The Story of the Atlantic Cable

by Sir Charles Bright

The massive beams under her upper-deck coil cracked{92} and snapped with a noise resembling that of small artillery, almost drowning the hideous roar of the wind as it moaned and howled through the rigging, jerking and straining the little storm-sails as though it meant to tear them from the yards. Those in the impoverished cabins on the main deck had little sleep that night, for the upper-deck planks above them were “working themselves free,” as sailors say; and beyond a doubt they were infinitely more free than easy, for they groaned under the pressure of the coil with a dreadful uproar, and availed themselves of the opportunity to let in a little light, with a good deal of water, at every roll. The sea, too, kept striking with dull, heavy violence against the vessel’s bows, forcing its way through hawse-holes and ill-closed ports with a heavy slush; and thence, hissing and winding aft, it roused the occupants of the cabins aforesaid to a knowledge that their floors were under water, and that the flotsam and jetsam noises they heard beneath were only caused by their outfit for the voyage taking a cruise of its own in some five or six inches of dirty bilge. Such was Sunday night, and such was a fair average of all the nights throughout the week, varying only from bad to worse. On Monday things became desperate.

The barometer was lower—and, as a matter of course, the wind and sea were infinitely higher—than the day before. It was singular, but at twelve o’clock the sun pierced through the pall of clouds and shone brilliantly for half an hour, and during that brief time it blew as it had not often blown before. So fierce was this gust that its roar drowned every other sound, and it was almost impossible to give the watch the necessary orders for taking in the close-reefer foresail, which, when furled, almost left the Agamemnon under bare poles, though still surging through the water at speed. This gust passed, the usual gale set in, now blowing steadily from the southwest, and taking us more and more out of our course each minute. Every hour the storm got worse, till toward five in the afternoon, when it seemed at its height—and raged with such a violence of wind and sea—that matters really looked “desperate” even for such a strong and large ship{93} as the Agamemnon. The upper-deck coil had strained her decks throughout excessively, and though this mass in theory was supposed to prevent her rolling so quickly and heavily as she would have done without it, yet still she heeled over to such an alarming extent that fears of the coil itself shifting again occupied every mind, and it was accordingly strengthened with additional shores bolted down to the deck. The space occupied by the main coil below had deprived the Agamemnon of several of her coal-bunkers, and in order to make up for this deficiency, as well as to endeavor to counterbalance the immense mass which weighed her down by the head, a large quantity of coals had been stowed on the deck aft. On each side of her main deck were thirty-five tons, secured in a mass, while on the lower deck ninety tons were stowed away in the same manner. The precautions taken to secure these huge masses also required attention as the great ship surged from side to side. But these coals seemed secure, and were so, in fact, unless the vessel should almost capsize—an unpleasant alternative which no one certainly anticipated then. Everything, therefore, was made “snug,” as sailors call it, though their efforts by no means resulted in the comfort which might have been expected from the term. The night, however, passed over without any mischance beyond the smashing of all things incautiously left loose and capable of rolling, and one or two attempts which the Agamemnon made in the middle watch to turn bottom upward. In all other matters it was the mere ditto of Sunday night, except, perhaps, a little worse, and certainly much more wet below. Tuesday the gale continued with almost unabated force, though the barometer had risen to 29.30, and there was sufficient sun to take a clear observation, which showed our distance from the rendezvous to be 563 miles. During this afternoon the Niagara joined company, and the wind going more ahead, the Agamemnon took to violent pitching, plunging steadily into the trough of the sea as if she meant to break her back and lay the Atlantic cable in a heap. This change in her motion strained and taxed every inch of timber{94} near the coils to the very utmost. It was curious to see how they worked and bent as the Agamemnon went at everything she met head first. One time she pitched so heavily as to break one of the main beams of the lower deck, which had to be shored with screw-jacks forthwith. Saturday, the 19th of June, things looked a little better. The barometer seemed inclined to go up and the sea to go down; and for the first time that morning since the gale began, some six days previous, the decks could be walked with tolerable comfort and security. But alas! appearances are as deceitful in the Atlantic as elsewhere; and during a comparative calm that afternoon the glass fell lower, while a thin line of black haze to windward seemed to grow up into the sky, until it covered the heavens with a somber darkness, and warned us that, after all, the worst was yet to come. There was much heavy rain that evening, and then the wind began, not violently, nor in gusts, but with a steadily increasing force, as if the gale was determined to do its work slowly but do it well. The sea was “ready-built to hand,” as sailors say, so at first the storm did little more than urge on the ponderous masses of water with redoubled force, and fill the air with the foam and spray it tore from their rugged crests. By and by, however, it grew more dangerous, and Captain Preedy himself remained on deck throughout the middle watch, for the wind was hourly getting worse and worse, and the Agamemnon, rolling thirty degrees each way, was straining to a dangerous extent.

