RECOVERY OF THE LOST CABLE.
Though the Great Eastern was still lying in the little harbor of Heart's
Content, casting her mighty shadow on its tranquil waters, she was not
"content" with her amazing victory, but sighed for another greater
still. Though she had done enough to be laid up for a year, still she
had one more test of her prowess--to recover the cable of 1865, which
had been lost in the middle of the Atlantic. So eager were all for this
second trial of their strength, that in less than five days two of the
ships--the Albany and the Terrible--the vanguard of the telegraphic
fleet, were on their way back to mid-ocean. Though it was only Friday,
the 27th of July, that they reached land, they left early Wednesday
morning, the first day of August. The Great Eastern was detained a week
longer. She had to lay in immense supplies of coal. Anticipating this
want, six ships had been despatched from Cardiff, in Wales, weeks
before, to await the arrival of the fleet. One of these foundered at
sea; the others arrived out safely, and hardly had the Great Eastern
cast anchor before they were alongside, ready to fill her bunkers. So
ample was the provision, that, when she went to sea a few days after,
she had nearly eight thousand tons of coal on board.
At the same time she had to receive some six hundred miles of the cable
of 1865, which had been shipped from England in the Medway. The latter
was now brought alongside, and the whole was transferred into the main
tank of the Great Eastern, from which it was to be paid out in case the
lost end were recovered.
At length all these preparations were completed, and on Thursday, the
9th of August, the Great Eastern and the Medway put to sea. The Governor
of Newfoundland, who had come around from St. John's and been received
with the honors due his rank, accompanied them in the Lily down the
broad expanse of Trinity Bay, and then bore away for St. John's while
the Great Eastern and Medway kept on their course to join their
companions in the middle of the Atlantic. They had a little over six
hundred miles to run to the "fishing ground," and made it in three days.
On Sunday noon they came in sight of the appointed rendezvous, and soon
with glasses made out the Albany and the Terrible, which had arrived a
week before and placed buoys to mark the line of the cable, and then,
like giant sea-birds with folded wings, sat watching their prey. The sea
was running high, so that boats could not come off, but the Albany
signalled that she had not toiled for nothing; that she had once hooked
the cable, but lost it in rough weather. The history of this first
attempt, though brief, was cheering.
When the Albany left Heart's Content, Captain Moriarty went in her. He
had been in the Great Eastern the year before, and saw where the cable
went down, and had had his eye on the spot ever since. He claimed, with
Captain Anderson, that he could go straight to it and place the ship
within half a mile of where it disappeared. At this old sailors shook
their heads, and said, "They'd like to see him do it;" "No man could
come within two or three miles of any given place in the ocean." Yet the
result proved the exactness of his observations. With unerring eye he
went straight to the spot, and set his buoys as exactly as a fisherman
sets his nets.
In the Albany, also, had gone Mr. Temple, of Mr. Canning's staff. The
ship had been fitted up with a complete set of buoys and apparatus for
grappling; and he was full of ambition to recover the cable before the
Great Eastern should come up. In this he had nearly proved successful.
They had caught it once, and raised it a few hundred fathoms from the
bottom, and buoyed it, but rough weather came on and tore away the buoy,
so that the cable went down again, carrying two miles of rope.
This was a disappointment, but still, as their first attempt was only a
"feeler," the result was encouraging. It showed that they had found the
right place; that the cable was there; that it had not run away nor been
floated off by those under-currents that exist in the imagination of
some wise men of the sea; nor that it was so imbedded in the ooze of the
deep as to be beyond reach or recovery. All this was cheering, but as it
promised to be a more difficult job than they had supposed, they were
glad when the Great Eastern hove in sight that Sunday noon.
The next morning Captain Moriarty and Mr. Temple came on board, and
after reporting their experience, the chief officers of the Expedition
held a council of war before opening the campaign. The fleet was all
together, the weather was favorable, and it was determined at once to
proceed to business.
