The Story of the Atlantic Telegraph

by Henry M. Field

The Telegraph fleet was not the same as that of the last year. The Government could spare but a single ship; but the Terrible, which had accompanied the Great Eastern on the former expedition, was still there to represent the majesty of England. The William Corry, a vessel of two thousand tons, bore the ponderous shore end, which was to be laid out thirty miles from the Irish coast, while the Albany and the Medway were ships chartered by the Company. The latter carried several hundred miles of the last year's cable, besides one of heavier proportions, ninety miles long, to be stretched across the mouth of the Gulf of St. Lawrence.

SHORE END—EXACT SIZE.

While the Great Eastern remained at Berehaven, to take in her final stores of coal, the William Corry proceeded around the coast to Valentia to lay the shore end. She arrived off the harbor on the morning of Saturday, the seventh of July, and immediately began to prepare for her heavy task. This shore end was of tremendous size, weighing twenty tons to the mile. It was by far the strongest wire cable ever made, and in short lengths was stiff as an iron bar. As the year before, the cable was to be brought off on a bridge of boats reaching from the ship to the foot of the cliff. All the fishermen's boats were gathered from along the shore, while H. M. S. Raccoon, which was guarding that part of the coast, sent up her boats to help, so that, as they all mustered in line, there were forty of them, making a long pontoon-bridge; and Irish boatmen with eager looks and strong hands were standing along the line, to grasp the ponderous chain. All went well, and by one o'clock the cable was landed, and its end brought up the cliff to the station. The signals were found to be perfect, and the William Corry then slowly drew off to sea, unlimbering her stiff shore end, till she had cast over the whole thirty miles. At three o'clock next morning she telegraphed through the cable that her work was done, and she had buoyed the end in water a hundred fathoms deep. Describing the scene, the correspondent of the London News says:

"In its leading features it presented a striking difference to the ceremony of last year. Earnest gravity and a deep-seated determination to repress all show of the enthusiasm of which everybody was full, was very manifest. The excitement was below, instead of above, the surface. Speech-making, hurrahing, public congratulations, and vaunts of confidence were, as it seemed, avoided as if on purpose. There was something far more touching in the quiet and reverent solemnity of the spectators yesterday than in the slightly boisterous joviality of the peasantry last year. Nothing could prevent the scene being intensely dramatic, but the prevailing tone of the drama was serious instead of comic and triumphant. The old crones in tattered garments who cowered together, dudheen in mouth, their gaudy colored shawls tightly drawn over head and under the chin—the barefooted boys and girls, who by long practice walked over sharp and jagged rocks, which cut up boots and shoes, with perfect impunity—the men at work uncovering the trench, and winding in single file up and down the hazardous path cut by the cablemen in the otherwise inaccessible rock—the patches of bright color furnished by the red petticoats and cloaks—the ragged garments, only kept from falling to pieces by bits of string and tape—the good old parish priest, who exercises mild and gentle spiritual sway over the loving subjects of whom the ever-popular Knight of Kerry is the temporal head, looking on benignly from his car—the bright eyes, supple figures, and innocent faces of the peasant lasses, and the earnestly hopeful expression of all—made up a picture impossible to describe with justice. Add to this, the startling abruptness with which the tremendous cliffs stand flush out of the water, the alternations of bright wild flowers and patches of verdure with the most desolate barrenness, the mountain sheep indifferently cropping the short, sweet grass, and the undercurrent of consciousness of the mighty interests at stake, and few scenes will seem more important and interesting than that of yesterday."

As the ships are now ready for sea, and all who are to embark have come on board, we may look about us at the personnel of the expedition. Who are here? We recognize many old familiar faces, that we have seen in former campaigns—gallant men who have had many a sea-fight in this peaceful war. First, the eye seeks the tall form of Captain Anderson. There he is, modest and grave, of few words, but seeing every thing, watching every thing, and ruling every thing with a quiet power. And there is his second officer, Mr. Halpin, who keeps a sharp lookout after the crew, to see that every man does his duty. While he thus keeps watch of all on board, Staff Commander Moriarty, R. N., comes on deck, with instruments in hand, to look after the heavenly bodies, and reckon the ship's latitude and longitude. This is an old veteran in the service, who has been in all the expeditions, and it would be quite "improper," even if it were possible, for a cable to be laid across the Atlantic without his presence and aid. And here comes Mr. Canning, the engineer, whose deep-sea soundings, the last year, were on a scale of such magnitude, and who, if he cannot well dive deeper, means to pull stronger the next time. That slight form yonder is Professor Thomson, of Glasgow, a man who in his knowledge of the subtle element to be brought into play, and the enthusiasm he brings to its study, is the very genius of electrical science; and this is Mr. Varley, who seems to have the lightning in his fingers, and to whom the world owes some marvellous discoveries of the laws of electricity. Mr. Willoughby Smith, a worthy associate in these studies and discoveries, goes out on the ship as electrician.

And here is Mr. Glass, the managing director of the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company, which has undertaken by contract to manufacture this cable and lay it safely across the ocean; and Mr. Gooch, chairman of the company that owns the Great Eastern—two gentlemen to whom the Atlantic Telegraph is under the greatest obligation, since it was they who, six months before, when the project seemed in danger of being given up or postponed for years, took Mr. Field by the hand, and cheered him on to a last effort. Blessings on their hearts of oak! Mr. Gooch accompanies the ship, while Mr. Glass, keeping Mr. Varley at his side as electrician, remains on shore, to receive reports of the daily progress of the expedition, and to issue his orders. What a post of observation was that telegraph house on the cliffs of Valentia! It commanded a far broader horizon than the top of Fiesolé, from which Galileo looked down on the valley of the Arno, and up at the stars. Was there ever a naval commander favored with a power of vision that could sweep the boundless sea? What would Nelson have said, if he had had a spy-glass with which he could watch ships in action two thousand miles away, and issue his orders to a fleet on the other side of the ocean? With such a long range, he might almost have fought the Battle of the Nile from his home in England.

Standing on such a spot, and surrounded by such men, representing the capital, the science, and the skill of England, with all those gallant ships in sight, one's heart might well beat high. But there were other reflections that saddened the hour, and caused some at least to look once more on the rocks of Valentia with deep emotion. Some of their old companions-in-arms had fallen out of the ranks, while the battle was not yet won. Brett, Mr. Field's first friend in England, was in his grave. Beyond the Atlantic, Captains Hudson and Berryman slept the sleep that knows no waking. They were not forgotten by their survivors, who mourned that those who had toiled with them in former days, were not here to share their triumph.

The feeling, therefore, of many on this occasion, was not one elate with pride and hope, but subdued by serious thoughts and tender memories. In harmony with this feeling, and with the great work which they were about to undertake, it was proposed that before the expedition sailed they should hold a solemn religious service.

Was there ever a fitter place or a fitter hour for prayer than here, in the presence of the great sea to which they were about to commit their lives and their precious trust? The first expedition ever sent forth had been consecrated by prayer. On that very spot, nine years before, all heads were uncovered and all forms bent low, at the solemn words of supplication; and there had the Earl of Carlisle—since gone to his honored grave—cheered them on with high religious hopes, describing the ships which were sent forth on such a mission, as "beautiful upon the waters as were the feet upon the mountains of them that publish the gospel of peace."