Berton’s report, divided into two parts and complete with a summary of his log, occupied the place of honor in the book.

From 14.00 hours to 16.40 hours, by expedition time, the entries in the log were laconic and negative.

Altitude 3000 — or 3500–2500 feet; nothing visible; ocean empty. The same words recurred over and over again.

Then, at 16.40 hours: A red mist rising. Visibility 700 yards. Ocean empty.

17.00 hours: fog thickening; visibility 400 yards, with clear patches. Descending to 600 feet.

17.20 hours: in fog. Altitude 600. Visibility 20–40 yards. Climbing to 1200.

17.45: altitude 1500. Pall of fog to horizon. Funnel-shaped openings through which I can see ocean surface. Attempting to enter one of these clearings; something is moving.

17.52: have spotted what appears to be a waterspout; it is throwing up a yellow foam. Surrounded by a wall of fog. Altitude 300. Descending to 60 feet.

The extract from Berton’s log stopped at this point. There followed his case-history, or, more precisely, the statement dictated by Berton and interrupted at intervals by questions from the members of the Commission of Enquiry.

BERTON: When I reached 100 feet it became very difficult to maintain altitude because of the violent gusts of wind inside the cone. I had to hang on to the controls and for a short period — about ten or fifteen minutes — I did not look outside. I realized too late that a powerful undertow was dragging me back into the fog. It wasn’t like an ordinary fog, it was a thick colloidal substance which coated my windows. I had a lot of trouble cleaning them; that fog — or glue rather — was obstinate stuff. Due to this resistance, the speed of my rotor-blades was reduced by thirty percent and I began losing height. I was afraid of capsizing on the waves; but, even at full power, I could maintain altitude but not increase it. I still had four booster-rockets left but felt the situation was not yet desperate enough to use them. The aircraft was shaken by shuddering vibrations that grew more and more violent. Thinking my rotor-blades must have become coated with the gluey substance, I glanced at the overload indicator, but to my surprise it read zero. Since entering the fog, I had not seen the sun — only a red glow. I continued to fly around in the hope of emerging into one of the funnels, which, after half an hour, was what happened. I found myself in a new ‘well,’ perfectly cylindrical in shape, and several hundred yards in diameter. The walls of the cylinder were formed by an enormous whirlpool of fog, spiralling upwards. I struggled to keep in the middle, where the wind was less violent. It was then that I noticed a change in the ocean’s surface. The waves had almost completely disappeared, and the upper layer of the fluid — or whatever the ocean is made of — was becoming transparent, with murky streaks here and there which gradually dissolved until, finally, it was perfectly clear. I could see distinctly to a depth of several yards. I saw a sort of yellow sludge which was sprouting vertical filaments. When these filaments emerged above the surface, they had a glassy sheen. Then they began to exuam — they frothed — until the foam solidified; it was like a very thick treacle. These glutinous filaments merged and became intertwined; great bubbles swelled up on the surface and slowly began to change shape. Suddenly I realized that my machine was being driven towards the wall of fog. I had to manoeuver against the wind, and when I was able to look down again, I saw something which looked like a garden. Yes, a garden. Trees, hedges, paths — but it wasn’t a real garden; it was all made of the same substance, which had hardened and by now looked like yellow plaster. Beneath this garden, the ocean glittered. I came down as low as I dared in order to take a closer look.

QUESTION: Did the trees and plants you saw have leaves on them?

BERTON: No, the shapes were only approximate, like a model garden. That’s exactly what it was like: a model, but lifesize. All of a sudden, it began to crack; it broke up and split into dark crevices; a thick white liquid ran out and collected into pools, or else drained away. The ‘earthquake’ became more violent, the whole thing boiled over and was buried beneath the foam. At the same time, the walls of the fog began to close in. I gained height rapidly and came clear at 1000 feet.

QUESTION: Are you absolutely sure that what you saw resembled a garden — there was no other possible interpretation?

BERTON: Yes. I noticed several details. For example, I remember seeing a place where there were some boxes in a row. I realized later that they were probably beehives.

QUESTION: You realized later? But not at the time, not at the moment when you actually saw them?

BERTON: No, because everything looked as though it were made of plaster. But I saw something else.

QUESTION: What was that?

BERTON: I saw things which I can’t put a name to, because I didn’t have time to examine them carefully. Under some bushes I thought I saw tools, long objects with prongs. They might have been plaster models of garden tools. But I’m not absolutely certain. Whereas I’m sure, quite certain, that I recognized an apiary.

QUESTION: It didn’t occur to you that it might be an hallucination?

BERTON: No. I thought it was a mirage. It never occurred to me that it was an hallucination because I felt perfectly well, and I had never seen anything like it before. When I reached 1000 feet and took another look at the fog, it was pitted with more irregularly shaped holes, rather like a piece of cheese. Some of these holes were completely hollow, and I could see the ocean waves; others were only shallow saucers in which something was bubbling. I descended another well and saw — the altimeter read 120 feet — I saw a wall lying beneath the ocean surface. It wasn’t very deep and I could see it clearly beneath the waves. It seemed to be the wall of a huge building, pierced with rectangular openings, like windows. I even thought I could see something moving behind them, but I couldn’t be absolutely certain of that. The wall slowly broke the surface and a mucous bubbling liquid streamed down its sides. Then it suddenly broke in half and disappeared into the depths.

I regained height and continued to fly above the fog, the machine almost touching it, until I discovered another clearing, much larger than the previous one.

While I was still some distance away, I noticed a pale, almost white, object floating on the surface. My first thought was that it was Fechner’s flying-suit, especially as it looked vaguely human in form. I brought the aircraft round sharply, afraid of losing my way and being unable to find the same spot again. The shape, the body, was moving; sometimes it seemed to be standing upright in the trough of the waves. I accelerated and went down so low that the machine bounced gently. I must have hit the crest of a huge wave I was overflying. The body — yes, it was a human body, not an atmosphere-suit — the body was moving.

QUESTION: Did you see its face?

BERTON: Yes.

QUESTION: Who was it?

BERTON: A child.

QUESTION: What child? Did you recognize it?

BERTON: No. At any rate, I don’t remember having seen it before. Besides, when I got closer — when I was forty yards away, or even sooner — I realized that it was no ordinary child.

QUESTION: What do you mean?

BERTON: I’ll explain. At first, I couldn’t understand what worried me about it; it was only after a minute or two that I realized: this child was extraordinarily large. Enormous, in fact. Stretched out horizontally, its body rose twelve feet above the surface of the ocean, I swear. I remembered that when I touched the wave, its face was a little higher than mine, even though my cockpit must have been at least ten feet above the ocean.