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Title: Lives of the electricians
Professors Tyndall, Wheatstone, and Morse.
Author: William T. Jeans
Release date: May 16, 2024 [eBook #73641]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Whittaker & Co, 1887
Credits: Carol Brown, Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This fle was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIVES OF THE ELECTRICIANS ***
LIVES OF THE ELECTRICIANS.
LIVES
OF
THE ELECTRICIANS:
PROFESSORS
TYNDALL, WHEATSTONE, AND MORSE.
FIRST SERIES.
BY
WILLIAM T. JEANS.
“The electric telegraph is the most precious gift which Science has
given to civilisation.”--SIR D. BREWSTER.
LONDON:
WHITTAKER & CO., 2, WHITE HART STREET,
PATERNOSTER SQUARE, E. C.
GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1887.
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
Use of lives of electricians--World-wide distribution of
electricians--Eminent authorities on biographical studies
_Pages_ ix-xvi
_PROFESSOR TYNDALL._
CHAPTER I.
Position as a scientist--Origin and early career--Work on
Ordnance Survey, and as a teacher--Student life at Marburg--
Sense of duty and early friendships _Pages_ 1-20
CHAPTER II.
Subjects of study in Germany--Discovery of diamagnetism--
Investigation of it--Scientific acquaintances--Early
connection with Royal Institution--Slaty cleavage--Glacier
phenomena explained _Pages_ 21-41
CHAPTER III.
Researches on Radiant Heat--Aqueous vapour and new
glacial theory--Calorescence--Formation of clouds--Germ
theory--Smoke respirator--Experiments on sound and its
production by heat _Pages_ 42-59
CHAPTER IV.
Alpine travels--Ascent of Monte Rosa, Mont Blanc,
Weisshorn, Col-du-Géant, and Piz Morteratch--Visit
to Vesuvius--An American’s impressions--Visit to
America--Exploration of Niagara Falls--Presidental
address to British Association _Pages_ 60-83
CHAPTER V.
Changes at Royal Institution--Development of
electricity explained--Experimental illustrations and
anecdotes--Reminiscences of Thomas Carlyle--Scientific
adviser to the Trinity House _Pages_ 84-104
_PROFESSOR WHEATSTONE._
CHAPTER I.
Forecasts of the telegraph--Early descriptions and
history of it--Birth and early achievements of
Wheatstone--Enchanted lyre or first telephone--Experiments
in audition--Invention of concertina--Velocity of
electricity measured--Spectrum analysis--Lightning
conductors _Pages_ 105-132
CHAPTER II.
Origin of telegraph--Early evidences of Wheatstone’s--
Working of first needle telegraph--Dispute with Mr. W. F.
Cooke as to priority of invention--Wheatstone’s vindication
--His electro-magnetic telegraph, magneto-electric machine,
electric clock, printing telegraph, chronoscope, method of
measuring electricity, and improved needle telegraphs
_Pages_ 133-172
CHAPTER III.
First uses of telegraph--Means of arresting criminals--
Early charges for telegraphing--Formation of Electric
Telegraph Company--Wheatstone’s magneto-electric exploder--
His early experiments with submarine cables--Cable from
Dover to Calais--Faraday on Wheatstone’s A.B.C. telegraph
instrument--His automatic instruments _Pages_ 173-203
CHAPTER IV.
Origin of Dynamo--Invention of stereoscope--Improvement
by Sir D. Brewster--Illustration of earth’s rotatory
motion--Wheatstone’s cryptograph--His minor inventions--
Honours conferred on him--His death _Pages_ 204-230
_PROFESSOR MORSE._
CHAPTER I.
Birth and education--Diverted from electricity to art--
Labours as an artist in England and America
_Pages_ 231-241
CHAPTER II.
Travels to study art--First conception of Recording
Telegraph--Experiments with it in New York--Invention
of Relay--His poverty and disappointments--His
originality disputed--First exhibitions of his apparatus--
Descriptions of it--Foreign patents--Introduction of
photography--Congress asked to try his telegraph--
Appropriation granted--Experimental line made and opened
_Pages_ 242-278
CHAPTER III.
Morse Telegraph offered to Government and declined--Rapid
extension of it by Companies--Determination of longitude;
Morse transmitter and sounder--First Atlantic Cable
_Pages_ 279-301
CHAPTER IV.
