Monday, May 31st, 10 A.M., hove to, lat. 47° 11´, long. 9° 37´. Up to midday engaged in making splice between experimental cable in fore coil and that in main hold, besides other minor operations. In afternoon getting hawser from Niagara and her portion of cable to make joint and splice. 4 P.M., commenced splice; 5.15 splice completed; 5.25, let go splice-frame (weight 3 cwt.) over gangway, amidships, starboard side.[27] 5.30, after getting splice-frame (containing the splice) clear of the ship and lowering it to the bottom, each vessel (then{87} about a quarter of a mile apart) commenced paying out in opposite directions.

9 P.M., got on board Niagara’s warp and her end of cable to make another splice for second experiment.

June 1st.—1 A.M. (night), electrical continuity gone, the cable having parted after two miles in all had been paid out.[28]

Since 1 A.M., engaged in hauling in our cable. Recovered all our portion, and even managed to heave up the splice-frame (in perfect condition), besides 100 fathoms of Niagara’s cable, which she had parted. Fastened splice to stern of vessel and ceased operations.

9.23 A.M., second experiment. Started paying-out again. Weather very misty.

9.40, one mile paid out at strain 16 cwt.; angle of cable 16° with the horizon: running out straight; rate of ship 2, cable 3.

9.45, changed to lower hold. 9.56, two miles out; last mile in 16½ minutes; strain 17 to 20 cwt.; angle of cable 20°. 10.10, last of the three miles out in 14 minutes.

10.32 A. M., four and a half miles out. Third experiment—stopped ship, lowered guard, stoppered cable.

10.50, buoy let go, strain 16 cwt. when let go, the cable being nearly up and down.

11.6, running at rate of 5½ knots paying out, strain 21 to 23 cwt., varying. Cable shortly afterward parted through getting jammed in the machinery.

The Niagara, which had hitherto kept close, while the other smaller vessels had dropped out of sight, began to give us a very wide berth, and as darkness increased it was a case of every one for himself.

Our ship, the Agamemnon, rolling many degrees—not every one can imagine how she went at it that night—was laboring so heavily that she looked like breaking up.

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.

Fig. 26.—H.M.S. Agamemnon in a Storm.
Fig. 26.—H.M.S. Agamemnon in a Storm.

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.

Sleeping was impossible that night on board the Agamemnon. Even those in cots were thrown out, from their striking against the vessel’s side as she pitched. The berths of wood fixed athwartships in the cabins on the main deck had worked to pieces. Chairs and tables were broken, chests of drawers capsized, and a little surf{101} was running over the floors of the cabins themselves, pouring miniature seas into portmanteaus, and breaking over carpetbags of clean linen. Fast as it flowed off by the scuppers it came in faster by the hawse-holes and ports, while the beams and knees strained with a doleful noise, as though it was impossible they could hold together much longer, and on the whole it was as miserable and even anxious a night as ever was passed on board any line-of-battle ship in her Majesty’s service. Captain Preedy never left the poop all night, though it was hard work to remain there, even holding on to the poop-rail with both hands. Morning brought no change, save that the storm was as fierce as ever, and though the sea could not be higher or wilder, yet the additional amount of broken water made it still more dangerous to the ship. Very dimly, and only now and then through the thick scud, the Niagara could be seen—one moment on a monstrous hill of water, and the next quite lost to view, as the Agamemnon went down between the waves. But even these glimpses showed us that our transatlantic consort was plunging heavily, shipping seas, and evidently having a bad time of it, though she got through it better than the Agamemnon, as, of course, she could, having only the same load, though 2,000 tons larger. Suddenly it came on darker and thicker, and we lost sight of her in the thick spray, and had only ourselves to look after. This was quite enough, for every minute made matters worse, and the aspect of affairs began to excite most serious misgivings in the minds of those in charge. The Agamemnon is one of the finest line-of-battle ships in the whole navy, but in such a storm, and so heavily overladen, what could she do but make bad weather worse, and strain and labor and fall into the trough of the sea, as if she were going down head foremost. Three or four hours more and the vessel had borne all she could bear with safety. The masts were rapidly getting worse, the deck coil worked more and more with each tremendous plunge, and, even if both these held, it was evident that the ship itself would soon strain to pieces if the weather continued so. The sea,{102} forcing its way through ports and hawse-holes, had accumulated on the lower deck to such an extent that it flooded the stoke-hole, so that the men could scarcely remain at their posts. Everything went smashing and rolling about. One plunge put all the electrical instruments hors de combat at a blow, and staved some barrels of strong solution of sulphate of copper, which went cruising about, turning all it touched to a light pea-green. By and by she began to ship seas. Water came down the ventilators near the funnel into the engine-room.

