least infused fresh vigour into the telegraphic system, as, independently
of the lines planned to put Constantinople in communication with the
Danubian frontier, Russia has been stimulated to complete a line between
St. Petersburg and Helsingfors, in the Baltic, and a continuation of the
line already extending from the capital to Moscow, down to Bucharest,
Odessa, and Sebastopol. One feature distinguishes the management of
continental telegraphs over those of England and America: they are all,
with the exception of the short line between Hamburg and Cuxhaven,
possessed and worked by the different governments, who seem afraid of the
use they might be put to for political purposes, and accordingly exercise
a strict surveillance over all messages sent, and rigidly interdict the
use of a cipher.[39] The Anglo-Saxon race, however, has far surpassed any
other in the energy with which it has woven the globe with telegraphic
wires. The Americans in the West and the British in the East alike emulate
each other in the magnitude of their undertakings of this nature. The
United States, although she came into the field long after England--her
first line from Washington to Baltimore not having been completed until
1844--has far outstripped the mother country in the length of her lines,
which already extend over 16,729 miles. Every portion of the Union, with
the exception of California and the upper portion of the Mississippi, is
covered with a network of wire.
New York and New Orleans communicate with each other by a double
route--one skirting the seacoast, the other taking an inland direction by
Cincinnati. These lines alone, following the sinuosities of their routes,
are upwards of 2,000 miles in length.
Other lines extend as far as Quebec, in Upper Canada, so that messages may
be forwarded in the course of a couple of hours from the freezing north to
the burning south. The great chain of lakes which form the northern
boundary of the Union is put in communication with the Missouri and
Mississippi rivers, and the great valley traversed by the latter will, ere
long, interchange messages with the Pacific coast,--Congress having under
its consideration a plan to establish a telegraph across the continent to
San Francisco, as the precursor of the proposed railroad.
This we suspect is the project of Mr. O'Reilly, the engineer who has
already executed the boldest lines in America. In constructing such a
line, man, not nature, is the great obstacle to be encountered. The
implacable Indians inhabiting this portion of the States certainly would
not pay any respect to the telegraphic wire; on the contrary, they would
in all likelihood take it to bind on the heads of their scalping
tomahawks. To provide against this contingency, it is proposed to station
parties of twenty dragoons at stockades twenty miles apart, along the
whole unprotected portion of the route; two or three of these soldiers are
also to ride from post to post and carry a daily express letter across the
continent.
When this project is executed, it is asserted that "European news may be
published in six days on the American shores of the Pacific, on the
shortened route between the old and new world." "The shortened route," it
should be mentioned, lies between Cape Race, in Newfoundland, and Galway,
in Ireland, a passage calculated to take, on the average, only five days.
It may be asked how is it that such lengths of wire, carried through
thinly settled parts of the country, and sometimes through howling
wildernesses, can pay? The only manner that we can account for it is the
cheapness with which the telegraph is built in America, the average price
being 150 dollars, or about 31_l._ a mile--less than a fourth part of the
cost at which the early lines of the English Electric Telegraph Company
were erected. Again, the low prices charged for the transmission of
messages produce an amount of business which the lines running through
thickly-inhabited England cannot boast. For instance, let us take the
following advertised "specimen message," of the latter Company, and
compare the price charged for it here, with what it could be sent for in
America:--
"From To
James Smith, S. R. Brown,
London, Exchange,
Liverpool.
"I will meet you at Birmingham to-morrow, 3 P.M. Don't fail me."
Now, the London charge for the above, if forwarded to Liverpool, would be
2s. 6d.; but the American tariff for the same, on the Louisville and
Pittsburgh rail, would be only one cent a word, or sixpence halfpenny
English. On very long distances our friends on the other side of the steam
ferry have a still greater advantage over us: for instance, a message of
ten words can be sent on O'Reilly's line, from New York to New Orleans, a
distance of 2,000 miles, for sixty cents, or two and sixpence--not half
the sum it would cost to send the same message from London to Edinburgh,
about 500 miles. We give, as a curiosity, the scale of prices on this
line:[40]--
Per word.