Rewards of inventors--Morse patents vindicated--Rival
inventions--Pioneers of practical telegraphy--Honours and
emoluments of Morse--Statue in New York--Last days--Death
_Pages_ 302-322
INTRODUCTION.
Although this work is the first of its kind relating to electricians,
its design is neither novel nor tentative. Its object is not only to
give a popular account of the most memorable achievements of those men
who have succeeded in evolving the laws of electricity, but to convey
to unscientific readers some knowledge of the nature of those laws, and
the means by which they have been applied to the purposes of man.
In some senses electrical science and its practical applications might
be described as the creation of the present century; and the author has
been encouraged to adopt this method of giving a popular account of the
great and useful work that our electricians have done by the success of
a similar work dealing, in like manner, with the men and the inventions
that have multiplied and cheapened the production and use of the most
useful of metals.[1] An eminent reviewer of that work justly observed
that “our inventors might well boast that with a piece of steel and
the recent developments of the magnetic force--so far at least as
manufactures and commerce are concerned--they have revolutionised the
world.” It is this revolution and the men who have effected it, that
this work proposes to give an account of, hoping to realise the truth
of Tacitus’ observation, that “the age which is most fertile in bright
examples is the best qualified to make a fair estimate of them.”
Of books on electricity there is already abundance. They have been
poured from the press in yearly increasing numbers. During the present
generation the laws of electricity have been explained in every variety
of form--in the rigid demonstrations of the geometrician, in the
abstract symbolism of the mathematician, in the technical language of
numerous text-books, and in the experimental illustrations of popular
lecturers. But to the ordinary reader the theorems of the mathematician
are written in an unknown tongue; and more elementary books on
electricity, to be made interesting to the popular mind, would have to
be written in “that language which can give a soul to the objects of
sense, and a body to the abstractions of mathematics.” Add to this the
fact that, as Prof. C. A. Young puts it, “since 1848 all things have
become new in the scientific world. There is a new mathematics and a
new astronomy, a new chemistry and a new electricity, a new geology
and a new biology. Great voices have spoken, and have transformed
the world of thought and research as much as the material products
of science have altered the aspects of external life. The telegraph
and dynamo-machine have not more changed the conditions of business
and industry than the speculations of Darwin and Helmholtz and their
compeers have affected those of philosophy and science.”
The conquest of these fresh fields of knowledge has been almost the
life’s work of professional scientists; and is that which was said
of the past to continue true of the future, that ideas which in one
generation are those of the learned few, in the next become those of
the educated and middle class, and in the third those of the general
public?
Even if no work were necessary to indicate the advances made in
electrical knowledge, biographies of the electricians would still be
a desideratum. Carlyle has said of art in general that biography is
almost the one thing needful. In the literature of electricity, it has
hitherto been the one thing lacking. The subject is not destitute of
historic as well as scientific interest; and hence it is possible that
the general reader may be led to regard it from Terence’s point of
view that “whatsoever concerns mankind concerns me.” It is possible,
too, that a record of the achievements which have brought electricity
to its present state of utility, may impart a reflex interest to that
science. “Art is art,” says Carlyle, “yet man also is man. Had the
_Transfiguration_ of Raphael been painted without human hand; had it
grown merely on the canvas, say by atmospheric influences, as lichen
pictures do on rocks--it were a grand picture doubtless; yet nothing
like so grand as _the_ picture which on opening our eyes we everywhere
in heaven and earth see painted, and everywhere pass over with
indifference,--because the Painter was not Man. Think of this; much
lies in it. The Vatican is great; yet poor to Chimborazo or the Peak of
Teneriffe; its dome is but the foolish chip of an egg-shell, compared
with that star-fretted dome where Arcturus and Orion glance for ever;
which latter notwithstanding who looks at? The biographic interest is
wanting: no Michael Angelo was He who built that ‘Temple of Immensity;’
therefore do we, pitiful Littlenesses as we are, turn rather to wonder
and to worship in the little toy-box of a Temple built by our like.”
