Fred
told me that his grandfather had a diving-bell of his own on board his
own ship, and the things he saw when he went down in it must have made
his remembrances of the South American forests appear tame by
comparison.
Once, in the middle of the Pacific, the captain dropped down in his
bell into the midst of a society of sea people who had no hair, but
the backs of their heads were shaped like sou'-wester hats. The front
rim formed one eyebrow for both eyes, and they could move the peak
behind as beavers move their tails, and it helped them to go up and
down in the water. They were not exactly mermaids, Fred said, they had
no particular tail, it all ended in a kind of fringe of seaweed, which
swept after them when they moved, like the train of a lady's dress.
The captain was so delighted with them that he stayed below much
longer than usual; but in an unlucky moment some of the sea people let
the water into the diving-bell, and the captain was nearly drowned. He
did become senseless, but when his body floated, it was picked up and
restored to life by the first mate, who had been cruising, with tears
in his eyes, over the spot in the ship's boat for seven days without
taking anything to eat.
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