That man who can appreciate the feelings of one who has become suddenly
bankrupt may understand the mental condition of those on board the Great
Eastern when they were thus tossed from the pinnacle of joyous hope to
the depths of dark despair. It was not, however, absolute despair. The
cable was utterly useless indeed--insensate--but it was not broken.
There was still the blessed possibility of picking it up and bringing it
to life again.
That, however, was scarcely an appreciable comfort at the moment, and
little could be seen or heard on board the Great Eastern save elongated
faces and gloomy forebodings.
Ebenezer Smith and his _confreres_ worked in the testing-room like
Trojans. They connected and disconnected; they put in stops and took
them out; they intensified currents to the extent of their anxieties
they reduced them to the measure of their despair--nothing would do.
The cable was apparently dead. In these circumstances picking-up was
the only resource, and the apparatus for that purpose was again rigged
up in the bows.
In the meantime the splice which had been made to connect the tanks was
cut and examined, and the portions coiled in the fore and main tanks
were found to be perfect--alive and well--but the part between ship and
shore was speechless.
So was poor Robin Wright! After Mr Field--whose life-hope seemed to be
doomed to disappointment--the blow was probably felt most severely by
Robin. But Fortune seemed to be playfully testing the endurance of
these cable-layers at that time, for, when the despair was at its worst,
the tell-tale light reappeared on the index of the galvanometer, without
rhyme or reason, calling forth a shout of joyful surprise, and putting
an abrupt stoppage to the labours of the pickers-up!
They never found out what was the cause of that fault; but that was a
small matter, for, with restored sensation in the cable-nerve, renewed
communication with the shore, and resumed progress of the ship towards
her goal, they could afford to smile at former troubles.
Joy and sorrow, shower and sunshine, fair weather and foul, was at first
the alternating portion of the cable-layers.
"I can't believe my eyes!" said Robin to Jim Slagg, as they stood next
day, during a leisure hour, close to the whirling wheels and
never-ending cable, about 160 miles of which had been laid by that time.
"Just look at the Terrible and Sphinx; the sea is now so heavy that
they are thumping into the waves, burying their bows in foam, while we
are slipping along as steadily as a Thames steamer."
"That's true, sir," answered Slagg, whose admiration for our hero's
enthusiastic and simple character increased as their intimacy was
prolonged, and whose manner of address became proportionally more
respectful, "She's a steady little duck is the Great Eastern! she has
got the advantage of length, you see, over other ships, an' rides on two
waves at a time, instead of wobblin' in between 'em; but I raither think
she'd roll a bit if she was to go along in the trough of the seas.
Don't the cable go out beautiful, too--just like a long-drawn eel with
the consumption! Did you hear how deep the captain said it was
hereabouts?"
"Yes, I heard him say it was a little short of two miles deep, so it has
got a long way to sink before it reaches its oozy bed."
"How d'ee know what sort o' bed it's got to lie on?" asked Slagg.
"Because," said Robin, "the whole Atlantic where the cable is to lie has
been carefully sounded long ago, and it is found that the ocean-bed
here, which looks so like mud, is composed of millions of beautiful
shells, so small that they cannot be distinguished by the naked eye. Of
course, they have no creatures in them. It would seem that these
shell-fish go about the ocean till they die, and then fall to the bottom
like rain." See note one.
"You _don't_ say so!" returned Slagg, who, being utterly uneducated,
received suchlike information with charming surprise, and regarded Robin
as a very mine of knowledge. "Well now, that beats cock-fighting. But,
I say, how is it that the electricity works through the cable? I heerd
one o' your electrical fellers explaining to a landlubber t'other
evenin' that electricity could only run along wires when the _circuit
was closed_, by which he meant to say that it would fly from a battery
and travel along a wire ever so far, if only that wire was to turn right
round and run back to the same battery again. Now, if that's so, seems
to me that when you've got your cable to Newfoundland you'll have to run
another one back again to Ireland before it'll work."
"Ah, Slagg, that would indeed be the case," returned Robin, "were it not
that we have discovered the important fact that the earth--the round
globe on which we stand--itself acts the part of a grand conductor. So
we have only to send down _earth-wires_ at the two ends--one into the
earth of Ireland, the other into the earth of Newfoundland, and
straightway the circuit is closed, and the electricity generated in our
batteries passes through the cable from earth to earth."
"Robin," said Slagg doubtingly, "d'you expect me for to believe _that_?"
"Indeed I do," said Robin simply.