As the attempt is now to be renewed on a grand scale, the reader may
wish some further details of the means employed to insure success. As
nothing in this whole enterprise has excited such astonishment, nothing
merits a more careful history. When it was first proposed to drag the
bottom of the Atlantic for a cable lost in waters two and a half miles
deep, the project was so daring that it seemed to be almost a war of the
Titans upon the gods. Yet never was anything undertaken less in the
spirit of reckless desperation. The cable was recovered, as a city is
taken by siege--by slow approaches, and the sure and inevitable result
of mathematical calculation. Every point was studied beforehand--the
position of the broken end, the depth of the ocean, the length of rope
needed to reach the bottom, and the strength required to lift the
enormous weight. To find the place was a simple question of nautical
astronomy--a calculation of latitude and longitude. It seemed
providential that, when the cable broke on the second of August, 1865,
it was a few minutes after noon; the sun was shining brightly, and they
had just taken a perfect observation. This made it much easier to go
back to the place again. The waters were very deep, but that they could
touch bottom, and even grapple the cable, was proved by the experiments
of the year before. But could any power be applied which should lift it
without breaking, and bring it safely on board? This was a simple
question of mechanics. Prof. Thomson had made a calculation that in
raising the cable from a depth of two and a half miles, there would be
about ten miles of its length suspended in the water. Of course, it was
a very nice matter to graduate the strain so as not to break the cable.
For this it had been suggested that two or three ships should grapple it
at once, and lifting it together, ease the strain on any one point--a
method of meeting the danger that was finally adopted with success.
With such preparations, let us see how all this science and seamanship
and engineering are applied. The ships are now all together in the
middle of the Atlantic. The first point is achieved. They have found
the place where the broken cable lies--they have laid their hands on the
bottom of the ocean and "felt of it," and know that it is there. The
next thing is to draw a line over it, to mark its course, for in fogs
and dark nights it cannot be traced by observations. The watery line is
therefore marked by a series of buoys a few miles apart, which are held
in position by heavy mushroom-anchors, let down to the bottom by a huge
buoy-rope, which is fastened at the top by a heavy chain. Each buoy is
numbered, and has on the top a long staff with a flag, and a black ball
over it, which can be seen at a distance. Thus the ships, ranging around
in a circuit of many miles, can keep in sight this chain of sentinels.
The buoy which marks the spot where they wish to grapple has also a
lantern placed upon it at night, which gleams afar upon the ocean.
Having thus fixed their bearings, the Great Eastern stands off, north or
south according to the wind or current, three or four miles from where
the cable lies, and then, casting over the grapnel, drifts slowly down
upon the line, as ships going into action reef their sails, and drift
under the enemy's guns.
The "fishing-tackle" is on a gigantic scale. The "hooks," or grapnels,
are huge weapons armed with teeth, like Titanic harpoons to be plunged
into this submarine monster. The "fishing-line" is a rope six and a
half inches round, and made of twisted hemp and iron, consisting of
forty-nine galvanized wires, each bound with manilla, the whole capable
of bearing a strain of thirty tons. Of this heavy rope there are twenty
miles on board the ships, the Albany carrying five, and the Great
Eastern and the Medway seven and a half miles each. Of course it is not
the easiest thing in the world to handle such a rope. But it is paid out
by machinery, passing over a drum; and the engine works so smoothly,
that it runs out as easily as ever a fisherman's line was reeled off
into the sea. As it goes out freely, the strain increases every moment.
The rope is so ponderous, that the weight mounts up very fast, so that
by the time it is two thousand fathoms down, the strain is equal to six
or seven tons. The tension of course is very great, and not unattended
with danger. What if the rope should break? If it should snap on board,
it would go into the sea like a cannon-shot. Such was the tension on the
long line, that once when the splice between the grapnel-rope and the
buoy-rope "drew," the end passed along the wheels with terrific
velocity, and flying in the air over the bow, plunged into the sea. But
the rope is well made, and holds firmly an enormous weight. It takes
about two hours for the grapnel to reach the bottom, but they can tell
when it strikes. The strain eases up, and then, as the ship drifts, it
is easy to see that it is not dragging through the water, but over the
ground. "I often went to the bow," says Mr. Field, "and sat on the
rope, and could tell by the quiver that the grapnel was dragging on the
bottom two miles under us."