Fig. 27.—The Agamemnon Storm: Coals Adrift.
Fig. 27.—The Agamemnon Storm: Coals Adrift.

Then a tremendous sea struck her forward, drenching those on deck, and leaving them up to their knees in water, and the least versed on board could see that things were fast going to the bad unless a change took place in the weather or the condition of the ship. Of the first there seemed little chance. The weather certainly showed no disposition to clear—on the contrary, livid-looking black clouds seemed to be closing round the vessel faster and faster than ever. For the relief of the ship three courses were open to Captain Preedy—one, to wear round and try her on the starboard tack, as he had been compelled to do the day before; another, to fairly run for it before the wind; and, third and last, to endeavor to lighten the vessel by getting some of the cable overboard. Of course the latter would not have been thought of till the first two had been tried and failed—in fact, not till it was evident that nothing else could save the ship. Against wearing round there was the danger of her again falling off into the trough of the sea, losing her masts, shifting her upper-deck coil, and so finding her way to the bottom in ten minutes, while to attempt running before the storm with such a sea on was to risk her stern being stove in, and a hundred tons of water added to her burden with each wave that came up afterward, till the poor Agamemnon went under them all for ever. A little after ten o’clock on Monday, the 21st, the aspect of affairs was so alarming that Captain Preedy resolved at all risks to try wearing the ship round on the other tack. It was hard enough to make the words of command audible, but to execute them seemed almost impossible. The ship{103}’s head went round enough to leave her broadside on to the seas, and then for a time it seemed as if nothing could be done. All the rolls which she had ever given on the previous day seemed mere trifles compared with her performances then. Of more than 200 men on deck, at least 150 were thrown down, and falling over from side to side in heaps, while others, holding on to the ropes, swung to and fro with every heave. It really appeared as if the last hour of the stout ship had come, and to this minute it seems almost miraculous that her masts held on. Each time she fell over her main chains went deep under water. The lower decks were flooded, and those above could hear by the fearful crashing—audible amid the hoarse roar of the storm—that the coals had got loose again below, and had broken into the engine-room, and were carrying all before them. During these rolls the main-deck coil shifted over to such a degree as quite to envelop four men, who, sitting on the top, were trying to wedge it down with beams. One of them was so much jammed by the mass which came over him that he was seriously contused. He had to be removed to the sick-bay, making up the{104} sick-list to forty-five, of which ten were from injuries caused by the rolling of the ship, and very many of the rest from continual fatigue and exposure during the gale. Once round on the starboard tack, and it was seen in an instant that the ship was in no degree relieved by the change. Another heavy sea struck her forward, sweeping clean over the fore part of the vessel and carrying away the woodwork and platforms which had been placed there round the machinery for underrunning. This and a few more plunges were quite sufficient to settle the matter, and at last, reluctantly, Captain Preedy succumbed to the storm he could neither conquer nor contend against. Full steam was got on, and with a foresail and a fore-topsail to lift her head the Agamemnon ran before the storm, rolling and tumbling over the huge waves at a tremendous pace. It was well for all that the wind gave this much way on her, or her stern would infallibly have been stove in. As it was, a wave partly struck her on the starboard quarter, smashing the quarter-galley and ward-room windows on that side, and sending such a sea into the ward-room itself as to literally wash two officers off a sofa on which they were resting on that side of the ship. This was a kind of parting blow; for the glass began to rise, and the storm was evidently beginning to moderate, and although the sea still ran as high as ever there was less broken water, and altogether, toward midday, affairs assumed a better and more cheerful aspect. The ward-room that afternoon was a study for an artist, with its windows halfdarkened and smashed, the sea-water still slushing about in odd corners, with everything that was capable of being broken strewn over the floor in pieces, and some fifteen or twenty officers, seated amid the ruins, holding on to the deck or table with one hand, while with the other they contended at a disadvantage with a tough meal—the first which most had eaten for twenty-four hours. Little sleep had been indulged in though much “lolloping about.” Those, however, who prepared themselves for a night’s rest in their berths rather than at the ocean bottom, had great difficulty in finding their day-garments of a morning. The boots{105} especially went astray, and got so hopelessly mixed that the man who could “show up” with both pairs of his own was, indeed, a man to be congratulated.

But all things have an end, and this long gale—of over a week’s duration—at last blew itself out, and the weary ocean rocked itself to rest.