"Then you're greener than I took you for. No offence meant, but it's my
opinion some o' these 'cute electricians has bin tryin' the width of
your swallow."
"No, you are mistaken," returned Robin earnestly; "I have read the fact
in many books. The books differ in their opinions as to the causes and
nature of the fact, but not as to the fact itself."
It was evident that Robin looked upon this as an unanswerable argument,
and his friend seemed perplexed.
"Well, I don' know how it is," he said, after a pause, "but I do believe
that this here wonderful electricity is fit for a'most anything, an'
that we'll have it revoloosionising everything afore long--I do indeed."
The intelligent reader who has noted the gigantic strides which we have
recently made in electric lighting of late will observe that Slagg,
unwittingly, had become almost prophetic at this time.
"We're going along splendidly now," said Mr Smith, coming up to Robin
that evening while he was conversing with Slagg, who immediately
retired.--"Who is that youth? He seems very fond of you; I've observed
that he makes up to you whenever you chance to be on deck together."
"He is one of the steward's lads, sir; I met him accidentally in the
train; but I suspect the fondness is chiefly on my side. He was very
kind to me when I first came on board, and I really think he is an
intelligent, good fellow--a strange mixture of self-confidence and
humility. Sometimes, to hear him speak, you would think he knew
everything; but at the same time he is always willing--indeed anxious--
to listen and learn. He is a capital fighter too."
Here Robin related the battle in the boys' berth, when Slagg thrashed
Stumps, whereat Mr Smith was much amused.
"So he seems a peculiar lad--modest, impudent, teachable, kindly, and
warlike! Come below now, Robin, I have some work for you. Did you make
the calculations I gave you yesterday?"
"Yes, sir, and they corresponded exactly with your own."
"Good. Go fetch my little note-book: I left it in the grand saloon on
the furthest aft seat, port side."
Robin found the magnificent saloon of the big ship ringing with music
and conversation. Joy over the recent restoration to health of the
ailing cable, the comfortable stability of the ship in rough weather,
and the satisfactory progress then being made, all contributed to raise
the spirits of every one connected with the great work, so that, while
some were amusing themselves at the piano, others were scattered about
in little groups, discussing the profounder mysteries of electric
science, or prophesying the speedy completion of the enterprise, while a
few were speculating on the probability of sport in Newfoundland, or
planning out journeys through the United States.
"There's lots of game, I'm told, in Newfoundland," said one of the
youthful electricians, whose ruling passion--next to the subtle fluid--
was the gun.
"So I've been told," replied an elder and graver comrade. "Polar bears
are quite common in the woods, and it is said that walrus are fond of
roosting in the trees."
"Yes, I have heard so," returned the youthful sportsman, who, although
young, was not to be caught with chaff, "and the fishing, I hear, is
also splendid. Salmon and cod are found swarming in the rivers by those
who care for mild occupation, while really exciting sport is to be had
in the great lakes of the interior, where there are plenty of
fresh-water whales that take the fly."
"The swan, you mean," said another comrade. "The fly that is most
killing among Newfoundland whales is a swan fastened whole to a shark
hook--though a small boat's anchor will do if you haven't the right
tackle."
"Come, don't talk nonsense, but let's have a song!" said a brother
electrician to the sporting youth.
"I never sing," he replied, "except when hurt, and then I sing out. But
see, our best musician has just seated himself at the instrument."
"I don't talk shop, Nimrod; call it the piano."
Most of those present drew towards the musical corner, where Ebenezer
Smith, having just entered the saloon in search of Robin, had been
prevailed on to sit down and enliven the company. Robin, who had been
delayed by difficulty in finding the note-book, stopped to listen.
Smith had a fair average voice and a vigorous manner.
"You wouldn't object to hear the cook's last?" asked Smith, running his
fingers lightly over the keys.
"Of course not--go on," chorused several voices.
"I had no idea," lisped a simple youth, who was one of a small party of
young gentlemen interested in engineering and science, who had been
accommodated with a passage,--"I had no idea that our cook was a poet as
well as an admirable _chef de cuisine_."
"Oh, it's not _our_ cook he means," explained the sporting electrician;
"Mr Smith _refers_ to a certain sea-cook--or his son, I'm not sure
which--who is _chef des horse-marines_."
"Is there a chorus?" asked one.
"Of course there is," replied Smith; "a sea-song without a chorus is
like a kite without a tail--it is sure to fall flat, but the chorus is
an old and well-known one--it is only the song that is new. Now then,
clear your throats, gentlemen."
Song--The Loss of the Nancy Lee.