All went on favorably for several days: a constant communication was

kept up between the Niagara and the shore. At four o'clock on the

following Tuesday, the signals suddenly ceased. The return of the

squadron confirmed the fears entertained: the cable had broken in deep

water. Three hundred and thirty-five nautical miles had been laid, and

the last half of it in water over two miles in depth. The Niagara was

making at the time four miles an hour, and the cable running out at

a greater speed,--from five to six miles an hour. This was more than

could be afforded, and the retard strain upon the brakes was increased

to three thousand pounds. The cable bore the augmented pressure for a

time, but finally parted, to the dismay of the whole fleet. The vessels

returned to England; and the enterprise was abandoned for another year.

Though thus postponed, little or no doubt existed upon its ultimate

success. The exhilarating triumph which eventually attended the efforts

of the Company will form the subject of the next chapter.

[Illustration: A HOLLOW WAVE.]

[Illustration: THE CABLE IN THE BED OF THE OCEAN.]

CHAPTER LIII.

SECOND AND THIRD ATTEMPTS TO LAY THE ATLANTIC CABLE--THE FAILURE

IN THE MONTH OF JUNE--DESCRIPTION OF THE CABLE--THE VOYAGE OF THE

NIAGARA--THE CONTINUITY--ALL RIGHT AGAIN--CHANGE FROM ONE COIL TO

ANOTHER--THE KNIGHTS OF THE BLACK HAND--UNFAVORABLE SYMPTOMS--THE

INSULATION BROKEN--THE THIRD OF AUGUST--AN ANXIOUS MOMENT--LAND

DISCOVERED--TRINITY BAY--MR. FIELD VISITS THE TELEGRAPH STATION--THE

OPERATORS TAKEN BY SURPRISE--LANDING OF THE CABLE--IMPRESSIVE

CEREMONY--CAPTAIN HUDSON RETURNS THANKS TO HEAVEN--THE VOYAGE OF THE

AGAMEMNON--THE QUEEN'S MESSAGE--THE SIXTEENTH OF AUGUST--DEEP-SEA

TELEGRAPHING--THE EQUATOR AND THE CABLE.

The Atlantic Telegraph Company, undeterred by their failure to lay the

cable in 1857, resolved to make another attempt in the summer of the

following year, the American and English Governments again placing the

Niagara and the Agamemnon at their disposal. It was decided, however,

in order to lessen the chances of unfavorable weather, that the

two vessels should proceed to mid-ocean, should there splice their

respective ends of the wire, and that the Agamemnon should then steam

to Valentia Harbor and the Niagara to Trinity Bay. They were each

furnished with an ingenious contrivance for paying out the cable,--the

invention of Mr. Everett, of the United States Navy. June was the

month selected, and the ships departed upon their errand. They were

absent much longer than was expected, in the event of a successful

accomplishment of their purpose. When they returned to Queenstown,

it was to tell of storm, disaster, and failure. Still undaunted, the

Company again dispatched the ships. The Niagara and Agamemnon met in

mid-ocean on the 28th of July: the splice was effected, and the task

began. The Niagara had eight hundred and eighty-two miles to sail, and

eleven hundred miles of cable; the Agamemnon, with the same quantity of

cable, had but eight hundred and thirteen miles to sail. The Niagara

had three hundred tons of coal, the Agamemnon five hundred. At one

o'clock the wire began to reel over the stern of the Niagara, westward

and homeward bound.

The following engraving will give a correct idea of the manner in which

the cable is formed. The core, or conductor, is composed of seven

copper wires wound tightly together.

[Illustration:

1. Wire--eighteen strands, seven to an inch.

2. Six strands of yarn.

3. Gutta percha, three coats.

4. Conducting wires, seven in number.

5. Section of the cable, eleven-sixteenths of an inch in diameter.]

The flexibility of this cable is so great that it may be tied in a knot

round the arm without injury. Its weight is eighteen hundred and sixty

pounds to the mile, and its strength such that six miles of it may be

suspended vertically in water of that depth without breaking.

"The sea is smooth,"--we quote the extremely interesting journal of an

eye-witness[3], writing upon the first day,--"the barometer well up;

and, if we can only do for the next seven days as well as we have done

since one o'clock, we shall be at Newfoundland by the 5th of August,

and in New York some time between the 15th and 20th of the same month.

But we have been somewhat too hasty in our calculations, for our ship

has just slowed down, and the propeller has ceased working for the last

ten minutes. There must be something wrong to cause this interruption.

Let us take a look at the machine. The cable still goes out, which

certainly would not be the case if it had parted. Ah! the continuity!

That's it: there's where the difficulty lies; and, as the electricians

are the only parties who can inform us on that point, we at once go

in search of them. A visit to their office explains the whole matter.

The continuity is not gone altogether, but is defective,--so defective

that it is impossible to get a signal through the cable. Still, there

is not 'dead earth' upon it, and all hope, therefore, is not lost. When

dead earth, as it is termed, is on the conductor, then, indeed, the

difficulty is beyond remedy; for it shows that the conductor must be

broken and is thrown under the influence of terrestrial magnetism. But

the continuity is not gone; and, although with darkening prospects, we

are still safe while it remains, imperfect as it is. It would be absurd

to say that the occurrence was not discouraging: it was painfully so;

for the hopes of some of us had really begun to revive, and we were

gaining confidence every hour. Now nothing could be done. We must wait

until the continuity should return or take its final departure. And

it did return, and with greater strength than ever. At ten minutes

past nine P.M., the electrician on duty observed its failing, and at

half-past eleven he had the gratifying intelligence for us that it was

'all right again.' The machinery was once more set in motion, the cable

was soon going out at the rate of six miles an hour, and the electrical

signals were passing between the ships as regularly as if nothing had

occurred to interfere with or interrupt the continuity."

The change of the wire from the forward main-deck coil to that on

the deck immediately below, on the third day, is thus described, the

operation being a most delicate and perilous one:--"At least an hour

before the change was made, the outer boundaries of the circle in which

the cable lay was literally crowded with men; and never was greater

interest manifested in any spectacle than that which they exhibited in

the proceedings before them. There were serious doubts and misgivings

as to the successful performance of this important part of the work;

and these only served to increase the feeling of anxiety and suspense

with which they silently and breathlessly await the critical moment.

The last flake has been reached, and as turn after turn leaves the

circle every eye is intently fixed on the cable. Now there are but

thirty turns remaining; and, as the first of these is unwound, Mr.

Everett, who has been in the circle during the last half-hour, gives

the order to the engineer on duty to 'slow down.' In a few moments

there is a perceptible diminution in the speed, which continues

diminishing till it has reached the rate of about two miles an hour.

"'Look out now, men,' says Mr. Everett, in his usual quiet,

self-possessed way. The men are as thoroughly wide-awake as they can

be, and are waiting eagerly for the moment when they shall lift the

bight, or bend, of the cable and deliver it out safely. One of the

planks in the side of the cone has been loosened, and, just as they

are about taking the cable in their hands, it is removed altogether;

so that, as the last yard passes out of the now empty circle, the line

commences paying out from the circle below, or the 'orlop' deck, as it

is called. The men--who are no other than the coilers, or 'Knights of

the Black Hand,' as they have not inappropriately been termed--have

done their work well; and the applause with which they have been

greeted by the crowd of admiring spectators is the most gratifying

testimony they can receive of the fact. They have hardly passed the

cable out of the circle before they are received with as enthusiastic a

demonstration of approval as the rules of the navy will permit.

"Confidence is growing stronger,"--this is the fourth day,--"and there

is considerable speculation as to the time we shall reach Newfoundland.

The pilot who is to bring us into Trinity Bay is now in great repute,

and is becoming a more important personage every day. We are really

beginning to have strong hopes that his services will be called into

requisition and that in the course of a few days more we will be in

sight of land. But the sea is not at all so smooth as it was the day

before: it is, in fact, so rough as to favor the belief that there must

have been a severe gale a short time since in these latitudes. The

condition of the vessel is such as to alarm us greatly for the safety

of the cable should it come on to blow very hard, as the large amount

already paid out and the quantity of coal consumed have lightened her

so much as to render her rather uneasy in a heavy sea. The wind is

increasing, and, although it has not yet attained the magnitude of a

gale, it is blowing rather fresh for us in the present unsettled state

of our minds. Both wind and sea are nearly abeam; and the rolling

motion which the latter creates brings a strain upon the cable which

gives rise to the most unpleasant feelings. The sea, too, seems to

be getting worse every minute, and strikes the slender wire with all

its force. Every surge of the ship affects it; and as it cuts through

each wave it makes a small white line of foam to mark its track. The

sight of that thread-like wire battling with the sea produces a feeling

somewhat akin to that with which you would watch the struggles of a

drowning man whom you have not the power of assisting. You can only

look on and trust either that the sea will go down or that the cable

may be able to resist the force of the waves successfully. Of the

former there is very little prospect, but of the latter there is every

reason for hope. The contest has been going on now for several hours,

and there is no more sign of the cable parting than when it commenced.

The electricians report the continuity perfect; and the signals which

are received at intervals from the Agamemnon show that that vessel is

getting along with her part of the work in admirable style. What more

can we desire?"

An incident occurring upon the fifth day is thus described:--"I have

said that, despite the bad weather and heavy sea, the paying-out

process was going on well; but during the night the continuity was

again affected; and although it was restored and became as strong as

ever, yet it was for about three hours a very unpleasant affair. It

was subsequently found that the difficulty was caused by a defect of

insulation in a part of the wardroom coil, which was cut out in time

to prevent any serious consequences. There were only a few on board

the ship, however, aware of the occurrence until after the defect was

removed and the electrical communication was re-established between

the two ships. Both Mr. Laws and Mr. De Santy--the two electricians

on the Niagara--were of the opinion that the insulation was broken in

some part of the wardroom coil; and, on using the tests for the purpose

of ascertaining the precise point, they found that it was about sixty

miles from the bottom of that coil, and between three or four hundred

from the part which was then paying out. The cable was immediately cut

at this point and spliced to a deck coil of ninety miles, which it

was intended to reserve for laying in shallow water and was therefore

kept for Trinity Bay. About four o'clock in the morning the continuity

was finally restored, and all was going on as well as if nothing had

occurred to disturb the confidence we felt in the success of the

expedition."

Upon the sixth day--the 3d of August, the anniversary of the day upon

which Columbus sailed from Palos--the great work took place of the

change from "the fore-hold coil to that in the wardroom, which are at

least two hundred feet apart. This occurred at eight o'clock in the

morning; and, as the time was known to all on board, there was even

a larger crowd assembled to witness it than I observed at any of the

other changes. It was considered a most critical time; and, although

the operation turned out to be very simple, it was anticipated by some

with considerable uneasiness. The splice between the two coils had

been made some hours in advance, and men were stationed all along the

line of its course from the hold to the wardroom. Mr. Everett and Mr.