200 miles or under 1 cent.
500 " or over 300 miles 2 cents.
700 " " 500 " 3 "
1000 " " 700 " 4 "
1500 " " 1000 " 5 "
2000 " " 1500 " 6 "
These charges, it is true, are unusually low; but if they will pay one
Company, why should they not another? There are as many as twenty
Telegraph Companies in America, and consequently there is great
competition, three or four competing lines in many cases running between
the same towns. Great confusion has arisen from this competition, as we
have before stated; but it cannot be doubted that prices have materially
fallen in consequence. It is common to send a message 1,000 miles in the
United States without its being read and repeated at intermediate
stations; and brother Jonathan boasts that he can communicate in fine
weather instantaneously between New York and New Orleans. This, if done at
all, must be at the expense of enormous battery power, as 2,000 miles of
No. 8 wire would expose a conducting surface of no less than 450,000
square feet to the air. The wires in America are all suspended upon poles,
and those passing through the southern pine forests are in consequence
particularly liable to injury from the falling of trees, and watchers are
posted at every twenty miles' distance to patrol the line. The telegraph
is rarely seen in America running beside the railway, for what reason we
do not know; the consequence, however, is, that locomotion in the United
States is vastly more dangerous than with us. A comparison of the
casualties occurring on railroads in the two countries, in the year 1852,
will show this at a glance; for in the State of New York alone, during
that year, 228 persons were killed out of 7,440,053 travellers, whilst
during the same period only 216 people perished in Great Britain out of a
total number of 89,135,729 passengers: thus the average in America was 1
killed in 286,179, and in Great Britain 1 in 2,785,491! Of course property
suffers in an equal degree with life on the American lines. The people of
Boston, on the recommendation of Dr. Channing, have constructed a
municipal telegraph, the many uses of which will be obvious. Mr. Alexander
Jones, in his historical sketch of the electric telegraph in America,
gives the following account of the application of the electric wire in
cases of fire:--
"A central office or station is fixed upon, at which the main battery,
with other instruments, is placed. From this two circuit-wires
proceed, like those of the common telegraph wires, fastened to
housetops or ingeniously insulated supports. One of the wires
communicates from the main fire bell-tower to all the others, and
connects each with machinery, which puts in motion the largest-sized
hammer, and causes it to strike a large fire-bell the desired number
of blows; the other wire proceeds on a still more circuitous route,
and from one local street or ward signal-station to another. Each
station is provided with a strong box and hinged door and lock. Inside
of this box there is a connecting electro-magnet and connecting lever,
an axle with a number of pins in it to correspond to the number of the
station. The axle is turned by a short crank, and in its revolutions
the pins break and close the circuit, by moving the end of the lever
as often as there are pins or cogs, the result of which is
communicated to the central station. If the alarm indicates a fire in
the local district No. 3, the alarm can be instantly rung on all the
bells in the city. If it is a subject requiring the speedy and
efficient attention of the police, information by alarms can be given
at each police-station, or the despatches can be recorded by
instruments at each place. The local street alarm-boxes are placed in
the charge of a person whose duty it is to give the alarm from the
local to the central station, when called upon, or circumstances
require him to do so."
Canada has also sketched out a plan of telegraphs, which every year will
see filled up. Already she has lines connecting all her principal towns,
and extending over nearly two thousand miles of country, all of which lock
in with the American system.