And thus, with its fishing line set, the great ship moves slowly down
over where the cable lies. As the grapnel drags on the bottom, one of
the engineer's staff stands at the dynamometer to watch for the moment
of increasing strain. A few hours pass, and the index rises to eight,
ten, or twelve tons, sure token that there is something at the end of
the line--it may be the lost cable, or a sunken mast or spar, the
fragment of a wreck that went down in a storm that swept the Atlantic a
hundred years ago. And now the engine is set in motion to haul in. As
the rope comes up, it passes over a five-foot drum, every revolution
bringing up three fathoms. Thus it takes some hours to haul in over two
miles' length, perhaps at last to find nothing at the end!
Success in hooking the cable depends on the accuracy of their
observations. These were sometimes verified in a remarkable manner. When
the nights were very dark and thick with fog, so that they could not see
the stars above nor their lights on the ocean, they had to go almost by
the sense of feeling. Yet so exactly had they taken their bearings, that
they could almost grope over the ground with their hands. A singular
proof of this was given one night, when, just as the line began to
quiver, showing that the cable had been hooked, one of the buoys--which
had not been seen in the darkness--thumped against the side of the ship.
So exactly had it been placed over the prescribed line, that the ship
struck the buoy just as the grapnel struck the cable! The accident,
which startled them at first, when it occurred in the gloom of night,
furnished the strongest proof of the accuracy of their observations; and
the officers were very proud of it, as they well might be, as a victory
in nautical astronomy!
These different experiments revealed some secrets of the ocean. Its
bottom proved to be generally ooze, a soft slime. When the rope went
down, one or two hundred fathoms at the end would trail on the sea
floor; and when it came up, this was found coated with mud, "very fine
and soft like putty, and full of minute shells." But it was not _all_
ooze at the bottom of the sea, even on this telegraphic plateau. There
were hidden rocks--perhaps not cliffs and ledges, but at least scattered
boulders, lying on that mighty plain. Sometimes the strain on the
dynamometer would suddenly go up three or four tons, and then back
again, as if the grapnel had been caught and broken away. Once it came
up with two of its hooks bent, as if it had come in contact with a huge
rock. At one time it brought up in the mud a small stone half the size
of an almond; and at another a fragment as large as a brick. This was a
piece of granite.
Friday, August 17th, was a memorable day in the expedition, for the
cable was not only caught, but brought to the surface, where it was in
full sight of the whole ship, and yet finally escaped. The day before
the line had been cast over, at about two o'clock, and struck the ground
a little before five. After dragging a couple of hours, the increasing
strain showed that they had grappled the prize, and they began to haul
in, but soon ceased, and held on till morning. Then the engine was set
in motion again, and slowly but steadily the ponderous rope came up from
the deep. By half-past ten o'clock, Friday morning, twenty-three hundred
fathoms had come on board, and but fifteen or twenty remained. Then was
the critical moment, and they paused before giving a last pull. Such was
the eagerness of all, that the diver of the ship, Clark, begged to be
allowed to plunge down twenty fathoms, to lay his hand on the prize, and
be sure that it was there. But patience yet a few minutes! A few more
strokes of the engine, and the sea-serpent shows himself--a long black
snake with a white belly. "On the appearance of the cable," says Deane,
in his Diary of the Expedition, "we were all struck with the fact that
one half of it was covered with ooze, staining it a muddy white, while
the other half was in just the state in which it left the tank, with its
tarred surface and strands unchanged, which showed that it lay in the
sand only half embedded. The strain on the cable gave it a twist, and
it looked as if it had been painted spirally black and white. This
disposes of the oft-repeated assertion, that we should not be able to
pull it up from the bottom, because it would be embedded in the ooze."
The appearance of the cable woke a tremendous hurrah from all on board.
They cheered as English sailors are apt to cheer when the flag of an
enemy is struck in battle. But their exultation came too soon. The
strain on the cable was already mounting up to a dangerous point. Capt.
Anderson and Mr. Canning were standing on the bow, and saw that the
strands were going. They hastened men to its relief, but it was too
late. Before they could put stoppers on it to hold it, it broke close to
the grapnel, and sunk to the bottom. It had been in sight but just five
minutes, and was gone. Instantly the feeling of exultation was turned to
one of disappointment, and almost of rage, at the treacherous monster,
that lifted up its snaky head from the sea, as if to mock its captors,
and instantly dived to the silence and darkness below.
It was a cruel disappointment. Yet when they came to think soberly,
there was no cause for despair, but rather for new confidence and hope.
