ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH.
In strolling down Lothbury, in the City of London, the stranger
suddenly sees, opposite to the dull dead wall of the Bank of England
and pointing down an alley, the forefinger of a little black hand,
under which are written the following words:--
“TO THE CENTRAL TELEGRAPH STATION.”
and accordingly, at the bottom of the small _cul-de-sac_ there it
stands, appropriately designated by its “Electric Clock.”
On entering the door of this establishment the visitor suddenly finds
himself in a very handsome reception-hall, 53 feet long, 32 broad,
and 45 feet high, illuminated from above by a skylight, which also
gives light to three galleries, one above another, communicating with
the various departments of the establishment.
Across this reception-hall, on the left of which are the secretary’s
and accountant’s offices, there is at each side a long counter
or table, that on the right being divided by green curtains into
six desks, at which are to be seen the round, stout, slight, slim
backs of persons of all shapes, and occasionally of both sexes,
intently occupied in writing--unseen by each other--the important
communications they are severally desirous to despatch. These
messages are required to be written on a half-sheet of large-sized
letter-paper, nearly one half of which is pre-occupied by a printed
form, to be filled up by the name and address of the writer, as also
of the person to whom his communication is addressed; the charge
of the message, answer, porterage, or cab-hire; the date and hour
at which the message is received; and lastly, the date and hour at
which the operation of conveying it was commenced and finished by the
person who works the electric instrument.
On glancing at these forms our first impression was that the space
allotted for the letter or message was insufficient. It is, however,
practically found that the Company’s charges, which amount, from, say
London--
To Birmingham or Stafford 3-9/10 _d._ per word.
„ Derby, Norwich, Nottingham, or Yarmouth 4⅕ „
„ Liverpool, Leeds, Manchester 5⅒ „
„ York 5⅖ „
„ Edinburgh 7⅘ „
„ Glasgow 8⅖ „
seriously admonish writers of all descriptions to be as brief as
possible: indeed it is a very curious fact in natural philosophy that
a lawyer under the Company’s galvanic influence is suddenly gifted
with a description of _clairvoyance_ which enables him to write
on any subject in a laconic style, which in his chambers he would
consider, and would most conscientiously assure his client, to be
utterly impracticable!
As fast as these messages are written, they are, one after another,
passed through a glass window to a small compartment, or rather
department, on the ground-floor, termed “_the Booking-office_,”
where, after having been briefly noted and marked with their
distinctive numbers, they are by the same hand put into a small box,
a bell is then rung, and at the same instant up they fly, through
a sort of wooden chimney, to the attic regions of the building, to
“_the Instrument department_;” and as we slowly followed them by a
staircase, on every landing-place of which we involuntarily paused
for a moment or two to reflect on the wonderful process we were about
to witness, we own it was with admiration and surprise that, on
entering the attic, we suddenly saw before us the simple materials
with which such astonishing effects are produced.
In most of our manufactories it may but too truly be said that “the
workmanship exceeds the materials.” Before a common coffin-nail can
be made, the bowels of the earth must be ransacked, ores raised in
Cornwall must be smelted in Wales by coals which have been excavated,
raised, carted, recarted, &c. The amount of labour which has been
expended in the fabrication of every trifling commodity exhibited
in our shops is in a similar manner almost incalculable: indeed
if our countrywomen did but know how many hours of unwholesome
and unremitting application have been required, nay, how many
constitutions have been ruined, in the fabrication of the light
beautiful dresses and trinkets that adorn their persons, they would
surely feel that their dance, delightful as it may have appeared to
them, has been that of death to many of the poorest of their sex.
Even the tedious details of the trifling volume we are writing prove
that, while the public are luxuriously flying along the rails of only
one arterial railway, an army of upwards of ten thousand workmen
are labouring in a variety of ways for the management, protection,
and maintenance of the way; and as we were not insensible of the
usual necessity for these details, we certainly did expect to find
that a proportionate amount of labour would be requisite for the
simultaneous transmission of messages with extraordinary velocity
to distances from one to upwards of four hundred miles. Simplicity,
however, is the characteristic of science, and certainly the attics
or garrets of the London Central Telegraph Station strikingly
illustrate the truth of the axiom: indeed the whole of the Company’s
stock in trade which we found therein consisted of four or five
intelligent-looking boys, from fourteen to fifteen years of age,
and eight little “_instruments_,” each about half the size of those
which German women and Italian men carry on their backs through our
streets; and as our advertising horse-dealers, in offering, or, as
it is technically termed, in _chaunting_ their cob to the notice of
“a heavy timid gentleman,” invariably assure him “that a child can
ride it,” so it may truly be said of the electric telegraph, which
transmits its intelligence at the incomprehensible rate of 280,000
miles _per second_, that _a boy can guide it_!
