Eric had been but a few minutes in the parlor at the hotel, and was trying to amuse himself with little Froll, when there came a tap upon the door, and the servant entered with a card.

Eric read the name,

and written underneath,

“Who in the world,” thought Eric, “is Emil Lacelle? and what did he send this to me for?”

The waiter explained that the gentleman was waiting, in his room, up stairs; and Eric, with Froll on his shoulder, started for No. 365.

The door stood open, disclosing a pleasant room, with various kinds of odd-looking armor lying around: seated by a table was a gentleman dressed in black, whom Eric recognized at once as the one whose glasses Froll had stolen.

This gentleman was looking for Eric, and said at once, when he entered the room,—

“I am pleased to see you, monsieur,” and politely requested him to be seated.

“Do you speak French?” he asked.

“Not very well, sir,” answered Eric.

“German?” inquired the stranger.

“Yes, sir,” said Eric.

“And English?”

“Yes, sir; I am an American.”

“I am a Frenchman,” said Mr. Lacelle. “I want you, if you please, to do me a little service.”

“I will do anything that I can for you,” said Eric. “I am very much obliged to you already for being so good-natured about your glasses.”

“Do not mention it!” Mr. Lacelle exclaimed, with the natural politeness of a Frenchman. “I have taken quite a fancy to your playful little beast.” And he coaxed the monkey to him, and gently stroked her soft hair.

“What is it that I can do for you, sir?” asked Eric. He was beginning to like Mr. Lacelle very much.

“I have a letter to write to America, and am not enough of an English scholar to undertake it. Now, therefore, if I tell to you that which I want written, would you be so very kind, if you please, as to write for me, it?”

“Yes, indeed; with much pleasure,” said Eric; thinking the while, “No wonder he does not like to undertake a letter in English, when he speaks the language so clumsily.”

Mr. Lacelle, still holding Froll, brought forward a traveller’s writing-desk, filled with perfumed French paper, and then placing it before Eric, and saying politely, “At your convenience, monsieur,” he reseated himself.

Eric arranged the paper, took up a pen, and after writing the date, sat waiting for his instructions.

“For example, what do you say to two gentlemen?” asked Mr. Lacelle.

Eric was completely puzzled, and could only say, “Sir?”

“Pardon me!” exclaimed the Frenchman, “to one you would say ‘sir;’ but to two, would you say ‘sirs’?”

“Yes,” answered Eric, but, recollecting some letters he had copied for his father, added, “O, no: it’s Messrs.”

“Exactly!” said Mr. Lacelle. “I thank you. That is fine.”

He appeared quite relieved, and began dictating.

“Is it quite correct English?” he asked, anxiously.

Eric rewrote it, transposing some of the words. Mr. Lacelle was very grateful for the boy’s assistance. He was by no means ignorant, but his knowledge of English was rather limited, and he was too sensitive to be willing to send off a peculiar letter.

Mr. Lacelle’s history would be very interesting, had we time to give it minutely; but there is only space to say that he was the younger son of a noble French family, whose circumstances during his youth were so unfortunate that he was thrown upon his own resources at a tender age, and had, by great energy and perseverance, become a wealthy and famous man.

Eric knew that “sub” meant under, and “marine” the sea, but he did not understand exactly what it all meant; so he asked Mr. Lacelle, whose explanation and subsequent conversation, we will render in readable English.

“A submarine diver is one who goes beneath the water of the sea: professionally he examines and clears harbors, removing obstructions, such as rocks, &c.; draws up sunken vessels, examines wrecks, and brings up from the depths of the ocean money, jewels, and articles of value.”

“But tell me,” cried Eric, eagerly, “how does he breathe? what protects him in the water? how—”

“I will tell you all about it,” said Mr. Lacelle. “There are several divers here in the house. We are going to the Zuyder Zee, near Amsterdam, to-morrow, and you shall go too, if you wish.”

“O, thank you, sir,” said Eric. “I would like to.”

“Meanwhile I will tell you,” proceeded the diver. “We wear an armor such as this,” he explained, pointing out the several pieces to Eric, as he noticed them. “In the first place an India-rubber suit like this. You will observe that it is made entirely water-proof, by being cemented down in the seams, wherever it is sewed.”

Eric looked with interest upon the clumsy-looking dress, which was made entirely whole, except the opening at the sleeves and neck, and was cut away above the shoulders, like a girl’s low-necked dress, to admit the body of the wearer; the legs were footed off like stockings, and the wrists of the sleeves were terminated by tight, elastic rubber bands; a similar band surrounded the neck, which was also finished with a flap of white rubber facing.

“You see,” continued Mr. Lacelle, “we put ourselves into this suit, drawing it on from the top. It is perfectly water-tight. Upon our feet we wear shoes such as these,” pointing to a pair of heavy leather shoes, with broad, high straps and buckles, and lead soles half an inch thick. “They weigh twenty-five pounds.”

“Why!” exclaimed Eric; “I should call that something of a load.”

“The weight is imperceptible in the water,” the diver explained, and, showing Eric a couple of box-shaped canvas bags, added, “We wear these also, filled with weights, just above the waist, one before and one behind.”