They had proved what they could do. But this detained them in the middle
of the Atlantic for two weeks more.
It were idle to relate all the attempts of those two weeks. Every day
brought its excitement. Whenever the grapnel caught, there was a
suspense of many hours till it was brought on board. Several times they
seemed on the point of success. Two days after that fatal Friday, on
Sunday, August 19th, they caught the cable again, and brought it up
within a thousand fathoms of the ship, and buoyed it. But Monday and
Tuesday were too rough for work, and all their labor was in vain. Thus
it was a constant battle with the elements. Sometimes the wind blew
fiercely and drove them off their course. Sometimes the buoys broke
adrift and had to be pursued and taken. Once or twice the boatswain's
mate--a brave fellow, by the name of Thornton--was lowered in ropes over
the bow of the ship and let down astride of a buoy; and though it spun
round with him like a top, and his life was in danger, he held on and
fastened a chain to it, by which it was swung on board.
The continued bad weather was the chief obstacle to success. Engineers
had often grappled for cables in the North Sea and the Mediterranean;
but there they could look for at least a few days when the sea would be
at rest; but in the Atlantic it was impossible to calculate on good
weather for twenty-four hours. For nearly four weeks that they were at
sea, they had hardly four days of clear sunshine, without wind. Often
the ocean was covered with a driving mist, and the ships, groping about
like blind giants, kept blowing their shrill fog-trumpets, or firing
guns, as signals to their companions that they were still there.
Occasionally the sun shone out from the clouds, and gave them hope of
better success. Once or twice we find in the private journal kept by Mr.
Field, that it was "too calm;" there was not wind enough to drift the
ship over the cable, so that the rope hung up and down from the bow,
without dragging. One Sunday night he remembered, when the deep was
hushed to a Sabbath stillness, the moon was shining brightly, and the
ships floating over a "sea of glass," that suggested thoughts of a
better world than this. Such times gave them fresh hopes, that might be
disappointed on the morrow.
Once, however, the Albany, which had been off a few miles fishing on its
own hook, suddenly appeared in the night, reporting a victory. All on
board the Great Eastern were startled by the firing of guns. It was a
little after midnight, and Mr. Field had gone below, worn out with the
long suspense and anxiety, when Captain Anderson came rushing to his
stateroom with tidings that the cable was recovered! Both hurried on
deck, and sure enough there was the Albany bearing down upon them, with
her crew cheering in the wildest manner. The gallant Temple had
conquered at last. But the next morning brought a fresh disappointment.
They had indeed got hold of the cable, and brought its end on board, and
afterward buoyed it, but when the Great Eastern went for it, it proved
to be only a fragment some two miles long, which had been broken off in
one of the previous grapplings. However, they hauled it in, and kept it
with pride, as their first trophy from the sea.
And so the days and weeks wore on; it was near the end of August, and
still the prize was not taken. The courage of the men did not fail, but
they were becoming worn out. The tension on their nerves of this long
suspense was terrible. On Tuesday, August 28th, Mr. Temple was brought
on board from the Albany, very ill. He was worn out with constant
watching. Their resources, too, must in time be exhausted. On the
evening of the 29th, Captain Commerill, of the Terrible, came on board,
and reported the condition of his ship. He was one of the very best
officers in the fleet, full of zeal, courage, and activity (having a
good right hand in his first officer, Mr. Curtis), and always kept up a
brave heart, even in the darkest days.[A] But his supplies were nearly
exhausted. He had been out four weeks, and his coal was almost gone,
and his men were on half rations. So he must leave the fishing ground
for fresh supplies. It was a painful necessity. He mourned his fate,
like a brave officer who is ordered away in the midst of a battle. But
he submitted only with a determination to take in ammunition, and to
come back in a few days to renew the struggle. Accordingly the Terrible
left the same evening for St. John's.
At the same time it was decided that the three other ships should leave
their present cruising ground, and try a new spot. As an old fisherman,
who has cast his line in one place so often as to scare the fish away,
sometimes has better luck in other waters, so they proposed to go east
a hundred miles, to a place where the ocean was not quite so deep.
