Saturday, August 5th.—There was no change in the weather. A grey mist enveloped the Great Eastern from stem to stern, blanket-like as sleep itself. The haze—for so it was rather than a fog—got lighter soon after 12 o’clock, but it was quite out of the question to attempt an observation of a longitudinal character. The steam-whistles pierced the fog-banks miles away. Shoals of grampuses, black fish, porpoises, came out of the obscure to investigate the source of such dread clamour, and blew, spouted, and rolled on the tops of the smooth unctuous-looking folds of water that undulated in broad sweeping billows on our beam. Our great object was to get sight of the buoy, and by that means make a guess at our position. At 12·30 p.m. the Terrible was sighted on the port beam, and our fog music was hushed. At 2·30 o’clock, p.m., the Terrible signalled that the buoy was three miles distant from her. This was quite an agreeable incident. Every eye was strained in search of the missing buoy, and at last the small red flag at the top of the staff was made out on the horizon. At 3·45 o’clock, p.m., the Great Eastern was abreast of the buoy, which was hailed with much satisfaction. It bore itself bravely, though rather more depressed than we had anticipated, and it was like meeting an old friend, to see it bobbing at us up and down in the ocean. It was resolved to steer N.W. by N. for 5 or 6 miles, so as to pass some miles beyond the Cable, and then, if the wind answered, to drift down and grapple. The Great Eastern signalled to the Terrible, “Please watch the buoy;” and, under her trusty watch and ward, we left the sole mark of the expedition fixed on the surface of the sea, and stood towards the northward. The wind, however, did not answer, and the grapnel was not thrown overboard.
Aug. 6th, Sunday.—It was very thick all through the night—fog, rain, drizzle alternately, and all together. When morning broke, the Terrible was visible for a moment in a lift of the veil of grey vapour which hung down from the sky on the face of the waters. The buoy was of course quite lost to view, nor did we see it all day. At 10·45 a.m. Captain Anderson read prayers in the saloon. At noon it was quite hopeless to form a conjecture respecting the position of the sun or of the horizon, but Captain Moriarty and Captain Anderson were ready to pounce upon either, and as the least gleam of light came forth, sextants in hand, like the figures which indicate fine weather in the German hygrometers. The sea was calm, rolling in lazy folds under the ship, which scarcely condescended to notice them. She is a wonder! In default of anything else, it was something to lie on a sofa in the ladies’ saloon, and try to think you really were on the bosom of the Atlantic,—not a bulkhead creaking, not a lamp moving, not a glass jingling. Under the influence of an unknown current, the Great Eastern was drifting steadily against the wind. When the circumstance was noticed, it could only be referred to the “Gulf Stream,” which is held answerable for a good many things all over the world. At 4 p.m. the buoy was supposed to be 15 miles N.W. ½ N. of us, the wind being E.S.E., but it was only out of many calculations Captain Moriarty and Captain Anderson created a hypothetical position. There had been no good observation for three days, and until we could determine the ship’s position exactly, and get a good wind to drift down on the Cable, it would be quite useless to put down the grapnel.
The buoy was supposed to be some 12 miles distant from the end of the Cable, and not far from the slack made by the Great Eastern. If we got this slack, the Cable would come up more easily on the grapnel. Of course, if the buoy had been ready when the Cable broke, it would have been cast loose at the spot where the wire rope and grapnel sank. If the Cable could be caught, it was proposed either to place a breaking strain upon it, so as to get a loose end and a portion of slack, and then to grapple for it a second time within a mile or so of the end, or to try and take it inboard without breaking. Some suggested that the Great Eastern should steam at once to Trinity Bay, where the fleet was lying, and ask the admiral for a couple of men-of-war to help us in grappling; but those acquainted with our naval resources declared that it would be useless, as the ships would have no tackle aboard fit for the work, and could not get it even at Halifax. Others recommended an immediate return to England for a similar purpose, to get a complete outfit for grappling before the season was advanced, and to return to the end of the Cable, or to a spot 100 miles east of it, where the water is not so deep. What was positive was, that more than 1,100 miles of the most perfect Cable ever laid, as regards electrical conditions, was now lying three-quarters of the way across from Valentia to Newfoundland.
