The Battery and the Boiler: Adventures in Laying of Submarine Electric Cables

“W’ot’s wicey wersa, Mr Wright?”

“Oh, it means the terms being changed—turned the other way, you know—back to the front, as it were—in short, I mean the battery being in America and the bit of iron in Ireland.”

“Well, well, who’d a thought there was so much in wicey wersa; but go on, Mr Wright.”

“Now, you must suppose,” continued Robin, “that a needle, like the mariner’s compass needle, hangs beside my bit of iron, close to it, and that a wire, or conductor of electricity, connects the iron with my electric battery in Ireland. Well, that makes a magnet of it, and the suspended needle, being attracted, sticks to it. Then I disconnect the wire from my battery by touching a handle, the bit of iron ceases to be a magnet, and the needle was free. Again I connect the battery, and the needle flies to the remagnetised bit of iron. Thus, as fast as I choose, I can make the needle wag, and by a simple arrangement we can make it wag right or left, so many beats right or left, or alternately, representing letters. By varying the beats we vary the letters, and thus spell out our messages. Now, do you understand it?”

“I ain’t quite sure that I does,” replied Vulcan; “I’ve got a hazy notion that by touchin’ and removin’ the touch from a conductor, connecting and disconnecting wires and batteries, you can make electricity flow just as you let on or stop water by turnin’ a stopcock—”

“Not exactly,” interrupted Robin, “because, you see, electricity does not really flow, not being a substance.”

“Not a substance, sir! w’y, w’ot is it then?”

“Like light and sound, it is merely an effect, an influence, a result,” answered Robin. “We only use the word flow, and talk of electricity as a fluid, for convenience’ sake.”

“Well, w’otever it is or isn’t,” continued the puzzled Vulcan, gazing at vacancy for a few seconds, “when you’ve set it agoin’—or set agoin’ the things as sets it agoin’—you make a suspended needle wag, and when you stop it you make the needle stop waggin’, and by the way in which that there needle wags you can spell out the letters o’ the alphabit—so many wags to the right bein’ one letter, so many wags to the left bein’ another letter, an’ so on,—so that, what between the number o’ wags an’ the direction o’ the waggin’s, you—you come for to—there, I’m lost again, an’ I must go in for another spell wi’ the sledge, so we’ll have to tackle the subject another time, Mr Wright.”

Thus speaking, Vulcan seized the ponderous hammer in his powerful grasp and proceeded to beat form into a mass of glowing metal with much greater ease than he had been able to thump telegraphy into his own brain.

In the discovery of the “fault” and the cutting out of the injured part of the cable, twenty-six hours were lost. During all the time Captain Anderson was obliged to remain on deck, while the minds and bodies of the engineers and electricians were subjected to a severe strain for the same period. They had scarcely begun to breathe freely again, and to congratulate each other on being able to continue the voyage, when they received another shock of alarm by the cable suddenly flying off the drum, while it was being transferred from the picking-up machinery in the bow to the paying-out arrangements in the stern. Before the machinery could be stopped, some fathoms of cable had become entangled among the wheels and destroyed. This part having been cut out, however, and new splices made, the paying-out process was resumed.

“I’ll turn in now and have a snooze, Robin,” said Ebenezer Smith, “and you had better do the same; you look tired.”

This was indeed true, for not a man or boy in the ship took a more anxious interest in the cable than did our little hero; he had begun to regard it as a living creature, and to watch over it, and dream about it, as if it were a dear friend in extreme danger. The enthusiastic boy was actually becoming careworn and thin, for he not only performed all the duties required of him with zealous application, but spent his leisure, and much of the time that should have been devoted to rest, in the careful study of his idol—intensely watching it, and all that was in the remotest way connected with it.

“You’re a goose,” said Stumps, in passing, when he heard Robin decline to retire as Smith had advised him.

“It may be so, and if so, Stumps, I shall continue to cackle a little longer on deck while they are examining the fault.”

That examination, when finished, produced a considerable sensation. The process was conducted in private. The condemned portion was cut in junks and tested, until the faulty junk was discovered. This was untwisted until the core was laid bare, and when about a foot of it had been so treated, the cause of evil was discovered, drawing from the onlookers an exclamation of horror rather than surprise, as they stood aghast, for treachery seemed to have been at work!

