"At your unanimous request, but at a very great personal sacrifice to myself, I accepted the office of General Manager of the Atlantic Telegraph Company, for the sole purpose of doing all in my power to aid you to make the enterprise successful; and as that object has been attained, you will please accept my resignation. It will always afford me pleasure to do any thing in my power, consistent with my duties to my family and my own private affairs, to promote the interests of the Atlantic Telegraph Company."
Once more with his family, Mr. Field hoped for a brief interval of rest and quiet. But this was impossible. The great event with which his name was connected was too fresh in the public mind. He could not escape public observation. He was at once thronged with visitors, offering their congratulations, and his house surrounded with crowds eager to see and hear him. While making all allowance for popular excitement, yet none could deny that a service so great demanded some public recognition. Even in England, where the enthusiasm did not approach that in this country, still the wondrous character of the achievement was fully acknowledged. Said the London Times on the morning of the sixth of August: "Since the discovery of Columbus, nothing has been done in any degree comparable to the vast enlargement which has thus been given to the sphere of human activity." "More was done yesterday for the consolidation of our empire, than the wisdom of our statesmen, the liberality of our Legislature, or the loyalty of our colonists, could ever have effected." To mark the public benefit which had been conferred, the Chief Engineer of the Expedition, Mr. Charles T. Bright, was knighted, and Captains Preedy and Aldham were both made Companions of the Bath, and other officers were promoted. Thus England showed her appreciation of their services.
But in this country titles and honors come not from the Government, but from the people. Popular enthusiasm exhausted itself in eulogies of the man who had linked the Old World to the New. It seems strange now to sit down in cold blood and read what was published in the papers of that day. A collection of American journals issued during that eventful month, August, 1858, would be a literary curiosity.[A]
Nor was it merely in such outward demonstrations that the public enthusiasm showed itself. The feeling struck deeper, and reached all minds. While the people shouted and cannon roared, sober and thoughtful men pondered on the change that was being wrought in the earth. Business men reasoned how it would affect the commerce of the world, while the philanthropic regarded it as the forerunner of an age of universal peace. The first message flashed across the sea—even before that of the Queen—had been one of religious exultation. It was from the Directors in Great Britain to those on this side the Atlantic, and, simply reciting the fact that Europe and America were united by telegraph, at once broke into a strain of religious rapture, echoing the song of the angels over a Saviour's birth: "Glory to God in the highest; on earth, peace, good-will toward men." Poetry at once caught up the strain. The event became the theme of innumerable odes and hymns, of which it must be said that, whatever their merit as poetry, their spirit at least was noble, celebrating the event chiefly as promoting the brotherhood of the human family. The key-note was struck in such lines as these:
'Tis done! the angry sea consents,
The nations stand no more apart,
With claspèd hands the continents
Feel throbbings of each other's heart.
Speed, speed the cable; let it run
A loving girdle round the earth,
Till all the nations 'neath the sun
Shall be as brothers of one hearth;
As brothers pledging, hand in hand,
One freedom for the world abroad,
One commerce over every land,
One language and one God.
The sermons preached on this occasion were literally without number. Enough found their way into print to make a large volume. Never had an event touched more deeply the spirit of religious enthusiasm. Devout men held it as an advance toward that millennial era which was at once the object of their faith and hope. Was not this the predicted time when, "many should run to and fro, and knowledge should be increased?" So said the preachers, taking for their favorite text the vision of the Psalmist, "Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world;" or the question of Job: "Canst thou send forth the lightnings, that they may go and say unto thee, Here we are?" Was not this the dawn of that happy age, when all men should be bound together in peaceful intercourse, and nations should learn war no more? Such was the burden of the discourses that were preached in a thousand pulpits from one end of the country to the other. Even the Roman Catholic Church, so lofty and inflexible in its claims, soaring into the past centuries, and almost disdaining the material progress of the present day as compared with the spiritual glories of the Ages of Faith, did not ignore the great event; and in laying the foundation of the new Cathedral of St. Patrick, the largest temple of religion on the continent, Archbishop Hughes placed under the corner-stone an inscription, wherein, along with the enduring record of the Christian faith and the names of martyrs and confessors, he did not disdain to include a brief memorial of this last achievement of science, and the name of him who had conferred so great a benefit on mankind.