Woodhouse were both on hand; the best men had been picked out to pass

up the bight, when the last turn should be reached; and one man, named

Henry Paine, a splicer, was specially appointed to walk forward with

the bight to the after or wardroom coil. As the last flake was about

to be paid out the ship was slowed down, and by the time the last

three or four turns came to be paid out she could hardly be said to be

moving through the water. The line came up more slowly from the hold,

until we were nearing the bight, where it could not have been going out

faster than half a mile an hour. One more turn and the bight comes up.

There is not a sound to be heard from the crowd who are watching it

with eager and anxious faces from every point of view. No one speaks,

or has ventured to speak for the last minute, except the engineers,

and they have very little to say, for their orders are conveyed in

the most laconic style; and the quick 'ay, ay!' of the men show that

they understand the full value of time. 'Now, men,' says Mr. Everett,

'look out for the bight,' as those in the hold hand it up to the men

on the orlop deck, and it is passed from hand to hand till it reaches

the platform and long passage which has been built upon the spar-deck

for this part of the work. Here the bight arrives at last, and Paine

takes it in his hand, paying out as he follows the line of the cable

to the wardroom coil. How anxiously the men watch him as he walks that

terrible distance of two hundred feet, and think that if he should

happen to trip or stumble while he holds that bight in his hand the

great enterprise may end in disaster! It is not a difficult task; but

how often have things that are so easily performed been defeated by

want of coolness! There is, however, such an easy self-possession about

the man, as he comes slowly aft with the long black line, that inspires

confidence. All hands have deserted the decks below, and follow him as

he walks aft, and one, in his impatience to get a glimpse of him, has

nearly fallen through the skylight of the engine-room, in which he has

smashed several panes of glass in the effort to save himself. 'Pick up

the pieces,' says Paine, in a vein of quiet humor, as he proceeds on

his course without interruption, and, coming up to the wheel, which

is immediately above the wardroom, he straightens the bight, and the

cable begins to run out from the top of the coil on the deck beneath.

His work is done; and, as the line passes out of his hands, he receives

a round of applause from the hands of the spectators, who, but for

those terrible navy rules, would have greeted him with a cheer that

would have done his heart good. As it is, they must give vent to their

feelings in some way; and the exclamations of 'Well done!' 'That's

the fellow!' 'Good boy, Paine!' are not a bad compromise, after all.

Besides, it might be rather premature at this time to indulge in any

triumphant expression of feeling before we are even in sight of land."

Upon the seventh day land was discovered from the mast-head. "It is now

half-past two o'clock, and we are entering Trinity Bay at a speed of

seven and a half knots an hour, paying out the cable at a very slight

increase on the same rate. The curve which it forms between the ship

and the water proves that there is little or no strain upon it, and

proves also another thing,--that it can be run out at eight, nine, and,

I believe, ten miles with the greatest safety. This, however, as I have

previously stated, cannot be done with old cable that has been coiled

so often as to have a tendency to kink; and there is--as has been

already intimated--some of this kind which we shall be obliged to pay

out before landing. A signal signifying 'all well' has been received

from the Agamemnon, which must now be on the point of landing her cable

at Valentia Bay, Ireland, which is about sixteen hundred and forty

miles from our present position."

[Illustration: THE TELEGRAPHIC PLATEAU.]

At eight o'clock in the evening, while the Niagara was proceeding

up Trinity Bay and was yet some eighteen miles distant from the

landing-place, Mr. Field left the ship for the purpose of visiting the

telegraph station and sending a despatch to the United States. "It was

near two o'clock in the morning before he arrived at the beach; and,

as it was quite dark, he had considerable difficulty in finding the

path that led up to the station. There was no house in sight, and the

whole scene was as dreary and as desolate as a wilderness at night

could be. A silence as of the grave reigned over every thing before

him; while behind, at a distance of a mile, he could see the huge hull

of the Niagara looming up indistinctly through the gloom of night, and

the light of the lamps on her deck making the darkness still darker

and blacker by the contrast. He entered the narrow road, and after a

journey of what appeared to be twenty miles he came in sight of the

station, which stands about half a mile from the beach. There was,

however, no sign of life there; and the house in its stillness looked

strangely in unison with every thing around. It had a deserted look,

as if it had long since ceased to be the habitation of man. In vain he

looked for a door in the front; but there was no entrance there. He

looked up at the windows, in the hope, perhaps, of being able to enter

by that way; but the windows in the lower story were beyond his reach;

and the house, having been partly built on piles, had the appearance

of being raised on stilts. A detour of the establishment, however, led

to the discovery of a door in the side; and through this he finally

succeeded in effecting an entrance. The noise he made in getting in,

it was natural to expect, would arouse the inmates; but there seemed

either to be no inmates to arouse, or those inmates were not easily

disturbed. He stopped for a moment to listen, and as he listened he

heard the breathing of sleepers in an apartment near him. The door

was immediately thrown open, and in a few seconds the sleepers were

awake,--wide awake, and opening their eyes wider and wider as the

wonderful news fell upon their astonished and delighted ears. They

could hardly believe the evidence of their senses, and were bewildered

at what they heard. The cable laid, when, but a few short weeks before,

they had received the news of disaster and defeat, and they had looked

only to the far-distant future for the accomplishment of the great

work! The cable laid, and they unconscious of it!--they, who had waited

and watched so many weary days and weeks for the ships they had begun

to believe would never come! And they were now in the bay,--those same

ships,--within a mile of them! Can they be dreaming? Dreaming! No. What

they have heard is true,--all true; and there is the living witness

before them.

"'What do you want?" was the exclamation of the first who was awakened,

as he endeavored to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"'I want you to get up," said Mr. Field, "and help us to take the cable

ashore."

"'To take the cable ashore?" re-echoed the others, who were now just

awakening, and who heard the words with a dim, dreamy idea of their

meaning; 'to take the cable ashore?'

"'Yes,' said Mr. Field; 'and we want you at once.'

"They were now thoroughly aroused; and, directing Mr. Field to the

bedrooms of the other sleepers,--for there were four or five others

in the house,--they prepared themselves with all haste to assist in

landing the cable. Mr. Field found that the telegraph office would not

be open till nine o'clock that morning, and that the operator of the

New York, Newfoundland, and London telegraph was absent at the time.

He also ascertained that the nearest station at which he could find an

operator was fifteen miles distant, and that the only way of getting

there was on foot. Now, fifteen miles in Newfoundland is about equal

to twice the distance in a civilized country, and is a tolerably long

walk; but it was something to be the bearer of such news to a whole

continent, and so two of the young men willingly volunteered for the

journey, bearing with them, for transmission to New York and the whole

United States, the despatch which contained the first announcement of

the successful accomplishment of the work."

Upon the eighth day the cable was landed, the ships being dressed with

flags in honor of the occasion. Sixty men from the Niagara, and forty

from the British ships Gorgon and Porcupine, took part in this task

and the attendant ceremonies. "The landing-place for the cable is a

very picturesque little beach, on which a wharf has been constructed.

A road, about the dimensions of a bridle-path, has been cut through

the forest, and up this road, through bog and mire, you find your way

to the telegraph station, about half a mile distant. Alongside of this

road a trench has been dug for the cable, to preserve it from accidents

to which it might otherwise be liable.

"When the boats arrived at the landing, the officers and men jumped

ashore, and Mr. North, first lieutenant of the Niagara, presented

Captain Hudson with the end of the cable. Captain Otter, of the

Porcupine, and Commander Dayman, of the Gorgon, now took hold of it,

and, all the officers and men following their example, a procession

was formed along the line. The road or path over which we had to take

the cable was a most primitive affair. It led up the side of a hill a

couple of hundred feet high, and had been cut out of the thick forest

of pines and other evergreens. In some places the turf--which is to

be found here on the top of the highest mountains--was so soft with

recent rains that you would sink to your ankles in it. Well, it was up

this road we had to march with the cable; and a splendid time we had.

It was but reasonable to suppose that the three captains who headed

the procession would certainly pick out the best parts and give us

the advantage of the stepping-stones; but it appeared all the same

to them; and they plunged into the boggiest and dirtiest parts with

a recklessness and indifference that satisfied us they were about

the worst pilots we could have had on land, despite their well-known

abilities as navigators.

"This memorable procession started at a quarter to six o'clock, and

arrived at the telegraph station about twenty minutes after. The ascent

of the hill was the worst part of the journey; but when we got to

the top the scene which opened before us would have repaid us for a

journey of twenty miles over a still worse road. There beneath us lay

the harbor, shut in by mountains, except at the entrance from Trinity

Bay; and there, too, lay the steamers of the two greatest maritime

nations of the world. On every side lies an unbroken wilderness, and,

if we except the telegraph station, at which we will soon arrive, not a

single habitation to tell that man has ever lived here.

"Never was such a remarkable scene presented since the world began.

Even now, at the very point of its realization, it does not seem as

if the work in which we have been engaged has been accomplished.

The continuity, however, without which the cable would be utterly

valueless, is as perfect now as it ever was. Mr. Laws and Mr. De Santy,

the two chief electricians who have accompanied us from England, have

'tasted' the current, and about a dozen others at the head of the

procession have done the same thing. The writer himself is a witness on

this point, and will never forget the singular acid taste which it had.

Some received a pretty strong shock,--so strong that they willingly

resigned the chance of repeating the experiment.

"On the arrival of the procession the cable is brought up to the house

and the end placed in connection with the instrument. The deflection

of the needle on the galvanometer gives incontrovertible evidence that

the electrical condition of the cable is satisfactory. The question

now is, How shall we properly celebrate the consummation of the great

event? How, but by an acknowledgment to that Providence without whose

favor the enterprise must have ended in disaster and defeat? Captain

Hudson took up his position on a pile of boards, the officers and

men standing round amid shavings, stumps of trees, pieces of broken

furniture, sheets of copper, telegraph-batteries, little mounds of lime

and mortar, branches of trees, huge boulders, and a long catalogue of

other things equally incongruous.

"'We have,' said the captain, 'just accomplished a work which has

attracted the attention and enlisted the interest of the whole world.

That work,' he continued, 'has been performed not by ourselves: there

has been an Almighty Hand over us and aiding us; and, without the

divine assistance thus extended us, success was impossible. With this

conviction firmly impressed upon our minds, it becomes our duty to

acknowledge our indebtedness to that overruling Providence who holds

the sea in the hollow of his hand. "Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us,

but to thy name, be all the glory." I hope the day will never come

when, in all our works, we shall refuse to acknowledge the overruling

hand of a divine and almighty Power.... There are none here, I am

sure, whose hearts are not overflowing with feelings of the liveliest

gratitude to God in view of the great work which has been accomplished

through his permission, and who are not willing to join in a prayer

of thanksgiving for its successful termination. I will therefore ask

you to join me in the following prayer, which is the same, with a few

necessary alterations, that was offered for the laying of the cable.'"