Although the ordinary rate at which electric communication is now
effected has above been easily expressed by a few figures, it is
evident that it is a velocity which the human mind has not power to
comprehend.
When Shakspeare, in the exercise of his unbounded imagination, made
Puck, in obedience to Oberon’s order to him--
“be here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league,”
reply--
“I’ll put a girdle round the earth
In forty minutes”--
how little did our immortal bard think that this light, fanciful
offer of “a fairy” to “the king of the fairies,” would, in the 19th
century, not only be substantially realised, but surpassed as follows.
The electric telegraph would convey intelligence more than
twenty-eight thousand times round the earth while Puck, at his
vaunted speed, was crawling round it only _once_!
On every instrument there is a dial, on which is inscribed the names
of the six or eight stations with which it usually communicates. When
much business is to be transacted, a boy is necessary for each of
these instruments; generally, however, one lad can without practical
difficulty manage about three; but as the whole of them are ready for
work by night as well as by day, they are incessantly attended in
watches of eight hours each by these satellite boys by day, and by
men at night.
As fast as the various messages for delivery, flying one after
another from the ground floor up the chimney, reach the level of the
instruments, they are brought by the superintendent to the particular
one by which they are to be communicated, and its boy, with the
quickness characteristic of his age, then instantly sets to work.
His first process is, by means of the electric current, to sound a
little bell, which simultaneously alarms all the stations on his
line; and although the attention of the sentinel at each is thus
attracted, yet it almost instantly evaporates from all excepting
from that to the name of which he causes the index needle to point,
by which signal the clerk at that station instantly knows that the
forthcoming message is addressed solely to _him_, and accordingly
by a corresponding signal he announces to the London boy that he is
ready to receive it. By means of a brass handle affixed to the dial,
which the boy grasps in each hand, he now begins rapidly to spell
off his information by certain twists of his wrists, each of which
imparts to the needles on his dials, as well as to those on the dials
of his distant correspondent, a convulsive movement designating the
particular letter of the telegraphic alphabet required.
By this arrangement he is enabled to transmit an ordinary sized word
in three seconds, or about twenty per minute. In case of any accident
to the wire of one of his needles, he can, by a different alphabet,
transmit his message by a series of movements of the single needle at
the reduced rate of about eight or nine words per minute.
While a boy at one instrument is thus occupied in transmitting
to--say Liverpool--a message written by its London author in ink
which is scarcely dry, another boy at the adjoining instrument is,
by the reverse of the process, attentively reading the quivering
movements of his dial, which by a sort of St. Vitus’s dance
are rapidly spelling to him a message, _viâ_ the wires of the
South-Western Railway, say from Gosport, which word by word he
repeats aloud to an assistant, who, seated by his side, writes it
down (he receives it about as fast as his attendant can conveniently
write it) on a sheet of paper, which as soon as the message is
concluded descends to the “Booking Office;” where, inscribed in due
form, it is without delay despatched to its destination by messenger,
cab, or express, according to order. The following trifling anecdotes
will not only practically exemplify the process we have just
described, but will demonstrate the rapidity with which the Company
are enabled to transmit messages.
Some little time ago, a gentleman, walking into the reception-hall
of the London office, stated that he had important business to
communicate to his friend at Edinburgh, who by appointment was, he
knew, at that moment waiting there to reply to it in the Company’s
Telegraphic Office. On being presented with the half-sheet of paper,
headed with its printed form as described, he wrote his query, which,
after passing through the glass window to “the Booking Office,” flew
upwards to the Instrument department, from whence with the utmost
despatch it was transmitted to Edinburgh, and, the brief reply almost
instantly returning to the instrument, it was committed to writing,
and then lowered down to the “gentleman in waiting,” who thus quietly
walked off with his answer, which we were informed at the office he
obtained within the space of five minutes, a considerable portion of
which had been consumed by himself and his friend in writing the few
words which had passed between them, for, during their passage and
return, the electric wires had only detained them exactly the three
hundred and fiftieth part of one second!
In a dull foggy day an engine on the London and North-Western
Railway, tired of idly standing still with its steam up, suddenly ran
away, and, without any one to guide it, proceeded at a rapid rate
towards the Euston Station, where every one who witnessed its start
expected it would create an amount of damage almost incalculable: but
the electric telegraph, soon overtaking and passing the fugitive,
conveyed intelligence to Camden Station in abundant time for full
preparations to be made there for its reception, by turning the
points of the rails into a sideway containing only a few ballast
waggons.