Monday, Aug. 7th.—During the night it was raining, fogging, drizzling, clouding over and under, doing anything but blowing, and of course as we drifted hither and thither,—the largest float that currents and waves ever toyed with,—we had no notion of any particular value of our whereabouts. But at 4 a.m. a glimpse was caught of the Terrible lying-to about 6 miles distant, and we steered gently towards her and found that she was keeping watch over the buoy, which was floating apparently 2 miles away from her. Our course was W.N.W. till we came nearly abreast of the buoy shortly before 9 a.m., when it was altered to N.W. The wind was light and from the northward, and the Great Eastern steamed quietly onwards that she might heave over the grapnel and drift down on the line of the Cable when the fog cleared and the wind favoured.
The feat of seamanship which was accomplished, and the work so nearly consummated, was so marvellous as to render its abrupt and profitless termination all the more bitter. The remarkable difficulty of such a task as Staff-Commander Moriarty and Captain Anderson executed cannot be understood without some sort of appreciation of the obstacles before them. The Atlantic Cable, as we sadly remember, dropped into the unknown abyss on Aug. 2. We had no soundings. In the night the Great Eastern drifted and steamed 25 miles from the end of the Cable—then bore away with a grapnel overboard, and 2,500 fathoms of wire rope attached, and steered so as to come across the course of the Cable at the bottom. On the morning of Aug. 3rd, the increasing strain on the line which towed the grapnel gave rise to hope at first, and finally to the certainty, that the ship had caught the Cable. At 3·20 o’clock, p.m., Greenwich time, when about 900 fathoms of grapnel line had been hauled in, the head of a swivel pin broke, and 1,400 fathoms of line, with grapnels and Atlantic Cable, went down to the bottom. Then the Great Eastern drifted again in a fog whilst preparing for another trial to drag the Cable up from the sea, and on 4th August, with an apparatus devised on board, got doubtful soundings, from which it was estimated that the water was about 2½ miles deep. A buoy placed on a raft, which sunk so deep that only a small flagstaff and black bulb were visible, was let go, with a mushroom anchor and 2½ miles of Cable attached to it, into this profound; but as it was not ready when the Cable broke, the buoy was slipped over at the distance of some miles from the place where the fatal fracture took place, in the hope and belief that the anchor would come up somewhere near the slack caused by the picking-up operations. Still in fog, which shut the Terrible out of sight, the Great Eastern prepared for another attempt. Next day (August 5), with the assistance of the Terrible, she came upon the buoy, and having steamed away to a favourable position, so as to come down on the course of the Cable again, remained drifting and steaming gently, on the look-out for the buoy, which it was very difficult to discover owing to the fog and to the current and winds acting on the ship. The weather did not permit any observations for longitude to be made during the whole of this period. On Aug. 7th we passed the buoy and steered N.W., and at 11·10 a.m., ship’s time, 1·47 p.m., Greenwich time, another grapnel, with 2,500 fathoms of wire rope, was thrown over, and the Great Eastern, with a favourable wind, was let drift down on the course of the Cable, about half way between the buoy and the broken end. At 12·5 ship’s time, the grapnel touched the bottom in 2,500 fathoms water, having sunk, owing to improved apparatus, in half the time consumed in the first operation. In six hours afterwards, the eyes which were watching every motion of the ship so anxiously, perceived the slightest possible indication that the grapnel was holding on at the bottom, and that the ship’s head was coming up towards the northward. It is not possible to describe the joyous excitement which diffused itself over the Great Eastern as, with slowly-increasing certitude, she yielded to the strain from the grapnel and its prize, and in an hour and a-half canted her head from E. by S. ½ S., to E. ¾ North. The screw was used to bring up her bow to the strain, and the machinery of the picking-up apparatus, much improved and strengthened, was set in motion to draw in the grapnel by means of the capstan and its steam power. The strain shown by the indicator increased from 48 cwt. to 66 cwt. in a short time; but the engines did their work steadily till 8·10, when one of the wheels was broken by a jerk, which caused a slight delay. The grapnel-rope was, however, hauled in by the capstan at a uniform rate of 100 fathoms in 40 minutes; but the strain went on gradually increasing till it reached 70 cwt. to 75 cwt. At 11·30 p.m., ship’s time, or 2·5 a.m., Greenwich, 300 fathoms were aboard, and at midnight all those who were not engaged on duty connected with the operation retired to rest, thankful and encouraged. In the words of our signal to the Terrible, all was going on “hopefully.” Throughout our slumbers the clank of the machinery, the shrill whistles to go on ahead, or turn astern, sounded till morning came, and when one by one the citizens of our little world turned up on deck, each felt, as he saw the wheels revolving and the wire rope uncoiling from the drums, that he was assisting at an attempt of singular audacity and success. A moonlight of great brightness, a night of quiet loveliness had favoured the enterprise, and the links of rope had come in one after another at a speed which furnished grounds for hope that if the end of the day witnessed similar progress, the Cable would be at the surface before nightfall.