Now it has been well observed that science is to the present age what
art was to the middle ages; and such being the case, may not a similar
interest to that described by Carlyle attach to the marvellous things
done by means of electricity? A great deal is said about electricity,
but very little about the men who made it subject to the will of man,
who converted it into “the pulse of speech” which annihilates time and
space, and who made it “the greatest blessing that science has given to
civilisation.” Of them it has often been said that “their line has gone
out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world,”
but of their lives not much has been communicated to the general public
in a popular form.
The men who have made electricity the handmaid of industry are nearly
as widespread as the subtle force with which they have had to deal.
The United Kingdom was the birth-place of the monarch of modern
machinery--the steam-engine,--and also of the leading inventions
in metallurgy which supply the framework of all our manufacturing
machinery; but the pioneers and engineers of electricity have been
of different nations and tongues. In the infancy of the science no
country produced more electricians than Germany; in the discovery
and exposition of its subtlest laws, as well as in their application
to useful purposes, no country has done more than England; while in
the most novel and most extensive use of electrical appliances for
industrial purposes the New World may be said to have outstripped the
Old. But smaller countries have also made splendid contributions to
the general store of knowledge. Volta, the first philosopher who from
his youth devoted himself to the study of electricity, and who has
given his name to one department of it, was an Italian; so was Galvani,
who discovered that a frog was the most sensitive electrometer, and
whose name became a synonym for electricity. Oersted, who made himself
famous by the discovery of the mutual action of magnets and electrical
conductors, was a Dane; while Ampère, whom some writers have called
“the Newton of electricity,” and Arago, who discovered the development
of magnetism by rotation, were Frenchmen.
Most of these pioneers have already taken their place in the Temple of
Science; and this work not being intended to go over beaten ground,
it was expected, at the outset, to comprise in one volume sufficient
biographies to illustrate the more recent progress of electrical
science and its applications to industrial purposes; but the more
the writer investigated the subject, the more it grew, not only in
magnitude, but in magnetic attractiveness. He found that to give a
complete account of the revolution effected by means of electricity
would require biographies of the three classes of men,--scientific,
engineering, and commercial--that had been instrumental in bringing
electricity to its present state of usefulness; while to do justice
to these men would require such a varied picture of their lives as
would illustrate their marvellous versatility, or their multifarious
works, thus showing that they were among the ornaments as well as the
benefactors of their race. He was encouraged to begin this work by
the success of his previous effort, and he was encouraged to continue
it beyond the limit originally intended by experiencing a feeling of
pleasure akin to that which led Plutarch to say in the course of his
work, that when he first applied himself to the writing of ancient
lives it was for the sake of others, but he pursued that study for his
own sake: for it was like living and conversing with these illustrious
men, when he considered how great and wonderful they were. More
recently Lord Bacon said he “could not but wonder that our own times
have so little value for what they enjoy, as not more frequently to
write the lives of eminent men; for though kings, princes, and great
personages are few, yet there are many excellent men who deserve
better than vague reports and barren eulogies.” Nor is there any
lack of authority as to the value of our subject in the estimation
of contemporary schools of thought. An eminent Greek scholar (Dr.
Lushington) in addressing the students of Glasgow University as their
Lord Rector in 1885, observed that “the hope of adding something more
to the store of accomplished good to mankind cheered and upheld many
daring pioneers of science, whose venerated names, now become household
words, are linked together for ever in the history of human progress,
known and honoured throughout the whole civilised world. Yet who in
the age of Watt, even in the boldest flights of presaging imagination,
could have foretold such wondrous conquests over space and time as the
spectroscope, the electric telegraph, and the telephone have revealed?”
The object of this work is to give some account of “such wondrous
conquests.” The guiding principle in its compilation has been the
maxim of Goethe, that the main object of biography is to exhibit man
in relation to the features of his time; and not as Dumas, on the
other hand, sarcastically put it, “to trace each man’s innermost life,
ascertain whether he was born on a calcareous or a granite soil, learn
whether his ancestors and himself have drunk wine, cider, or beer, or
eaten meat, fish, or vegetables--nay, to penetrate the meanest details
of his existence, to descend from the heights of criticism and from a
scientific system to the gratification of a paltry curiosity.”