In like manner a “gentleman” who had taken for himself and his family
only second-class tickets, but who with them had been comfortably
enjoying a first-class carriage, was greatly astonished on arriving
at his destination to see standing at the window of his carriage,
almost before the train had stopped, the Company’s station clerk, who
very loudly said to him, in presence of his fellow-travellers, “_Mr.
----, I’ll trouble you for excess of fare for yourself and party_!”
Besides the transmission of _private_ messages at charges averaging,
say one-fortieth of a penny per mile per word, the Electric Telegraph
Company have, in central situations in the principal towns of
the kingdom, established stations, whence and where information,
messages, and despatches of a public character may be forwarded and
received to and from all the other stations of the Company.
In each of these stations a room for subscribers has been
established, in which is posted as fast as it arrives all
intelligence of commercial or public interest; such, for instance,
as--
Prices of Funds and Shares.
Money-market.
Wind and Weather from about forty different parts of the kingdom.
Shipping arrivals and departures.
Losses and disasters at sea.
Sporting intelligence.
Corn-market.
Corn averages.
Cattle-market.
Haymarket.
Meat-market.
Coal, tallow, cotton, and iron markets.
General-Produce market.
General news of the day.
Parliamentary news during the Session.
It need hardly be stated that this intelligence is principally
imparted to the various stations from London, where it is
concentrated by telegraphic announcements from all quarters.
The “Intelligence Department,” which is distinct from the “Private
Message Department,” is solely for supplying news to the country
subscription-rooms at Edinburgh, Glasgow, Liverpool, Leeds,
Manchester, Hull, Newcastle, &c.
At 7 in the morning the superintendent of the former department
obtains all the London morning newspapers, from which he condenses
and despatches to the several electric stations the intelligence he
considers most useful to each. The local press of course awaits the
arrival, and thus by 8 o’clock A.M. a merchant at Manchester receives
intelligence which the rails can only bring at ¼ before 2, and which
cannot by rail reach Edinburgh till ½ past 9 P.M.
To Glasgow is transmitted every evening detailed intelligence for
immediate insertion in the ‘North British Daily Mail,’ giving
everything of importance that has occurred since the first edition of
the London papers. Similar intelligence is despatched to papers at
Hull and Leeds.
By this rapid transmission of intelligence, the alternations in
the prices of the markets at Manchester, &c. &c., being almost
simultaneous with those of London, the merchants of the former are
saved from being victimized by the latter. It is true that by great
exertions prior intelligence may electrically be sent by private
message; but as the wary ones cautiously wait for the despatch of the
Telegraph Office, it has but little effect.
At one o’clock information is sent to all the electric reading-rooms
of the London quotations of funds and shares up to that hour, thus
showing the actual prices at which business has been done. The
closing prices of the French funds for the day preceding are usually
annexed, and the state of the London wind and weather at that hour.
Early in the morning the instrument boys are to be seen greedily
devouring (for, with the curiosity, eagerness, and enthusiasm of
youth, they appear to take great interest in their duties) the
various matters which from all quarters at once are imparted to them.
One has just received intelligence by telegraph from Ely, announcing
the result of the Lynn election. Another, a copy of a ‘Moniteur’
extraordinary, containing the first message of the President of the
French Republic to the President of the National Assembly.
Another, that “Stewart’s and Hetton’s were nineteen and sixpence.
Gosforth eighteen shill. Holywell fifteen and sixpence. Hastings
Hartley fourteen and ninepence. S Q--market one hun. fifty one, sold
one hun and three--S Q. Market very good--P Q.”
Another, the following characteristic description of the winds and
weather of Old England at 9 A.M.:--
_Places._ _Wind._ _Weather._
Southampton W.S.W. Cloudy.
Gosport S.E. „
Portsmouth S.E. „
London E. Rain.
St. Ives W. Very fine.
Cambridge S.W. Cloudy.
Newmarket E. Cloudy.
Yarmouth E. Fine.
Lowestoffe E. Stormy.
Norwich E. Fine.
Chelmsford N.E. Cloudy.
Colchester S.E. Fine.
Ipswich Fine.
The above description of our changeable climate, it occurred to us,
would not very incorrectly represent the present political state of
Europe.
During the day telegraphic information flashes upon these boys _from
the_ STOCK EXCHANGE, informing them of “prices and closing prices of
the funds and principal railway shares. With remarks.”
FROM THE LONDON CATTLE MARKET, stating “the number and quality
of beasts, sheep, calves, pigs. _Holland_ beasts, sheep, calves.
_Danish_ beasts. With remarks.”
FROM THE MEAT MARKET, stating “the prices of every description of
meat, with remarks.”
Also similar returns from all the other markets we have enumerated.
