The scene is a long, handsome room or gallery, with a singular piece of furniture in the shape of an L occupying the middle. This is the switchboard, in which the wires from the offices and homes of the subscribers are concentrated like the nerves in a ganglion. It is known as the "multiple switchboard," an American invention, and is divided into sections, over which the operators preside. The lines of all the subscribers are brought to each section, so that the operator can cross connect any two lines in the whole system without leaving her chair. Each section of the board is, in fact, an epitome of the whole, but it is physically impossible for a single operator to make all the connections of a large exchange, and the work is distributed amongst them. A multiplicity of wires is therefore needed to connect, say, two thousand subscribers. These are all concealed, however, at the back of the board, and in charge of the electricians. The young lady operators have nothing to do with these, and so much the better for them, as it would puzzle their minds a good deal worse than a ravelled skein of thread. Their duty is to sit in front of the board in comfortable seats at a long table and make the needful connections. The call signal of a subscriber is given by the drop of a disc bearing his number. The operator then asks the subscriber by telephone what he wants, and on hearing the number of the other subscriber he wishes to speak with, she takes up a pair of brass plugs coupled by a flexible conductor and joins the lines of the subscribers on the switchboard by simply thrusting the plugs into holes corresponding to the wires. The subscribers are then free to talk with each other undisturbed, and the end of the conversation is signalled to the operator. Every instant the call discs are dropping, the connecting plugs are thrust into the holes, and the girls are asking "Hullo! hullo!" "Are you there?" "Who are you?" "Have you finished?" Yet all this constant activity goes on quietly, deftly —we might say elegantly—and in comparative silence, for the low tones of the girlish voices are soft and pleasing, and the harsher sounds of the subscriber are unheard in the room by all save the operator who attends to him.
CHAPTER VII.
ELECTRIC LIGHT AND HEAT.
The electric spark was, of course, familiar to the early experimenters with electricity, but the electric light, as we know it, was first discovered by Sir Humphrey Davy, the Cornish philosopher, in the year 1811 or thereabout. With the magic of his genius Davy transformed the spark into a brilliant glow by passing it between two points of carbon instead of metal. If, as in figure 60, we twist the wires (+ and—) which come from a voltaic battery, say of 20 cells, about two carbon pencils, and bring their tips together in order to start the current, then draw them a little apart, we shall produce an artificial or mimic star. A sheet of dazzling light, which is called the electric arc, is seen to bridge the gap. It is not a true flame, for there is little combustion, but rather a nebulous blaze of silvery lustre in a bluish veil of heated air. The points of carbon are white-hot, and the positive is eaten away into a hollow or crater by the current, which violently tears its particles from their seat and whirls them into the fierce vortex of the arc. The negative remains pointed, but it is also worn away about half as fast as the positive. This wasting of the carbons tends to widen the arc too much and break the current, hence in arc lamps meant to yield the light for hours the sticks are made of a good length, and a self- acting mechanism feeds them forward to the arc as they are slowly consumed, thus maintaining the splendour of the illumination.
Many ingenious lamps have been devised by Serrin, Dubosq, Siemens, Brockie, and others, some regulating the arc by clockwork and electro-magnetism, or by thermal and other effects of the current. They are chiefly used for lighting halls and railway stations, streets and open spaces, search-lights and lighthouses. They are sometimes naked, but as a rule their brightness is tempered by globes of ground or opal glass. In search-lights a parabolic mirror projects all the rays in any one direction, and in lighthouses the arc is placed in the focus of the condensing lenses, and the beam is visible for at least twenty or thirty miles on clear nights. Very powerful arc lights, equivalent to hundreds of thousands of candles, can be seen for 100 or 150 miles.
Figure 61 illustrates the Pilsen lamp, in which the positive Carbon G runs on rollers rr through the hollow interior of two solenoids or coils of wire MM' and carries at its middle a spindle-shaped piece of soft iron C. The current flows through the solenoid M on its way to the arc, but a branch or shunted portion of it flows through the solenoid M', and as both of these solenoids act as electromagnets on the soft iron C, each tending to suck it into its interior, the iron rests between them when their powers are balanced. When, however, the arc grows too wide, and the current therefore becomes too weak, the shunt solenoid M' gains a purchase over the main solenoid M, and, pulling the iron core towards it, feeds the positive carbon to the arc. In this way the balance of the solenoids is readjusted, the current regains its normal strength, the arc its proper width, and the light its brilliancy.
Figure 62 is a diagrammatic representation of the Brush arc lamp. X and Y are the line terminals connecting the lamp in circuit. On the one hand, the current splits and passes around the hollow spools H H', thence to the rod N through the carbon K, the arc, the carbon K', and thence through the lamp frame to Y. On the other hand, it runs in a resistance fine-wire coil around the magnet T, thence to Y. The operation of the lamp is as follows: K and K' being in contact, a strong current starts through the lamp energising H and H', which suck in their core pieces N and S, lifting C, and by it the "washer-clutch" W and the rod N and carbon K, establishing the arc. K is lifted until the increasing resistance of the lengthening arc weakens the current in H H' and a balance is established. As the carbons burn away, C gradually lowers until a stop under W holds it horizontal and allows N to drop through W, and the lamp starts anew. If for any reason the resistance of the lamp becomes too great, or the circuit is broken, the increased current through T draws up its armature, closing the contacts M, thus short-circuiting the lamp through a thick, heavy wire coil on T, which then keeps M closed, and prevents the dead lamp from interfering with the others on its line. Numerous modifications of this lamp are in very general use.
Davy also found that a continuous wire or stick of carbon could be made white-hot by sending a sufficient current through it, and this fact is the basis of the incandescent lamp now so common in our homes.
Wires of platinum, iridium, and other inoxidisable metals raised to incandescence by the current are useful in firing mines, but they are not quite suitable for yielding a light, because at a very high temperature they begin to melt. Every solid body becomes red-hot—that is to say, emits rays of red light, at a temperature of about 1000 degrees Fahrenheit, yellow rays at 1300 degrees, blue rays at 1500 degrees, and white light at 2000 degrees. It is found, however, that as the temperature of a wire is pushed beyond this figure the light emitted becomes far more brilliant than the increase of temperature would seem to warrant. It therefore pays to elevate the temperature of the filament as high as possible. Unfortunately the most refractory metals, such as platinum and alloys of platinum with iridium, fuse at a temperature of about 3450 degrees Fahrenheit. Electricians have therefore forsaken metals, and fallen back on carbon for producing a light. In 1845 Mr. Staite devised an incandescent lamp consisting of a fine rod or stick of carbon rendered white-hot by the current, and to preserve the carbon from burning in the atmosphere, he enclosed it in a glass bulb, from which the air was exhausted by an air pump. Edison and Swan, in 1878, and subsequently, went a step further, and substituted a filament or fine thread of carbon for the rod. The new lamp united the advantages of wire in point of form with those of carbon as a material. The Edison filament was made by cutting thin slips of bamboo and charring them, the Swan by carbonising linen fibre with sulphuric acid. It was subsequently found that a hard skin could be given to the filament by "flashing" it—that is to say, heating it to incandescence by the current in an atmosphere of hydrocarbon gas. The filament thus treated becomes dense and resilient.
Figure 63 represents an ordinary glow lamp of the Edison-Swan type, where E is the filament, moulded into a loop, and cemented to two platinum wires or electrodes P penetrating the glass bulb L, which is exhausted of air.