Deane, in his Diary, calls it "the sixteen hundred fathom patch," but
they found it nineteen hundred fathoms, or about two miles! So the next
morning the Great Eastern, the Medway, and the Albany "pulled up
stakes," that is, took in their buoys, and bore away to the east. In a
few hours they reached the appointed rendezvous, and had set their
buoys. The last day of August had come, and all seemed favorable for a
final attempt. It was a clear day, with no wind. The sea had gone down,
so that at noon it was a dead calm, as the three ships took their
position in line, about two miles apart, ready to open their broadsides
at once. The grapnel went over for _the thirtieth time_. Kind heaven
favored its search, and at ten minutes before midnight it had found the
cable, and fastened its teeth never to let go. Feeling something at the
end of the rope, they began to haul in, but slowly at first, as an
expert angler decoys a big fish by pulling gently on the line. Watching
the dynamometer, they saw with delight the strain increase with every
hundred fathoms. Up it went to eight, nine, ten tons! They had caught
it, and no mistake. In about five hours they had drawn it up to within a
thousand fathoms of the top of the water, where it hung suspended from
the ship. But now came the critical point, for as it approached the
surface the danger of breaking increased every moment. It required
delicate handling. To make sure this time, the Great Eastern buoyed the
cable, and moved off two or three miles to take a fresh gripe in a new
place; and having got a double hold, the Medway, which was two miles
further to the west, was ordered to grapple for it also; and having
caught it, to heave up with all force, till she should bring it on board
or break it. This was done, and the old cable brought up within three
hundred fathoms, and there broken. This at once lightened the strain and
gave them an end to pull upon, whereupon the Great Eastern, having a
lighter weight on the rope, drew up again, but still gently, watching
the strain, lest the cable should break. These operations were very
slow, and lasted many weary hours. It was a little before midnight on
Friday night that the cable was caught, and it was after midnight Sunday
morning that it was brought on board. How long that day seemed! Night
turned to morning, and morning to noon, and noon to night again, and
still the work was not done; still the great ship hung over the spot
where its treasure was suspended in the deep. The sun went down, and the
moon looked forth from driving clouds upon a scene such as the ocean
never saw before. At a distance could be discerned the black hulls of
the attendant ships, the Albany and the Medway. But why were they thus
silent and motionless in the midst of the sea? Some mysterious errand
brought them here, and as their boats approached with measured sweep,
at this midnight hour, it seemed as if they came with muffled oars to an
ocean burial. It was still calm, but the sea began to moan with unrest,
as if troubled in its sleep. As midnight drew on, the interest gathered
about the bows of the Great Eastern. The bulwarks were crowded with
anxious watchers, peering into the darkness below. Still not a word was
spoken. Not a voice was heard, save that of Captain Anderson, or Mr.
Halpin, or Mr. Canning, giving orders. As it approached the surface, two
men, who were tried hands, were lashed with ropes and lowered over the
bows, to make fast to the cable when it should appear. This was a
perilous service, and the boats were there to pick up the brave fellows,
if they should drop into the water. As soon as it showed itself, they
dived upon it, and seizing it with their hands, fastened it with large
hempen stoppers, which were quickly attached to five-inch ropes.
"It was then found, that the bight was so firmly caught in the
springs of the grapnel, that one of the brave hands who put on
the stoppers, was sent lower down to the grapnel, and with
hammer and marlinspike, the rope was ultimately freed from the
tenacious gripe of the flukes. The signal being given to haul
up, the western end of the bight was cut with a saw, and
grandly and majestically the cable rose up the frowning bows of
the Great Eastern, slowly passing round the sheave at the bow,
and then over the wheels on to the fore part of the deck. The
greatest possible care had to be taken by Mr. Canning and his
assistants, to secure the cable by putting on stoppers, and to
watch the progress of the grapnel, rope, and shackles, round
the drum, before it received the cable itself."
When once it was made fast, all took a long breath. The cable was
recovered. They had the sea-serpent at last. There the monster lay, its
neck firmly in their gripe, and its black head lying on the deck. But
even then there was no cheering, as when they caught it two weeks
before. Men are sometimes stunned by a sudden success, and hardly know
if it be not all a dream. So now they looked at the cable with eager
eyes, but without a word, and some crept toward it to take it in their
hands, to be sure that they were not deceived. Yes--it was the same that
they paid out into the sea thirteen months before!