This prayer was then offered at the throne of grace by the captain,

the auditors responding at its close with an "Amen" which showed with

what profound emotion they regarded the scene in which they were such

prominent actors.

[Illustration: THE AGAMEMNON IN A GALE.]

In regard to the voyage of the Agamemnon we find little to say which

would not be a repetition of that of the Niagara, with the exception

that she experienced much less favorable weather, and that the

admirable paying-out machine invented by our countryman, Mr. Everett,

performed its delicate duty under more trying circumstances than those

to which it had been subjected on the American frigate. The Queen's

Message was transmitted over the wire on the 16th of August; and,

intelligence of the fact being made known the same evening throughout

the Northern and Western States, the people gave themselves up to the

wildest demonstrations of joy. Few persons of an age to appreciate

the significance of the triumph will forget that memorable night. We

have not to follow the inventors, electricians, and commanders to the

land, and detail the ovations of which they were the honored objects.

The public will long remember the eloquence of the orators who dilated

upon the theme, the inspired language in which the newspapers held

forth to their amazed subscribers, and the prophetic vein in which

the clergy felt justly entitled to indulge. Fifty years from now,

those who were boys on the 16th of August will tell, with undiminished

interest, of the tar-barrels and bonfires, the salutes and fireworks,

the illuminations and torchlight processions, which, from one end of

the country to the other, welcomed the inspiring tidings and made

the summer night gorgeous with flames and clamorous with artillery.

The cable is at length laid through the bed of the Atlantic Ocean.

Over what jagged mountain-ranges is that slender filament carried!

In what deep oceanic valleys does it rest! Through what strange and

unknown regions, among things how uncouth and wild, must it thread

its way! Still, in spite of this first magnificent success, deep-sea

telegraphing must be regarded as in its very infancy; and doubtless

many new and even more marvellous feats will yet be performed claiming

admission among the achievements of Man upon--or rather beneath--the

Sea.

Perhaps the best among the numerous good things suggested by the happy

return of the Telegraphic Fleet was the following sentiment:--"THE

EQUATOR AND THE CABLE: the former an imaginary line which divides the

poles, the latter a veritable line which connects the hemispheres!"

"Far, far below oceans heaving breast,

Where the storm-spirit ever is hush'd to rest,

The cable now lies on its snowy bed,--

The glittering ashes of ocean's dead;

And storms shall not break nor tempests sever

This arch of promise, for ever and ever,

Till an angel shall stand with one foot on the sea

And swear that time no longer shall be."

The continuity of this cable was shortly afterwards broken, but it

had so successfully demonstrated that it was possible to lay one

that another attempt was soon organized. For this purpose the Great

Eastern, which had been found too large a ship to be ordinarily used

in trade, since her great depth prevented her from entering any but

the very deepest harbors, was engaged. Her size enabled her easily to

take in the cable for the entire distance, and, starting from Ireland,

she kept up telegraphic communication with that station, without

interruption, throughout the whole of the voyage. This cable has worked

continouslysince that time.

Beside this, another Atlantic cable, connecting France with the

American Continent, has been laid successfully and has worked without

interruption. From England fifteen submarine wires, laid across the

beds of the Channel or the North Sea, connect that country with France,

Belgium and Holland. Sweden and Norway are connected with Germany

by marine cables across the Baltic, while Sicily and Sardinia are

connected with Italy by a cable in the bottom of the Mediterranean.

In Europe, in 1872, it was estimated that at an expense of about

$100,000,000 more than 1,300,000 miles of telegraphic wire had been

erected, and counting the double and multiple wires used on the most

important lines, that a length of 621,000,000 miles had been stretched,

a length sufficient to encircle the entire globe, at the equator, some

twenty-five times, while the yearly increase of new lines consumed

enough wire to again encircle the earth.

A telegraphic cable is also proposed from Lisbon to Rio Janeiro. France

has been also connected with Algeria, and lines connecting the Eastern

Mediterranean, the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean, have been laid, though

they have frequently been injured.

The Pacific Ocean has also its cable connecting California with

India, bringing Calcutta, San Francisco, New York, London, Vienna,

Constantinople and Bagdad within a circuit measuring about 12,400 miles

in length.

The cables which have been laid in the beds of oceans and seas,

connecting islands, peninsulas and continents, are estimated to measure

about 12,400 miles in length.

There are now three Atlantic cables connecting Europe and America.

These are the Anglo-American, the New York, Newfoundland and London,

and the French. Of these the French one is singular from its method

of conveying intelligence. A minute mirror is placed on the needle,

and a beam of light from a lamp is reflected from this upon a screen.

As the current of electricity affects the needle, this light moves in

curves upon the screen, and the meaning of these curves is read off by

the observer, according to a prearranged code of symbols. Beside these

three companies, there is a fourth proposed line, to be known as the

American Atlantic, and which it is proposed to lay this coming summer,

1873.

The rates of ocean telegraphing have recently been raised, and it

is found that the lines contemplate combining with each other, and

forming a monopoly. They have been acting in concert for some time,

but without any formal agreement. As ocean telegraphing has become a

necessity, this promptness on the part of the companies to combine into

a monopoly gives greater force to the proposition that the telegraph,

in the public interest, should be owned and controlled by government.

Especially is this becoming more apparent, since the telegraphic

reports of weather observations, which in the hands of the Signal

Bureau have become of such practical public service, have recently been

extended, so as to embrace Europe and this country in a single circuit.

[Illustration: THE SEAL.]

CHAPTER LIV.

DIVING--THE FIRST DIVING-BELL--FIXED APPARATUS SUPPLIED WITH

COMPRESSED AIR THE SUBMARINE HYDROSTAT--OPERATIONS AT HELL

GATE--DIVING APPARATUS--SUBMARINE EXPLOSIONS--IMPROVED DIVING

DRESSES--THEIR USE--WORK OF VARIOUS KINDS DONE WITH THEM--INSTANCES

OF THIS--SEEKING THE TREASURE OF THE HUSSAR--SUNKEN SHIPS IN

SEBASTOPOL--OPERATIONS IN MOBILE--THE DRY DOCK AT PENSACOLA BAY--THE

BEAUTIES OF THE SUBMARINE WORLD--HABITS OF THE FISH--POSSIBLE DEPTH OF

DESCENT.

Not only have men in modern times sought to extend their knowledge of

the sea by dredging and sounding, but with the appliances of modern

science they have attempted to plunge themselves into its depths,

and provide the conditions there for not only remaining alive but

for working. We have seen that the divers for coral and for pearls

are enabled to remain under the surface only at the very outside two

minutes, and that even this is such a strain upon the organs of the

body that their lives are materially shortened by engaging in such

work. Air is so indispensable to human life, that before any one can

hope to remain any time under the water, some arrangement must be

provided for supplying him with air.

[Illustration: DIVING-BELL.]

The ancients, of course, knew that man was a breathing animal, they

saw that each of themselves carried on this process constantly, but

what they breathed they did not know, and they were equally ignorant of

why they breathed. The discovery of what the air is belongs purely to

modern times. About a century ago the astronomer Halley first proposed

the use of the diving-bell, and went down in one he had built, to the

depth of about fifty feet. The diving-bell was named from its original

form, which was that of a bell, and this name is still retained, though

the form of the vessel is changed. The supply of air is kept up by an

air-pump worked above water. This is, however, a clumsy appliance in

which the diver is limited only to that portion of the bottom on which

the bell rests. Where there is either a strong current, or the bottom

is very shelving, the diving-bell is embarrassing if not dangerous.

In one case it is said that the diver was taken from the bell by a

shark. Expert swimmers can dive from the outside, and, passing under

the lip of the bell, rise suddenly inside of it, a feat which always

surprises those who are in the bell. There is also sometimes danger

that the bell may settle in the soft mud, and be held there by suction.

Such a case once occurred in New York harbor, when a party had gone

in the bell as a sort of pleasure excursion. The difficulty looked

threatening, but one of the party proposed rocking the bell, and doing

so the water was forced under, and the bell was lifted from the ooze.

[Illustration: FIXED APPARATUS SUPPLIED WITH COMPRESSED AIR.]

As the workmen cannot leave the bell, this difficulty if possible is

obviated by moving the bell. Frequently, however, submarine operations

are to be carried on only in one spot, as in building bridges, when the

foundations of the piers are to be laid, or in building breakwaters;

laying the foundations of light-houses, or other similar work. In such

cases, structures which in principle are the same as the diving-bell,

are frequently employed. The one which was used to build the piers of

the magnificent bridge over the Rhine, near Strasbourg is represented

in the cut. Each of the piers of this bridge rests on a foundation

composed of four large iron caissons, of great weight. Each caisson

was open at its lower end. The upper part supported three shafts--a

middle and two lateral ones. All three shafts arose above the water of

the river. The middle shaft communicated with the open air, and the

water rose in it to the level of the river. In this a dredging machine,

driven by a steam-engine above, worked at the bottom of the river. The

other two shafts were closed at the top. The workmen entering above

the stream, closed their means of ingress air tight, and then air was

forced in until the water was forced down, and out below, leaving the

shafts free. The workmen then descended and filled the buckets of the

dredging machine. When they wanted to ascend, they mounted to the upper

part of the shafts; the air was let off, the water mounted in the

shafts and they stepped into the open air.

The abutments of the bridge over the East River, which is to connect

New York and Brooklyn by a suspension bridge, with a span high enough

to not interfere with the navigation of the river, were built with a

somewhat similar device. The towers upon each side of the river had

to be so high that a very deep foundation, going down to the original

rock, had to be laid, and the workmen engaged in building it worked in

a submarine apartment, supplied with air forced down by a steam engine.

The submarine hydrostat, as it is called, is one of the most ingenious

and recent applications of the diving-bell principle. Thirty men may

work in it at once, for a number of hours, without any inconvenience;

while beside this it enables them at will, to float or sink.

Externally, as will be seen from the upper structure in the cut, the

machine is a rectangular box, surmounted with another smaller one,

entirely closed except at the bottom. The interior of the hydrostat

consists of three principal compartments; the lower figure in the cut

represents these in section. The lower one, or hold, is open below, and

communicates by a shaft with the upper compartment. Between the upper

and lower compartments is a third, communicating with the others only

by stop-cocks. The upper compartment is called the between decks, and

the middle one the orlop deck. All round the hold and the orlop deck

runs an air-tight gallery connected with the other compartments only by

stop-cocks. The lower part of this gallery contains the ballast, while

its upper part is filled with air or water, according as it is desired

to float or sink.