“But you haven’t told me yet how you breathe in the water,” said Eric.

“I am coming to that shortly. Upon our heads we wear a helmet, made of copper, completely covering head, face, and neck, and firmly inserted between the rubber facing and the tight band about the neck of the dress, just above the shoulders. To the back of the helmet is fastened a rubber hose, attached, above the water, to the pump, which keeps the diver supplied with air; and there is a glass window in the front. A half-inch rope, called the life-line, is securely adjusted to the diver, and by it he is lowered into or drawn from the water; and by it, also, he signals to those above for more air, for withdrawal, or anything he may require.”

“This helmet is heavy enough,” said Eric, lifting and examining the curious structure. “There is a valve inside: what is that for?”

“To let the air, which the diver breathes from his lungs, into the water,” Mr. Lacelle replied. “This machine in the case,” pointing to a high black-walnut case, “is a three-cylinder air-pump; two men in the vessel, or on the shore, keep the pumps constantly in motion by means of the crank attached to the wheel.”

“Why do they have more than one pump?” Eric inquired.

“One pump,” answered Mr. Lacelle, “would not supply enough air; it would work like a water-pump, sending down the air by jerks, and the receiver would be exhausted between the supplies of air. Two pumps would send down the air puff-puff, like the pumps of a steam engine; but three pumps, constantly in motion, send down, through the hose, a steady and continuous stream of air, enabling the diver to breathe freely and fully.”

“And can you go down into any depth of water?” Eric asked, with intense interest.

“Not lower than one hundred feet, usually, the pressure of the water is so great. I have been down one hundred and fifty-six feet below the surface; but that was something very remarkable.”

“And did you never have any hair-breadth escapes, or thrilling adventures?” inquired Eric.

“No,” answered the diver, with a slight laugh and shrug of the shoulders, “I never did, and never knew any one who did, although I have read of many such incidents, altogether too marvellous for belief. You see,” he continued, “we know that the least carelessness would probably cost us our lives, and we are minutely accurate about all our equipments. And,” lowering his voice and speaking reverentially, “I always commit myself to the guidance and tender care of the good Shepherd.

“‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters,

“‘These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.

“‘They cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distress.’”

Eric listened, and his respect and esteem for the diver grew tenfold more.

Mr. Lacelle continued:—

“It is a strange business. The danger fascinates some, but the peril is never lost sight of. I put on the helmet, for the first time, more than ten years ago; and yet I never resume it without a feeling that it may be the last time I shall ever go down. Of course one has more confidence after a while; but there is something in being shut up in an armor weighed down with a hundred pounds, and knowing that a little leak in your life-pipe is your death, that no diver can get rid of. And I do not know that I should care to banish the feeling, for the sight of the clear blue sky, the genial sun, and the face of a fellow-man after long hours among the fishes, makes you feel like one who has suddenly been drawn away from the grasp of death.”

“Were you ever in great danger?” asked Eric.

“I think the most dangerous place I ever got into was going down to examine the propeller Comet, sunk off Toledo. In working about her bottom, I got my air-pipe coiled over a large sliver from the stoven hole, and could not reach it with my hands. Every time I sprang up to remove the hose, my tender would give me the ‘slack’ of the line, thus letting me fall back again. He did not understand his duties, and did not know what my signals on the life-line meant. It was two hours and a half before I was relieved, and there was not a moment that I was not looking to see the hose cut by the ragged wood. It’s a strange feeling you have down there. You go walking over a vessel, clambering up her sides, peering here and there, and the feeling that you are alone makes you nervous and uneasy.

“Sometimes a vessel sinks down so fairly, that she stands up on the bottom as trim and neat as if she rode upon the surface. Then you can go down into the cabin, up the shrouds, walk all over her, just as easy as a sailor could if she were still dashing away before the breeze. Only it seems quiet, so tomb-like; there are no waves down there—only a swaying back and forth of the waters, and a see-sawing of the ship. You hear nothing from above. The great fishes will come swimming about, rubbing their noses against your glass, and staring with a wonderful look into your eyes. The very stillness sometimes gives life a chill. You hear just a moaning, wailing sound, like the last notes of an organ, and you cannot help thinking of dead men floating over and around you.

“A diver does not like to go down more than a hundred and twenty feet; at that depth the pressure is painful, and there is danger of internal injury. I can stay down, for five or six hours at a time, at a hundred and fifteen or twenty feet, and do a good deal of hard work. In the waters of Lake Huron the diver can see thirty or forty feet away, but the other lakes will screen a vessel not ten feet from you.

“Up here you seldom think of accident or death, but a hundred feet of water washing over your head would set you to thinking. A little stoppage of the air-pump, a leak in your hose, a careless action on the part of your tender, and a weight of a mountain would press the life out of you before you could make a move. And you may ‘foul’ your pipe or line yourself, and in your haste bring on what you dread. I often get my hose around a stair or rail, and generally release it without much trouble; the bare idea of what a slender thing holds back the clutch of death off my throat makes a cold sweat start from every pore.”

“I suppose you find many beautiful things,” said Eric.

