Aug. 9th.—Our course was W.N.W. during the night; weather thick and rainy—strong southerly wind; sea running moderately high. At 6 a.m., having run by reckoning 35 miles from the buoy, our course was altered to E.S.E., so as to bring us back to it. The state of the weather delayed the artificers in their work. It rained heavily, the deck was by no means a horizontal plane, and it was doubtful if Mr. Canning and Mr. Clifford, using all possible diligence, could get tackle and machinery in order before the following forenoon, so that it was not necessary to make any great speed. The reputation of the ship was enhanced in the eyes and feelings of her passengers by the manner in which she had behaved in the undoubtedly high breeze and heavy sea. The former was admitted by sailors to be a “gale,” though they seemed to think the force of the wind was affected by the addition of the prefix “summer,” as if it mattered much at what time of the year a gale blows. The latter, when we turned tail and went before it, soon developed a latent tendency in the Great Eastern to obey the rules governing bodies floating on liquids under the action of summer gales. She rolled with a gravity and grandeur becoming so large a ship once in every 11 or 12 seconds; but on descending from the high decks to the saloon, one found no difficulty in walking along from end to end of it without gratuitous balancings or unpremeditated halts and progresses. It was a grey, gloomy, cloudy sea and sky—not a sail or a bird visible. In the forenoon the Terrible came in sight, lying-to with her topsail set, and it was hoped she was somewhere near the buoy. At noon our position was ascertained by observation to be Lat. 51° 29´ 30´, Long. 39° 6´ 0´´. Great Eastern, as soon as she was near enough, asked the Terrible, “Do you see the buoy?” After a time, the answer flew out, “No.” Then she added that she was “waiting for her position,” and that she “believes the buoy to be S.S.E.” of us. Our course was altered S. by E. ½ E, and the look-out men in the top swept the sea on all sides. The Terrible also started on the search. At 3·20 p.m. the two ships were within signalling distance again—sea decreasing, wind falling fast. The Terrible asked, “Did you see buoy?” which was answered in negative, and then inquired if the Great Eastern was going to grapple again, which was replied to in the affirmative—Captain Anderson busy in one cabin and Staff-Commander Moriarty busy in another, working diagrams and calculations, and coming nearer and nearer to the little speck which fancies it is hidden in the ocean: with very good reason, too, for the search after such an object on such a field as the Atlantic, ruffled by a gale of wind, might well be esteemed of very doubtful success. But the merchant captain and the naval staff-commander were not men to be beaten, and in keen friendly competition ran a race with pencils and charts to see who could determine the ship’s position with the greatest accuracy, being rarely a mile apart from each other in the result. The only dubious point related to the buoy itself, for it might have drifted in the gale, it might have gone down at its moorings, or the Cable might have parted. There were strong currents, as well as winds and waves. The moment the weather moderated in the forenoon, the whole body of smiths and carpenters, and workers in iron, metal, and wood, were set to work at the alterations in the machinery for letting out the grapnel and taking it in again. A little army of skilled mechanics were exercising on deck; workshops and forges were established, and some of the many chimneys which rise above the bulwarks of the Great Eastern, and put one in mind of the roofs of the streets seen from the railway approaches to London, began to smoke. The smiths forged new pins for the swivels, and made new shackles and swivels; the carpenters made casings for capstan; ropemakers examined and secured the lengths of wire rope, and a new hawser was bent on to make up for the deficiency of buoy rope. At last, the much-sought-for object was discovered—the buoy was visible some 2 miles distant. The Great Eastern made haste to announce the news to the Terrible, and just as her flags were going aloft, a fluttering of bunting was visible in the rigging of the Terrible, and the signalman read her brief statement that the buoy was where we saw it was, thus proving that both vessels dropped on it at the same time. The finding of the little black point on the face of the Atlantic was a feat of navigation which gave great satisfaction to the worthy performers and the spectators. A little before 5 o’clock the Great Eastern was abreast of the buoy. The Terrible came up on the other side of it, and the Great Eastern and the man-of-war lay-to watching the tiny black ball, which bobbed up and down on the Atlantic swell, intending to stay by it as closely as possible till morning. By dint of energetic exertion, Mr. Canning hoped to have his grapnel and tackle quite ready the moment the ship was in position on the morrow. It was a sight to behold the deck at night—bare-armed Vulcans wielding the sledge—Brontes, Steropes, and Pyracmon at bellows, forge, and anvil—fires blazing—hailing sparks flashing along the decks—incandescent masses of iron growing into shape under the fierce blows—amateurs and artists admiring—the sea keeping watch and ward outside, and the hum of voices from its myriad of sentry waves rising above the clank of hammers which were closing the rivets up of the mail in which we were to do battle with old ocean for the captive he holds in his dismal dungeons below. Will he yield up his prisoner?
