Sparks, as a rule, are looked upon as a race of useless and disreputable
fellows. Their course is usually erratic. They fly upward, downward,
forward, and backward--here, there, and everywhere. You never know when
you have them, or what will be their next flight. They often create a
good deal of alarm, sometimes much surprise; they seldom do any good,
and frequently cause irreparable damage. Only when caught and
restrained, or directed, do sparks become harmless and helpful.
But there is one Spark in this world--a grand, glowing, gushing fellow--
who has not his equal anywhere. He is old as the hills--perhaps older--
and wide as the world--perchance wider. Similar to ordinary sparks in
some respects, he differs from them in several important particulars.
Like many, he is "fast," but immeasurably faster than all other sparks
put together. Unlike them, however, he submits to be led by master
minds. Stronger than Hercules, he can rend the mountains. Fleeter than
Mercury, he can outstrip the light. Gentler than Zephyr, he can assume
the condition of a current, and enter our very marrow without causing
pain. His name is Electricity. No one knows what he is. Some
philosophers have said that he is a fluid, because he flows. As well
might they call him a wild horse because he bolts, or a thief because he
lurks! We prefer to call him a Spark, because in that form only is he
visible--at least when handled by man.
Talking of that, it was not until the last century that master minds
found out how to catch and handle our Spark. In all the previous
centuries he had been roaming gaily about the world in perfect freedom;
sometimes gliding silently to and fro like an angel of light; sometimes
leaping forth with frightful energy in the midst of raging tempest, like
a destructive demon--ripping, rending, shattering all that attempted to
arrest his course. Men have feared and shunned him since the beginning
of time, and with good reason, for he has killed many of the human race.
But although uncaught and untamed by them, our Spark was not altogether
unknown to the ancients. So far back as the year 600 before the
Christian era, Thales, one of the Greek sages, discovered that he hid
himself in amber, a substance which in Greek is named _electron_--hence
his name Electricity; but the ancients knew little about his character,
though Thales found that he could draw him from his hiding-place by
rubbing him with silk and some other substances. When thus rubbed he
became attractive, and drew light creatures towards him--not unlike
human sparks! He also showed himself to be fickle, for, after holding
these light creatures tight for a brief space, he let them go and
repelled them.
It was not till the days of good Queen Bess, towards the end of the
sixteenth century, that a Dr Gilbert discovered that the wild fellow
lay lurking in other substances besides amber--such as sulphur, wax,
glass, etcetera. It is now known that Electricity permeates all
substances more or less, and only waits to be roused in order to exhibit
his amazing powers. He is fond of shocking people's feelings, and has
surprised his pursuers rather frequently in that way. Some of them,
indeed, he has actually shocked to death!
It would take a huge volume to give a detailed account of all the
qualities, powers, and peculiarities of this wild Spark. We will just
touch on a few facts which are necessary to the elucidation of our tale.
A great event in the world's history happened in the year 1745. It was
nothing less than the capture and imprisonment of wild, daring, dashing
Electricity. To the Dutch philosophers belongs the honour of catching
him. They caught him--they even bottled him, like ordinary spirits, and
called his prison a _Leyden Jar_.
From that date our Spark became the useful and obedient slave of man.
Yet is he ever ready, when the smallest conceivable door, hole, or chink
is left open, to dash out of the prison-house man has made for him, and
escape into his native earth.
He has no hope now, however, of escaping altogether, for he cannot
resist the allurement of rubbing, by which, as well as by chemical
action and other means, we can summon him, like the genii of Aladdin's
lamp, at any moment, from the "vasty deep," and compel him to do our
work.
And what sort of work, it may be asked, can this volatile fellow
perform? We cannot tell all--the list is too long. Let us consider a
few of them. If we fabricate tea-pots, sugar-basins, spoons, or
anything else of base metal, he can and will, at our bidding, cover the
same with silver or yellow gold. If we grow dissatisfied with our
candles and gas, he will, on being summoned, and properly directed by
the master minds to whom he owns allegiance, kindle our lamps and fill
our streets and mansions with a blaze of noonday splendour. If we grow
weary of steam, and give him orders, he will drive our tram-cars and
locomotives with railway speed, _minus_ railway smoke and fuss. He is a
very giant in the chemist's laboratory, and, above all, a swift
messenger to carry the world's news. Even when out and raging to and
fro in a wild state, more than half-disposed to rend our mansions, and
split our steeples, and wreck our ships, we have only to provide him
with a tiny metal stair-case, down which he will instantly glide from
the upper regions to the earth without noise or damage. Shakespeare
never imagined, and Mercury never accomplished, the speed at which he
travels; and he will not only carry our news, or express our sentiments
and wishes far and wide over the land, but he will rush with them, over
rock, sand, mud, and ooze, along the bottom of the deep deep sea!