This volume opens with an account of the labours of the physicist
who made a special study of the phenomena of magnetism, electricity,
and co-relative forces; and in the course of it occasion is taken to
explain certain elementary principles of these forces. It then proceeds
to give, in the life of Professor Wheatstone, an account of some of
the methods by which such scientific principles were made serviceable
to man; and it concludes with an account of the man who made it the
labour of his life to produce a telegraphic apparatus and alphabet
which have found universal favour. Technical language has been avoided
as far as possible, and yet it is hoped that the descriptions given
of electrical laws and mechanism will convey substantially correct
impressions, without entering into elaborate details or straining
after scientific exactness. While it may thus become a means of
imparting to unscientific readers some knowledge of the history of
electrical science and engineering, it is hoped that the narrative
will be found sufficiently instructive to point a moral to that wider
class of readers who take a sympathetic interest in the struggles and
achievements of those unobtrusive but beneficent men, “who, departing,
leave behind them foot-prints on the sands of time.”
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _The Creators of the Age of Steel._
LIVES OF THE ELECTRICIANS.
PROFESSOR TYNDALL.
CHAPTER I.
“Precious is the new light of knowledge which our Teacher
conquers for us; yet small to the new light of Love
which also we derive from him: the most important
element of any man’s performance is the Life he has
accomplished.”--CARLYLE.
The position of Professor Tyndall in the world of science is somewhat
unique. He is one of our most popular teachers of physical science; he
is one of our most successful experimentalists; and he is one of our
most attractive writers. By his discoveries he has largely extended
our knowledge of the laws of Nature; by his teaching and writings he
has probably done more than any other man in England to kindle a love
of science among the masses; and by his life he has set an example to
students of science which cannot be too widely known or appreciated.
There are men who have made greater and more useful discoveries in
science, but few have made more interesting discoveries. There are
men whose achievements have been more highly esteemed by the devotees
of pure science, but rarely has a scientific man been more popular
outside the scientific world. There are men whose culture has been
broader and deeper, but who have nevertheless lacked his facility of
exposition and gracefulness of diction. The goddess of Science, which
ofttimes was presented to the public with the repulsive severity of a
skeleton, he has clothed with flesh and blood, making her countenance
appear radiant with the glow of poesy, and susceptible even to a touch
of human sympathy; while amongst scientific contemporaries, though he
does not rank as one of those creative minds that mark an epoch in
the history of physical philosophy, he may yet be said to have “built
many a stone into the great fabric of science, which gives it an
ever-broader support and an ever-growing height without its appearing
to a fresh observer as a special and distinctive work due to the sole
exertion of any one scientific man.” He commenced his scientific career
at the time when Sir William Grove began to elaborate that theory of
the co-relation of the physical sciences which Newton suspected and
Faraday elucidated; namely, “that the various affections of matter,
heat, light, electricity, magnetism, chemical affinity, and motion are
all correlative or have a reciprocal dependence: that neither, taken
abstractedly, can be said to be the essential or proximate cause of
the others, but that either may, as a force, produce the others; thus
heat may mediately produce electricity, electricity may produce heat;
and so of the rest.” Professor Tyndall has extended or simplified our
knowledge of these forces. Indeed he may be said to have revealed
some hidden links in the chain of causation. He has extended and
consolidated our knowledge of magnetism; as an explorer and discoverer
in the domain of radiant heat he stands almost alone; and as a lecturer
and experimentalist he has probably done more than any other man to
popularise the science of electricity.
There is a growing tendency in the present day to appreciate personal
achievement more highly than ancient lineage; and it is becoming more
a matter of boast in the intellectual world to say that an eminent
man was self-made than to say he was of noble birth. The subject of
this memoir can boast both of high descent and of lowly birth. “I am
distantly connected,” he says, “with one William Tyndale, who was rash
enough to boast, and to make good his boast, that he would place an
open Bible within reach of every ploughboy in England. His first reward
was exile, and then a subterranean cell in the Castle of Vilvorden.
It was a cold cell, and he humbly, but vainly, prayed for his coat to
cover him and for his books to occupy him. In due time he was taken
from the cell and set upright against a post. Round neck and post was
placed a chain, which being cunningly twisted, the life was squeezed
out of him. A bonfire was made of his body afterwards.”