In India, Dr. O'Shaughnessy has for some time been engaged in carrying out
a telegraphic system proposed by Lord Dalhousie, and approved by the East
India Company, which has already put all the important towns of the
peninsula in communication with the seat of government and with each
other. The fine No. 8 galvanized iron wire, which in Europe runs along
from pole to pole, like a delicate harp-string, is discarded in this
country for rods of iron three-eighths of an inch in thickness. The nature
of the climate, and the character of its animal life, has caused this
departure from the far more economical European plan. Clouds of kites and
troops of monkeys would speedily take such liberties with the fine wires
as to place them _hors-de-combat_. Again, the deluges of rain which occur
in the wet season would render the insulation of a small wire so imperfect
that a message could not be sent through it to any distance. The larger
mass of metal, on the contrary, is capable of affording passage for the
electric fluid through any amount of rain, without danger of "leakage;"
and as for the kites and other large birds of the country, they may perch
on these rods by thousands without stopping the messages, which will fly
harmlessly through their claws; and the weight of the heaviest monkey is
not sufficient to injure them. These rods are planted, without any
insulation, upon the tops of bamboo poles (coated with tar and pitch), at
such a height that loaded elephants can pass beneath without displacing
them; and even if by chance they should be thrown down, bullock-carts or
buffaloes and elephants may trample them under foot without doing them
injury. In some places the rods, if we are rightly informed, run through
rice-swamps, buried in the ground, and even here the only insulating
material used is a kind of cement made of rosin and sand. The telegraph,
like a swift messenger, goes forward and prepares the way for the
railroad, which is planned to follow in its footsteps. When these two
systems are completed, the real consolidation of England's power in the
East will have commenced, and the countless resources of the Indian
peninsula will be called forth for the benefit of the conquered as well as
of the conquering race.
The restless spirit of English engineers, having provided for the internal
telegraphic communication of Great Britain and her principal dependencies,
seems bent upon stretching out her lines to the East and to the West, so
as ultimately to clasp the entire globe. The project of connecting,
telegraphically, England with America is at the present moment seriously
engaging the attention of scientific and commercial men. The more daring
engineers are still sanguine of the practicability of laying a submarine
cable directly across the Atlantic, from Galway to Cape Race in
Newfoundland. Now that we have Lieutenant Maury's authentic determination
of the existence of a shelf across the North Atlantic, the soundings on
which are nowhere more than 1,500 fathoms, the feasibility of the project
is tolerably certain. The principal question is, whether if a line were
laid an electric current can be worked to commercial advantage through
3,000 miles of cable. No doubt, by the expenditure of enormous battery
power, this might be accomplished through wires suspended in the air, but
it is a question whether it can be done along a vast length of
gutta-percha coated wire, passing through salt-water. There is such a
thing as _too great an insulation_. Professor Faraday has shown that in
such circumstances the wire becomes a Leyden jar, and may be so charged
with electricity that a current cannot, without the greatest difficulty,
move through it. This is the objection to a direct cable between the two
continents: if, however, it can be overcome, doubtless the ocean path
would in all possible cases be adopted where communications had to be
made between civilized countries having intermediate, barbarous, or
ungenial lands. To escape this at present dubious ocean path, it is
proposed to carry the cable from the northernmost point of the Highlands
of Scotland to Iceland, by way of the Orkney, Shetland, and Ferroe
islands--to lay it from Iceland across to the nearest point in Greenland,
thence down the coast to Cape Farewell, where the cable would again take
to the water, span Davis's Straits, and make right away across Labrador
and Upper Canada to Quebec. Here it would lock in with the North American
meshwork of wires, which hold themselves out like an open hand for the
European grasp. This plan seems quite feasible, for in no part of the
journey would the cable require to be more than 900 miles long; and as it
seems pretty certain that a sandbank ex-tends, with good soundings, all
the way to Cape Farewell, there would be little difficulty in mooring the
cable to a level and soft bottom. The only obstacle that we see is the
strong partiality of the Esquimaux for old iron, and it would perhaps be
tempting them too much to hang their coasts with this material, just ready
to their hands. The want of settlements along this inhospitable arctic
coast to protect the wire is, we confess, a great drawback to the scheme;
but, we fancy, posts might be organized at comparatively a small cost,
considering the magnitude and importance of the undertaking. The mere
expense of making and laying the cable would not be much more than double
that of building the new Westminster-bridge across the Thames.