At 4 A.M. sail was shortened to close-reefer fore and main topsails and reefed foresail—a long and tedious job, for the wind so roared and howled and the hiss of the boiling sea was so deafening that words of command were useless, and the men aloft, holding on with all their might to the yards as the ship rolled over and over almost to the water, were quite incapable of struggling with the masses of wet canvas that flapped and plunged as if men and yards and everything were going away together. The ship was almost as wet inside as out, and so things wore on till eight or nine o’clock, everything getting adrift and being smashed, and every one on board jamming themselves{95} up in corners or holding on to beams to prevent their going adrift likewise. At ten o’clock the Agamemnon was rolling and laboring fearfully, with the sky getting darker, and both wind and sea increasing every minute. At about half-past ten o’clock three or four gigantic waves were seen approaching the ship, coming slowly on through the mist nearer and nearer, rolling on like hills of green water, with a crown of foam that seemed to double their height. The Agamemnon rose heavily to the first, and then went down quickly into the deep trough of the sea, falling over as she did so, so as almost to capsize completely on the port side. There was a fearful crashing as she lay over this way, for everything broke adrift, whether secured or not, and the uproar and confusion were terrific for a minute, then back she came again on the starboard beam in the same manner, only quicker, and still deeper than before. Again there was the same noise and crashing, and the officers in the ward-room, who knew the danger of the ship, struggled to their feet and opened the door leading to the main deck. Here, for an instant, the scene almost defies description. Amid loud shouts and efforts to save themselves, a confused mass of sailors, boys, and marines, with deck-buckets, ropes, ladders, and everything that could get loose, and which had fallen back again to the port side, were being hurled again in a mass across the ship to starboard. Dimly, and only for an instant, could this be seen, with groups of men clinging to the beams with all their might, with a mass of water, which had forced its way in through ports and decks, surging about, and then, with a tremendous crash, as the ship fell still deeper over, the coals stowed on the main deck broke loose, and smashing everything before them, went over among the rest to leeward. The coal-dust hid everything on the main deck in an instant, but the crashing could still be heard going on in all directions, as the lumps and sacks of coal, with stanchions, ladders, and mess-tins, went leaping about the decks, pouring down the hatchways, and crashing through the glass skylights into the engine-room below. Still it was not done, and, surging again over another tremendous{96} wave, the Agamemnon dropped down still more to port, and the coals on the starboard side of the lower deck gave way also, and carried everything before them. Matters now became serious, for it was evident that two or three more lurches and the masts would go like reeds, while half the crew might be maimed or killed below. Captain Preedy was already on the poop, with Lieutenant Gibson, and it was “Hands, wear ship,” at once, while Mr. Brown, the indefatigable chief engineer, was ordered to get up steam immediately. The crew gained the deck with difficulty, and not till after a lapse of some minutes, for all the ladders had been broken away; the men were grimed with coal-dust, and many bore still more serious marks upon their faces of how they had been knocked about below. There was some confusion at first, for the storm was fearful. The officers were quite inaudible, and a wild, dangerous sea, running mountains high, heeled the great ship backward and forward, so that the crew were unable to keep their feet for an instant, and in some cases were thrown across the decks in a fearful manner. Two marines went with a rush head foremost into the paying-out machine, as if they meant to butt it over the side, yet, strange to say, neither the men nor the machine suffered. What made matters worse, the ship’s barge, though lashed down to the deck, had partly broken loose, and dropping from side to side as the vessel lurched, it threatened to crush any who ventured to pass it. The regular discipline of the ship, however, soon prevailed, and the crew set to work to wear round the ship on the starboard tack, while Lieutenants Robinson and Murray went below to see after those who had been hurt, and about the number of whom extravagant rumors prevailed among the men. There were, however, unfortunately but too many. The marine sentry outside the ward-room door on the main deck had not had time to escape, and was completely buried under the coals. Some time elapsed before he could be got out, for one of the beams used to shore up the sacks, which had crushed his arm very badly, still lay across the mangled limb, jamming it in such a manner that it was found impossible to remove{98} it without risking the man’s life. Saws, therefore, had to be sent for, and the timber sawn away before the poor fellow could be extricated. Another marine on the lower deck endeavored to save himself by catching hold of what seemed a ledge in the planks, but, unfortunately, it was only caused by the beams straining apart, and, of course, as the Agamemnon righted they closed again, and crushed his fingers flat. One of the assistant engineers was also buried among the coals on the lower deck, and sustained some severe internal injuries. The lurch of the ship was calculated at forty-five degrees each way for five times in rapid succession. The galley-coppers were only half filled with soup; nevertheless, it nearly all poured out, and scalded some of the poor fellows who were extended on the decks, holding on to anything in reach. These, with a dislocation, were the chief casualties, but there were others of bruises and contusions, more or less severe, and, of course, a long list of escapes more marvelous than any injury. One poor fellow went head first from the main deck into the hold without being hurt, and one on the orlop-deck was “chevied” about for some ten minutes by three large casks of oil which had got adrift, and any one of which would have flattened him like a pancake had it overtaken him.