As fast as this incongruous mass of intelligence arrives, it is, in
the mode already described, transcribed in writing to separate sheets
of paper, which are without delay one after another lowered down to
the superintendent of “_the Intelligence Department_,” by whom they
are rapidly digested for distribution either to the whole of the
Company’s reading-room stations, or for those lines only which any
particular species of information may partially interest; such as
corn-markets requiring corn intelligence; seaports, shipping news,
&c. &c.
As quickly as these various despatches are concocted, the information
they respectively contain reascends through “the lift,” or wooden
chimney, to the instrument department, from whence it is projected,
or rather radiates, to its respective destination; and thus in every
one of the Company’s reading-rooms throughout the kingdom there
consecutively appears, in what would until very lately have been
considered magic writing upon the walls, the varied information
which had only reached London from all points of the compass _a few
minutes ago_! But not only does this wonderful power, which it has
pleased the Almighty to develop to mankind, facilitate in a most
extraordinary degree our communication with each other, and thereby
materially adds to our wealth, but it affords us a proportionate
increase of power to defend that property which, by integrity and
industry, our nation has, under Providence, been enabled to acquire.
In case of war, our Commander-in-Chief would not only be made
acquainted with information even of the smallest importance as
soon as, or even before, it reached our shores, but he would
simultaneously be enabled to issue orders to the troops at every
station in the kingdom as rapidly as if they were all assembled on
the parade before him.
In like manner the Admiralty would receive intelligence and despatch
directions, which, in combination with the arrangements at the
Horse Guards, War Office, and Home Office, would give to our naval,
military, and civil forces a combined strength which it has hitherto
been impracticable for them separately to develop.
But to whatever amount the electric telegraph, used in the manner
we have described, may facilitate the commerce and strengthen the
defences of the empire, there remains to be delineated an application
of the discovery which, there can be no doubt, forms the most
extraordinary feat which the ingenuity of man has hitherto performed.
In a corner of one of the attics in which the eight electric
instruments are placed there stands a small very ordinary-looking
piece of cheap machinery composed of a few wheels, giving revolution
to a small cylinder, upon which there has been wound a strip of
bluish paper half an inch wide and about 60 yards in length.
As this insignificant thread of paper slowly unrolls itself, the
stranger observes, with feelings of curiosity rather than of
surprise, that as it passes along a small flat surface it receives
from a little piece of steel wire about a quarter of an inch long,
and about the size of a large needle, a series of minute black marks,
composed of “dot and go one,”--two dots,--two dots and a line,--two
lines and a dot,--three little lines and a dot,--and so on.
Now many of our readers will, no doubt, gravely exclaim, _But who
makes these dots?_
The answer in a few words explains the greatest mechanical wonder
upon earth. The little dots and lines marked upon the narrow roll
of paper revolving in a garret of the London Central Telegraph
Station, are made BY A MAN SITTING IN MANCHESTER, who, by galvanic
electricity, and by the movement of a little brass finger-pedal, is
not only communicating to, but is HIMSELF actually PRINTING IN LONDON
information which requires nothing but a knowledge of the dotted
alphabet he uses to be read by any one to whom it may either publicly
or confidentially be addressed!!
Upon this fact comment is unnecessary. It humbles rather than exalts
the mind. Of such an invention it can only be said
“NON NOBIS, DOMINE, SED NOMINI TUO DA GLORIAM.”
To supply this instrument with paper there has been invented one of
the most beautiful little toys we ever beheld, consisting of two
iron fluted rollers four feet long, which, by revolving against each
other, draw between them on one side, and emit from the other in a
shower of fantastic writhing shreds, a hundred strips of paper half
an inch broad at a time.
Before leaving the attics in which the electric printing as well the
eight telegraphic instruments are stationed, we may observe that
the boys who work the latter form that amount of acquaintance with
the workers of the distant instruments with which they have been in
the habit of communicating, that, if from any reason their usual
correspondents are removed, they instantly discover by the movement
of the needles that they have to form an acquaintance with a new
comrade, from whom, in leisure moments, they probably soon ascertain
the fate of the old one; indeed, so completely is this description of
acquaintance established, that it is not uncommon to hear a telegraph
boy in the London attic suddenly exclaim, as he looks with joy at
the quivering vibrations of his needles, which are working say from
Manchester, “_Oh! here is Bill * * * come back!_” There are, of
course, however, exceptions to these kindly feelings, and accordingly
two clerks who had been employed at remote stations on the * * *
line were lately separated because they were constantly electrically
quarrelling and abusing each other by telegraph.