[Illustration: PAYERNE'S SUBMARINE HYDROSTAT.]

When the hydrostat floats, the hold and a portion of the shaft are

filled with water; while the orlop deck, its gallery and the between

decks are full of air. The workmen are in the between decks, where are

lifting and forcing pumps. When it is desired to sink the hydrostat,

the door of the shaft and the hatch of the between decks are closed

water and air-tight. The pump is then worked so as to draw water

from the outside and fill the orlop deck and its gallery. At the

same time the force-pump is used to force air into the hold through

a pipe connecting the hold and the orlop deck, and furnished with a

stop-cock. As the orlop deck, with its gallery, fills with water the

machine gets heavier and sinks, while the hold becomes at the same

time filled with air. Though the air thus forced into the hold would

tend to float the hydrostat, this tendency is counterbalanced by the

filling of the orlop deck with water. When the hold is filled with air,

the workmen in the between decks open the shaft and descend to the

bottom. A sufficient number remain in the between decks to haul up and

dispose of the material excavated, and to attend to the pumps which

maintain the supply of air for those in the hold. When they want to

rise again, the men ascend from the hold by the shaft to the between

decks, closing the shaft again. The air is then let from the hold to

the orlop deck and gallery; the hold fills with water, while the orlop

deck and gallery become filled with air, and the hydrostat rises to the

surface; the men open the hatch of the between decks and obtain free

communication with the outer world again.

The dimensions of the hydrostat are as follows: The hold is square, the

sides measuring each 26 feet, and being 6 feet 6 inches high. The orlop

deck is of the same size. The between decks have the same depth, but

are only 16 feet in the sides. The base of the hold therefore covers

676 square feet. This ingenious machine has been already used with

the most perfect success in performing various work, such as cleaning

out and deepening harbors; searching for lost treasure; removing

obstructions in channels, and so on.

One of the most important and interesting pieces of submarine

engineering ever done in this country was that undertaken for removing

the rocky obstructions in Hell Gate, at the entrance, through Long

Island Sound, of New York harbor. The first attempt to remove these

was by drilling and blasting, as in an ordinary quarry. This work

was, however, quite slow, since the current is there so rapid that

operations could be carried on only a few minutes each day at the

turns of the tides. The next plan was proposed by a French engineer,

M. Maillefert, who had used it with great success in the harbor of

Nassau. This plan was entirely new, and had the great merit of being

surprisingly cheap compared with those then in use. It dispensed with

the costly and difficult process of drilling, but exploded the charges

on the surface of the rocks to be removed, while they were covered with

the greatest depth of water. Gunpowder burnt in the open air explodes

without anything but a harmless flash. The pressure of the atmosphere

is not enough to restrain the dispersion of the gases suddenly

generated. Under water, though, it is different; its pressure confines

the gases and makes them act with destructive effect on all sides. For

a couple of years operations were carried on by M. Maillefert with

considerable success. But he was hampered by want of means, the money

that was spent being raised by private subscriptions; and though the

channel was greatly improved, operations were suspended. It was found,

too, that this method was of great service in breaking off isolated

pinnacles of jagged rock, but when the bed was reached, and the rock

reduced to a large, smooth, flat surface, progress in the work became

slow, doubtful and costly. This process, however, of exploding charges

of gunpowder, under water, by means of an electric battery is very

valuable in certain situations.

In 1868 Congress appropriated $85,000 for the needs of Hell Gate, and

bids for the work were opened to the public. The contract was awarded

to Mr. S. F. Shelbourne, of New York, who proposed to do the work by

drilling and blasting, the machinery to be placed on the bottom and

worked by a steam pump placed on a vessel above. The rock was to be

drilled by mushroom drill, as it was called, a diamond drill worked by

a small turbine wheel, driven by steam. This drill was tried on the

Frying Pan, one of the worst rocks obstructing the channel, but was

found to be too delicate and uncertain of continuous action under the

trying requirements of the rough work at Hell Gate. A striking drill

was then tried, and a machine was built and put in position, but the

very day it was to commence to work it was run against by one of the

craft so constantly crowding through Hell Gate, and destroyed. Mr.

Shelbourne then retired from any further attempt, and the Government

has undertaken it, and placed the management of the operations in the

hands of General Newton.

[Illustration: MUSHROOM DRILL.]

The plan now undertaken is to undermine the whole bed of the river

at this point, with a series of galleries connected by transverse

galleries, leaving only so much rock standing in columns as shall

insure stability to the roof above. When this work is completed, these

submarine channels are to be charged with the requisite number of

thousands of pounds of nitro-glycerine, and blown up with one grand

explosion. This enormous work is now well under way, and is being

rapidly pushed to completion. Work is carried on day and night, three

sets of workmen being engaged in it, each working eight hours. The

drilling has thus far been done chiefly by hand, and is very laborious.

The workmen are chiefly Cornish miners, who alone can stand the

severity of such mining. They are hardly ever dry while at work, and in

the winter their clothes are frequently stiffened by ice. Preparations

are however making to use machine drills operated by compressed air.

The operations of this mining under the channel of the East River

have to be conducted with great care. Every inch of the way has to be

critically explored. Seams of decomposed mica have been met, through

which the water of the river ran as through a sieve. In one of the

shafts such a seam was met, through which the water poured at the rate

of six hundred gallons a minute, and could be stopped only by building

a strong shield. The floor of the shaft follows a level about thirty

feet below the low-water line. The roof follows of course the general

contour of the reef, and to determine this, soundings of a special

kind have to be taken. The bed of the stream is covered, except on

the highest points of the reef, with a deposit of boulders, marl and

organic matter from the sewers of New York, sometimes to the depth of

ten or twelve feet. As the exact profile of the solid rock must be

known before the miners can proceed, every sounding for determining

this--and more than 15,000 have been already made--must be carefully

done. The sounding apparatus consists of a float, or raft, supporting

a machine like a guillotine or pile driver, by which a three-inch

iron tube is driven through the overlying matter to the rock bed. The

contents of the tube are then pumped out and an iron rod is used to

determine the nature of the rock below. If it is a boulder, a dull

thud is heard, and the rod does not rebound. Solid rock returns a

sharp clink, and the rod springs back. The bearings of the tube are

then taken by instruments from the shore, and the position of the rock

calculated by a simple process.

[Illustration: READY TO GO DOWN.]

Under the direction of General Newton, other submarine operations are

also carried on in New York Harbor for the removal of the rocky and

dangerous obstructions known as Diamond Reef, and Coentie's Reef,

which lie in the busiest part of the harbor, directly in the track of

the numerous ferry boats plying between New York and Brooklyn, and

are not only troublesome, but dangerous, especially at low water.

To perform this work, General Newton has had a special boat built,

a scow, a low-lying, box-like craft, with a confusion of timbers,

ropes, chains, and machinery surrounding a huge dome in the center.

This vessel is very solidly built, and anchored so firmly that the

waves strike against its sides as against a wharf. This strength is

important for the work, and also to protect the machinery against the

chance collision of the constantly passing vessels in the harbor. The

general purpose of the scow is easily comprehended. Its object is to

guard the drilling machinery while it is at work; to transport it when

necessary, and to support the engines for working the drills. In the

center of the scow is an octagonal well, thirty-two feet in diameter,

in which is supported an iron-wrought dome for protecting the divers.

At the top of the dome is a "telescope," twelve feet in diameter,

with a rise and fall of six feet to adapt it to the various stages of

the tides. When the dome is in working order, it stands clear of the

scow, resting on self-adjusting legs, which adapt themselves to the

inequalities of the reef. When the drills are working, the dome is

down, out of sight, and the machinery, which at the first glance seems

in disorder on the scow, is arranged in order, and is level with the

deck. The engines which drive the drills are supported on moveable

bridges, thrown back when the dome is up; and the drills work in stout

iron tubes passing through the dome, one in the center, and the others

arranged round it in a circle about twenty feet in diameter. The dome,

when down, serves to protect the divers, so that at any time they can

go down to regulate the working of the drills, or perform any other

service. Without this protection, the divers could not keep their feet,

so strong is the current on a rising or falling tide. The divers are

protected by a diving suit; the air is furnished them by a pipe to the

back of the helmet they wear, and is forced down by an air pump. When

a set of holes are drilled, they are charged with nitro-glycerine, and

simultaneously exploded by electricity.

This simple statement serves to show how much the modern methods of

conducting such submarine operations are dependent upon the advance in

chemistry of modern times. In fact, hardly a single appliance used in

such operations, from the steam-engine which drives the drills, to the

gutta-percha tubes, and the india rubber suits which enable the divers

to descend below the water, but what are inventions or discoveries

which belong entirely to modern times, and enable men to-day to perform

operations which to the ancients would have really been impossible.

[Illustration: PUTTING IN THE CHARGES.]

The nitro-glycerine is contained in tin cartridge cases, like mammoth

candle moulds, ten feet long and from four to five inches in diameter.

They are connected with the battery by wires. The divers go down and

place these in the holes which have been drilled, first pulling out the

wooden plugs which have been placed in them after they were drilled,

to keep them from getting filled with dirt. As soon as the charges are

placed, the diver returns to the boat, and it drops far enough from

the spot, to be safe from the effects of the explosion, and then, with

a few turns of the battery, the nitro-glycerine explodes. Two muffled

explosions are heard, the one transmitted through the water and the

other through the air, and on the instant a volume of water is hurled

perhaps fifty feet into the air, while through the mass jets of water

are hurled in all directions two or three times further, together with

fragments of rock. The water subsides quickly, and round the spot dead

fish come floating to the top, killed by the shock of the explosion. At

each blast the rock is broken up over an area of four or five hundred

square feet, and the fragments are removed by a grappling machine.

[Illustration: GRAPPLING MACHINE.]

In these submarine operations the divers use the armor which the

discovery of india rubber and the process of vulcanizing it has made

possible, enabling the diver to descend, and leaving him liberty of

movement enough to work. In this, as in almost every other new method,

there have been gradual steps of improvement and development. During

the latter part of the last century the plan was proposed for the diver

to carry down with him a supply of air, compressed into a reservoir

which he wore on his back, inhaling the air through a tube. Modified

arrangements of this method were in use until, in 1830, the discovery

of india-rubber afforded the opportunity which was immediately made

use of, to improve the diving apparatus. Various improvements, some of

them protected by patent rights, have been made in the construction of

this submarine armor, but as perfect a method of making it as any is

that designed by two Frenchmen, M. Rouquarol, a mining engineer, and M.

Denayrouze, a lieutenant in the French navy. One of the chief merits of

this arrangement is that by which the supply of air is furnished the

diver. This apparatus the diver carries on his back, and it consists

of a reservoir made of steel or iron, capable of resisting great

pressure, with a chamber on its top constructed to regulate the influx

of the air. A tube from this chamber, terminating in a mouthpiece, is

held between the diver's teeth. This pipe is furnished with a valve

permitting the expulsion of air, but opposing the entrance of water.