Aug. 10th. A more lovely morning could not be desired—sea, wind, position—all were auspicious for the renewed attempt, which must also be the last if our tackle break. A light breeze from the west succeeded to the gale, and a strong current setting to the eastward prevailed over it, and carried the Great Eastern nearly 7 miles dead against the wind from 9 p.m. last night till 4 a.m. this morning, thus taking her away from the buoy. The swell subsided, and such wind as there was favoured the plan to drift across the course of the Cable about a mile to westward of the place where the last grapnel was lost. Without much trouble the Great Eastern, having come upon the first buoy, caught the second buoy, and both were in sight at the same moment. Authorities differed concerning their distance. One maintained they were 7½ miles, the other that they were 10 miles apart. At 10·30, Greenwich time, when we were between 1½ and 1¾ mile distant from the course of the Cable, the buoy bearing S.S.E., the grapnel was thrown over, and 2,460 fathoms of wire rope and hawser were paid out in 48 minutes.
As there was a current still setting against the easterly wind, which had increased in strength, Captain Anderson at first got all fore-and-aft canvas on the ship, to which were added afterwards her fore and maintopsails; her course was set N.W. by N., but she made little headway, and drifted to S.W. At 11·10 a.m., ship’s time, an increased strain on the grapnel line was shown by the dynamometer, and at the same time the head of the Great Eastern began to turn slowly northwards from her true course.
The square-sails were at once taken in. Great animation prevailed at the prospect of a third grapple with the Cable. But in a few moments the hope proved delusive, and the ship continued to drift to S. and W., the buoy bearing S.E. The bow swept round, varying from W. and by N. to N. W. and by N. At noon the Great Eastern, if all reckonings were right, was but half a mile from the Cable, and the officers hoped she would come across it about half a mile west of the spot where she last hooked it. But at 3·30 p.m. the last hope vanished. The ship must by that time have long passed the course of the Cable. Captain Anderson had an idea that we grappled it for a moment soon after noon, when the ship’s head came 3 points to the N., and the strain increased for a moment to 60 cwt. The buoy was now 2½ to 3 miles E.—ship’s head being W.N.W. All that could be done was to take up grapnel, and make another cast for the Cable. The wind increased from eastward. At 4·15 p.m. ship’s head was set N. by E. by screw, in order to enable the grapnel line to be taken in, and the capstan was set to haul up the grapnel. The wire rope came over the bows unstranded, and in very bad condition. Much controversy arose respecting the cause of this mischief. Some, the practical men, maintaining it was because there were not swivels enough on it; others, the theoretical men, demonstrating that the swivels had nothing to do with the torsion or detorsion; and both arguing as keenly with respect to what was happening 2 miles below them in the sea as if they were on the spot. The process of pulling up such a length of wire is tedious, and although no one had expressed much confidence in the experiment, every one was chagrined at the aspect of the tortured wire as it came curling and twisting inboard from its abortive mission. At midnight 1000 fathoms had been hauled in.
