The enthusiasm with which this address was received reached its height, when at the close, Mr. Field advanced to the edge of the platform, and unrolling a despatch, held it up, saying: "Gentlemen, I have just received a telegraphic message from a little village, now a suburb of New York, which I will read to you:
"London, September 1, 1858.
"To Cyrus W. Field, New York:
"The directors are on their way to Valentia, to make arrangements for opening the line to the public. They convey, through the cable, to you and your fellow-citizens, their hearty congratulations and good wishes, and cordially sympathize in your joyous celebration of the great international work."[B]
A gold medal was presented to Captain Hudson, with an address, to which he made a fitting reply. Similar testimonials were presented to all the English captains through Mr. Archibald, the British Consul, who replied for his absent countrymen, after which the whole audience rose to their feet, as the band played "God save the Queen."
It was long after dark when the exercises closed, and the vast multitude dispersed.
The night witnessed one of those displays for which New York surpasses all the cities of the world—a firemen's torchlight procession—a display such as was afterward given to the Prince of Wales, but which we shall probably witness no more, since the Volunteer Fire Department is disbanded.
But one day did not exhaust the public enthusiasm. The next evening, a grand banquet was given by the city authorities, at which were present a great number of distinguished guests. Lord Napier spoke, in language as happy as it was eloquent, of the new tie that was formed between kindred dwelling on opposite sides of the sea, and awarded the highest praise to the one whom he recognized as the author of this great achievement.
While these demonstrations continued, every opposing voice was hushed in the chorus of national rejoicing; yet some there were, no doubt, who looked on with silent envy or whispered detraction. But who could grudge these honors to the hero of the hour—honors so hardly won, and which, as it proved, were soon to give place to harsh censures and unjust imputations?
Alas for all human glory! Its paths lead but to the grave. Death is the end of human ambition. The very day that a whole city rose up to do honor to the Atlantic Telegraph and its author, it gave its last throb, and that first cable was thenceforth to sleep for ever silent in its ocean grave.