Throughout the whole of Monday the Agamemnon ran before the wind, which moderated so much that at 4 A.M. on Tuesday her head was again put about, and for the second time she commenced beating up for the rendezvous, then some 200 miles farther from us than when the storm was at its height on Sunday morning. So little was gained against this wind that Friday the 25th—sixteen days after leaving Plymouth—still found us some fifty miles from the rendezvous. So it was determined to get up steam and run down on it at once. As we approached the place of meeting the angry sea went down. The Valorous hove in sight at noon; in the afternoon the Niagara came in from the north; and at even the Gorgon from the south: and then, almost for the first time since starting, the squadron was reunited near the spot where the great work was to have commenced fifteen days previously—as tranquil in the middle of the Atlantic as if in Plymouth Sound.

The end of the Niagara’s cable was sent on board the Agamemnon, the splice was made, a bent sixpence put in for luck, and at 2.50 Greenwich time it was slowly lowered over the side and disappeared forever. The weather was cold and foggy, with a stiff breeze and dismal sort of sleet, and as there was no cheering or manifestation of enthusiasm of any kind, the whole ceremony had a most funereal effect, and seemed as solemn as if we were burying a{107} marine, or some other mortuary task of the kind equally cheerful and enlivening. As it turned out, however, it was just as well that no display took place, as every one would have looked uncommonly silly when the same operation came to be repeated, as it had to be, an hour or so afterward. It is needless making a long story longer, so I may state at once that when each ship had paid out three miles or so, and they were getting well apart, the cable, which had been allowed to run too slack, broke on board the Niagara owing to its overriding and getting off the pulley leading on to the machine.

The break was of course known instantly, both vessels put about and returned, a fresh splice was made, and again lowered over at half past seven. According to arrangement, 150 fathoms were veered out from each ship, and then all stood away on their course, at first at two miles an hour, and afterward at four. Everything then went well, the machine working beautifully, at thirty-two revolutions per minute, the screw at twenty-six, the cable running out easily at five and five and a half miles an hour, the ship going four. The greatest strain upon the dynamometer was 2,500 lbs., and this was only for a few minutes, the average giving only 2,000 lbs. and 2,100 lbs. At midnight twenty-one nautical miles had been paid out, and the angle of the cable with the horizon had been reduced considerably. At about half past three forty miles had gone, and nothing could be more perfect and regular than the working of everything, when suddenly, at 3.40 A.M. on Sunday, the 27th, Professor Thomson came on deck and reported a total break of continuity; that the cable, in fact, had parted, and as was believed at the time, from the Niagara. The Agamemnon was instantly stopped and the brakes applied to the machinery, in order that the cable paid out might be severed from the mass in the hold, and so enable Professor Thomson to discover by electrical tests at about what distance from the ship the fracture had taken place.[31]{108} Unfortunately, however, there was a strong breeze on at the time, with rather a heavy swell, which told severely upon the cable, and before any means could be taken to ease entirely the motion on the ship, it parted a few fathoms below the stern-wheel, the dynamometer indicating a strain of nearly 4,000 lbs. In another instant a gun and a blue light warned the Valorous of what had happened, and roused all on board the Agamemnon to a knowledge that the machinery was silent, and that the first part of the Atlantic cable had been laid and effectually lost.

The great length of cable on board both ships allowed a large margin for such mishaps as these, and the arrangement made before leaving England was that the splices might be renewed and the work recommenced till each ship had lost 250 miles of wire, after which they were to discontinue their efforts and return to Queenstown. Accordingly, after the breakage on Sunday morning, the ships’ heads were put about, and for the fourth time the Agamemnon again began the weary work of beating up against the wind for that everlasting rendezvous which we seemed destined to be always seeking. Apart from the regret with which all regarded the loss of the cable, there were other reasons for not wishing the cruise to be thus indefinitely prolonged, since there had been a break in the continuity of the fresh provisions; and for some days previously in the ward-room the pièces de résistance had been inflammatory-looking morceaux, salted to an astonishing pitch, and otherwise uneatable, for it was beef which had been kept three years beyond its warranty for soundness, and to which all were then reduced.