The steel reservoir is separated from the chamber by a conical valve

opening from the air chamber in such a way as to open only by the force

of exterior pressure, that of the air in the reservoir tending to close

it. The air from the air-pump is forced into the reservoir, and from

this the diver supplies his needs as follows: The air-chamber is closed

by a movable lid, to which is attached the tail of the conical valve.

The diameter of the lid is a little less than the interior diameter

of the chamber, and it is covered with india-rubber so as to be

air-tight. It yields to both interior and exterior pressure, rising and

falling as the case may be. When exterior pressure is exerted on it,

the valve is affected, communication is opened between the air-chamber

and the reservoir and a portion of the compressed air from the latter

flows into the chamber. Should there be too much air in the chamber its

pressure against the movable lid keeps the valve closed.

[Illustration: DIVERS DRESSED IN THE APPARATUS DESCRIBED.]

When in use under water its operation is thus: The diver by drawing

his breath takes air from the chamber; exterior pressure is exerted

on the movable lid, it falls, causes the valve to open, and air comes

from the reservoir to establish the equilibrium, when the lid rises and

shuts off the communication between the air-chamber and the reservoir

until another inspiration on the part of the diver repeats the action

just described. When the workman expires, the valve in the respiratory

tube allows the expelled air to escape into the water. This apparatus

works automatically; though the air-pump may be worked irregularly, its

action is regular. The diver receives just the quantity of air enough

for a respiration, and this reaches him at a pressure equal to that

to which the rest of his body is subjected, and he is therefore able

to breathe without effort or attention. The compression of air heats

it, and the breathing of air thus heated is bad for the diver. This

has been remedied by the same gentleman, by the modification of the

pumps by which the air is forced in the reservoir. The air is cooled by

being forced to pass through two layers of water before it reaches the

reservoir; and expanding in its passage into the air-chamber it becomes

again cooled.

[Illustration: DIVERS FINDING A BOX OF GOLD IN THE PORT OF MARSEILLES.]

With the use of this apparatus another advantage is gained. When the

diver is down the air he expires rises in bubbles to the surface, and

by the regularity with which they rise his condition can be easily

known. If they cease, it is known that something must have happened,

and that he should be instantly hauled up. In the old diving dress the

expired air passed into the space between his body and the clothing and

out at a valve in the helmet, but as the excess of air supplied to him

escaped in this way also, it could not be told from this whether the

diver was alive or dead.

So common has the practice of diving become, that in all countries it

is a regular profession. A few instances of the advantages gained by it

will prove interesting.

In February, 1867, a collision took place in the port of Marseilles

between two steamers, the Ganges and the Imperatrice. The last of these

lost one of her wheels, and a box of gold in the officers' quarters

fell out and sank in the mud. The exact spot where it fell was not

known. The box was black and not very strong. The next day an attempt

was made to recover it. A lead was sunk at the supposed spot where the

box was lost: and two lines attached to it were knotted at distances

of a yard along their length. The two divers having descended, took

each of them one of these lines in his hand, and, using the lead as

a centre, walked round in gradually increasing circles, searching

carefully every foot of their way. After working three hours in this

way they found the box, and restored it to the delighted owner.

Another most interesting case is that of the Hussar, an English navy

vessel, which was wrecked in Hell Gate, in New York Harbor. On the 23d

of November, 1780, during the war of the Revolution, and while New

York was in the possession of the English, a British fleet entered

the harbor. Among them, as convoys, were the Mercury and the Hussar.

The first had on board £384,000, mostly in guineas, and the second

£580,000, together amounting to about $4,800,000. This large sum was

intended to pay the English troops then in this country. The next day

the whole of this money was placed on board the Hussar, and she got

ready to proceed to New London, Connecticut, which was then a place

for the British rendezvous. Before starting she also took on board

seventy prisoners, from the prison hulks in the bay, who were confined

with irons on the gun deck below. What it was intended to do with

these unhappy prisoners is not known, nor does it appear from the

records. However, thus freighted the Hussar hauled from the dock, and

under the charge of a negro pilot, who, a few days before, had safely

carried a frigate through Hell Gate, started on her way through that

dangerous passage. When she was almost through, when open water lay

only a few rods before her, she struck, drifted off, commenced to fill

rapidly, and while the question of backing her was being discussed, she

struck again, and soon settled, and sliding from the rocks, sank in

ninety feet of water. The officers and crew escaped, but the seventy

prisoners, chained below to the gun deck, sank with the vessel, without

an attempt having been made to save them.

The vessel herself was a large one, carrying thirty-two guns, and

measuring two hundred and six feet in length by fifty-eight in width.

In 1794 an expedition from England came over to New York, and for two

seasons attempted in vain to raise the wreck by grappling, when they

were forbidden to work any longer by the Government of the United

States. In 1819 another attempt was made by an English company, who

prosecuted their work with a diving bell. The strength of the current

here made their efforts of no avail, and they abandoned the attempt.

Since then the possible chance of the four million dollars has tempted

various other companies to try, and in turn they each abandoned the

attempt in despair of success. Within the past four years, however, a

new company has been at work, using the newly-invented submarine armor,

and during this time a sloop has been lying, dismantled but firmly

anchored, about a hundred yards from the New York side of the East

River, three-quarters of a mile above Ward's Island. This is the spot

where the Hussar sank, with her prow pointing north.

[Illustration: ARMING THE DIVER.]

[Illustration: CASTING OFF THE DIVER.]

The diver's suit consists of, first, a pair of thick rubber leggings

and boots combined. These end at the waist in an iron band furnished

with iron clamps. Straps of lead weighing together ninety pounds, and

which are made to fit about his ankles and waist, are intended to

give him weight enough to withstand the current. On the upper part

of his body he wears a large copper helmet, with a strong ring-bolt

on the top, and below which, securely fastened to it, is a rubber

jacket, ending in an iron band, so constructed as to meet that of the

leggings and be tightly fastened to it. The sleeves of this jacket are

gathered round his wrists and tightly tied. The jacket is of a more

pliable stuff than the leggings, so as to enable him to more easily

use his hands and arms. The diver puts on his leggings, and then a

hook, attached to the end of a rope passed over a pulley, and worked

by the engine, is hooked into the ring on the top of the helmet, and

this, with the jacket, is hoisted and let down over his head. Having

worked himself into the sleeves, he is as helpless, with the weight

of his armor, as an old knight encased in iron was. The front of his

helmet has a glass door, covered with wire, in it, which is opened

for him, while his companions complete his toilet by tying his jacket

sleeves round his wrists; adjusting the iron bands of his leggings

and jacket, and screwing them firmly together; and then fitting on

his leaden anklets and girdle, screwing on the pipe through which his

supply of air is provided, and then shutting the door of his helmet,

and securely fastening it, he is ready to be cast off. In his hand the

diver carries down a slender cord, with which he signals his wants when

below. He is slowly lowered down to the bottom, ninety feet below,

where his work is pressing, since he has only the hour before and the

hour after the turn of the tide.

[Illustration: DIVER DOWN.]

While he is down those above are as intent upon his welfare as he

is himself. He who has the signal cord, holds the most responsible

position. There is a prearranged code of signals, for "more air," "pull

me up," "more tools," "pull up the bucket," and so on. His work below

has been the destruction of the heavy frame work of the vessel, and

right well has it been done; there is but little left of her but the

worm-eaten and water-logged knees and beams which formed her bottom,

and the chief task of the diver now is, with pick and shovel, to break

up the hard conglomerate of sand and gravel which has been compacted by

the action of the water and the rusting iron. The only sense the diver

has to guide him in these depths is that of feeling, for at this depth

it is as dark as midnight. The material he thus collects is brought to

the surface in a bucket and carefully looked over.

This work is done at the cost of the Frigate Hussar Company, an

incorporated company, with a capital stock divided into forty-eight

thousand shares of one hundred dollars each, corresponding to the

amount of treasure said to be in the run of the Hussar, and since 1866

it has been steadily carried on. The mass of gold has not yet been

found, but from time to time in the loads of mud and sand a gold-piece

is found. A lump of silver made of various coins, agglomerated by the

action of the water, has been brought up, having some gold coins set

in it. Cannon, cannon balls, chains, manacles, piles of gun-flints,

silver plate, pewter dishes, the ship's bell, and quantities of glass

and earthen ware, with numbers of human bones, have been rescued from

the deep. Various museums in the country have specimens of relics

brought up from this historic ship. One day a brass box was brought

up, and when opened found to be full of jewels, necklaces, ear-rings,

and pearls of great value. Being left for a moment on the deck of the

salvage schooner, it disappeared, and the second search for it has

proved more fruitless than the first.

During the Crimean war, a line of ships and frigates was sunk by

the Russians in the harbor of Sebastopol, in the passage between

forts Catharine and Alexander. When forced to leave the town, others

remaining in the harbor were sunk, so that at least 100 vessels,

representing an estimated value of between fifty and sixty millions of

dollars, were sunk. To prevent if possible the action of the sea upon

their machinery and metallic portions, these were covered with tar

or tallow. When the war was over, an American engineer, named Gowan,

went to Russia and undertook the job of raising these vessels, after

having gone down himself in a diving suit, and satisfied himself of

their condition, and that he could recover some of them entire and

others in parts. In this work use was made of an enormous pump, raising

nearly 1,000 tons of water a minute. With this, after closing as well

as could be, the port holes and other openings, another pipe for the

introduction of air was arranged, and the pump set in action. This

powerful machine emptied the vessel of water in a very short time, so

that the air flowed into it by the other pipe, and the vessel rose of

itself to the surface. An enormous chain, each link of which weighed

over two hundred pounds, was used to help lift them, when necessary, or

alone when it was found most easy to use alone.

[Illustration: CANNON, BELL AND BONES BROUGHT UP FROM THE WRECK OF THE

HUSSAR.]

[Illustration: SALVAGE OF RUSSIAN SHIPS SUNK AT SEBASTOPOL.]

A very important use to which the submarine armor is often put, is

that of enabling the diver to clean the bottom of a vessel, below

water, while she is moving. This is a great convenience, as it saves

the delay and expense of being obliged to place her in a dry dock. A

rope ladder, with rungs of wood or iron, is stretched under the ship,

passing down one side and up the other. It is thus drawn tight, and the

diver descends. A bar, tied at each end with a rope, ending in a hook

is hung by the hooks to the rungs, and gives him a seat, leaving his

hands free. He may also fill his air-tight suit with air, and thus be

partially sustained against the side of the ship. The sailors of the

U.S. ship Colorado repaired, at Cherbourg, the injuries suffered by the

monitor Miantonomoh, in five days, though the weather was rough. The

French iron-plated ram, Taureau, had her bottom scraped and entirely

cleaned of sea-weed and shells in 109 hours of labor, with a great

increase of her speed.