The working of these instruments requires, as may be supposed,
undivided attention, and accordingly there is very properly affixed
to the wall of the chamber in which they stand the following notice,
which we implicitly obeyed:--
“_Do not interrupt the clerks while engaged at the instruments._”
As the Vicar of Wakefield’s most important movements in life were
“from the blue bed to the brown one,” so we must now request our
readers to migrate with us from the attics of the Electric Telegraph
Office to a low, dark, groined, 5th-of-November-looking cellar,
thirty-two feet long by five in width, containing three shelves, on
which are to be seen, lying in double rows, thirty-four galvanic
batteries, or, to speak in more homely terms, small open troughs,
five inches broad, and either thirty-two inches or twenty inches in
length. The largest, weighing, when charged, 60 lbs., are called
“twenty-fours,” because they contain that number of pairs of plates
of copper and zinc separated by a little sand, the whole being then
brought into galvanic action by being sluiced with sulphuric acid and
water mixed in the proportions of one of the former to twelve of the
latter.
The smallest, called “twelves,” contain only that number of pairs of
plates.
Of these batteries it requires from four to six of the largest to be
applied to one instrument to blow a message from London to Edinburgh.
A single “twelve,” applied to each instrument, will project
intelligence to a range of four or five miles.
These batteries are connected with the eight instruments in the
attics by small copper wires, which, to prevent confusion of action
from contact one with another, are covered with cotton thread,
saturated with a mixture of tar, rosin, and grease.
With this simple precaution, nine wires, insulated from each other,
are packed in a half-inch leaden tube, in which they again descend
from the instruments to the cellar region. Four or five of these
pipes are there packed into an iron pipe three inches in diameter,
which conducts them under the foot pavement of the streets to the
termini of the arterial rail-roads, alongside of which, and in the
open air, a series of lines resembling those on which music is
written, composed of galvanised iron, stout enough to bear tension,
and suspended by posts, have, as is well known, been constructed.
Along the street pavement, at every quarter of a mile, there are
cast-iron “_testing-posts_” to enable the Company’s servants to
examine all these wires in order to detect and remove any that
require to be renewed.
Although the London police have strict orders to allow no one
to impede the thoroughfare of the public, and accordingly are
everlastingly mumbling the unphilosophical monotonous exhortation of
“_Get on, Sir!_” “_Move on, Ma’am!_” yet it is almost impossible for
any ruminating being to walk the streets without occasionally pausing
to reflect not only on the busy bustling scenes which glide before
his eyes, but on those which, at very different rates, are at the
same moment flowing beneath his feet.
In our metropolis, there is scarcely a street which does not appear
to take pride in exposing as often as possible to public view a
series of pipes of all sizes, in which fire of various companies,
pure water of various companies, and unmentionable mixtures,
abominable to all, pass cheek by jowl with infinitely less trouble
than the motley human currents flow above them. But among all the
subterranean pipes laid bare before us there is certainly no one
which has more curious contents than the three-inch iron pipe of the
Electric Telegraph Company; and yet, of all the multitudes who walk
the streets, how few of them ever care to reflect what a singular
contrast exists between the slow pace at which they themselves are
proceeding, and the rate at which beneath their feet forty-five
electric wires are transmitting in all directions, and to a variety
of distances, intelligence of every possible description!
How singular is it to reflect that, within the narrow space of the
three-inch iron pipe which encases them, notice of a murder is flying
to London papers, passing news from India going into the country;
along another wire an officer is applying for his regimentals, while
others are conducting to and fro the “price of stocks,” “news of the
Pope,” a speech from Paris of the “collapsed poet,” &c. &c. &c. In
case, from the abrasion of the cotton that surrounds the numerous
copper wires within the pipe, any of them come into contact with
each other, the intelligence which each is conveying is suddenly
confounded; in which case other wires must instantly be substituted.
Indeed, even as regards the strong galvanised iron wires which in
the open air run parallel with our arterial railways, if in wet
weather, in spite of the many ingenious precautions taken, the rain
should form a continuous stream between the several wires and the
ground, the electric fluid, escaping from the wires, is conducted
by the water till it “finds earth,” the best of all conductors; and
therefore, instead of the intelligence going on, say to Edinburgh, it
follows the axiom of electricity by selecting the shortest road, and,
thus completing its circuit through the earth, it returns to London.
Sometimes, instead of going “to earth,” it flies back to the office
in London along another wire, to which, by means of a continuous
line of water or of entanglement of the two wires, it has managed to
escape; in which case, the messages on both wires wrangling with each
other, the communication is stopped.
It is commonly asserted and believed that many birds are killed by
merely perching upon the iron wires of the electric telegraph; but
at any time they can do so with perfect impunity. If, indeed, a bird
could put one of his feet on the wire, and with the other manage to
touch the earth, he would then, no doubt, be severely galvanised.