As soon as the Agamemnon had gone round on the other tack the Niagara wore also, and bore down as if to render assistance. She had witnessed our danger, and, as we afterward learned, imagined that the upper-deck coil had broken loose, and that we were sinking. Things, however, were not so bad as that, though they were bad enough, heaven knows, for everything seemed to go wrong that day. The upper-deck coil had strained the ship to the very utmost, but still held on fast. But not so the coil in the main hold, which had begun to get adrift, and the top kept working and shifting over from side to side, as the ship lurched, until some forty or fifty miles were in a hopeless state of tangle, resembling nothing so much as a cargo of live eels, and there was every prospect of the tangle spreading deeper and deeper as the bad weather continued.{99}

Going round upon the starboard tack had eased the ship to a certain extent, but with such a wind and such a sea—both of which were getting worse than better—it was impossible to effect much for the Agamemnon’s relief, and so by twelve o’clock she was rolling almost as badly as ever. The crew, who had been at work since nearly four in the morning, were set to clear up the decks from the masses of coal that covered them; and while this was going forward a heavy sea struck the stern, and smashed the large iron guard-frame which had been fixed there to prevent the cable fouling the screw in paying out. Now that one side had broken, it was expected every moment that other parts would go, and the pieces hanging down either smash the screw or foul the rudder-post. It is not overestimating the danger to say that had the latter accident occurred in such a sea, and with a vessel so overladen the chances would have been sadly against the Agamemnon ever appearing at the rendezvous. Fortunately it was found possible to secure the broken frame temporarily with hawsers so as to prevent it dropping farther, though nothing could hinder the fractured end from striking against the vessel’s side with such force as to lead to serious apprehensions that it would establish a dangerous leak under water. It was near three in the afternoon before this was quite secured, the gale still continuing, and the sea running even worse. The condition of the masts, too, at this time was a source of much anxiety both to Captain Preedy and Mr. Moriarty, the master. The heavy rolling had strained and slackened the wire shrouds to such an extent that they had become perfectly useless as supports. The lower masts bent visibly at every roll, and once or twice it seemed as if they must go by the board. Unfortunately nothing whatever could be done to relieve this strain by sending down any of the upper spars, since it was only her masts which prevented the ship rolling still more and quicker; and so every one knew that if once they were carried away it might soon be all over with the ship, as then the deck coil could not help going after them. So there was nothing for it but to watch in anxious silence the way{100} they bent and strained, and trust in Providence for the result. About six in the evening it was thought better to “wear ship” again and stand for the rendezvous under easy steam, and her head accordingly was put about and once more faced the storm. As she went round she, of course, fell into the trough of the sea again, and rolled so awfully as to break her waste-steampipe, filling her engine-room with steam, and depriving her of the services of one boiler when it was sorely needed. The sun set upon as wild and wicked a night as ever taxed the courage and coolness of a sailor. There were, of course, men on board who were familiar with gales and storms in all parts of the world; and there were some who had witnessed the tremendous hurricane which swept the Black Sea on the memorable 14th of November, when scores of vessels were lost and seamen perished by the thousands. But of all on board none had ever seen a fiercer or more dangerous sea than raged throughout that night and the following morning, tossing the Agamemnon from side to side like a mere plaything among the waters. The night was thick and very dark, the low black clouds almost hemming the vessel in; now and then a fiercer blast than usual drove the great masses slowly aside and showed the moon, a dim, greasy blotch upon the sky, with the ocean, white as driven snow, boiling and seething like a caldron. But these were only glimpses, which were soon lost, and again it was all darkness, through which the waves, suddenly upheaving, rushed upon the ship as though they must overwhelm it, and dealing it one staggering blow, went hissing and surging past into the darkness again. The grandeur of the scene was almost lost in its dangers and terrors, for of all the many forms in which death approaches man there is none so easy, in fact, so terrific in appearance, as death by shipwreck.