It was hard work beating up against the wind; so hard, indeed, that it was not till the noon of Monday, the 28th, that we again met the Niagara; and while all were waiting with impatience for her explanation of how she broke the cable, she electrified every one by running up the interrogatory, “How did the cable part?” This was{109} astounding. As soon as the boats could be lowered, Mr. Cyrus Field, with the electricians from the Niagara, came on board, and a comparison of logs showed the painful and mysterious fact that at the same second of time each vessel discovered that a total fracture had taken place at a distance of certainly not less than ten miles from each ship, as well as could be judged, at the bottom of the ocean. The logs on both sides were so clear as to the minute of time, and as to the electrical tests showing not merely leakage or defective insulations of the wire, but a total fracture, that there was no room left on which to rest a moment’s doubt of the certainty of this most disheartening fact. That of all the many mishaps connected with the Atlantic telegraph, this was the worst and most disheartening, since it proved that after all that human skill and science can effect to lay the wire down with safety has been accomplished, there may be some fatal obstacles to success at the bottom of the ocean which can never be guarded against, for even the nature of the peril must always remain as secret and unknown as the depths in which it is to be encountered. Was the bottom covered with a soft coating of ooze, in which it had been said the cable might rest undisturbed for years as on a bed of down? or were there, after all, sharp-pointed rocks lying on that supposed plateau of Maury, Berryman, and Dayman? These were the questions that some of those on board were asking.

But there was no use in further conjecture or in repining over what had already happened. Though the prospect of success appeared to be considerably impaired it was generally considered that there was but one course left, and that was to splice again and make another—and what was fondly hoped would be a final—attempt. Accordingly no time was lost in making the third splice, which was lowered over into 2,000 fathoms of water at seven o’clock by ship’s time the same night. Before steaming away, as the Agamemnon was now getting very short of coal, and the two vessels had some 100 miles of surplus cable between them, it was agreed that if the wire parted again before the ships had gone each 100 miles{110} from the rendezvous they were to return and make another splice; and as the Agamemnon was to sail back, the Niagara, it was decided, was to wait eight days for her appearance. If, on the other hand, the 100 miles had been exceeded, the ships were not to return, but each make the best of its way to Queenstown. With this understanding the ships again parted, and, with the wire dropping steadily down between them, the Niagara and Agamemnon steamed away, and were soon lost in the cold, raw fog, which had hung over the rendezvous ever since the operations had commenced.

The cable, as before, paid out beautifully, and nothing could have been more regular and more easy than the working of every part of the apparatus. At first the ship’s speed was only two knots, the cable going three and three and a half with a strain of 1,500 lbs., the horizontal angle averaging as low as seven and the vertical about sixteen. By and by, however, the speed was increased to four knots, the cable going five, at a strain of 2,000 lbs., and an angle of from twelve to fifteen. At this rate it was kept with trifling variations throughout the whole of Monday night, and neither Mr. Bright, Mr. Canning, nor Mr. Clifford ever quitted the machines for an instant. Toward the middle of the night, while the rate of the ship continued the same, the speed at which the cable paid out slackened nearly a knot, while the dynamometer indicated as low as 1,300 lbs. This change could only be accounted for on the supposition that the water had shallowed to a considerable extent, and that the vessel was in fact passing over some submarine Ben Nevis or Skiddaw. After an interval of about an hour the strain and rate of progress of the cable again increased, while the increase of the vertical angle seemed to indicate that the wire was sinking down the side of a declivity. Beyond this there was no variation throughout Monday night, or indeed through Tuesday. The upper-deck coil, which had weighed so heavily upon the ship—and still more heavily upon the minds of all during the past storms—was fast disappearing, and by twelve at midday on Tuesday, the 29th, seventy-six miles had been paid out to something like sixty miles’ progress of{111} the ship. Warned by repeated failures, many of those on board scarcely dared hope for success. Still the spirits of all rose as the distance widened between the ships. Things were going in splendid style—in such splendid style that “stock had gone up nearly 100 per cent.” Those who had leisure for sleep were able to dream about cable-laying and the terrible effects of too great a strain. The first question which such as these ask on awakening is about the cable, and on being informed that it is all right, satisfaction ensues until the appearance of breakfast, when it is presumed this feeling is intensified. For those who do not derive any particular pleasure from the mere asking of questions, the harmonious music made by the paying-out machine during its revolutions supplies the information.

Then again, the electrical continuity—after all, the most important item—was perfect, and the electricians reported that the signals passing between the ships were eminently satisfactory. The door of the testing-room is almost always shut, and the electricians pursue their work undisturbed; but it is impossible to exclude that spirit of scientific inquiry which will satiate its thirst for information even through a keyhole.

Further, the weather was all that could be wished for. Indeed, had the poet who was so anxious for “life on the ocean wave and a home on the rolling deep” been aboard, he would have been absolutely happy, and perhaps even more desirous for a fixed habitation.