Whilst England would thus grasp the West with one hand, her active
children have plotted the seizure of the East with the other. A cable runs
from Genoa to Corsica, and from thence to Sardinia. From the southernmost
point of the latter island, Cape Spartivento, to the gulf of Tunis,
another cable can easily be carried. The direction thence (after giving
off a coast branch to Algeria) will be along the African shore, by Tripoli
to Alexandria, and eventually across Arabia, along the coasts of Persia
and Beloochistan until it enters Scinde, and finally joins the wire at
Hydrabad, which in all probability by that time will have advanced from
Burmah, across the Indian peninsula, to welcome it. America will shortly
carry her line of telegraph to the Pacific shore, and run it up the coast
as far as San Francisco. Can there be any reasonable doubt that, before
the end of the century, the one line advancing towards the West and the
other towards the East--through China and Siberia--will gradually approach
each other so closely that a short cable stretched across Behring Straits
will bring the four quarters of the globe within speaking distance of each
other, and enable the electric fire to "put a girdle round the world in
forty minutes?"
FIRES AND FIRE INSURANCE.
Among the more salient features of the metropolis which instantly strike
the attention of the stranger are the stations of the Fire Brigade.
Whenever he happens to pass them, he finds the sentinel on duty, he sees
the "red artillery" of the force; and the polished axle, the gleaming
branch, and the shining chain, testify to the beautiful condition of the
instrument, ready for active service at a moment's notice. Ensconced in
the shadow of the station, the liveried watchmen look like hunters waiting
for their prey--nor does the hunter move quicker to his quarry at the
rustle of a leaf, than the Firemen dash for the first ruddy glow in the
sky. No sooner comes the alarm, than one sees with a shudder the rush of
one of these engines through the crowded streets, the tearing horses
covered with foam, the heavy vehicle swerving from side to side, and the
black helmeted attendants swaying to and fro. The wonder is that horses or
men ever get safely to their destination: the wonder is still greater that
no one is ridden over in their furious drive.
Arrived at the place of action, the hunter's spirit which animates the
fireman, and makes him attack an element as determinedly as he would a
wild beast, becomes evident to the spectator. The scene which a London
fire presents can never be forgotten: the shouts of the crowd as it opens
to let the engines dart through it, the foaming head of water springing
out of the ground, and spreading over the road until it becomes a broad
mirror reflecting the glowing blaze--the black, snake-like coils of the
leather hose rising and falling like things of life, whilst a hundred
arms work at the pump, their central heart, the applause that rings out
clear above the roaring flame as the adventurous band throw the first
hissing jet; cheer following cheer, as stream after stream shoots against
the burning mass, now flying into the socket-holes of fire, set in the
black face of the house-front, now dashing with a loud shir-r against the
window-frame and wall, and falling off in broken showers. Suddenly there
is a loud shrill cry, and the bank of human faces is upturned to where a
shrieking wretch hangs frantically to an upper window-sill. A deafening
shout goes forth, as the huge fire-escape comes full swing upon the scene:
a moment's pause, and all is still, save the beat, beat, of the great
water pulses, whilst every eye is strained towards the fluttering garments
flapping against the wall. Will the ladder reach, and not dislodge those
weary hands clutching so convulsively to the hot stone! Will the nimble
figure gain the topmost rung ere nature fails? The blood in a thousand
hearts runs cold, and then again break forth a thousand cheers to
celebrate a daring rescue. Such scenes as this are of almost nightly
occurrence in the great metropolis. A still more imposing yet dreadful
sight is often exhibited in the conflagrations of those vast piles of
buildings in the City filled with inflammable merchandise. Here the most
powerful engines seem reduced to mere squirts; and the efforts of the
adventurous brigade men are confined to keeping the mischief within its
own bounds.
When we recollect that London presents an area of thirty-six square miles,
covered with 21,600 square acres of bricks and mortar, and numbers more
than 380,600 houses; that all the riches it contains are nightly
threatened in every direction by an ever-present enemy; that the secret
match, the spontaneous fire, and the hand of the drunkard, are busily at
work; it is evident that nothing but a force the most disciplined, and
implements the most effective, can be competent to cope with so sudden and
persevering a foe.
