Warned by repeated failures, they hardly dared to hope for success in this last experiment. And yet the spirits of all rose, as the distance widened between the ships. A hundred miles were laid safely—a hundred and fifty—two hundred! Why might they not lay two thousand? So reasoned the sanguine and hopeful when, Tuesday night, came the fatal announcement that the electric current had ceased to flow. It afterward appeared that the cable had broken about twenty feet from the stern of the Agamemnon.
As the cable was now useless, it only remained to cut it from the stern of the Niagara. Before doing this, it was thought a good opportunity to test its strength. For this purpose the brakes were shut down, so that the paying-out machine could not move. But still the cable did not break, although the whole weight of the Niagara hung upon that slender cord, and though several men got upon the brakes. Says Captain Hudson: "Although the wind was quite fresh, the cable held the ship for one hour and forty minutes before breaking, and notwithstanding a strain of four tons."
Though not unexpected, this last breaking of the cable was a sad blow to all on board. It was the end of their hopes, at least for the present expedition. Before separating, it had been agreed, that if the cable should part again before either ship had run a hundred miles, they should return and renew the attempt. If they had passed that limit, they were all to sail for Ireland. But the Niagara had run out a hundred and eleven miles, and knowing that the Agamemnon had done about the same, she expected the latter would keep on her course eastward, not stopping till she reached Queenstown. The Niagara, therefore, reluctantly bore away for the same port.
Of course, the return voyage was "any thing but gay." When soldiers come home from the war, they march with a proud step, if they have had a victorious campaign. But it is otherwise when they come with a sad tale of disaster and defeat. Seldom had an expedition begun with higher hopes, or ended in more complete failure. Who could help feeling keenly this fresh disappointment? Even with all the courage "that may become a man," heightened by a natural buoyancy of spirits, how was it possible to resist the impression of the facts they had just witnessed? If—as Lord Carlisle had told them the year before—"there was almost enough of glory in the very design of an Atlantic telegraph," that glory might still be theirs. But apparently they could hope for nothing more. They had done all that men could do. But fate seemed against them; and who can fight against destiny? No one can blame them if they sometimes had sore misgivings, and looked out sadly upon the sea that had baffled their utmost skill, and now laughed their efforts to scorn.
In this mood they entered once more the harbor of Queenstown. The Niagara was the first to arrive and to bring tidings of the great disaster. The Agamemnon came in a few days after. Knowing the fatal impression their report was likely to produce, Mr. Field hastened to London to meet the Directors. It was high time. The news had reached there before him, and had already produced its effect. Under its impression the Board was called together. It met in the same room where, six weeks before, it had discussed the prospects of the expedition with full confidence of success. Now it met, as a council of war is summoned after a terrible defeat, to decide whether to surrender or to try once more the chances of battle. When the Directors came together, the feeling—to call it by the mildest name—was one of extreme discouragement. They looked blankly in each other's faces. With some, the feeling was one almost of despair. Sir William Brown, of Liverpool, the first Chairman, wrote, advising them to sell the cable. Mr. Brooking, the Vice-Chairman, who had given more time to it than any other Director, when he saw that his colleagues were disposed to make still another trial, left the room, and the next day sent in his resignation, determined to take no further part in an undertaking which had been proved hopeless, and to persist in which seemed mere rashness and folly.
But others thought there was still a chance. Like Robert Bruce, who, after twelve battles and twelve defeats, yet believed that a thirteenth might bring victory, they clung to this bare possibility. Mr. Field and Professor Thomson gave the results of their experience, from which it appeared that there was no obstacle in the nature of the case which might not be overcome. Mr. Bright and Mr. Woodhouse joined with them in advising strongly that they should renew the attempt. To be sure, it was a forlorn hope. But the ships were there. Though they had lost three hundred miles of cable, they had still enough on board to cross the sea. These arguments prevailed, and it was voted to make one more trial before the project was finally abandoned. Even though the chances were a hundred to one against them, that one might bring them success. And so it proved. But was it their own wisdom or courage that got them the victory, or were they led by that Being whose way is in the sea, and whose path is in the great waters?
FOOTNOTES:
[A] It should be said, however, in justice to Mr. Bright, that most of these defects he had himself perceived on seeing it in operation. On his return from the expedition of 1857, he sent in a report, pointing out the defects of the machinery, and how to remedy them. These suggestions were approved by the Scientific Committee, and carried out by Mr. Everett. The recognition of this fact, while it takes nothing from the practical skill shown by the American engineer, is but just to his predecessor, who, as the pioneer in this work, might easily fall into mistakes, which it needed only time and experience to correct.
[B] As there is no trouble without a compensation, it is something that this voyage, fearful as it was, furnished a subject for a description of marvellous power. The letter to the London Times, written by Mr. Woods, its correspondent on board the Agamemnon, is one of the finest descriptions of a storm at sea we know of in the language. It is a wonderful specimen of "word-painting," and brings the scene before us with a vividness like that of the marine paintings of Stanfield or Turner.