That the railway company’s men often pick up under the wires of the
electric telegraph partridges and other birds which have evidently
been just killed--indeed, some are found with their heads cut off--is
quite true; but these deaths and decapitations have proceeded, not
from electricity, but from the birds--probably during twilight or
fog--having at full speed flown against the wires, which, of course,
cut _their_ heads off, just as an iron bar would cut off the head of
any man or alderman on horseback who, at a full gallop, was to run
foul of it.
In windy weather the electric wires form an Eolian harp, which
occasionally emits most unearthly music. “_I say, Jack!_” said an
engine-driver to his stoker, who, like himself, was listening for the
first time to this querulous sort of noise proceeding from the newly
erected wires along his line, “_I say, Jack! ain’t they a giving it
to ’em at Thrapstone?_”
When the posts and wires of the electric telegraph between
Northampton and Peterborough were being erected, an honest farmer,
who for many minutes had very attentively been watching the
operation, inquired of the chief superintendent to what use it was
to be applied? On being informed that by its means he would in a few
minutes receive _at Wellingboro’_ a list of the Mark Lane prices _in
London_, he evidently incredulously asked how that was to be done;
and on its being explained to him that the intelligence would be sent
down to him “_letter by letter_,” he exclaimed, “But you don’t mean
to say that, besides letters, it will bring down _parcels_ too?”
As the rails and electric wires are now immediately before us, we
cannot refrain from observing that the two inventions, like all
branches of science, not only materially assist each other, but that
the former, to a considerable degree, has created the latter: for
instance, it may be truly said that Mr. M‘Adam materially assisted
the invention of the innumerable little four-wheeled carriages which
burst into existence as soon as, in consequence of good roads, it
became possible for a single horse to draw a whole family. In like
manner, it may, we submit, be reasonably and fairly asserted that
the gradients and police of the railway have materially assisted
the invention, or rather the application, of galvanic electricity
to wires, which, placed along unguarded high roads, would have been
practically useless.
On the outside of the Central Telegraph Station, as well as in the
interior, there is an electric clock, the latter of which is worked
by a small battery contained in a white jar capable of holding about
three quarts, and, the pendulum being operated upon by combined
electricity with galvanism, the clock requires no winding up, and
would, therefore, go perpetually, or rather as long as the battery
lasts; and if the Company would, instead of gas-burners, adopt the
electric light, their establishment would then, _sui generis_, be
complete.
* * * * *
Considerable instruction, with some little amusement, might, no
doubt, be derived from a perusal of the variegated information,
intelligence, and ordinary as well as extraordinary private messages
which have been despatched and recorded by the electric telegraph;
but the Company very properly faithfully refuse--be it important or
unimportant--to unveil to any one what they consider to have been
confidentially intrusted to their care.
Those, however, who have recourse to the invention often divulge
their own secrets; and accordingly here is one which came to us
direct from one of the parties concerned.
During a marriage which very lately took place at ----, one of the
bridesmaids was so deeply affected by the ceremony, that she took
the opportunity of the concentrated interest excited by the bride
to elope from the church with an admirer. The instant her parents
discovered their sad loss, messengers were sent to all the railway
stations to stop the fugitives. The telegraph also went to work, and
with such effect that, before night, no less than four affectionate
couples legitimately married that morning were interrupted on their
several marriage jaunts, and most seriously bothered, inconvenienced,
and impeded by policemen and magistrates, who
“Like envious clouds seem’d bent to dim their glory,
And check their bright course to the Occident.”
On the other hand, when it is considered that young people who form
imprudent attachments, instead of being effectually separated, as
in old-fashioned times, by distance, can now-a-days, though four or
five hundred miles apart, at any moment, by daylight or by moonlight,
electrically converse with each other--in short, ask questions
and give answers--it must be admitted that, although the galvanic
telegraph has certainly triumphantly succeeded in stopping many
matches, it has possibly, if the real truth could be known, made
quite as many as it has marred.
With respect, however, to communications of this delicate nature,
we deem it our duty very gravely to warn our young readers,
especially those of the fairer sex, that unless London time were
to be adopted--as it is--at all the electric stations, a despatch
would arrive at its western destination at an earlier hour than that
at which it had left its eastern starting-post; and thus a young
lady might appear to have affirmatively answered in Devonshire an
important question--say seven minutes and a half before, according to
local clocks, it had actually been proposed to her in London!
In cases where crimes have been committed, the astonishing detective
powers of the telegraph have already proved most valuable to the
community. As, however, the numberless instances which might be cited
are but endless exemplifications of the same principle, we will
merely offer to our readers the fragment of one of them.