[Illustration: CAULKING A VESSEL.]

In Mobile Bay some of the most successful diving operations have been

carried on. About a sunken vessel there, it became necessary to sink

a row of piles, into the bed of quicksand which had gathered round

her. On trial the ordinary pile-driving machine was found incompetent

to do this. Under the strokes of the falling weight the elastic sand

rebounded, and the pile was thrown out. This unexpected difficulty was

met in a simple, but most effective way. A suction-pump was rigged up,

and the hose tied to the end of a pile; when the pile touched the

bottom the pump was set to work, and the suction bored a hole in the

sand, into which the pile fell with a rapidity that was startling. When

the pile had been sufficiently sunk, the hose was withdrawn, and the

sand settling round the pile, held it as fast as though it had been

cemented in.

During the late civil war the monitor Milwaukee was struck by a

concealed torpedo in Mobile harbor and sunk. During the war these

torpedos sunk three of the monitors in this harbor, besides several

dispatch boats, which met the same fate. The Milwaukee was sunk nearly

due east from the city, and during the continuance of hostilities an

effort was made to rescue her armament and her machinery. Her guns cost

the Government $30,000 each. A party of divers were engaged, who were

chiefly mechanics and engineers, who were exempt from military service

in the Confederacy, but who sympathised fully with its cause. The duty

was one of singular danger, since it had not only those peculiar to

submarine diving, but as she lay within range, and hostilities still

continued, the divers while below, though safe there from being hit,

were yet in danger of even a worse death, from the injury which might

be done to the air-pump above, upon which their supply of air depended,

and which was of necessity exposed.

The work below was also peculiarly arduous. The hulk was crowded with

the entangled machinery of sixteen engines, cuddies, posts, spars,

levers, hatches, stanchions, floating trunks, boxes, and the confusion

worse confounded by the awful, mysterious gloom of the water, which is

not night or darkness, but the absence of any ray of light to touch the

optic nerve. The sense of touch is the only reliance, and the life-line

is the only guide of the diver. The officers and men of the ship were

anxious for the recovery of their baggage, and offered the divers

salvage for its rescue. One of the officers was very anxious to obtain

his trunk, which was in a remote state-room, and offered fifty dollars

reward for it. The diver who undertook the task has described the

difficulties he encountered in its execution. To find the state-room

required that he should descend below the familiar turret-chamber,

through the inextricable confusion of the tangled machinery in the

engine room, groping among floating and sunken objects. By touch alone

he was to find a chest, to handle it in that thickening gloom, to carry

it, push it, move it through that labyrinth, to a point where it could

be raised, and through all this he had to carry his life-line and his

air-hose. Three times the line became entangled in the machinery, and

three times he had patiently to follow it up, find the place, and

release it. Then the door of the state-room shut when he was in it, and

round and round that little chamber he groped, in the dark, before he

could find it again. All parts of the chamber seemed the same, a smooth

slimy wall, glutinous with the jelly-like deposit of the sea-water.

The line, entangled, became, instead of a guide, a further source of

error, and the time was passing away, and life was dependent upon the

continuity of the tube. There was no chance to hasten; with tedious

and patient care he must follow the life-line, find its entanglements

and slowly loosen them, then carefully taking up the slack follow the

straightened line to the door. Nor must he forget the chest, slowly he

heaves and pushes, now at the box, now at the line, which catches on

every projecting knob, handle, peg or point of the machinery. Finally,

however, his cool-headed patience is rewarded with success. He gets the

chest to the open air and restores it to its owner; but in so doing he

has made the worst mistake of all; he has mistaken the character of the

man; he never paid, or offered to pay, the fifty dollars.

Another instance of cool determination in the unforeseen dangers

of submarine diving occurred to a diver who was engaged in the

recovery of the valuable dry dock at Pensacola Bay. In the passionate

destructiveness which was so violently manifested by the South at

the commencement of the civil war, as children in their rage destroy

their own playthings, this structure was burned to the water's edge

and sunk. Afterward a company was formed to raise it. It was built in

compartments, and this method of construction, which originally was

intended to prevent it from sinking, now served to prevent it from

floating. Each one of the small water-tight compartments, now they were

filled, kept it down. It was necessary to break into the lower side of

each of them, and allow the water to flow evenly into them.

The interior of the hull was full of these boxes. Huge beams and

cross-ties intersected each other at right angles, forming the

frame-work of this honeycombed interior. It was necessary to break

through the outside of these, and it was a most difficult and tedious

job, under water. The net-work of beams was so close that the passage

between barely admitted the diver's body. Into one of these holes the

diver crawled. The work of tearing off the casing occupied him an hour

or more, and when it was done, he thought to back out of his place.

But he found he could not. The armor about his head and shoulders,

acting like the barb of a hook, caught him; he could pass in, but he

could not pass out. In vain attempts to twist himself out he spent so

much time that the men above began to be alarmed and increased their

work at the pump. The air came surging down, and swelled up his armor,

so that he was more effectually caught than ever. He signalled for

the pump to stop. The cock at the back of his helmet, to let the air

out, was out of his reach. His only chance was to open his dress round

the wrists, where the sleeves were tied. This he set out to do, but

suddenly found himself affected by breathing over the air in his armor.

The carbonized air began to affect him, making his mind dreamy, and

inducing an intense desire to sleep. This he could overcome only by a

resolute effort of his will. Meanwhile his tugging at his wrists had

been successful; the air had escaped and lessened his bulk. With the

energy of despair he makes one more supreme effort. It is successful,

and he was drawn to the surface dazed, drowsy and only half conscious

of the peril he had undergone.

These instances, however, are exceptional, and arose only from their

peculiar conditions. At other times there is a pleasure in diving,

thus protected; and the divers consider it, as it is, the only true

way to visit the submarine world. The first sensation in descending is

the sudden, bursting roar of cascades in the ears, caused by the air

driven into the helmet from the air-pump. As the flexible hose has to

be strong enough to bear a pressure of twenty-five to fifty pounds to

the square inch, the force of the current can be estimated. The drum

of the ear yields to the strong external pressure. The mouth opens

involuntarily, the air rushes in the eustachian tube and strikes the

drum, which snaps back to its normal state with a sharp, pistol-like

crack. The strain is for a moment relieved, to be again renewed, and

again relieved by the same process.

Peering through the goggle eyes of glass arranged about his helmet,

the diver sees the curious, strange beauty of the world about him, not

as the bather sees it, blurred and indistinct, but clearly, and in its

own calm splendor. The first thought is unspeakable admiration of the

miraculous beauty of everything about him. Above him is a pure golden

canopy, with a rare glimmering lustrousness, something like the soft,

dewy, effulgence which is seen when the sun-light breaks through an

afternoon's shower. The soft delicacy of that pure straw yellow, which

pervades everything, is crossed and lighted by tints and glimmering

hues of accidental and complementary colors, which are indescribably

elegant. The floor of the sea rises like a golden carpet inclining

gently to the surface, in appearance. This is perhaps the first thing

which calls attention to the fact that he is in a new medium, and that

the familiar light comes altered in its nature. Looking horizontally

around him a new and beautiful wealth of color is seen. It is at

first a delicate blue, but it soon deepens into a rich violet. As the

eye dwells upon it, it darkens to indigo, and deepens into a vivid

blue-black, solid and adamantine. It is all around him, he seems

encased in the solid masonry of the waters.

The transfiguration of familiar objects is curiously wonderful. The

hulk of the ship seems encrusted with emerald and flossy mosses, and

glittering with diamonds, gold, and all manner of precious stones. A

pile of brick becomes a huge hill of crystal, decked with jewels. A

ladder becomes silver, crusted with emeralds. The spars, the masts,

and yards, whenever a point or angle catches the light, multiply the

reflected splendor. Every shadow gives the impression of a bottomless

depth. The sea seems loop-holed with cavities that pierce the solid

globe. There is no gradation of perspective.

In the mouth of a great river, the light is affected with the various

densities of the different media. At the proper depth, the line is

clearly seen where these meet, sharply defined. The salt water sinks

to the bottom, and over it flows the fresh water of the river. If this

last contains much sediment, it obscures the depths like a cloud. In

freshets, this becomes a total darkness. Even on a clear, sunshiny day,

and in clear water, the shadow of any object in the sea is unlike any

shade in the atmosphere. It throws a black curtain over what it covers,

entirely obscuring it. Standing within the shadow, is like looking out

from a dark tunnel; around, everything is dark, while things in the

distance can be seen clearly.

The cabin of a sunken vessel is dark beyond any ordinary conception

of darkness, nor do its windows, though they may be seen, alter this

darkness. The distrust of his sight grows stronger in the diver with

his experience. The eye is accustomed to judge of form, proportion and

distance, in a thinner medium, and is continually deceived in a denser

one, until experience has taught the diver how to estimate rightly the

different impressions. Perhaps the most striking illustration of this

difference, the diver finds in trying to drive a nail under water. If

depending on sight, untaught by experience, he is sure to fail. He

will instinctively strike just where the nail is not. For this reason,

even the electric light below the water, does not furnish all that is

wanting: the familiar medium of the upper world is wanting, and this

the electric light does not supply. By practice, therefore, the diver

learns to depend entirely upon the sense of touch, and with experience,

becomes able to engage in works under the sea which require labor and

skill, with the easy assurance of a blind man who finds his way with

confidence along a crowded thoroughfare.

The conveyance of sound through water is so difficult, that under the

sea has been called the world of silence. But this is not strictly

correct. Some fish have the power of making sounds, and they all have

simple and imperfect auditory organs. To the diver, however, save for

the cascade of air through his air-pipe, the sea is silent. No shout,

or word from above, reaches him. A cannon shot is dull, and muffled,

and if distant, he does not hear it. A sharp, quick sound, especially

if produced by striking something on the water, can be heard. The sound

of driving a nail on the ship above, or a sharp tap on the diving-bell

below, can be heard. Conversation between two divers, below the water,

is, by the ordinary methods, impossible, but by touching their helmets

together, they can converse, the vibrations being transmitted through

the metallic substance, and to the air inside.

The diver has also a new revelation of the character and beauty of fish

and other inhabitants of the sea when he thus meets them at home. The

exudations covering them, is there a brilliant varnish. Their lustrous

colors are beautiful in the fish market, but when in their native

element, they are seen full of life, nimble and playful, they appear

to be the most graceful creatures, and cannot be observed unmoved.