August 8th.—This morning, about 7·30, one mile—one thousand fathoms—had been recovered, and was coiled on deck. The Cable, however, put out a little more vigour in its resistance, and the strain went up to 80 cwt., having touched 90 cwt. once or twice previously. No matter what happened, the perseverance of the engineers and seamen had been so far rewarded by a very extraordinary result. They had caught up a thin Cable from a depth of 2,500 fathoms, and had hauled it up through a mile of water. They were hauling at it still, and all might be recovered. But it was not so to be. Our speculations were summarily disposed of—our hopes sent to rest in the Atlantic. Shortly before 8 o’clock, an iron shackle and swivel at the end of a length of wire rope came over the bow, passed over the drums, and had been wound three times round the capstan, when the head of the swivel bolt “drew,” exactly as the swivel before it had done, and the rope, parting at once, flew round the capstan, over the drums, through the stops, with the irresistible force on it of a strain, indicated at the time or a little previously, of 90 cwt. It is wonderful no one was hurt. The end of the rope flourished its iron fist in the air, and struck out with it right and left, as though it were animated by a desire to destroy those who might arrest its progress. It passed through the line of cablemen with an impatient sweep, dashed at one man’s head, was only balked by his sudden stoop, and menacing from side to side the men at the bow, who fortunately were few in number, and were warned of the danger of their position, splashed overboard. All had been done that the means at the disposal of engineers and officers allowed. The machinery had been altered, improved, tested—every shackle and swivel had been separately examined, and several which looked faulty had been knocked off and replaced, but in every instance the metal was found to be of superior quality. It was 7·43 a.m., ship’s time, exactly, when the rope parted. The sad news was signalled to the Terrible, which had been following our progress anxiously and hopefully during the night. Her flags in return soon said, “Very sorry,” and she steamed towards the Great Eastern immediately. Mr. Canning and Mr. Gooch, and others, consulted what was best to be done, and meantime the buoy and raft which had been prepared in anticipation of such a catastrophe as had occurred, were lowered over the bows with a mooring rope of 2,500 fathoms long, attached to a broken spur-wheel. The buoy was surmounted by a rod with a black ball at the top over a flag red, white, and red, in three alternate horizontal stripes, and on it were the words and letters:—“Telegraph, No. 3.” It floated rather low on a strong raft of timber, with corks lashed at the corners, and by observation and reckoning it was lowered in Lat. 51° 25´ 30´´, Long. 38° 56´. The old buoy at the time it was slipped bore S.E. by E. 13 miles from the Great Eastern. As there were still nearly 1,900 fathoms of wire rope on board, and some 500 fathoms of Manilla hawser, Mr. Canning resolved to make a third and last attempt ere he returned to Sheerness. Captain Anderson warned Mr. Canning that from the indications of the weather, it was not likely he could renew his search for two or three days, but that was of the less consequence, inasmuch as it needed nearly that time for Mr. Canning’s men to secure the shackles and prepare the apparatus for the third trial.
At 9·40 a.m., just as the buoy had gone over, a boat came alongside from the Terrible, and Mr. Prowse, the First Lieutenant, boarded us to know what we were going to do, to compare latitude and longitude, and to report to Captain Napier the decision arrived at by the gentlemen connected with the management of the Expedition. The Great Eastern had still about 3,500 tons of coal remaining, and the Terrible could wait three days more, and still keep coal enough to enable her to reach St. John’s. At 11·30 the Great Eastern stood down to the second buoy, for the purpose of fixing its exact locality by observation. Soon afterwards the weather grew threatening, and at 2 p.m. we were obliged to put her head to the sea, which gradually increased till the Great Eastern began for the first time to give signs and tokens that she was not a fixture. The Terrible stood on ahead on our port side, and for some time we kept the buoy equi-distant between us. At night, the wind increased to half a gale, and it was agreed on all sides that though the Great Eastern could have paid out the Cable with the utmost ease, she could not have picked up, and certainly could not have kept the grapnel line and Cable under her bows in such weather. But the steadiness of the vessel was the constant theme of praise. During the night she just kept her head to the sea. The Terrible, which got on our port and then on our starboard bow, signalled to us not to come too close, and before midnight her lights were invisible on our port quarter—one funnel down.