The only cause that warranted anxiety was that it was evident the upper-deck coil would be finished by about eleven o’clock at night, when the men would have to pass along in darkness the great loop which formed the communication between that and the coil in the main hold. This was most unfortunate; but the operation had been successfully performed in daylight during the experimental trip in the Bay of Biscay, and every precaution was now taken that no accident should occur. At nine o’clock by ship’s time, when 146 miles had been paid out and about 112 miles’ distance from the rendezvous accomplished, the last flake but one of the upper-deck coil came in turn to be used. In order to make it easier in passing{112} to the main coil the revolutions of the screw were reduced gradually, by two revolutions at a time from thirty to twenty, while the paying-out machine went slowly from thirty-six to twenty-two. At this rate the vessel going three knots and the cable three and a half, the operation was continued with perfect regularity, the dynamometer indicating a strain of 2,100 lbs. Suddenly without an instant’s warning, or the occurrence of any single incident that could account for it, the cable parted when subjected to a strain of less than a ton.[32] The gun that again told the Valorous of this fatal mishap brought all on board the Agamemnon rushing to the deck, for none could believe the rumor that had spread like wildfire about the ship. But there stood the machinery, silent and motionless, while the fractured end of the wire hung over the stern-wheel, swinging loosely to and fro. It seemed almost impossible to realize the fact that an accident so instantaneous and irremediable should have occurred, and at a time when all seemed to be going on so well. Of course a variety of ingenious suggestions were soon afloat, showing most satisfactorily how the cable must and ought to have broken. There was a regular gloom that night on board the Agamemnon, for from first to last the success of the expedition had been uppermost in the thoughts of all, and all had labored for it early and late, contending with every danger and overcoming every obstacle and disaster that had marked each day, with an earnestness and devotion of purpose that is really beyond all praise.

Immediately after the mishap, a brief consultation was held by those in charge on board the Agamemnon, and as it was shown that they had only exceeded the distance from the rendezvous by fourteen miles, and that there was still more cable on board the two vessels than the amount with which the original expedition last year was commenced, it was determined to try for another chance and return to the rendezvous, sailing there, of{113} course; for Mr. Brown, the chief engineer, as ultrazealous in the cause as a board of directors, guarded the coal-bunkers like a very dragon, lest, if in coming to paying out the cable again, steam should run short, thereby endangering the success of the whole undertaking.

For the fifth time, therefore, the Agamemnon’s head went about, and after twenty days at sea she again began beating up against the wind for the rendezvous to try, if possible, to recommence her labors. The following day the wind was blowing from the southwest, with mist and rain, and Thursday, July 1st, gave every one the most unfavorable opinion of July weather in the Atlantic. The wind and sea were both high—the wet fog so dense that one could scarcely see the mastheads, while the damp cold was really biting. Altogether it was an atmosphere of which a Londoner would have been ashamed even in November. Later in the day a heavy sea got on; the wind increased without dissipating the fog, and it was double-reefed topsails and pitching and rolling as before. However, the upper-deck coil of 250 tons being gone, the Agamemnon was as buoyant as a lifeboat, and no one cared how much she took to kicking about, though the cold wet fog was a miserable nuisance, penetrating everywhere and making the ship as wet inside as out. What made the matter worse was that in such weather there seemed no chance of meeting the Niagara unless she ran into us, when cable-laying would have gone on wholesale. In order to avoid such a contretemps, and also to inform the Valorous of our whereabouts, guns were fired, fog-bells rung, and the bugler stationed forward to warn the other vessels of our vicinity. Friday was the ditto of Thursday and Saturday, worse than both together, for it almost blew a gale and there was a heavy sea on. On Sunday, the 4th, it cleared, and the Agamemnon for the first time during the whole cruise, reached the actual rendezvous and fell in with the Valorous, which had been there since Friday, the 2d, but the fog must have been even thicker there than elsewhere, for she had scarcely seen herself, much less anything else till Sunday.{114}

During the remainder of that day and Monday, when the weather was very clear, both ships cruised over the place of meeting, but neither the Niagara nor Gorgon was there, though day and night the lookout for them was constant and incessant. It was evident then that the Niagara had rigidly, but most unfortunately, adhered to the mere letter of the agreement regarding the 100 miles, and after the last fracture had at once turned back for Queenstown. On Tuesday, the 6th, therefore, as the dense fogs and winds set in again it was agreed between the Valorous and Agamemnon to return once more to the rendezvous. But as usual the fog was so thick that the whole American navy might have been cruising there unobserved; so the search was given up, and at eight o’clock that night the ship’s head was turned for Cork, and, under all sail, the Agamemnon at last stood homeward. The voyage home was made with ease and swiftness considering the lightness of the wind, the trim of the ship, and that she only steamed three days, and at midday on Tuesday, July 12th, the Agamemnon cast anchor in Queenstown harbor, having met with more dangerous weather, and encountered more mishaps than often falls to the lot of any ship in a cruise of thirty-three days.