But their anxiety was not over. Now that they had regained the lost
cable of 1865, was it good for any thing? It had been lying more than a
year at the bottom of the deep. What if it should prove to have been
broken somewhere in the eleven hundred miles between the ship and
Ireland? What if some sharp rock had worn it away, or some marine insect
had eaten into its heart? If there were but a pin's point, anywhere in
its covering of flesh, the vital current might escape through it into
the sea. Fears like these restrained their exultation. It was yet too
soon to proclaim their victory. So, as the cable was passed along the
deck to the testing room, where the chief electrician was to operate
upon it, to see whether it was alive or dead, it was followed by an
anxious group, who stood around him as he sat down at the instrument,
watching his countenance as friends watch the face of a physician, when
he feels the pulse of a patient to see if the heart is still beating.
The scene is thus described by Mr. Robert Dudley, the artist of the
expedition, whose spirited sketches in the London Illustrated News have
made known to the world many incidents of this memorable voyage:
"I made my way with others, in accordance with an invitation
from Willoughby Smith, to the electricians' room. Here, after
another hour's preparation, during which time the cable had
been carefully passed round the drums of the picking-up
machinery, and a sufficient length drawn in on board, the
severed end was received. And now, in their mysterious,
darkened haunt, the wizards are ready to work their spells upon
the tamed lightning. Not 'unholy spells' are these, or secret;
for, though the wizards' den is but of limited dimensions, they
have not been averse to the presence of a few visitors. Mr.
Gooch is looking on; Professor Thomson, be sure, is here, a
worthy 'Wizard of the North;' Cyrus Field could no more be
absent than the cable itself; I think, too, Canning, hard at
work as he is forward in the ship, _must_ have dropped in just
for a moment; Clifford, Laws, Captain Hamilton, Deane,
Dudley--all have, in their several ways, a great interest in
every movement of Willoughby Smith and his brother (and able
assistant) Oliver; and, when the core of the cable is stripped
and the heart itself--the conducting wire--fixed in the
instrument, and these two electricians bend over the
galvanometer in patient watching for some message from that
far-off land of home to which the great news has just been
signalled, then the accustomed stillness of the test-room is
deepened; the ticking of the chronometer becomes monotonous.
Nearly a quarter of an hour has passed, and still no sign!
Suddenly Willoughby Smith's hat is off, and the British hurrah
bursts from his lips, echoed by all on board with a volley of
cheers, evidently none the worse for having been 'bottled up'
during the last three hours. Along the deck outside, over the
ship, throughout the ship, the pent-up enthusiasm overflowed;
and even before the test-room was cleared, the roaring bravos
of our guns drowned the huzzas of the crew, and the whiz of
rockets was heard rushing high into the clear morning sky to
greet our consort-ships with the glad intelligence."
While this scene is going on on board ship, we may turn to the other end
of the line. It may be well supposed that the result of this attempt was
watched with deep interest at Valentia. How they looked for the first
signal from the deep, and how the tidings came, is thus told in the
London Spectator:
"Night and day, for a whole year, an electrician has always
been on duty, watching the tiny ray of light through which
signals are given, and twice every day the whole length of
wire--one thousand two hundred and forty miles--has been tested
for conductivity and insulation.... The object of observing the
ray of light was of course not any expectation of a message,
but simply to keep an accurate record of the condition of the
wire. Sometimes, indeed, wild, incoherent messages from the
deep did come, but these were merely the results of magnetic
storms and earth-currents, which deflected the galvanometer
rapidly, and _spelt the most extraordinary words, and sometimes
even sentences of nonsense_. Suddenly, last Sunday morning, at
a quarter to six o'clock, while the light was being watched by
Mr. May,[B] he observed a peculiar indication about it, which
showed at once to his experienced eye that a message was at
hand. In a few minutes afterward the unsteady flickering was
changed to coherency, if we may use such a term, and at once
the cable began to speak, to transmit, that is, at regular
intervals, the appointed signals which indicated human purpose
and method at the other end, instead of the hurried signs,
broken speech, and inarticulate cries of the illiterate
Atlantic. After the long interval in which it had brought us
nothing but the moody and often delirious mutterings of the
sea, stammering over its alphabet in vain, the words 'Canning
to Glass' must have seemed like the first rational word uttered
by a high-fevered patient, when the ravings have ceased and his
consciousness returns."
