OVER THE OCEAN-BED
“The wrecks dissolve above us: their dust drops down from afar;--
Down to the dark, the utter dark, where the blind white
sea-snakes are.
There is no sound, no echo of sound, in the deserts of the deep,
O’er the great grey level plains of ooze, where the shell-burred
cables creep.”--RUDYARD KIPLING.
By way of variety, shall we take a little excursion together, you and
I, into those under-sea regions of which so much has been said in past
chapters? Regions which the foot of man has never trod; which the eye
of man has never seen; which, except in death, the hand of man has
never touched.
Shall we leave behind the fair Earth that we love, the sunshine, the
bright sky, the fields and hedgerows, the blue sparkles of Ocean’s
surface, and go down and down, through a waste of lonely waters, till
our feet rest upon firm ground below?
“Eh, but it’s eerie!” we might say, were we of Scots descent. Sunlight
is at once lost sight of, and twilight deepens fast.
A heavy cyclone may be raging above, but the troublous turmoil soon
ceases to affect us. Stormy billows, with their showers of spray,
cannot disturb the calm of these depths. As we sink lower, we find
ourselves enwrapped in stillness. A creeping current is around us, yet
with movement so gentle that we are not aware of it.
During the early part of our descent we come across innumerable
sea-weeds; delicate floating red fronds, and long brown ribbons tangled
together.
Presently we pass through a sticky slimy mass of Diatoms, reaching far
to right and left, and of great depth. Untold millions of those tiny
vegetables are living and growing together, in one enormous floating
bank.
Now we have reached the “hundred-fathom limit,” and as we go beyond it,
we find marked changes from the life we have known above.
No seasons here. No variations from summer to winter, from spring to
autumn. Only one dead level of perpetual chill, becoming colder and
colder.
No light here. No variations from night to day, from evening to
morning. Nothing but continuous midnight blackness, unrelieved by the
faintest gleam of sunshine.
No plant-life here. No ocean-weeds of any kind. Those things we have
left behind us, far above.
Dead sea-weed fronds are indeed abundant, sinking slowly downward,
in company with ourselves; and dead Diatoms, with dead microscopic
creatures of many kinds, rain incessantly from the surface waters to
the ocean’s bed. But they are far too minute for us to feel them, as
they slip noiselessly past. _Seeing_ anything, small or large, is out
of the question.
No light; no waves; no colour; no beauty. Only unbroken stretches of
silent water, with intense and penetrating cold.
A mile or more below we find ourselves on firm ground. This is the
topmost peak of a sub-ocean mountain range, rising from the bottom
of the sea. In the darkness we grope our way to the verge, then
slowly walk down its sloping side, under a ponderous weight of water,
while our feet are upon a sticky unpleasant ooze, which seems to be
everywhere.
Only not quite everywhere. The nature of the ocean-floor varies.
Here, for instance, we come to a patch of hard ground, reaching some
little way. But the sticky ooze mainly prevails, varied by less sticky
mud. And neither ooze nor mud is always of the same description, as
we should discover if we walked far and examined specimens from each
district. There are muds and muds--oozes and oozes.
Crabs in abundance scuttle over the ground, as we may know by feeling,
if we have left our boots behind. And slimy creatures of various kinds
flourish, none of them precisely the same as those which inhabit our
sea-beaches in regions of light, yet their near relatives. Stooping
down, we touch a rough-coated hedgehog; and then our fingers come into
contact with a mass of slimy tentacles, which sting sharply.
One would like to be able to see, as well as to feel. But into these
depths no gleam of sunlight may ever penetrate.
Yet, as we stroll onward, plodding through the thick plastic ooze, in
the pitchy darkness we become aware of a light, a hazy light, drawing
near.
One does not expect to find a lantern down here in the deep
ocean-waters. It positively seems to be a lantern, moving as if it had
a will of its own. And about the small living lantern, during its
approach, we see many creatures congregated, swimming and whisking
round, evidently making use of the glimmer to catch their prey.
When it has come close, we find the light to proceed from a soft-bodied
jelly-like animal, which, as it travels, carries its own illumination
with it. Had we in upper regions such power to shine for ourselves, we
should be delightfully independent of artificial light after dark.
At first our impression is that the sub-ocean lamp must be a very
uncommon phenomenon. But as we go on we encounter another and
another--different indeed in species, yet alike in the possession of
natural light-giving organs.
