o run?" said Tom, scratching his head. "Where's the
water to run, Mas'r Harry? Why, I never thought of that."

"No, Tom, you never thought of that; and you can't alter it, so it is of
no use to grumble."

"Don't you two young fellows slacken your hold there," said a sailor,
looking over at us.

"'Taint likely, is it?" said Tom grinning; "why, where should we be if
we did?"

"Down at the bottom some day," growled the sailor as he walked away, and
Tom looked at me.

"Just as if it was likely that a fellow would let go and try and drown
hisself, Mas'r Harry. Think it's deep here?" he added as he gazed down
into the dense blue water.

"Yes, Tom, very," I replied, gazing down as well, for the water was
beautifully transparent, and the foam left by the bows of the steamer
sparkled in the brilliant sunshine as we rushed along.

"Deep, Tom?" I said, "yes, very."

"How deep, Mas'r Harry; forty or fifty foot?"

"Two or three miles, p'r'aps, Tom," I replied.

"Go along! Two or three miles indeed!" he said, laughing.

"I don't know that it is here, Tom," I continued, "but I believe they
have found the depth nearly double that in some places."

"What! have they measured it, Mas'r Harry?"

"Yes, Tom."

"With a bit of string?"

"With a sounding-line, Tom."

"And a bit of lead at the end?"

"Yes, Tom, a sounding-lead with a great bullet, which they left at the
bottom when they pulled the line in again."

"Think o' that, now!" cried Tom. "Why, I was wondering whether a fellow
couldn't go down in a diving-bell and see what the bottom was like, and
look at the fishes--say, Mas'r Harry, some of 'em must be whoppers."

"Ay, my lad," said the same sailor who had before spoken, and he rested
his arms on the bulwark and stared down at us; "there's some big chaps
out at sea here."

"Could we catch some of 'em?" asked Tom.

"Oh, yes," said the sailor. "Dessay you could, my lad, but I wouldn't
advise you to try a sixpenny fishing-line with a cork float and a
three-joint hazel rod with a whalebone top--you know that sort, eh?"

"Know it? I should think I do," cried Tom. "So does Mas'r Harry here.
We used to ketch the gudgeons like hooroar down in the sharp water below
the mill up at home."

"Ah!" said the sailor, "so used I when I was a boy; but there ain't no
gudgeons here."

"What sort o' fish are there, then?" said Tom.

"Oh, all sorts: bonito, and albicore, and flying-fish, sometimes
dolphins and shar