* * * * *
He never expected that!… He had made up his mind to give her the
stuff,--he had deliberately bought it,--had paid for it,--had put it
into his pocket,--had driven with it to the terminus of the Great
Western Railway,--had flown with it along the line to Slough,--had
walked with it to the cottage.
He had already deprived the poor creature of her character, and now,
on the first day of the year 1845, he had come down to her on purpose
to deprive her of her life.
With affected kindness he had offered her refreshment,--had waited
while, with his money, she went to buy it,--he had summoned up
courage? … no, cowardice and wickedness … enough secretly to
pour the stuff from a tiny phial into her glass,--he had seen
her, with feelings of gratitude to him, raise the mixture to her
faded lips,--he had watched her swallow the first mouthful--then
another--then drink,--he had expected every instant, as she reached
the drugs, to see his degraded victim drop down dead before his
eyes;--he could bear all this, but he did not know that it was the
nature of the horrid poison he had purchased to betray the hand that
administered it. Oh! he never expected that loud, horrid, piercing,
convulsive scream!
As terrified and scared he opened the door to escape, the inhabitants
of the neighbouring cottages, alarmed by the frightful noise they
had just heard, sympathetically opened theirs. They saw him leave
the house with hurried steps,--observed him make for the Slough
road, where by another party he was observed to be “confused--to
tremble--and on being addressed, to make no reply.” And yet he had
only done what he had deliberately intended to perpetrate:--he knew
there was no rest for the wicked, but, Oh! he had never expected that
shrill, fearful, haunting scream!
On reaching the station he took his place in a departing train, and
in a few minutes he apparently had effected his escape!
Everybody who has travelled by the Great Western Railway knows
how joyously its well-appointed trains skim along the level
country between Slough and London. He no doubt appreciated the
speed--valued the wings with which he was flying--more than any
of his fellow-passengers. He probably felt that no power on earth
could overtake him, and that, if he could but dive into the mass of
population in London, he would in perfect security flow with its
streams unnoticed.
But whatever may have been his fears--his hopes--his fancies--or his
thoughts, there suddenly flashed along the wires of the electric
telegraph which were stretched close beside him the following words:--
“A MURDER HAS JUST BEEN COMMITTED AT SALTHILL, AND THE
SUSPECTED MURDERER WAS SEEN TO TAKE A FIRST-CLASS TICKET
FOR LONDON BY THE TRAIN WHICH LEFT SLOUGH AT 7H. 42M. P.M.
“HE IS IN THE GARB OF A QUAKER, WITH A BROWN GREATCOAT ON,
WHICH REACHES NEARLY DOWN TO HIS FEET. HE IS IN THE LAST
COMPARTMENT OF THE SECOND FIRST-CLASS CARRIAGE.”
And yet, fast as these words flew like lightning past him, the
information they contained, with all its details, as well as every
secret thought that had preceded them, had already consecutively
flown millions of times faster; indeed, at the very instant that,
within the walls of the little cottage at Slough, there had been
uttered that dreadful scream, it had simultaneously reached the
judgment-seat of Heaven!
On arriving at the Paddington Station, after mingling for some
moments with the crowd, he got into an omnibus, and as it rumbled
along, taking up one passenger and putting down another, he probably
felt that his identity was every minute becoming confounded and
confused by the exchange of fellow-passengers for strangers that
was constantly taking place. But all the time he was thinking, the
Cad of the omnibus--a policeman in disguise--knew that he held his
victim like a rat in a cage. Without, however, apparently taking the
slightest notice of him, he took one sixpence, gave change for a
shilling, handed out this lady, stuffed in that one, until, arriving
at the Bank, the guilty man, stooping as he walked towards the
carriage-door, descended the steps;--paid his fare;--crossed over to
the Duke of Wellington’s statue, where pausing for a few moments,
anxiously to gaze around him, he proceeded to the Jerusalem Coffee
House,--thence over London Bridge to the Leopard Coffee House in the
Borough,--and finally to a lodging-house in Scott’s Yard, Cannon
Street.
He probably fancied that, by making so many turns and doubles, he had
not only effectually puzzled all pursuit, but that his appearance at
so many coffee-houses would assist him, if necessary, in proving an
_alibi_; but, whatever may have been his motives or his thoughts,
he had scarcely entered the lodging when the policeman--who, like a
wolf, had followed him every step of the way--opening his door, very
calmly said to him--the words no doubt were infinitely more appalling
to him even than the scream that had been haunting him--
“HAV’NT YOU JUST COME FROM SLOUGH?”
The monosyllable “NO,” confusedly uttered in reply, substantiated his
guilt.
