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378
The Story of the Atlantic Telegraph
·
Henry M. Field
52
And
the
little
that
has
been
known
of
the
ocean
has
been
chiefly
of
its
surface,
of
the
winds
that
blow
over
it,
and
the
waves
that
are
lifted
up
on
high.
We
knew
somewhat
of
its
tides
and
currents
as
observed
in
different
parts
of
the
earth.
We
saw
off
our
coast
the
great
Gulf
Stream--that
steady
flow
of
waters,
so
mighty
and
mysterious,
which,
issuing
out
of
the
tropical
regions,
poured
its
warm
current,
sixty
miles
broad,
right
through
the
cold
waters
of
the
North
Atlantic;
and
sweeping
round,
sent
the
airs
of
a
softer
climate
over
all
the
countries
of
Western
Europe.
Old
voyagers
told
us
of
the
trade-winds
that
blew
across
the
Pacific,
and
of
terrible
monsoons
in
China
and
Indian
seas.
But
all
that
did
not
reveal
what
was
going
on
a
hundred
fathoms
below
the
surface.
These
old
sailors
had
marvellous
tales
of
Indian
pearl-divers,
who,
holding
their
breath,
plunged
to
the
depth
of
a
few
hundred
feet;
but
they
came
up
half-dead,
with
but
little
to
tell
except
of
the
frightful
monsters
of
the
deep.
The
diving-bell
was
let
down
over
sunken
wrecks,
but
the
divers
came
up
only
with
tales
of
riches
and
ruin,
of
gold
and
gems
and
dead
men's
bones
that
lay
mingled
together
on
the
deep
sea
floor.
Was
the
bottom
of
the
sea
all
like
this?
Was
it
a
vast
realm
of
death,
the
sepulchre
of
the
world?
No
man
could
tell
us.
Poets
might
sing
of
the
caves
of
ocean,
but
no
eye
of
science
had
yet
penetrated
those
awful
depths,
which
the
storms
never
reach.
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