“An enemy in the ship!” murmured one.

“What ship without an enemy?” thought another.

That mischief had been intended was obvious, for a piece of iron wire, bright as if cut with nippers at one end and broken off short at the other, had been driven right through the centre of the cable, so as to touch the inner wires—thus forming a leak, or conductor, into the sea. There could be no doubt that it had not got there by accident; neither had it been driven there during the making or shipping of the cable, for in that case the testings for continuity would have betrayed its presence before the starting of the expedition. The piece of wire, too, was the same size as that which formed the protecting cover, and it was of the exact diameter of the cable. There was also the mark of a cut on the Manilla hemp, where the wire had entered. It could have been done only by one of the men who were at work in the tank at the time the portion went over, and, strange to say, this was the same gang which had been at work there when the previous “fault” occurred.

“Call all the men aft,” was the order that quickly followed this discovery.

The piece of cable was handed to them, and they were allowed to examine it in silence. They did so in great surprise, mingled with indignation.

“It’s bin done a’purpose, an’ driven in by a skilful hand,” said one.

“You’re right, Joe,” said another.

“I knows,” whispered a third, “that one of the men expressed satisfaction when the last fault occurred, an’ I’ve heard say that we’ve got enemies to the makers o’ the cable aboard.”

The man thus darkly referred to, whoever he was, of course looked as innocent and as indignant as the most virtuous among them; the guilt, therefore, could not be brought home to him. Woe betide him if it had been, for there was a serious talk of lynching some one among the wrathful men, each of whom was now subject to suspicion.

In these trying circumstances, the chief engineer accepted an offer made by the gentlemen in the ship, to take turn about in superintending the men at work in the tank paying-out the cable.

“It’s not pleasant, of course,” replied one of the men, speaking for the rest, “but we feel it to be justifiable, as well as necessary, and are very glad the plan has been adopted.”

Once more the big ship went merrily on her way, and the great cable went down to its ocean-bed so smoothly and regularly, that men began to talk of speedy arrival at Heart’s Content—their destination in Newfoundland—which was now only about 600 miles distant; but their greatest troubles still lay before them. About eight o’clock in the morning of 2nd August another bad fault was reported, and they had once again to resort to the wearisome process of picking-up.

At first all seemed about to go well. A gale was indeed blowing at the time, but that did not much affect the colossal ship. The cable was cut, fastened to its iron rope, passed to the bow, and got in over the pulleys. Then, and very slowly, it was drawn on board. When a mile or so had been recovered, the gearing of one of the engines got a little out of order, and the process had to be temporarily stopped; then something went wrong with the boilers, but soon these difficulties were removed. Immediately after, the Great Eastern drifted, so that it was impossible to prevent the cable from chafing against her bows. Equally impossible was it to go astern, lest the strain should be too great. Then the wind suddenly shifted, making matters worse. Suddenly the chain shackle and wire-rope attached to the cable came in over the wheel at the bows with considerable violence. Another moment and the cable parted, flew through the stoppers, and, with one bound, flashed into the sea and disappeared!

Now, at last, the fatal climax so much dreaded had arrived. The days and nights of anxious labour had been spent in vain. The cable was lost, and with it went not only hundreds of thousands of pounds, but the hopes of hundreds of thousands of people, whose sanguine expectations of success were thus rudely dispelled.

Need it be said that something very like despair reigned for the moment on board the Great Eastern?

Most of the gentlemen on board—never dreaming of catastrophe—were at luncheon, when Mr Canning entered the saloon with a look that caused every one to start.

“It is all over!—it is gone!” he said, and hastened to his cabin.

Mr Field, with the composure of faith and courage, though very pale, entered the saloon immediately after, and confirmed the chief engineer’s statement.

“The cable has parted,” he said, “and has gone overboard.”

From the chiefs down even to Stumps and his fraternity all was blank dismay! As for our hero Robin Wright, he retired to his cabin, flung himself on his bed, and sobbed as though his heart would break.

But such a state of things could not last. Men’s spirits may be stunned and crushed, but they are seldom utterly overwhelmed so long as life endures.