As late as twenty-two years ago there was no proper fire police to protect
the metropolis against what is commonly called the "all-devouring
element." There was, it is true, a force of 300 parochial engines set on
foot by acts which were passed between the years 1768-74, acts which are
still in existence; but these engines are under the superintendence of the
beadles and parish engineers, who are not the most active of men or nimble
of risers. It may easily be imagined, therefore, that the machines arrived
a little too late; and, when brought into service, were often found to be
out of working order. Hence their employment did not supersede the private
engines kept by some of the insurance offices long prior to their
existence. On the contrary, owing to the increase of business which took
place about this time, the different companies thought it worth their
while to strengthen their former establishments, and this process
continued while the parochial engines, with a few honourable exceptions,
were dropping into disuse.
About the year 1833 it became evident that much was lost, both to the
public and to the insurance companies, by every engine acting on its own
responsibility--a folly which is the cause of such jealousy among the
firemen at Boston (United States), that rival engines have been known to
stop on their way to a fire to exchange shots from revolvers. It was,
therefore, determined to incorporate the divided force, and place it under
the management of one superintendent, each office contributing towards its
support, according to the amount of its business. All the old-established
companies, with one exception,[41] shortly came into the arrangement, and
Mr. Braidwood, the master of the fire-engines of Edinburgh, being invited
to take the command, organized the now celebrated _London Fire Brigade_.
At the present moment, then, the protection against fire in London
consists, firstly, in the three hundred and odd parish-engines (two to
each parish), which are paid for out of the rates. The majority of these
are very inefficient, not having any persons appointed to work them who
possess a competent knowledge of the service. Even women used now and then
to fill the arduous post of director; and it is not long since a certain
Mrs. Smith, a widow, might be seen at conflagrations, hurrying about in
her pattens, directing the firemen of her engine, which belonged to the
united parishes of St. Michael Royal and St. Martin Vintry, in the city.
We question, indeed, if at the present moment any of the parish-engines
are much better officered than in the days of widow Smith, with the
exception of those of Hackney, Whitechapel, Islington, and perhaps two or
three others. Secondly, there are an unknown number of private engines
kept in public buildings and large manufactories, which sometimes do good
service when they arrive early at small fires in their neighbourhood,
although, singularly enough, when called upon to extinguish a
conflagration in their own establishments, they generally "lose their
heads," as the brigade men express it; and very many instances have
occurred where even the parish-engines have arrived and set to work before
the one on the premises could be brought to bear upon the fire. The cause
is clear. The requisite coolness and method which every one can exercise
so philosophically in other people's misfortunes utterly fail them when in
trouble themselves. The doctor is wiser in his generation, and is never so
foolish as to prescribe for himself or to attend his own family.
Thirdly, we have, in contrast to the immense rabble of Bumble engines and
the Bashi-Bazouks of private establishments, the small complement of men
and material of the fire brigade. It consists of twenty-seven large
horse-engines, capable of throwing eighty-eight gallons a minute to the
height of from fifty to seventy feet, and nine smaller ones drawn by hand.
To work them there are twelve engineers, seven sub-engineers, thirty-two
senior firemen, thirty-nine junior firemen, and fourteen drivers, or 104
men and 31 horses. In addition to these persons, who form the main
establishment, and live at the different stations, there is an extra staff
of four firemen, four drivers, and eight horses. The members of this
supplementary force are also lodged at the stations,[42] as well as
clothed, but are only paid when their services are required, and pursue in
the daytime their ordinary occupations. This not very formidable army of
104 men and 31 horses, with its reserve of eight men and eight horses, is
distributed throughout the metropolis, which is divided into four
districts as follows:--On the north side of the river--1st, From the
eastward to Paul's Chain, St. Paul's Churchyard, Aldersgate Street, and
Goswell Street Road; 2nd, From St. Paul's, &c., to Tottenham Court Road,
Crown Street, and St. Martin's Lane; 3rd, From Tottenham Court Road, &c.,
westward; 4th, The entire south side of the river. At the head of each
district is a foreman, who never leaves it unless acting under the
superior orders of Mr. Braidwood, the superintendent or general-in-chief,
whose head-quarters are in Watling Street.