It is said that the martyr Tyndale was descended from the ancient
barons of Tyndale in Northumberland, whose title eventually passed into
the family of the Percies, and that the said ancestors, leaving the
north during the war of the Roses, afterwards sought and found refuge
in Gloucestershire. Of one of these refugees the martyr of Vilvorden
was the great-grandson, and was, it is believed, born in 1484. Both
family tradition and documents show that some members of the Tyndale
family, who were cloth manufacturers, migrated from Gloucestershire to
the county of Wexford in Ireland about two centuries ago. One William
Tyndale landed on the coast of Ireland in 1670, and his descendants in
later years became scattered over Wexford, Waterford, and Carlow. Their
fortunes varied; but for our purpose it is sufficient to know that the
grandfather of the Professor had a small estate in Wexford; and that
on removing thence to the village of Leighlin Bridge on the banks of
the Barrow, county Carlow, he continued to prosper until he got into
easy circumstances. But throughout the whole race of Tyndale, from the
Martyr down to the Professor, intellectual independence appears to
have been preferred to worldly independence, and it was the exercise
of this trait that cost the Professor the small patrimony which his
grandfather had acquired. A high sense of rectitude and a benevolent
disposition are not incompatible with excessive susceptibility to
opposition; and hence persons of high principles sometimes stand like
adamant on points that to worldly minds appear too trifling even for
controversy, much less for self-sacrifice. Though the opinions of the
Tyndales may have differed, the leading principles that governed their
conduct appear to have been maintained with remarkable consistency and
self-denial. John Tyndale, the father of the Professor, differed in
opinion with his own father, William Tyndale of Leighlin Bridge, on
some point that has long since been forgotten, but in consequence of
that difference William revoked his will in favour of his first-born
son, John, and left his property to two sons of a second marriage.
Leighlin Bridge, where John Tyndall was born in humble circumstances
in 1820, was a thriving town of 2,000 inhabitants, forty-six miles
south-west of Dublin. It was then the _entrepot_ where the great
southern road from Dublin to Waterford and Cork crossed the Barrow, and
it has consequently been declining ever since the development of the
railway system diverted the traffic. It was not destitute of historical
associations, which to the Irish mind were of an exciting character.
Nor was the country destitute of natural attractions. When Tyndall
was a youth its general aspect was described as soft and agreeable,
with little of forcible or imposing scenery, yet free from those harsh
features which so frequently mar the effect of Irish landscape. In some
parts it so closely resembled the “champaign, ornate, and agreeable
districts of central England,” that it was said constantly to remind an
English traveller passing through the country of the “equable, grateful
scenery, the calm and soft-faced prettiness of territorial view to
which his mind had been accustomed.”
Yet to the ordinary English reader its loneliness would appear to
have little that was likely to fire the opening mind of the Apostle
of Physical Science. It need not, however, appear an inauspicious
birthplace to those who believe that it is no mere accident that
has made great enthusiasts generally proceed from lonely or sterile
countries.
Let us therefore look a little more into this home from which so
much light was to be reflected in after years by its then youngest
inhabitant. The Professor’s father, being left dependent on his own
resources, early joined the Irish Constabulary force and remained in
it for several years. He was regarded as a man of exceptional ability
and unswerving integrity, and was respected by all who knew him. A
sturdy politician and a zealous Orangeman, he preserved as a precious
relic a bit of flag which was said to have fluttered at the Battle of
the Boyne. In such a man Protestantism was no mere hereditary faith.
It was evolved from his own inner consciousness, and was part of his
intellectual being. His earnest and capacious mind had mastered the
works of Tillotson, Jeremy Taylor, Chillingworth, and other writers
who were not only the pillars of the Protestant faith, but still
remain unsurpassed as masters of English prose. In our own day men
of respectable theological attainments are content to reflect, in
lunar-like scintillations, the intellectual splendour, the massive
diction, the rich and glowing periods that adorn their pages; and
no better evidence could be given of the fine intelligence of John
Tyndall, of Leighlin Bridge, than to say that his delight was in the
works of these great men. It is the fashion nowadays for critics of
the “newspaper” school to sneer at their “pompous grandeur,” but it is
those living writers who in elevation of thought and graces of style
show the greatest affinity to them that are the most popular. It was
with such works that John Tyndall, _père_, sought to imbue the mind
of his only surviving son; and the subtle thoughts and inspiring
sentiments which he gathered from such classic ground must have had an
invigorating effect on his son’s susceptible mind. Besides his early
familiarity with the works of these powerful thinkers, it is said that
he soon knew the Bible almost by heart. This species of intellectual
discipline has sometimes been pointed to as presenting a strange
contrast with his excursions in later life into those regions of
natural philosophy which have sometimes been regarded as antagonistic
to theology. But it is more than probable that this early training did
much to model and chasten the rich, transparent, simple language in
which he has so beautifully expounded the laws of Nature. There is high
authority for saying that he could have had no better model. Alexander
von Humboldt, after reviewing the whole course of ancient literature
for “images reflected by the external world on the imagination,” says
that “as descriptions of nature the writings of the Old Testament are a
faithful reflection of the character of the country in which they were
composed, of the alternations of barrenness and fruitfulness, and of
the Alpine forests by which the land of Palestine was characterised.