Recovering from the shock, Mr Canning set about the process of grappling for the lost cable with persistent energy. But fishing in water two and a half miles deep is no easy matter. Nevertheless, it was done. Again and again, and over again, were two monster hooks in the shape of grapnels let down to the bottom of the sea, with an iron rope for a line, and the Great Eastern for a float!

The plan, of course, was to go back a few miles on their course and then drag across the known position of the lost treasure.

We say known, because good observations had fortunately been obtained by Captain Anderson just before the accident.

Two hours did the grapnels descend before they reached the bottom of the sea! All night did the cable-layers fish, with the characteristic patience of fishermen, but did not get a nibble. Towards morning, however, there was a decided bite, and the line became taut.

“Got him!” exclaimed an enthusiast eagerly.

“Don’t be too sure,” replied a philosopher cautiously.

“It may be a bit of wreck,” suggested Ebenezer Smith, who was a natural doubter.

“Or a whale, or the great sea-serpent,” said the sporting electrician, who was everything by turns and nothing long.

“We shall very soon know,” remarked a matter-of-fact engineer. “If it is a loose object the strain will decrease as it nears the surface, but if it be the cable the strain will certainly increase, because its weight will be greater the more of it we lift off the bottom.”

Earnestly did every one regard the dynamometer which told the exact amount of strain on the iron fishing-line, and to their joy the strain increased until the object caught had been raised three-quarters of a mile from the bottom. Then a swivel gave way, and the cable went back to its ocean-bed.

But those plucky engineers were not to be overcome by a first failure. Having started with five miles of fishing-line, they proceed at once to make a second attempt.

“Oh, I do hope they will hook it again!” said Robin Wright.

“And so they will,” said Ebenezer Smith.

And so they did. Late in the afternoon of the Monday following, their fish was again hooked and raised a full mile from the bottom, when another swivel gave way, and down it went a second time!

The fishing-line was now getting short. It behoved them to act with more caution. New bolts were put in each shackle and swivel, and the capstan was increased in diameter, being belted with thick plates of iron. To effect these alterations the forges had to be erected on deck, and at night these cast a lurid glare on the busy workers, bringing out every near object in vivid relief against the ebony background of space behind, while they made preparations for a third cast of the fishing-line. The cast was made successfully, it was thought, but one of the grapnels had caught the line with one of its flukes, so that it could not catch anything else, and the result was—nothing.

A fourth attempt was then made. It was to be the last. The fishing-line seemed too weak, and its frequent breakings had reduced it so much that other chains had to be attached to it. With this thing of shreds and patches the cable was once more hooked and brought up nearly eight hundred fathoms, when the line gave way once more, and the cable went down for the last time.

Nothing more could be done. The Great Eastern turned her large bows to the east and steered grandly though sadly, away for old England.

But don’t imagine, good reader, that these cable-layers were beaten. They were baffled, indeed, for that year (1865), but not conquered. Cyrus Field had resolved that the thing should be done—and done it was the following year; for the laying of the cable had been so nearly a success, that great capitalists, such as Brassey, Gooch, Barclay, Campbell, Pender, and others, at once came forward. Among these were the contractors, Glass and Elliot, who agreed not only to make and lay a new cable, but to pick up and complete the old one. Cyrus Field himself, besides energising like Hercules to push the matter on, was one of ten subscribers who each contributed 10,000 pounds. Thus 230,500 pounds were privately subscribed before a prospectus was issued.

Our little hero was at the laying of that (1866) cable, when the same great ship, with the same captain and most of the engineers and electricians who had gone out on the previous voyage, landed the end of the 1820-mile rope on the shores of Newfoundland, on Friday, 27th July. He cheered with the rest in wild enthusiasm when the Great Eastern dropped anchor in “Heart’s Content.” He accompanied Captain Anderson and the officers of the fleet when they went in a body to the little church there, to thank God for the successful completion of the great enterprise. He was present when the big ship, having received from other ships 8000 tons of coal, and some six hundred miles of the old cable, went back to mid-ocean to grapple for the lost cable of 1865. He assisted and watched with the deepest interest the amazing efforts of scientific and mechanical power put forth in the mere matter of dragging for the cable from the bottom, and observed with reverence, amounting almost to awe, the great moving spirit of the whole affair, the indomitable Mr Field, as he went to the bow and sat on the rope to feel the quiver which told him it was dragging the bottom of the sea two miles below. He was present, with blazing cheeks and eyes and bated breath, when, on the 17th of August, the cable was caught, dragged to the surface, and actually seen, and broke and sank again as deep as ever—though not so deep as the hearts of those who saw it go! He shared in the weary delays that followed, and in the final triumph when the cable was fairly caught and at last brought on board, and carried to the testing-room, amid intense excitement, lest it should prove to have been damaged by its rough treatment; and his voice helped to swell the roar of enthusiastic cheering that greeted the announcement that the old cable was still alive!