The policeman made him his prisoner;--he was thrown into
jail;--tried;--found guilty of wilful murder;--and--HANGED.
A few months afterwards, we happened to be travelling by rail
from Paddington to Slough, in a carriage filled with people all
strangers to one another. Like English travellers, they were all
mute. For nearly fifteen miles no one had uttered a single word,
until a short-bodied, short-necked, short-nosed, exceedingly
respectable-looking man in the corner, fixing his eyes on the
apparently fleeting posts and rails of the electric telegraph,
significantly nodded to us as he muttered aloud--
“THEM’S THE CORDS THAT HUNG JOHN TAWELL!”
* * * * *
Having now concluded a rough outline of the practical working of
the electric telegraph, it is necessary that we should state--as an
important fact on which we offer no comment--that the Company has
made arrangements with all the railway companies for working their
wires, excepting with the South-Eastern, and, accordingly, that the
electric communication between London and Dover is worked by itself,
and without connexion with the general system.
The wires of the electric telegraph from the various lines of
railway, carried under the streets, and concentrated at the central
station in London, transmit private messages and answers to and from
the following places:--
Acklington.
Alne.
Alnwick.
Ambergate.
Apperby.
Ardleigh.
Ashchurch.
Attleborough.
Audley End.
Aycliffe.
Ayton.
Barking Road.
Barnsley.
Beeston.
Belford.
Belmont.
Belper.
Bentley.
Berwick-on-Tweed.
Beverley.
Birmingham.
Bishopstoke.
Blackwall.
Bradford.
Braintree.
Brandon.
Brentwood.
Bridlington.
Brick Lane.
Brockley Whins.
Brockenhurst.
Bromsgrove.
Brough.
Broxbourne.
Burton-on-Trent.
Calverley.
Cambridge.
Castleford.
Chelmsford.
Cheltenham.
Chesterfield.
Chesterford.
Chittisham.
Church Fenton.
Clay Cross.
Cockburnspath.
Colchester.
Colwich.
Cowton.
Crewe.
Croft.
Darlington.
Derby.
Dereham.
Dorchester.
Duffield.
Droitwich.
Dunbar.
Durham.
Estrea.
Eckington.
Edinburgh.
Edmonton.
Elsenham.
Ely.
Fence houses.
Ferry hill.
Flaxton.
Gateshead.
Glasgow.
Gloucester.
Gosport.
Granton.
Grantshouse.
Haddington.
Halifax.
Harecastle.
Harling Road.
Harlow.
Helpstone.
Hertford.
Hessle.
Howden.
Hull.
Ilford.
Ingatestone.
Ipswich.
Kegworth.
Keighley.
Kildwick.
Kelvedon.
Kirkstall.
Lakenheath.
Leamside.
Leeds.
Leicester.
Leith.
Lesbury.
Lincoln.
Linlithgow.
Linton.
Liverpool.
London.
Longeaton.
Longniddry.
Longport.
Long Stanton.
Longton.
Loughborough.
Lowestoffe.
Maldon.
Malton.
Manchester.
Manea.
Manningtree.
March.
Masbro’.
Melton.
Mildenhall.
Mile End.
Milford.
Morpeth.
Newark.
Newcastle.
Newmarket.
Newport.
Normanton.
Northallerton.
Norton Bridge.
Norwich.
Nottingham.
Oakenshaw.
Oakington.
Otterington.
Peterborough.
Ponder’s End.
Poole.
Portsmouth.
Rillington.
Raskelf.
Reston.
Richmond.
Ringwood.
Rochdale.
Romford.
Rotherham.
Roydon.
Royston.
Rugby.
Sawbridgeworth.
Scarborough.
Selby.
Sessay.
Sheffield.
Shelford.
Shipley.
Skipton.
Slough.
Southampton.
South Shields.
Spetchley.
Stamford.
Stanstead.
Staveley.
St. Ives.
St. Margaret’s.
Stoke-on-Trent.
Stone.
Stortford.
Stratford.
Stratford Road.
Sunderland.
Swinton.
Syston.
Tamworth.
Thetford.
Thirsk.
Todmorden.
Tottenham.
Tranent.
Trentham.
Tring.
Tweedmouth.
Ullesthorpe.
Uttoxeter.
Wakefield.
Waltham.
Ware.
Wareham.
Washington.
Waterbeach.
Waterloo Station.
Watford.
Whitacre.
Whittlesea.
Whittlesford.
Wimbourne.
Winchburgh.
Wingfield.
Wisbeach.
Witham.
Wolverton.
Woolwich.
Worcester.
Wymondham.
Yarmouth.
York.