The telegraphic fleet remained together but a few hours after this
recovery of the lost cable. The battle was gained, and the three ships
were no longer needed. The Albany, therefore, parted company to pick up
the buoys, and at once sailed for England, while the Great Eastern,
attended by the faithful Medway, turned to the west. It was about nine
o'clock that the ship began to pay out the cable. Up to that time it
had continued calm, but the morning was raw and chill, and the sea began
to rise as if in anger at those who had torn from it its prey. Captain
Anderson looked anxiously at the signs of the coming storm. It seemed as
if Heaven had kept back the winds during the critical day and night when
they were lifting the cable! But now the tempest was upon them, and for
thirty-six hours it swept the ocean. All trembled lest they should not
be able to hold on. But little incidents sometimes turn the current of
one's thoughts, and give a feeling of peace even in the midst of
anxiety. Says Mr. Field:
"In the very height and fury of the gale, as I sat in the
electrician's room, a flash of light came up from the deep,
which having crossed to Ireland, came back to me in mid-ocean,
telling that those so dear to me, whom I had left on the banks
of the Hudson, were well, and following us with their wishes
and their prayers. This was like a whisper of God from the sea,
bidding me keep heart and hope. The Great Eastern bore herself
proudly through the storm, as if she knew that the vital cord
which was to join two hemispheres, hung at her stern; and so on
Saturday, the seventh of September, we brought our second cable
safely to the shore."
The scene at Heart's Content, when the fleet appeared the second time,
was one that beggars description. Its arrival was not unexpected, for
the success on Sunday morning, that had been telegraphed to Ireland,
was at once flashed across the Atlantic, and the people were watching
for its coming. As the ships came up the harbor it was covered with
boats, and all were wild with excitement; and when the big shore-end was
got out of the Medway, and dragged to land, the sailors hugged it and
almost kissed it in their extravagance of joy; and no sooner was it
safely landed than they seized Mr. Field, Mr. Canning, and Mr. Clifford
in their arms, and raised them over their heads, while the crowd cheered
with tumultuous enthusiasm.
The voyage of the Great Eastern was ended. Twice had she been victorious
over the sea; twice had she laid the spoils of victory on the shores of
the New World, and her mission was accomplished. All on board, who had
been detained weeks beyond the expected time, were impatient to return;
and accordingly she prepared to sail the very next day on her homeward
voyage. The Medway, which had on board the cable for the Gulf of St.
Lawrence, remained two or three weeks longer, and with the Terrible,
whose gallant officers had volunteered for the service, successfully
accomplished that work. But the Great Eastern was bound for England, and
Mr. Field had now to part from his friends on board. It was a trying
moment. Rejoiced as he was at the successful termination of the voyage,
yet when he came to leave the ship, where he had spent so many anxious
days and weeks, both this year and the year before; and to part from
men to whom he was bound by the strong ties that unite those embarked in
a common enterprise--brave companions in arms--he could not repress a
feeling of sadness. It was with deep emotion that Captain Anderson took
him by the hand, as he said, "The time is come that we must part." As he
went over the side of the ship, the commander cried, "Give him three
cheers!" "And now three more for his family!" The ringing hurrahs of
that gallant crew were the last sounds he heard as he sunk back in the
boat that took him to the Medway, while the wheels of the Great Eastern
began to move, and the noble ship, with her noble company, bore away for
England.
