The scene at Heart's Content, when the fleet appeared the second time, was one that beggars description. Its arrival was not unexpected, for the success on Sunday morning, that had been telegraphed to Ireland, was at once flashed across the Atlantic, and the people were watching for its coming. As the ships came up the harbor it was covered with boats, and all were wild with excitement; and when the big shore-end was got out of the Medway, and dragged to land, the sailors hugged it and almost kissed it in their extravagance of joy; and no sooner was it safely landed than they seized Mr. Field, Mr. Canning, and Mr. Clifford in their arms, and raised them over their heads, while the crowd cheered with tumultuous enthusiasm.
The voyage of the Great Eastern was ended. Twice had she been victorious over the sea; twice had she laid the spoils of victory on the shores of the New World, and her mission was accomplished. All on board, who had been detained weeks beyond the expected time, were impatient to return; and accordingly she prepared to sail the very next day on her homeward voyage. The Medway, which had on board the cable for the Gulf of St. Lawrence, remained two or three weeks longer, and with the Terrible, whose gallant officers had volunteered for the service, successfully accomplished that work. But the Great Eastern was bound for England, and Mr. Field had now to part from his friends on board. It was a trying moment. Rejoiced as he was at the successful termination of the voyage, yet when he came to leave the ship, where he had spent so many anxious days and weeks, both this year and the year before; and to part from men to whom he was bound by the strong ties that unite those embarked in a common enterprise—brave companions in arms—he could not repress a feeling of sadness. It was with deep emotion that Captain Anderson took him by the hand, as he said, "The time is come that we must part." As he went over the side of the ship, the commander cried, "Give him three cheers!" "And now three more for his family!" The ringing hurrahs of that gallant crew were the last sounds he heard as he sunk back in the boat that took him to the Medway, while the wheels of the Great Eastern began to move, and the noble ship, with her noble company, bore away for England.
Our story is told. We have followed the history of the Atlantic Telegraph from the beginning to the end; from the hour that the idea first occurred to its projector, turning over the globe in his library, till the cable was stretched from continent to continent. Between these two points of time many years have passed, and many struggles intervened. Never did an enterprise pass through more vicissitudes; never was courage tried by more reverses and disappointments, the constant repetition of which gives to this narrative an almost painful interest. Yet that background of disaster only sets in brighter relief the spirit that bore up under all, the faith that never despaired, and the patience that was never weary. It was a pathetic as well as heroic story which Mr. Field had to tell when it was all over. He said:
"It has been a long, hard struggle. Nearly thirteen years of anxious watching and ceaseless toil. Often my heart has been ready to sink. Many times, when wandering in the forests of Newfoundland, in the pelting rain, or on the deck of ships, on dark, stormy nights—alone, far from home—I have almost accused myself of madness and folly to sacrifice the peace of my family, and all the hopes of life, for what might prove after all but a dream. I have seen my companions one and another falling by my side, and feared that I too might not live to see the end. And yet one hope has led me on, and I have prayed that I might not taste of death till this work was accomplished. That prayer is answered; and now, beyond all acknowledgments to men, is the feeling of gratitude to Almighty God."[C]
"Long and hard" indeed had been the way, but in the end what a triumph was gained: an achievement that was one of the most marvellous in all history, as a proof of man's dominion over the forces of nature. When it was first proposed to span the Atlantic, it seemed but a beautiful dream, fascinating indeed to the imagination, but beyond all human power; and men listened to the picture of what might be with delighted amazement and wondering incredulity. In an oration at the opening of the Dudley Observatory at Albany, in 1857, Edward Everett spoke thus of the projected Atlantic Telegraph:
"I hold in my hand a portion of the identical electrical cable, given me by my friend Mr. Peabody, which is now in progress of manufacture to connect America with Europe. Does it seem all but incredible to you that intelligence should travel for two thousand miles, along those slender copper wires, far down in the all but fathomless Atlantic, never before penetrated by aught pertaining to humanity, save when some foundering vessel has plunged with her hapless company to the eternal silence and darkness of the abyss? Does it seem, I say, all but a miracle of art, that the thoughts of living men—the thoughts that we think up here on the earth's surface, in the cheerful light of day—about the markets and the exchanges, and the seasons, and the elections, and the treaties, and the wars, and all the fond nothings of daily life, should clothe themselves with elemental sparks, and shoot with fiery speed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, from hemisphere to hemisphere, far down among the uncouth monsters that wallow in the nether seas, along the wreck-paved floor, through the oozy dungeons of the rayless deep; that the latest intelligence of the crops, whose dancing tassels will, in a few months, be coquetting with the west wind on those boundless prairies, should go flashing along the slimy decks of old sunken galleons, which have been rotting for ages; that messages of friendship and love, from warm, living bosoms, should burn over the cold, green bones of men and women, whose hearts, once as warm as ours, burst as the eternal gulfs closed and roared over them centuries ago!"
But a few years passed, and the vision became a reality. The heart of the world beat under the sea.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Captain Anderson, in a letter published after the return to England, says: "Every officer and man of the expedition will have pleasant recollection of the cheerful zeal of Captain Commerill, V.C., and the officers of Her Majesty's ship Terrible. Captain Commerill frequently visited us in his boats, both in high seas and in calms, and his cheery way of saying, 'You'll do it yet,' 'What can I do?' and 'I'll do it,' was truly characteristic of him. The officers of the Terrible would do any thing for their captain, and entered heartily into the object of the voyage."
Such a tribute from one brave commander to another, is most honorable to both. In the same letter he recognizes, also, the services rendered by the captains of the other ships: "I shall do but scant justice to Commanders Prowse and Batt, R. N., and Captains Eddington and Harris, Mercantile Marine, of the Medway and Albany, if I recall the three weeks spent upon the 'grappling ground,' where we were often separated by fog, gale, or darkness; yet whenever day dawned, or the fog cleared, there the squadron were to be seen, converging from different points towards the Mark Buoy, a small spot looking no bigger than a man's hat on the surface of the ocean. Unless all had concentrated their minds, and watched their ships and compasses night and day, no such beautiful illustration of nautical science could have been possible. The vessels of the squadron keeping always together, and commanded by men who knew the importance of keeping close enough to begin work whenever it was possible, and yet to avoid collision in fog, was of the greatest importance; and we owe much to that invaluable system of signalling by night and day, invented by Captain Colomb, R. N., which enabled us, even in dark nights, when two or three miles apart, to communicate or ascertain anything we desired."