The epic or historical narratives are marked by a graceful simplicity,
almost more unadorned than those of Herodotus, and most true to nature.
Their lyrical poetry is more adorned, and develops a rich and animated
conception of the life of nature. It might almost be said that one
single psalm (the 104th) represents the image of the whole cosmos....
The meteorological processes which take place in the atmosphere, the
formation and solution of vapour, according to the changing direction
of the wind, the play of its colours, the generation of hail, and
the rolling thunder are described with individualising accuracy,
and many questions are propounded which we in our present state of
physical knowledge may indeed be able to express under more scientific
definitions, but scarcely to answer satisfactorily.” Most of our great
writers have acknowledged that the literature that first made a lasting
impression on their mind materially influenced their style of writing,
and in the writings of Professor Tyndall will be found a good deal of
the beautiful simplicity and poetic feeling which abound in Hebrew
literature.
The origin of his love of nature is a problem that has exercised his
own mind. “I have sometimes tried,” he says, “to trace the genesis
of the interest which I take in fine scenery. It cannot be wholly
due to my early associations; for as a boy I loved nature, and hence
to account for that love of nature I must fall back upon something
earlier than my own birth. The forgotten associations of a foregone
ancestry are probably the most potent elements in the feeling.” He
then accepts as exceedingly likely Mr. Herbert Spencer’s idea that the
mental habits and pleasurable activities of preceding generations had
descended with considerable force to him. He has, indeed, repeatedly
supported the view that intellectual character is largely formed from
ancestral peculiarities; and if that be so, he may surely be said to
have reproduced some of the higher mental characteristics of the Irish
race with marvellous exactness. “In the Celtic genius,” says Michelet,
“there is a feeling repugnant to mysticism, and which hardens itself
against the mild and winning word, refusing to lose itself in the
bosom of the moral God. The genius of the Celts is powerfully urged
towards the material and natural; and this proneness to the material
has hindered them from easily acceding to laws founded on an abstract
notion.... In the seventh century St. Columbanus said: ‘The Irish are
better astronomers than the Romans.’ It was a disciple of his, also an
Irishman, Virgil, Bishop of Saltzburg, who first affirmed the rotundity
of the earth and the existence of the Antipodes. All the sciences were
at this period cultivated with much renown in the Scotch and Irish
monasteries.” These characteristics appear to predominate in the Irish
intellect at the present day. Physical science, which is the glory of
our age, owes much to Ireland. Sir William Thomson, one of the most
versatile and brilliant of natural philosophers, was born in Ireland;
so was George Gabriel Stokes, one of Newton’s worthiest successors in
the Lucasian chair of mathematics at Cambridge as well as President
of the Royal Society; Henry Smith, the greatest mathematician of his
time at Oxford, who died in 1883, was an Irishman; Sir William Rowan
Hamilton, the Astronomer-Royal for Ireland, was also one of Ireland’s
most precocious sons; and in such a constellation of Irish genius
Professor Tyndall excels as a popular expositor of the laws of nature.
At the age of seven he began to show his natural taste for the works of
nature, and his father gave him glowing accounts of the achievements of
Newton as
“That sun of science, whose meridian ray
Kindled the gloom of nature into day.”