August 11th.—Nothing to record of the night and early morning, save that both were fine, and that the capstan took in the iron fishing-line easily till 5·20 a.m., ship’s time, when the grapnel came up to the bows. The cause of the failure was at once explained: the grapnel could not have caught the Cable, because in going down, or in dragging at the bottom, the chain of the shank had caught round one of the flukes. From the condition of the rope it was calculated that we were in only 1,950 fathoms of water, for nearly 500 fathoms of it were covered with the grey ooze of the bottom. The collectors scraped away at the precious gathering all the morning, and for a time forgot their sorrows.
It was now a dead calm, and Mr. Canning mustered his forces for another attempt for the Cable! He overhauled the wire rope, and exorcised hawsers out of crypts all over the ship.
“Hope lives eternal in the human breast.”
Although the previous trials, with better gear, had proved unsuccessful; although the tackle now used was a thing of shreds and patches; although Mr. Canning and others said, “We are going to make this attempt because it is our duty to exhaust every means in our power,” and thereby implied they had little or no confidence of success; there was scarcely a man in the ship who did not think “there is just a chance,” and who would not have made the endeavour had the matter been left to his own decision. It was some encouragement to ascertain that there were only 1,950 fathoms of water below us. It was argued that, if the Cable could be broken at the bight, another drift about a mile from the loose end would be certain to succeed, as the loose end would twist round the eastward portion of the Cable, and come up at a diminished strain to the surface. A grapnel with a shorter shank was selected for the next trial. The cablemen were set to work to coil down the new rope and hawsers between a circular enclosure, formed by uprights on the deck behind the capstan. Ropemakers and artificers examined the rope which had been already used. They served the injured strands with yarn, renewed portions chafed to death, tested bolts and shackles and swivels, and bent on new lengths of rope and hawser, whilst the ship was proceeding to take up her position for another demonstration against the Cable. The line now employed, the last left in the ship, was a thing of shreds and patches. It consisted of 1,600 fathoms of wire rope, 220 fathoms of hemp, and 510 fathoms of Manilla hawser, of which 1,760 fathoms could be depended upon, the rest being “suspicious.” The morning was not very fine; but the wind was light, and on the whole favourable, and the only circumstance to cause doubt or uneasiness was the current, the influence of which could not be determined. The observations of the officers rendered it doubtful whether the buoy No. 2 had drifted, and it was rather believed that in the interval between the breaking of the grapnel and the letting-go of the buoy, the Great Eastern herself had drifted from the place, and thus caused the apparent discrepancy in position. At 7·45 a.m. the ship was alongside buoy No. 2 once more, and thence proceeded to an advantageous bearing for drifting down on the Cable with her grapnel. The Terrible kept about two miles away, regarding our operations with a melancholy interest. At 11·30 a.m., ship’s time, the Great Eastern signalled “We are going to make a final effort,” and soon afterwards, “We are sorry you have had such uncomfortable waiting.” At 1·56 p.m., Greenwich time, when buoy No. 2 was bearing E. by N. about two miles, the ship’s head being W. and by S., the grapnel was let go, and soon reached the bottom, as the improvements in the machinery and capstan enabled the men to pay it out at the rate of fifty fathoms a minute. The fore-and-aft canvas was set, to counteract the force of the current, and the Great Eastern drifted to N.E, right across the Cable, before a light breeze from S.W. At first there was only a strain of 42 cwt. shown, and the ship went quite steadily and slowly towards the Cable. At 3·30 p.m. the strain increased, and then the Great Eastern gave some little sign of feeling a restraint on her actions from below, her head describing unsteady lines from W.N.W. to W. by S. The screw engines were gently brought into play to keep her head to the wind. The machinery and capstan, which had been put in motion some time previously to haul in the grapnel cable, now took it in easily and regularly, except when a shackle or swivel jarred it for a moment. Every movement of the ship was most keenly watched, till the increasing strain on the dynamometer showed that the same grip on the bottom which had twice turned the head of the Great Eastern, was again placed on the grapnel she was dragging along the bottom of the Atlantic. The index of the