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378
The Story of the Atlantic Telegraph
·
Henry M. Field
332
It
was
a
little
before
midnight
on
Friday
night
that
the
cable
was
caught,
and
it
was
after
midnight
Sunday
morning
that
it
was
brought
on
board.
How
long
that
day
seemed!
Night
turned
to
morning,
and
morning
to
noon,
and
noon
to
night
again,
and
still
the
work
was
not
done;
still
the
great
ship
hung
over
the
spot
where
its
treasure
was
suspended
in
the
deep.
The
sun
went
down,
and
the
moon
looked
forth
from
driving
clouds
upon
a
scene
such
as
the
ocean
never
saw
before.
At
a
distance
could
be
discerned
the
black
hulls
of
the
attendant
ships,
the
Albany
and
the
Medway.
But
why
were
they
thus
silent
and
motionless
in
the
midst
of
the
sea?
Some
mysterious
errand
brought
them
here,
and
as
their
boats
approached
with
measured
sweep,
at
this
midnight
hour,
it
seemed
as
if
they
came
with
muffled
oars
to
an
ocean
burial.
It
was
still
calm,
but
the
sea
began
to
moan
with
unrest,
as
if
troubled
in
its
sleep.
As
midnight
drew
on,
the
interest
gathered
about
the
bows
of
the
Great
Eastern.
The
bulwarks
were
crowded
with
anxious
watchers,
peering
into
the
darkness
below.
Still
not
a
word
was
spoken.
Not
a
voice
was
heard,
save
that
of
Captain
Anderson,
or
Mr.
Halpin,
or
Mr.
Canning,
giving
orders.
As
it
approached
the
surface,
two
men,
who
were
tried
hands,
were
lashed
with
ropes
and
lowered
over
the
bows,
to
make
fast
to
the
cable
when
it
should
appear.
This
was
a
perilous
service,
and
the
boats
were
there
to
pick
up
the
brave
fellows,
if
they
should
drop
into
the
water.
As
soon
as
it
showed
itself,
they
dived
upon
it,
and
seizing
it
with
their
hands,
fastened
it
with
large
hempen
stoppers,
which
were
quickly
attached
to
five-inch
ropes.
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