The eyes of the fish are visible as far as the fish can be seen, and

its whole animate existence is expressed in them. In the minnow and

sun-perch there is a fearless familiarity, a social and frank intimacy

with their novel visitor which surprises him. They crowd around him,

curiously touch him, and regard all his movements with a frank, lively

interest. Nor are the larger fish shy. The sheep-head, red and black

groper, sea-trout and other well-known fish receive the diver with

fearless curiosity. In their large, round eyes he reads evidence of

intelligence and curious wonder, which at times is startling from its

entirely human expression. No faithful dog, or pet animal could express

a franker interest in its eyes.

Their curiosity is expressed, not only in their eyes, but in their

movements. They share with mankind the desire to touch what is novel

to them. A diver was approached by a large catfish, who came up and

touched him with its cold nose. The man involuntarily threw up his

hand, and struck the palm on the fish's sharp fin. There was an instant

struggle before the fish wrenched itself free, and then it only swam

off a short distance, staring with its black eyes at the intruder as if

it wished to ask who he was, and what he wanted.

A long stay by the diver in a single place enables him to test the

intelligence of the fishes who visit him. A diver, whose occupation

kept him in one spot, was continually surrounded, while at work, by a

school of gropers, averaging about a foot in length. Having identified

one of them who had suffered from an accident, he noticed that it was

a daily visitor. After they had satisfied their first curiosity, the

gropers apparently decided that their novel visitor was harmless and

clumsy, but useful in assisting them to get their food. They feed on

crustacea and marine worms, which hide under the rocks, on mosses, and

other objects on the bottom. In raising anything from the mud a dozen

of these fish would thrust their heads into the hole for their food,

before the diver had removed his hand. They followed him about, eying

his motions, dashing in advance, or around in sport, and evidently

displaying a liking for their new friend. Pleased with such unexpected

familiarity, the diver brought food with him, on his return, and fed

them from his hand as one feeds a flock of chickens. Sometimes two

would get hold of the same morsel, and then would result a trial of

strength, accompanied with much flashing and glitter of shining scales.

But no matter how called off, their interest and curiosity remained

with the diver. They would return, pushing their noses about him, with

an apparent desire to caress him, and bob down into the treasures of

worm and shell fish his labor disclosed. He became convinced that they

were sportive, and indulged in play for the fun of it. This curious

intimacy was continued for weeks: that they knew and expected the diver

at his usual hour, was a conclusion he could not deny, since they,

unless driven away by some other fish who preyed on them, were always

in regular attendance during his hours of work.

The depth at which men can descend in a suit of submarine armor, has

been tested by experiment with the following results: The diver can

breathe, and his organs may retain their normal condition, and he

preserve his presence of mind, to a depth of 130 feet, but when he

exceeds this depth by ten or twenty feet, the external pressure causes

physiological effects on his organs, independent of his will. One

hundred and thirty feet is therefore the depth which experiment has

shown to be the greatest at which any prolonged submarine work can be

performed. Within this limit, security to life is perfectly compatible

with an attempt to recover any ship or sunken treasure which will pay

the expenses.

[Illustration: THE NORTHERN DIVER.]

[Illustration: STAR FISH.]

CHAPTER LV.

THE OCEAN AS A FIELD--THE VARIOUS CROPS IT YIELDS--THE

SPONGE--TRANSPLANTING SPONGES--CORAL FISHING--THE DISCOVERY OF THE

NATURE OF CORAL--ITS RECEPTION BY NATURALISTS--OYSTER FISHERY--THE

OYSTER A SOCIAL ANIMAL--THE YOUNG OYSTER--OYSTER CULTURE--DREDGING

FOR OYSTERS--THE AMERICAN OYSTER FISHERY--PEARL OYSTERS--PEARL

FISHERIES--THEIR VALUE--SHARK FISHING--CUTTLE FISHING.

Though the ocean may appear to be a barren waste of water to the

farmer, it has by no means this aspect to the fisherman. To him it is

the field in which he labors, and the crops he gathers from it are as

diversified in character, and as important for satisfying the demands

of the world, as those which the farmer raises. And further than this,

the labors of the fisherman have helped to increase our knowledge

of the composition and character of the sea, of the habits of the

organized beings found in it, as the labors of the farmer have done the

same thing for the soil, and the products which it bears.

In considering the various fisheries of the ocean, naturally that of

the sponge, as one of the lowest forms of animal life, comes first

in order. Science is hardly yet decided in its views concerning the

organization and development of these obscure and complex creatures,

and despite the investigations of modern naturalists, their position

in the scale of animal life is still problematical, and their internal

organization is still known only imperfectly. Dr. Bowerbank in his work

on British Sponges, published in 1866, describes nearly 200 species,

but this number by no means includes them all. They are of all sizes,

and of all possible diversity of shape. At present the chief sponge

fishing is carried on in the Grecian Archipelago and on the coast of

Syria. The boat's crew consists of four or five men who, between June

and October, seek the sponges under the cliffs and ledges of the rocks.

Those obtained in shallow waters are considered inferior; the best

are obtained at a depth ranging from twenty to thirty fathoms. The

poorer sponges are taken from the shallow waters with harpoons, but

are injured by this method of capture. The others are taken by hand.

The diver descends to the bottom, and can stay there from a minute to

a minute and a half, and carefully detaches the sponges from the rocks

with a knife.

[Illustration: SPONGE FISHING.]

Sponge fishing is also carried on in other parts of the Mediterranean,

but without any foresight, so that the sponges will, in time, be

exhausted. To guard against this contingency, it has been proposed to

transplant and acclimatize the sponges upon the coast of France and

Algeria, where the composition of the water is the same as that upon

the coast of Syria, and where the difference of temperature would prove

no impediment to their flourishing. In fact, the farther north the

sponges grow, the finer and compacter are their tissue. By use of a

submarine boat, supplied with air by a force-pump, it was proposed to

collect such specimens, as were best suited for the purpose, removing

the rocks with them; and also to collect the young sponges, during

the months of April and May, shortly after they have commenced their

independent existence, and before they have anchored themselves to some

permanent abode, and transport them to a favorable locality. The French

Acclimatization Society, in 1862, gave a commission to M. Lamiral, who

had passed years in the study of sponges, and who has published an

excellent work upon their habits, to collect the germs, and transplant

them to the coast of France. Though up to this time, the attempts

which have been made to do this have not met with perfect success,

yet the results already gained, show that with further experience,

perseverance will attain its desired end.

Sponges are also fished for in the Red Sea. On the Bahama Banks, and

in the Gulf of Mexico, sponges are taken by Mexicans, Spaniards, and

Americans, in shallow water. A mast is sunk at the side of the boat,

and the diver descends this; gathering the sponges found near the

bottom of the pole.

Next in order of fishing in deep sea, comes coral fishing. The ancients

believed that the coral was a plant, but it is now known that the coral

is constructed by a family of polyps living together, and constituting

a polypidom. It abounds in the waters of the Mediterranean where upon

rocky beds like a submarine forest, the red coral, the most brilliant

and celebrated of all coral, grows at various depths, rarely less than

five fathoms, or more than one hundred. Each polypidom resembles a red

leafless shrub, bearing delicate little star-shaped white flowers.

The branches and trunk of this little tree, are the parts common to

the family, the flowers are the individual polyps. The branches show

a soft, reticulated crust, or bark, full of small holes, which are

the cells of the polyps and they are permeated by a milky juice.

Beneath the crust is the coral, hard as marble, and remarkable for

its striped surface, its red color, and the fine polish it will take.

The fishing is chiefly carried on by sailors from Genoa, Leghorn, and

Naples, and is a very laborious occupation. The barks engaged in it

are small, ranging from ten to fifteen tons. The coral is fished with

an apparatus called an engine, consisting of cross bars of wood tied

and bolted together at the centre. Below this is a large stone with

nets or bags attached. Each engine has a number of these nets, and

when let down into the sea, they spread out. The coral grows on the

tops of the rocks, and the object is to scrape it off into these bags.

By experience, the fishermen come to learn the favorable places for

capturing the coral. When such a spot is reached, the engine is thrown

overboard, and as soon as it reaches the bottom, the speed of the

vessel is slackened, and the capstan, for hauling it up is manned. In

this way the engine is dragged over the bottom, becomes entangled with

the rocks, and the nets catch the coral. Sometimes rocks of large size

are brought on board.

[Illustration: CORAL FISHING OFF THE COAST OF SICILY.]

Up to the last century the opinion of antiquity that coral was a

vegetable product was accepted by all naturalists, though no one

attempted an explanation how it grew. This opinion was confirmed

when the Count de Marsigli announced his discovery of the flowers

of the coral plant, and this announcement was considered the final

proof of the vegetable origin of coral. In 1723, however, Jean André

de Peyssonnel, a pupil of Marsigli's, and a student of medicine and

natural history at Paris, was sent to Marseilles, his native place, by

the Academy of Sciences, to study the coral in its living condition,

and continued his studies on the northern coast of Africa, where he was

sent by the French Government.

He soon discovered, by a series of careful and delicate experiments,

that the coral was an animal product, and that the supposed flowers

were the expanded little animals who build up the coral, and who

form one of the lowest forms in the series of organized life on the

globe. Peyssonnel says: "I put the flower of the coral in vases full

of sea-water, and I saw that what had been taken for a flower of this

pretended plant was, in truth, only an animal, like a sea nettle or

polyp, I had the pleasure of seeing the feet of the creature move

about, and having put the vase full of water, which contained the

coral, in a gentle heat over the fire, all the small animals seemed to

expand. The polyp extended his feet, and showed what M. de Marsigli and

I had taken for the petals of a flower. The calyx of this pretended

flower, in short, was the animal, which advanced and issued out of his

cell."

This discovery was received by the naturalists of the time with

contempt and ridicule; so much so that Peyssonnel, disgusted, retired

into obscurity, leaving his manuscripts in the Museum of Natural

History in Paris, where they still remain, unpublished. Before his

death, however, in his retirement, he had the satisfaction of seeing

his views accepted, and some of those who had most ridiculed them on

their first presentation, become the most enthusiastic and effective

advocates of them.

Besides the coral fished for as we have described, the coral polyp

constructs islands, and carries on labors which very materially affect

the condition of the ocean and the form of the land, concerning which

we will have occasion to speak else where.

Another fishery which may be fitly mentioned here is the oyster

fishery. There are several varieties of the oyster. Those usually

eaten in France are the common oyster (_Ostrea edulis_), and the

horse foot oyster (_O. hippopus_). The oysters of the Mediterranean

are the rose-colored oyster (_O. rosacea_), and the milky oyster

(_O. lacteola_), with the small and little known crested oyster (_O.

instata_), and the folded oyster (_O. plicata_). On the Corsican coast

the oysters are called foliate (_Olamleosa_). In France the Cancale and

Ostend oysters are chiefly noted. When the first of these has been fed

for some time in the parks or beds, and has assumed a greenish color,

it is known as the Narenna oyster, from the name of the park in the Bay

of Scudre.