A good education was the only patrimony which his father could bestow
upon him. He was therefore sent to the best school within reach, and
remained at it till his nineteenth year. In his earlier schooldays
he preferred physical to mental exercises, and thus became expert in
running, swimming, climbing, and other sports. The branch of study in
which he excelled was mathematics. Under the tuition of a good teacher
in an Irish national school, he acquired a knowledge of elementary
algebra, geometry, trigonometry, and conic sections. His favourite
“arithmetic” was the treatise of Professor Thomson, the father of Sir
William Thomson, who in later years became one of his most brilliant
contemporaries. At the age of seventeen he showed exceptional facility
in solving geometrical problems, and on his way home from school, in
company with his teacher, he would work out demonstrations on the snow
in winter. But even that accessory he became able to dispense with; for
he could so clearly present the relations of space to his mind without
the aid of diagrams, that he was able to draw mentally the lines
illustrating the solution of complex problems and to preserve this
mental image so distinctly that he could reason upon it as correctly as
on the diagrams drawn upon paper required by ordinary students. When
he came to solid geometry he was able by means of this power of mental
representation to dispense with models, which to other students were
indispensable.
His powers of reasoning were not confined to mathematics. In his youth
he was accustomed to debate with his father the points of doctrine that
divide the Protestant from the Roman Catholic Church, reasoning high
“of Providence, fore-knowledge, will, and fate.” Sometimes the son took
the Protestant side and at other times the Romish side; and in either
case he showed much dialectical skill and theological knowledge. He
also took more than ordinary interest in the study of English grammar,
which he has described as being to his youthful mind a discipline of
the highest value and a source of unfailing delight.
Leaving school in April, 1839, he joined a division of the Ordnance
Survey then stationed in that district, under the command of Lieut.
Geo. Wynne, of the Royal Engineers, who afterwards became an intimate
friend of his, and to whom he has frequently expressed his obligation
for acts of kindness that promoted his welfare in after life. About
that time a good deal of astonishment was publicly expressed at the
mathematical powers of one of the many boys employed in calculations
on the Ordnance Survey; his name was Alexander Gwin, a native of
Derry, and it was reported that at the age of eight years he had
got by rote the fractional logarithms from 1 to 1,000, which he
could repeat in regular rotation, or otherwise. His rapidity and
correctness in calculating trigonometrical distances, triangles, &c.,
were extraordinary: he could make a return, in acres, roods, and
perches, in less than one minute of any quantity of land, on receiving
the surveyor’s chained distances; a calculation which the greatest
arithmetician would take nearly an hour to do, and would not be so sure
of accuracy at the end of that time.
The intention of young Tyndall was to become a civil engineer, which
then appeared a most attractive profession to him. As a preliminary
qualification he determined to master all the operations of the
surveyors. Draftsmen being the best paid, he worked as a draftsman,
but applied himself so well to learning the whole business that he
soon became able to do the work of the computor, the surveyor, and
the trigonometrical observer. He then asked to be allowed to go on
field-work, and his desire was granted. In 1841, while he was stationed
at Cork, a circumstance occurred which may be described as the turning
point in his career. He worked at mapping in company with a gentleman,
who, assuming a paternal interest in him, one day, asked the young and
promising surveyor how he employed his leisure hours. Dissatisfied with
the account given, the gentleman said to him: “You have five hours a
day at your disposal, and this time ought to be devoted to study. Had
I, when I was your age, had a friend to advise me as I now advise you,
instead of being in my present subordinate position, I should be the
equal of the director of the Survey.” Pregnant words! Next morning
young Tyndall was at his books by five o’clock, and the studious habits
then commenced he continued for twelve years.
Next year he was in Preston, and there becoming a member of the Preston
Mechanics’ Institute he attended its lectures and made use of its
library. One experiment which he saw there he never forgot. In a
lecture on respiration, Surgeon Cortess showed the changes produced
by the passage of air through the lungs, and in order to illustrate
the fact that what went in as free oxygen came out in carbonic acid,
he forced his breath through lime water in a flask by means of a
glass tube dipped into it; the carbonic acid from the lungs converted
the dissolved lime into carbonate of lime, which being practically
insoluble was precipitated. All this, he says, was predicted beforehand
by the lecturer, “but the delight with which I saw this prediction
fulfilled by the conversion of the limpid lime-water into a turbid
mixture of chalk and water remains with me as a memory to the present
hour” (1884.)