Our story is told. We have followed the history of the Atlantic
Telegraph from the beginning to the end; from the hour that the idea
first occurred to its projector, turning over the globe in his library,
till the cable was stretched from continent to continent. Between these
two points of time many years have passed, and many struggles
intervened. Never did an enterprise pass through more vicissitudes;
never was courage tried by more reverses and disappointments, the
constant repetition of which gives to this narrative an almost painful
interest. Yet that background of disaster only sets in brighter relief
the spirit that bore up under all, the faith that never despaired, and
the patience that was never weary. It was a pathetic as well as heroic
story which Mr. Field had to tell when it was all over. He said:
"It has been a long, hard struggle. Nearly thirteen years of
anxious watching and ceaseless toil. Often my heart has been
ready to sink. Many times, when wandering in the forests of
Newfoundland, in the pelting rain, or on the deck of ships, on
dark, stormy nights--alone, far from home--I have almost
accused myself of madness and folly to sacrifice the peace of
my family, and all the hopes of life, for what might prove
after all but a dream. I have seen my companions one and
another falling by my side, and feared that I too might not
live to see the end. And yet one hope has led me on, and I have
prayed that I might not taste of death till this work was
accomplished. That prayer is answered; and now, beyond all
acknowledgments to men, is the feeling of gratitude to Almighty
God."[C]
"Long and hard" indeed had been the way, but in the end what a triumph
was gained: an achievement that was one of the most marvellous in all
history, as a proof of man's dominion over the forces of nature. When it
was first proposed to span the Atlantic, it seemed but a beautiful
dream, fascinating indeed to the imagination, but beyond all human
power; and men listened to the picture of what might be with delighted
amazement and wondering incredulity. In an oration at the opening of the
Dudley Observatory at Albany, in 1857, Edward Everett spoke thus of the
projected Atlantic Telegraph:
"I hold in my hand a portion of the identical electrical cable,
given me by my friend Mr. Peabody, which is now in progress of
manufacture to connect America with Europe. Does it seem all
but incredible to you that intelligence should travel for two
thousand miles, along those slender copper wires, far down in
the all but fathomless Atlantic, never before penetrated by
aught pertaining to humanity, save when some foundering vessel
has plunged with her hapless company to the eternal silence and
darkness of the abyss? Does it seem, I say, all but a miracle
of art, that the thoughts of living men--the thoughts that we
think up here on the earth's surface, in the cheerful light of
day--about the markets and the exchanges, and the seasons, and
the elections, and the treaties, and the wars, and all the fond
nothings of daily life, should clothe themselves with elemental
sparks, and shoot with fiery speed, in a moment, in the
twinkling of an eye, from hemisphere to hemisphere, far down
among the uncouth monsters that wallow in the nether seas,
along the wreck-paved floor, through the oozy dungeons of the
rayless deep; that the latest intelligence of the crops, whose
dancing tassels will, in a few months, be coquetting with the
west wind on those boundless prairies, should go flashing along
the slimy decks of old sunken galleons, which have been rotting
for ages; that messages of friendship and love, from warm,
living bosoms, should burn over the cold, green bones of men
and women, whose hearts, once as warm as ours, burst as the
eternal gulfs closed and roared over them centuries ago!"
But a few years passed, and the vision became a reality. The heart of
the world beat under the sea.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Captain Anderson, in a letter published after the return to England,
says: "Every officer and man of the expedition will have pleasant
recollection of the cheerful zeal of Captain Commerill, V.C., and the
officers of Her Majesty's ship Terrible. Captain Commerill frequently
visited us in his boats, both in high seas and in calms, and his cheery
way of saying, 'You'll do it yet,' 'What can I do?' and 'I'll do it,'
was truly characteristic of him. The officers of the Terrible would do
any thing for their captain, and entered heartily into the object of the
voyage."
Such a tribute from one brave commander to another, is most honorable to
both. In the same letter he recognizes, also, the services rendered by
the captains of the other ships: "I shall do but scant justice to
Commanders Prowse and Batt, R. N., and Captains Eddington and Harris,
Mercantile Marine, of the Medway and Albany, if I recall the three weeks
spent upon the 'grappling ground,' where we were often separated by fog,
gale, or darkness; yet whenever day dawned, or the fog cleared, there
the squadron were to be seen, converging from different points towards
the Mark Buoy, a small spot looking no bigger than a man's hat on the
surface of the ocean. Unless all had concentrated their minds, and
watched their ships and compasses night and day, no such beautiful
illustration of nautical science could have been possible. The vessels
of the squadron keeping always together, and commanded by men who knew
the importance of keeping close enough to begin work whenever it was
possible, and yet to avoid collision in fog, was of the greatest
importance; and we owe much to that invaluable system of signalling by
night and day, invented by Captain Colomb, R. N., which enabled us, even
in dark nights, when two or three miles apart, to communicate or
ascertain anything we desired."
[B] This is an error. Mr. Crocker, an operator in the Telegraph House at
Valentia, was the fortunate one on watch at that hour, on whose eye the
first ray fell, as a spark of life from the dead.
[C] Speech at the Chamber of Commerce Dinner, Nov. 15, 1866.