It dawns upon our minds gradually that, even in ocean-depths, the law
of compensation is not unrepresented. Even those dark regions, cut
off though they are from all rays of sunlight, do not lie under total
midnight blackness unrelieved. Even here, in these desolate nethermost
parts of the ocean, creatures with eyes may live, and may find a good
use for those eyes.
For glimmer after glimmer is seen; and jelly-like animals under our
feet, when accidentally touched, give forth rays, sometimes rays of
many colours; and fishes, as they flash past, lend occasional gleams;
and larger uncouth monsters do the same--all helping to light up a
world beyond reach of the sun.
Talk of depths! We are in them at last, and no mistake. Down--down!
Deeper and deeper! Above our heads are piled three or four miles of
water, and the pressure upon our unfortunate bodies is terrific.
Here creatures of simplest form abound,--Protozoa, or First Animals,
tiny jelly-like specks, mere living cells, too small by far for us to
see, even with the help of animated deep-sea lanterns, unless we have
carried with us a powerful microscope. But we know them to be there.
The ooze and mud alone, when carefully examined, prove the fact.
Here are foraminifera, living and dead; and skeletons of reef-coral,
all dead; and specimens of deep-sea coral, both living and dead;
and remains of bigger creatures innumerable, which have disported
themselves in the waters above. Yet not so many of these last as one
might have expected, because of the destructive power of sea-water.
There are also plant-like zoophytes, and disc-shaped jelly-fishes.
There are sea-urchins and starfishes. There are sponges in great
numbers, wandering young ones and old ones settled down for life, once
looked upon as vegetables, now known to be animals. There are molluscs
of various kinds. There are long slimy wriggling worms. There are the
inevitable crabs, large and small. There are countless fishes swimming
about, not in the least embarrassed by the astounding fact that they
have something like three and a half miles of water between them and
fresh air and sunlight.
[Illustration: DEEP-SEA FISHES
_Face page 182_
]
Unexpectedly we come upon a great ship, lying where it has lately sunk.
The busy sea, always busy even when most quiet, is hard at work
demolishing the structure of the vessel; though still in the darkness
we can feel the tall mast, the solid sides, of the noble craft, which
once floated buoyantly far above, in light of day. Now it reposes on
the ocean-bed, never again to be of service to man. Its race is run;
its tale is told. Alas! good ship! which, but for one fatal storm,
might still be actively engaged in its country’s service.
But we find no human remains. If they be there, our searching has
failed to alight on them.
Small wonder, in the great space and the blackness. A medusa gleam of
light has little power to aid us in this search.
Perhaps slow currents have carried elsewhere the bodies of men who went
down with the ship. Or perhaps the bones have succumbed already to
the destructive working of ocean-waters. Or perhaps all on board were
saved, when the gallant vessel sank. Let us hope that it was so.
We are leaving the sticky ooze and getting into a region of stiff
clay. If there were light enough, we should find it to be of a reddish
tint. Here we do find bones--remains of creatures of a higher class,
though not of man, the highest of all. Here are sharks’ teeth in great
abundance, and many earbones of whales. Not much, after all, but
something that tells of Life.
Another lofty mountain height under water, rising from the ocean-bed.
Shall we climb it, and see whither it may lead us? Have we not had
enough of these black mysterious depths?
Now up and up, cautiously feeling our way and using any such glimmers
of living light as we come across. By-and-by we find ourselves getting
into shallower water. Evidently this sub-ocean mountain approaches near
to the surface. It will not end, like the last, a mile or more beneath.
Here is a region of solid limestone rocks, made of reef-coral, which
has been ground and pounded by the waves, and afterwards cemented
firmly together. We are getting into levels where the waves have power.
Presently the firm limestone is exchanged for coral mud, and later that
gives place to reef-sand. By this time we have around us, not only
living animals but living sea-weeds, which fact tells of our nearness
to sunlight. It may still seem dark to us, but some light must be able
to filter through, or plant-life could not exist.
A few more fathoms of ascent, and we too are aware of light--dim and
faint at first, yet steadily increasing.
Shall we step out into the fresh air, the radiant sunshine, of a
South-Sea coral island--into a world of light and life and beauty,
all the fairer and the sweeter in its contrast with those gloomy
under-ocean regions through which we have been wandering?