Natural oyster beds occur in every sea where the coast affords the

proper conditions with a shelving and not too rocky bottom. In France

the beds of Rochelle, Rochefort, the isles of Re and Oleron, the bay of

St. Brieuc, Cancale and Granville are the most famous. On the Danish

coast there are forty or fifty beds on the west coast of Schleswig, the

best lying between the small islands of Sylt, Amzon, Fohr, Pelworm and

Nordstrand. The oyster beds of England extend from Gravesend, in the

estuary of the Thames and midway along the Kentish coast, and in the

estuary of the Coluc and other small streams on the Essex coast. The

Frith of Forth is also famous for its oyster beds. The product of these

beds has diminished in recent times; according to some authorities from

too improvident and persistent dredging, but Mr. Buckland attributes

the decrease in the yield to sudden changes in the temperature at the

critical period when the spat, or young oysters, are just formed,

rather than to over-dredging.

The United States is more abundantly furnished with oyster beds than

any other country. They extend along almost the entire coast. Those

of Virginia are estimated to comprise nearly 2,000,000 of acres. The

sea-board of Georgia is famous for its immense supplies, while the

whole 115 miles of Long Island is occupied with them.

The oyster is one of the lowest forms of the mollusk. Its mouth opens

right into its stomach, which is surrounded by its liver, permeated by

a yellow liquid, the bile. It may thus be said that they have their

stomach and intestine in the liver, the mouth upon the stomach and

the opening of the intestine in the back. They have a heart which

circulates a colorless blood. They breathe at the bottom of sea, having

an organ which separates from the water the small amount of oxygen it

contains. Their respiratory organs are two pair of gills, or branchiae,

curved and formed by a double series of very delicate canals placed

close together, resembling the teeth of a fine comb. This apparatus,

like the mouth, is hidden under the fold of the mantle. They have no

brain, but a ganglion of nerves, a whitish substance situated near

their mouths. From this originate the nerves, which branch off to

the region of the liver and stomach; here they re-unite in a second

ganglion which is placed behind the liver. The nerves of the mouth and

its tentacles originate in the first ganglion, those of the respiratory

organs in the second. It has no sense of sight or hearing, the sense

of touch is all that it has, and this resides in the tentacles of the

mouth. Its taste, if it has any, must be very feeble. Its powers are

most limited; imprisoned forever in its shell, it has no power of

locomotion, and being without any distinction of sex, its wants or

desires must be very few.

Still the oyster appears to be a social animal, and loves to gather

together in great numbers, so that despite their apparently low grade

of intelligence, we cannot say that they have not sympathetic feelings.

Uniting as they do both sexes in each individual, the oyster's organs

of reproduction are visible only at the period they are in use. Their

young are produced from eggs, which are produced between the folds of

their mantle, and in the midst of their respiratory organs. The number

of these eggs is prodigious. According to some authorities the number

produced by a single oyster reaches 10,000,000. Naturalists, however,

at present consider this estimate too high, and limit it at about

2,000,000 for each individual. The eggs are yellow, are hatched in

the mantle, and when the embryo leaves its parent it can breathe. The

spawning time is from June to September. The oyster differs from most

shell-fish in that when the young leave the parent they can support

themselves; ordinarily the shell-fish throw out their eggs committing

them to chance for their protection. In the spawning season an oyster

bed is the most interesting place; each oyster is throwing out a whole

array of descendants, filling the water with a cloud of living dust, so

that the sea is clouded with the _spat_ as it is called.

Under the microscope the spat is seen to be provided with a shell, and

with vibratory cils which enable it to swim. When the current carries

it against any stationary body, it immediately adheres to it, the cils

disappear and the young oyster, becoming fixed, commences to develop.

It takes three years for them to attain their full size. While the spat

is swimming about, before becoming fixed, it is said that if anything

alarm them they seek refuge again within the maternal shell. Such

prolific production would soon stock the whole sea, were it not for

the fact that the young are feeble swimmers, and that millions of them

are annually swept away and lost by the current, or fall a prey to the

numerous animals which feed upon them.

[Illustration: FAGGOTS SUSPENDED TO RECEIVE OYSTER SPAT.]

The favorite place for the oyster is on the shore, in water not very

deep and free from currents; here they are very prolific. The idea

of breeding them is as old as the Romans, and to-day the planting of

oyster beds, and fishing from them gives occupation to thousands. Some

of the oyster beds of France which were nearly exhausted twenty years

ago have been made again very productive by attention and care. The

plan of suspending faggots upon which the spawn should adhere, has been

found very successful. From the Bay of St. Brieuco two faggots, taken

up at random, were found to contain about 20,000 young oysters, ranging

in size from one to three inches in diameter. Their exhibition excited

astonishment; they looked like leafy branches, each leaf being a living

oyster.

In the island of Re oyster farming is in full operation. It is

calculated that the beds contain 600 oysters to the square yard, the

majority of marketable condition, making a total of 378,000,000 in

these beds alone. In the United States, the productiveness of the beds

is almost inestimable, and yet, despite the immense number of oysters

yearly brought to market, the demand continually outstrips the supply.

The modern methods of canning have opened a so much wider market, the

whole inland country being thus opened to the supply, it is almost

impossible to overstock the market.

The peculiar green color of the oysters in France, which have been

planted in beds, or claries, and which is thought to make their flavor

better, arises from some cause, concerning which naturalists differ. It

seems, however, to be some kind of disease, arising from the condition

of the water in these beds.

Oyster fishing is pursued in different ways, in different countries.

Around Minorca the diver descends with a hammer in his hand to knock

the oysters from the rocks, and brings up generally a dozen or more

with each descent. On the English and French coasts the dredge is used.

This method is very destructive, since it tears the large and small

together from their native spot, and buries many also in the mud.

Oysters, as we know them, are of convenient size for making a mouthful;

the largest may have to be separated into parts before a delicate

person can swallow them, but it is only the largest which have to be

submitted to this process, and your real oyster lover has too tender

a regard for his favorite mollusk to so maltreat it. On the coast of

Coromandel, however, the oysters grow to be as big as soup plates, and

larger, the shells of some of them measuring almost two feet across.

These shells are frequently used in the Catholic churches of Europe

to contain the holy water, placed near the door for the use of the

faithful, and are quite as large as big hand basins. A half-dozen

such oysters on the half-shell, would make a feast even for the most

voracious oyster eater.

The oyster beds on the coast of the United States are generally in so

shallow water that they can be readily reached with rakes furnished

with handles fifteen to twenty feet long. A pair of these are mounted

like a gigantic pair of scissors, the pivot being nearer the rakes than

the other end of the poles. Taking an end of one of these poles in

each hand, the fisherman sinks it to the bottom, opens it, and moves

the handles until a supply of oysters is scraped up between the rakes.

Then pulling up the instrument, he empties the oysters into the bottom

of his boat, and uses his rakes again. Millions of dollar's worth of

oysters is thus fished every year, and fleets of small sailing ships

are constantly engaged in the traffic along the coast.

To an European, the American oyster at first appears enormous, compared

with those he is accustomed to. Their flavor also is different; they

have not a peculiar coppery taste to which he is accustomed, and which

most Americans in Europe dislike at first. A little practice, however,

soon enables the European to recognize the merit of our oysters, and

they become very fond of them. Both Thackaray and Dickens, during their

visits to this country, were loud in their praises of the excellence of

the oysters.

[Illustration: DREDGING FOR OYSTERS.]

The pearl oyster (_Meleagrina margaritifera_), is one of the most

interesting and valuable of the varieties of the oyster. The pearls

are formed of the same substance which lines the shells of so many

shell-fish, and which as nacre, or mother of pearl, is so well known

for its iridescent beauty. It is deposited by the animal in very thin

layers, and it is the interference of the rays of light in their

reflection from this varying surface which produces the phenomena

of iridescence. It is easy for any one to satisfy himself of this.

Press a piece of wax upon a piece of mother of pearl, or any other

iridescent body, and the surface of the wax when removed will itself

appear iridescent. It has reproduced the fine lines of the iridescent

body. Soap bubbles, being formed of films of the soapy water, attain

their brilliant coloring from the same cause. Brass buttons were once

fashionable which showed the same colors. They were made by having

the polished surface ruled with microscopically fine lines. It was,

however, so costly to make them, they cost a guinea each, that they

were soon abandoned.

[Illustration: A SHELL CONTAINING CHINESE PEARLS.]

Pearls are the secretion of nacreous material, spread, it is supposed,

over some foreign substance which has been introduced into the shell,

under the mantle of the mollusk. When the pearls are deposited on the

shells, they generally adhere to it, when they originate in the body of

the animal they are free. As a rule some foreign body is found in their

centre which served as the nucleus for the deposit of the secretion. It

may be a sterile egg of the animal itself, or of a fish, or a grain of

sand, which was washed in.

The Chinese and other nations of the East, take advantage of this fact

in natural history, for purposes of profit. They take up the living

mollusk, and opening the shell introduce into it glass beads, or small

metallic casts, representing some one of their gods, or other objects,

and then returning the mollusk to the water, in time the animal has

coated them with mother of pearl. The illustration shows a shell into

which small beads have been introduced, and converted into pearls,

together with a dozen small figures of Buddha, the Hindoo divinity,

seated, which have been covered over with nacre also.

The pearls are at first very small, but they increase in size with the

yearly deposit of a layer on the original centre. Sometimes they are

diaphanous, semi-transparent, lustrous and more or less irridescent, at

other times, however, they prove to be dull, obscure, and smoky even.

The pearl fisheries are carried on in various places. They are found

in the Persian Gulf, on the coast of Arabia, in Japan, on the shores

of California, and in the islands of the South Sea. The most important

ones are, however, those of the Bay of Bengal, the coast of Ceylon,

and elsewhere in the Indian Ocean. Previous to 1795 most of the Indian

fisheries were in the hands of the Dutch, but in 1802, after the treaty

of Amiens, they passed into the possession of the English. Sometimes

the Ceylon fisheries are undertaken by the Government, while at others

they are sold to a contractor. In either case, before they begin, the

coast is inspected by a Government official, in order to see that the

banks are not exhausted by too frequent fishing.

The chief supply of mother of pearl is obtained from the fishery in the

Gulf of Manaar, a large bay on the northeast of the island of Ceylon.

It commences in February or March, and lasts thirty days. Some two

hundred and fifty boats are engaged in it, coming for the purpose from

all parts of the coast. At ten at night a gun gives the signal for them

to set sail, and reaching the ground they commence as soon as the dawn

affords sufficient light. Each boat carries ten rowers and ten divers,

five of whom rest while the others are engaged. A negro to attend to

the odd jobs and chores accompanies each boat.

[Illustration: PEARL FISHER IN DANGER.]