“I wish I could describe half the wonderful and beautiful things I find,” cried Mr. Lacelle.

“There are flowers, the most exquisite that can be imagined; groves of coral, beautiful caverns, with floors of silver sand, spiral caves winding down, down, down, covered with beautiful, delicate plants, and leading to beds of smooth, hard sand, which shine like gold. Feathery ferns turn silver and crimson beneath your hand, and beautiful fish glide around you, or rest in the water, with no motion save the gentle pulsation of their gills as they breathe.

“I have stood upon the bottom of the ocean, and gazed up, awe-stricken and bewildered, at the wonderful masses of coral above my head, resembling forests of monstrous trees, with gnarled and twisted branches intertwined; and when I have considered that it was all the work of insects so tiny that millions of them were working at my feet, and I could not see them, I have compared my own littleness in the universe with the wonderful work of the least of them, and have felt my own insignificance.

“And curious things have happened, too. I was once examining an old wreck off South America. It was an old Spanish frigate, supposed to have valuable jewels and a large amount of money aboard.

“I was walking over the wreck one day, and, being disappointed in not finding any treasure, was about returning, when I observed a curious heap of shells, close to one of the stanchions. I picked off a handful from the top of the heap, which was about two feet high, and regularly piled in a conical form, and seeing the shells were of a most beautiful pink color, and very delicate, I filled my pockets with them, and then, touching the life-lines, was pulled up.

“The divers in my employ were delighted with them, and as they were just the right size for buttons, one of the boys went down, with a large bag, to bring off the rest.

“I told him just where to find them; but when he came up, he declared there were none to be seen anywhere.

“I was sure he had not followed my directions; so I went down again; and judge my surprise when I found he had spoken truly. There was not one to be seen. The little wretches, disgusted with the disturbance I created, had all crawled away.”

“How curious!” exclaimed Eric. “Could you not find any of them?”

“Not a vestige of them.”

“It was singular—wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I have learned many singular things since I have gone under the sea. For instance, water is a very powerful conductor of sound, much more so than air. We often blast rocks under the water—”

“How can you?” interrupted Eric. “What keeps the powder dry?”

“We have water-proof charges prepared.”

“But how can you fire them under the water?” persisted Eric.

“By electricity,” responded Mr. Lacelle. “A report of blasting rock a little distance off, will scarcely disturb us upon the land; but under the water it is very different. We were once blasting rocks near the coast, and another party were at work three quarters of a mile from us.

“Our charge was set, and ready to go off; I sent word to our distant neighbors that we were about to blast, and they had better come up until it was over. My courtesy was repaid by a very profane answer, accompanied with a request to ‘blast away.’

“So the charge was set off; and the unfortunate divers in the distance were hauled out of the water more dead than alive. I afterwards learned from them that the shock was tremendous.”

“When you blow up the rocks, do you place the charges under them?” inquired Eric.

“O, no; that would have no effect: holes are drilled in the rock, and the charges placed within them.”

“And when the rocks are blown, what do you do with the pieces that come off?” asked Eric.

“We grapple them with hooks and chains, and draw them to the surface.”

“It is very interesting, and I am very much obliged to you for telling me so much,” said Eric. “I wish I could learn all about it.”

“Well, my boy, you shall go with me to-morrow; and, if you’re not afraid to venture, I’ll take you down beneath the sea with me. It is quite safe near Amsterdam.”

“O, thank you, sir,” said Eric, eagerly, grasping the kind Frenchman’s hand.

“I must go now to the palace,” said Mr. Lacelle. “I have an engagement there. Will you do me the honor to amuse yourself here until I return?”

“Thank you,” said Eric again, with a joyous smile; for Mr. Lacelle’s room was stored with ‘curios’ from the bottom of the sea, and Eric knew he could spend a long time very comfortably there.

He was careful to secure Froll in her cage, that she might do no mischief; and then he had a thoroughly good time, examining the sea things; and as they were all labelled with name and date, and the place from which they were taken, he gained much useful information.

Before night a letter came from his uncle, saying that Johnny was quite ill, and had been unable to travel to the Hague; but he was now so much better, that they would probably join Eric in a day or two.

“I shan’t mind waiting,” said Eric to himself; “and there’s nothing now to prevent my going to Amsterdam to-morrow; but I wish uncle Charlie could be with me too.”

Then he remembered that he had been left under the landlord’s care, and must obtain his permission. So he sought him out, and made known his request.

The landlord of the Vyverberg was a kind-hearted German. He was quite fond of his little American guest, and readily consented to his plan for the morrow, telling Eric that Monsieur Lacelle was a remarkable man, and he could not be in better hands.

“I think this is just the jolliest country, and full of the jolliest people in the world,” was Eric’s mental comment before he fell asleep that night. Indeed, there are few people more kind-hearted, thoughtful, or hospitable than the Dutch and Germans.

Eric’s parents were anxiously wondering how their boy fared alone in Gravenhaag.

Could they have seen him as he read his promised chapter, and knelt to commit himself to God, or afterwards, falling asleep, his last thought of the kindness of the people around him, their own sleep would have been far lighter, and their prayers would have blessed the good foreigners.