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1
378
The Story of the Atlantic Telegraph
·
Henry M. Field
252
In
other
respects
the
day
was
well
chosen.
It
was
the
twenty-third
of
July.
From
the
beginning,
Captain
Anderson
had
wished
to
sail
on
the
twenty-third
of
June,
or
the
twenty-second
of
July,
so
as
to
have
the
full
moon
on
the
American
coast.
He
desired
also
to
take
advantage
of
the
westerly
winds
which
prevail
at
that
season,
for
in
going
against
the
wind
the
Great
Eastern
was
steady
as
a
rock.
Every
expectation
was
realized.
To
the
big
ship
the
ocean
was
as
an
inland
lake.
The
paying-out
machinery--the
product
of
so
much
study
and
skill--worked
beautifully,
and
as
the
ship
increased
her
speed,
the
cable
glided
into
the
water
with
such
ease
that
it
seemed
but
a
holiday
affair
to
carry
it
across
to
yonder
continent.
Such
were
the
reflections
of
all
that
evening
as
the
long
summer
twilight
lingered
on
the
sea.
At
midnight
they
went
to
sleep,
to
dream
of
an
easy
triumph.
Yet
be
not
too
confident.
But
a
few
hours
had
passed
before
the
booming
of
a
gun
awoke
all
on
board
with
the
heavy
tidings
of
disaster.
The
morning
breaks
early
in
those
high
latitudes,
and
by
four
o'clock
all
were
on
deck,
with
anxious
looks
inquiring
for
the
cause
of
alarm.
The
ship
was
lying
still,
as
if
her
voyage
had
already
come
to
an
end,
and
electricians,
with
troubled
countenances,
were
passing
in
and
out
of
the
testing-room,
which,
as
it
was
always
kept
darkened,
looked
like
a
sick-chamber
where
some
royal
patient
lay
trembling
between
life
and
death.
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