dynamometer rose: it marked 60 cwt., then it jerked up to 65 cwt., then it reached 70 cwt., then 75 cwt.: at last its iron finger pointed to 80 cwt. It was too much to stand by and witness the terrible struggle between the crisping, yielding hawser, which was coming in fast, the relentless iron-clad capstan, and the fierce resolute power in the black sea, which seemed endued with demoniacal energy as it tugged and swerved to and fro on the iron hook. But it was beyond peradventure that the Atlantic Cable had been hooked and struck, and was coming up from its oozy bed. What alternations of hope and fear—what doubts, what sanguine dreams, dispelled by a moment’s thought, only to revive again! What need to say how men were agitated on board the ship? There was in their breasts, those who felt at all, that intense quiet excitement with which we all attend the utterance of a supreme decree, final and irrevocable. Some remained below in the saloons—fastened their eyes on unread pages of books, or gave expression to their feelings in fitful notes from piano or violin. Others went aft to the great Sahara of deck where all was lifeless now, and whence the iron oasis had vanished. Some walked to and fro in the saloon; others paced the deck amidships. None liked to go forward, where every jar of the machinery, every shackle that passed the drum, every clank, made their hearts leap into their mouths. Captain Anderson, Mr. Canning, Mr. Clifford, and the officers and men engaged in working the ship and taking in the grapnel, were in the bows of course, and shared in the common anxiety. At dinner-time 500 fathoms of grapnel rope had been taken in, and the strain was mounting beyond 82 cwt. Nothing else could be talked of. The boldest ventured to utter the words “Heart’s Content” and “Newfoundland” once more. All through the unquiet meal we could hear the shrill whistle through the acoustic tube from the bow to the bridge, which warned the quartermasters to stop, reverse, or turn ahead the screw engines to meet the exigencies of the strain on the grapnel rope. The evening was darkling and raw. At 6·30 I left the saloon, and walked up and down the deck, under the shelter of the paddle-box, glancing forward now and then to the bow, to look at the busy crowd of engineers, sailors, and cablemen gathered round the rope coming in over the drum, which just rose clear of one of the foremasts, and listening to the warning shouts as the shackles came inboard, and hurtled through the machinery till they floundered on the hurricane deck.
About 20 minutes had elapsed when I heard the whistle sound on the bridge, and at the same time saw one of the men running aft anxiously. “There’s a heavy strain on now, sir,” he said. I was going forward, when the whistle blew again, and I heard cries of “Stop it!” or “Stop her!” in the bows, shouts of “Look out!” and agitated exclamations. Then there was silence. I knew at once all was over. The machinery stood still in the bows, and for a moment every man was fixed, as if turned to stone. There, standing blank and mute, were the hardy constant toilers, whose toil was ended at last. Our last bolt was sped. Just at the moment the fracture took place, Staff-Commander Moriarty had come up from his cabin to announce that he was quite certain, from his calculations, that the vessel had dragged over the Cable in a most favourable spot. It was 9·40 p.m., Greenwich time, and 765 fathoms had been got in, leaving little more of the hempen tackle to be recovered, when a shackle came in and passed through the machinery, and at the instant the hawser snapped as it was drawn to the capstan, and, whistling through the air like a round shot, would have carried death in its course through the crowded groups on the bows, but for the determination with which the men at the stoppers held on to them, and kept the murderous end straight in its career, as it sped back to the Atlantic. It was scarcely to be hoped that it had passed harmlessly away. Mr. Canning and others rushed forward, exclaiming, “Is any one hurt?” ere the shout “It is gone!” had subsided. The battle was over! Then the first thought was for the wounded and the dead, and God be thanked for it, there were neither to add to the grief of defeat. Nigh two miles more of iron coils, and wire, and rope were added to the entanglement of the great labyrinth made by the Great Eastern in the bed of the ocean. In a few seconds every man knew the worst. The bow was deserted, and all came aft and set about their duties. Mr. Clifford, with the end of a hempen hawser in his hand, torn in twain as though it were a roll of brown paper—Mr. Canning already recovered from the shock, and giving orders to stow away what had come up from the sea—Captain Anderson directing the chief engineer to get up steam, and prepare for an immediate start.