious stones. A pile of brick becomes a huge hill of crystal, decked with jewels. A ladder becomes silver, crusted with emeralds. The spars, the masts, and yards, whenever a point or angle catches the light, multiply the reflected splendor. Every shadow gives the impression of a bottomless depth. The sea seems loop-holed with cavities that pierce the solid globe. There is no gradation of perspective.

In the mouth of a great river, the light is affected with the various densities of the different media. At the proper depth, the line is clearly seen where these meet, sharply defined. The salt water sinks to the bottom, and over it flows the fresh water of the river. If this last contains much sediment, it obscures the depths like a cloud. In freshets, this becomes a total darkness. Even on a clear, sunshiny day, and in clear water, the shadow of any object in the sea is unlike any shade in the atmosphere. It throws a black curtain over what it covers, entirely obscuring it. Standing within the shadow, is like looking out from a dark tunnel; around, everything is dark, while things in the distance can be seen clearly.

The cabin of a sunken vessel is dark beyond any ordinary conception of darkness, nor do its windows, though they may be seen, alter this darkness. The distrust of his sight grows stronger in the diver with his experience. The eye is accustomed to judge of form, proportion and distance, in a thinner medium, and is continually deceived in a denser one, until experience has taught the diver how to estimate rightly the different impressions. Perhaps the most striking illustration of this difference, the diver finds in trying to drive a nail under water. If depending on sight, untaught by experience, he is sure to fail. He will instinctively strike just where the nail is not. For this reason, even the electric light below the water, does not furnish all that is wanting: the familiar medium of the upper world is wanting, and this the electric light does not supply. By practice, therefore, the diver learns to depend entirely upon the sense of touch, and with experience, becomes able to engage in works under the sea which require labor and skill, with the easy assurance of a blind man who finds his way with confidence along a crowded thoroughfare.

The conveyance of sound through water is so difficult, that under the sea has been called the world of silence. But this is not strictly correct. Some fish have the power of making sounds, and they all have simple and imperfect auditory organs. To the diver, however, save for the cascade of air through his air-pipe, the sea is silent. No shout, or word from above, reaches him. A cannon shot is dull, and muffled, and if distant, he does not hear it. A sharp, quick sound, especially if produced by striking something on the water, can be heard. The sound of driving a nail on the ship above, or a sharp tap on the diving-bell below, can be heard. Conversation between two divers, below the water, is, by the ordinary methods, impossible, but by touching their helmets together, they can converse, the vibrations being transmitted through the metallic substance, and to the air inside.

The diver has also a new revelation of the character and beauty of fish and other inhabitants of the sea when he thus meets them at home. The exudations covering them, is there a brilliant varnish. Their lustrous colors are beautiful in the fish market, but when in their native element, they are seen full of life, nimble and playful, they appear to be the most graceful creatures, and cannot be observed unmoved. The eyes of the fish are visible as far as the fish can be seen, and its whole animate existence is expressed in them. In the minnow and sun-perch there is a fearless familiarity, a social and frank intimacy with their novel visitor which surprises him. They crowd around him, curiously touch him, and regard all his movements with a frank, lively interest. Nor are the larger fish shy. The sheep-head, red and black groper, sea-trout and other well-known fish receive the diver with fearless curiosity. In their large, round eyes he reads evidence of intelligence and curious wonder, which at times is startling from its entirely human expression. No faithful dog, or pet animal could express a franker interest in its eyes.