But all this we must leave, and carry the reader back to old England faster than the Great Eastern could have rushed—ay, faster than the message on the flashing cable itself could have sped, for mind is more subtle than matter, and thought is swifter than even the Atlantic Telegraph.

Chapter Eleven.

Home!

“At last!” exclaimed Robin, bursting into his old home and seizing his mother in his arms.

Robin had just returned home after the laying of the 1866 Atlantic Cable, as briefly narrated in the last chapter.

It may be said with some truth that the old home became, during the next few days, a private lunatic asylum, for its inmates went mildly mad with joy.

Chief among the lunatics was uncle Rik, the retired sea-captain. That madman’s case, however, was not temporary derangement, like the others’. It was confirmed insanity, somewhat intensified just then by the nephew’s return.

“So, young man,” he said, one evening at supper, when the family traveller was dilating to open-eyed-and-mouthed listeners, “you actually believe that these cables are goin’ to work?”

“Of course I do, uncle. They are working now, and have been working for many years.”

“Well, now, the gullibility o’ some people is stupendous!” returned Rik. “Don’t you know, Robin, that everything a’most works for a time, and then, sooner or later—usually sooner—the ridiculous thing bursts up?”

“But, uncle, you beg the question in classing submarine cables among ridiculous things. Besides, have not dozens of cables been working satisfactorily for many years, without showing signs of bursting up as yet?”

“Pooh! bah! boh!” replied uncle Rik, by which he meant to say that though convinced against his will he was of the same opinion still.

At that moment cousin Sam Shipton entered with an eager, excited look.

“It’s all settled,” he said, taking Robin by the hand.

“What is settled?” asked Mrs Wright, somewhat anxiously.

“Mother, don’t be angry,” said Robin, laying his hand on his mother’s shoulder, and speaking tenderly, “I meant to have told you the moment I came in to-day, but uncle Rik with his argumentative spirit drove it and everything else except cables out of my head—”

“Well, but what is it?” interrupted Madge impatiently; “why do you keep us in suspense?”

“I have some prospect, mother, of being appointed to go with a telegraph-laying party to the East, but Sam is wrong when he says it is all settled. Whatever he may have to tell us, it is by no means settled until I have your and father’s opinion.”

“Well, you horribly good but ungrateful boy,” returned Sam, “it is at least settled as far as I have do with it. I have made application at head-quarters, and they are willing to take you on my recommendation. Moreover, I am myself going.”

“You’re joking, Sam!” exclaimed Robin, with a flush of joy; “I thought you had neither intention nor desire to go far from home.”

“You thought wrong, Robin. I always had desire, and now have intention—and I go as second in command. So, Miss Mayland,” he continued, turning to Madge, “I shan’t be able to continue those electrical lectures which you were so fond of once, but have lately seemed to grow tired of.”

Madge was at that tender age of budding womanhood when sensitive girls are apt to misunderstand a jest. She blushed, stammered something, then forced a laugh, and turned to speak to Robin; but Sam perceived that tears rose to her eyes, and he instantly sank in his own estimation to the condition of a loathsome reptile.

“Well, now, that is good news,” cried Robin, applying himself to the viands on the table with renewed zest. “You cannot have the smallest objection or anxiety, mother, I should think, when you know I shall be under so able a guide.”

“I have not yet thought it over, Robin.”

“And you, father?”

“Go, my boy, and my blessing go with you,” said Mr Wright, all but choking the blessing with a huge oyster.

“Are any labourers to go with us?” asked Robin.

“One or two picked ones.”

“Then you must allow me to pick one, Sam. My friend Jim Slagg is at present cast adrift with a considerable part of the Great Eastern’s crew. He will be delighted to go, I know, and is a first-rate, hard-working, willing, conscientious youth.”