And this brings us to a point. Some of the master minds before
mentioned, having conceived the idea that telegraphic communication
might be carried on under water, set about experimenting. Between the
years 1839 and 1851 enterprising men in the Old World and the New
suggested, pondered, planned, and placed wires under water, along which
our Spark ran more or less successfully.
One of the difficulties of these experiments consisted in this, that,
while the Spark runs readily along one class of substances, he cannot,
or will not, run along others. Substances of the first class,
comprising the metals, are called conductors; those of the second class,
embracing, among other things, all resinous substances, are styled
non-conductors. Now, water is a good conductor. So that although the
Spark will stick to his wires when insulated on telegraph-posts on land,
he will bolt from them at once and take to flight the moment he gets
under water. This difficulty was overcome by coating the wires with
gutta-percha, which, being a non-conductor, imprisoned the Spark, and
kept him, as it were, on the line.
A copper wire covered in this manner was successfully laid between
England and France in 1850. When tested, this cable did not work well.
Minute imperfections, in the form of air-holes in the gutta-percha,
afforded our Spark an opportunity to bolt; and he did bolt, as a matter
of course--for electricity has no sense of honour, and cannot be trusted
near the smallest loop-hole. The imperfections were remedied; the door
was effectually locked, after which the first submarine cable of
importance was actually laid down, and worked well. French and English
believers turned up hands and eyes in delighted amazement, as they held
converse across the sea, while unbelievers were silenced and confounded.
This happy state of things, however, lasted for only a few hours.
Suddenly the intercourse ceased. The telegraphists at both ends
energised with their handles and needles, but without any result. The
cable was dumb. Our Spark had evidently escaped!
There is no effect without a cause. The cause of that interruption was
soon discovered.
Early that morning a French fisherman had sauntered down to the port of
Boulogne and embarked in his boat. A British seaman, having nothing to
do but smoke and meditate, was seated on a coil of rope at the time,
enjoying himself and the smells with which that port is not unfamiliar.
He chanced to be a friend of that French fisherman.
"You're early afloat, Mounseer," he said.
"Oui, monsieur. Vill you com'? I go for feesh."
"Well, _wee_; I go for fun."
They went accordingly and bore away to the northward along the coast
before a light breeze,--past the ruined towers which France had built to
guard her port in days gone by; past the steep cliffs beyond Boulogne;
past the lovely beach of Wimereux, with its cottages nestled among the
sand-hills, and its silted-up harbour, whence Napoleon the First had
intended to issue forth and descend on perfidious Albion--but didn't;
past cliffs, and bays, and villages further on, until they brought up
off Cape Grisnez. Here the Frenchman let down his trawl, and fished up,
among other curiosities of the deep, the submarine cable!
"Behold! fat is dis?" he exclaimed, with glaring eyes, uplifted brows,
shoulders shrugged, hands spread out, and fingers expanded.
"The sea-sarpint grow'd thin," suggested the Englishman.
"Non; c'est seaveed--veed de most 'strordinair in de vorld. Oui,
donnez-moi de hache, de hax, mon ami."
His friend handed him the axe, wherewith lie cut off a small portion of
the cable and let the end go. Little did that fisherman know that he
had also let our Spark go free, and cruelly dashed, for a time at least,
the budding hopes of two nations--but so it was. He bore his prize in
triumph to Boulogne, where he exhibited it as a specimen of rare seaweed
with its centre filled with gold, while the telegraph clerks at both
ends sat gazing in dismay at their useless instruments.
Thus was the first submarine electric cable destroyed. And with the
details of its destruction little Robin was intimately acquainted, for
cousin Sam had been a member of the staff that had worked that
telegraph--at least he had been a boy in the office,--and in after years
he so filled his cousin's mind with the importance of that cable, and
the grandeur and difficulty of the enterprise, that Robin became
powerfully sympathetic--so much so that when Sam, in telling the story,
came to the point where the Frenchman accomplished its destruction,
Robin used to grieve over it as though he had lost a brother, or a
kitten, or his latest toy!
We need scarcely add that submarine cable telegraphy had not received
its death-blow on that occasion. Its possibility had been demonstrated.
The very next year (1851) Mr T.R. Crampton, with Messrs. Wollaston,
Kuper, and others, made and laid an improved cable between Dover and
Calais, and ere long many other parts of the world were connected by
means of snaky submarine electric cables.