“He ought to be proud of having so warm a friend and advocate,” said Sam, “but I have no power to choose the men.”

“O yes, you have, Sam. If you could get me appointed, you can get him appointed; and you must, for, if you don’t, I won’t go.”

“You are hard on me, Robin, but I’ll try.”

“But you have not yet told us where it is that they are going to send you,” said Mrs Wright.

“Ah! that’s not fixed,” replied Sam; “they are laying down lines in Turkey; and Egypt is talked of, and telegraph to India itself is even hinted at. All I know is that we shall be sent to the East somewhere.”

“Bah! boo! Why does nobody ask for my opinion on the matter?” said uncle Rik, as he gazed at the company over a goose drumstick, which was obviously not tender.

“Your opinion, brother,” said Mr Wright, “is so valuable, that no doubt your nephew has been keeping it to the last as a sort of tit-bit—eh, Robin?”

“Well, uncle; come, let us have it,” said Robin.

“You don’t deserve it,” returned Rik, with a wrench at the drumstick, “but you shall have it all the same, free, gratis. Was this bird fed on gutta-percha shavings, sister Nan?”

“Perhaps—or on violin strings, I’m not sure which,” replied Mrs Wright blandly.

“Well,” continued the captain, “you youngsters will go off, I see, right or wrong, and you’ll get half-drowned in the sea, roasted in the East, smothered in the desert, eaten alive by cannibals, used-up by the plague, poisoned by serpents, and tee-totally ruined altogether. Then you’ll come home with the skin of your teeth on—nothing more.”

“I sincerely hope it will be summer at the time,” said Sam, laughing; “but we are grateful to you for prophesying that we shall return, even though in such light clothing.”

“That’s what’ll happen,” continued the captain, regarding the other drumstick with some hesitation; “you may take the word of an old salt for it. I’ve lived in the good old times, lads, and I know that all these new-fangled notions are goin’ to burst up—and that’s what’ll come of it.”

Whether that was what came of it remains to be seen.

Chapter Twelve.

A Great Dynamo-Electric Sea-Fight

A few weeks after the utterance of Captain Rik’s famous prophecy, Robin, Sam, Stumps, and Slagg found themselves on board of a large submarine cable steam-ship, named the Triton, ploughing the billows of the Southern Ocean.

A few weeks later and they were drawing near to that great concourse of islands known as the Malay Archipelago, where nature is exceptionally beautiful, but man is rather vile. At all events, that region of the ocean lying to the south of China has been long infamous for the number and ferocity of its pirates, who, among the numerous islands, with their various channels, creeks, and rivers, have found a suitable field for their bloody and remorseless game.

“D’you know, I don’t believe in pirates?” said Robin to Sam, as they stood at the bow of the cable-ship, conversing about these sea-robbers.

“They believe in you nevertheless, as you’d find out to your cost if we came across one just now.”

The voice that replied was not Sam’s, but that of the captain, who had come forward to get a clearer sweep of the horizon ahead with his glass.

“Do you think it likely, sir, that we may meet with any of the rascals?” asked Sam.

“Not at all unlikely,” replied the captain, fixing his glass and putting it to his eye, “though I don’t think it likely that we shall be attacked, as we are large and don’t look like a richly freighted merchant-man. However, there is no saying. These scoundrels fear nothing, and when hard up will attack anything but a man-of-war, I half suspect that I am looking at one of them now.”

This latter announcement, calmly uttered, threw all who heard it into quite a flutter of excitement.

The captain was a big, dark-skinned, bearded man, with a quiet, half-humorous, half-sarcastic expression of countenance.

“Do you really think it is a pirate?” asked Robin, eagerly.

“I really do,” replied the captain, “and I fear we may have to run out of our course to avoid her. You see, I am a man of peace, and abhor bloodshed, therefore I won’t fight if I can help it.”

Saying this he gave orders to have the course of the steamer changed.

Just then there occurred one of those contretemps which don’t often happen, but which, when they do, are often prolific of disaster; an important part of the machinery broke down, and the engine, for the moment, was rendered useless. It was most unfortunate, for the suspicious craft lay to windward, and a light breeze was blowing carried it steadily towards them, although all the sail the steamer possessed was crowded on her.