His diligence in study he was soon able to turn to good account. On one
occasion there was a dearth of men capable of making trigonometrical
observations when such observations were required. Tyndall offered his
services in that department; but the offer was not readily accepted.
His superiors hesitated to intrust him with a theodolite on account of
his inexperience in work of that description: and indeed there were
bets made against his chances of success. However, being allowed to
try his hand at it, he at once took his theodolite into an open field,
where he examined all its parts, and studied their uses. He then made
the trigonometrical observations prescribed to him, and when they were
compared with the measurement previously made on a larger scale, his
work was pronounced to have been successfully done. When he quitted the
Ordnance Survey in 1843 he had practically mastered all its operations.
The pay upon the Ordnance Survey, however, was very small, but having
ulterior objects in view, he considered the instruction received as
some set-off to the smallness of the pay. In order to “prevent some
young men from considering their fate specially hard, or from being
daunted, because from a very low level they had to climb a very steep
hill,” he has stated that on quitting the Ordnance Survey in 1843, his
salary was a little under twenty shillings a week, adding, “I have
often wondered since at the amount of genuine happiness which a young
fellow, of regular habits, not caring for either pipe or mug, may
extract even from pay like that.”
In 1844 affairs in this country did not look very tempting to him, and
he therefore resolved to go to America, whither some relatives had
emigrated early in the century. He had actually made preparations for
going there before some of his friends succeeded in dissuading him from
it. A sudden outburst of activity in railway construction at the same
time opened up a brighter prospect at home. After a pause, he says,
there came the mad time of the railway mania, when he was able to turn
to account the knowledge he had gained upon the Ordnance Survey; in
Staffordshire, Cheshire, Lancashire, Durham, and Yorkshire especially,
he was in the thick of the fray.
As a workman at that period he has been highly spoken of by his
contemporaries. One of them has stated that “Extreme caution and
accuracy, together with dauntless perseverance under difficulties,
characterised the performance of every piece of work he took in hand.
Habitually, indeed, he pushed verification beyond the limits of all
ordinary prudence, and, on returning from a hard day’s work, he has
been known to retrace his steps for miles in order to assure himself
of the security of some ‘bench mark,’ upon whose permanence the
accuracy of his levels depended. Previous to one of those unpostponable
thirtieths of November, when all railway plans and sections had to be
deposited at the Board of Works, a series of levels had to be completed
near Keighley in Yorkshire, and Manchester reached before midnight.
The weather was stormy beyond description; levelling staves snapped in
twain before the violent gusts of wind; and level and leveller were
in constant peril of being overturned by the force of the hurricane.
Assistants grumbled ‘Impossible,’ and were only shamed into submissive
persistence by that stern resolution which, before nightfall, triumphed
over all obstacles.”
Of these stirring scenes the Professor has given a graphic account. He
says:--“It was a time of terrible toil. The day’s work in the field
usually began and ended with the day’s light, while frequently in the
office, and more especially as the awful 30th of November--the latest
date at which plans and sections of projected lines could be deposited
at the Board of Trade--drew near, there was little difference between
day and night, every hour of the twenty-four being absorbed in the work
of preparation. Strong men were broken down by the strain and labour
of that arduous time. Many pushed through, and are still among us in
robust vigour; but some collapsed, while others retired with large
fortunes, but with intellects so shattered that, instead of taking
their places in the front rank of English statesmen, as their abilities
entitled them to do, they sought rest for their brains in the quiet
lives of country gentlemen. In my own modest sphere I well remember
the refreshment I occasionally derived from five minutes’ sleep on a
deal table, with _Babbage and Callet’s Logarithms_ under my head for
a pillow. On a certain day, under grave penalties, certain levels had
to be finished, and this particular day was one of agony to me. The
atmosphere seemed filled with mocking demons, laughing at the vanity
of my efforts to get the work done. My levelling staves were snapped,
and my theodolite was overthrown by the storm. When things are at their
worst a kind of anger often takes the place of fear. It was so in the
present instance; I pushed doggedly on, and just at nightfall, when
barely able to read the figures on my levelling staff, I planted my
last ‘benchmark’ on a tombstone in Haworth Churchyard. Close at hand
was the vicarage of Mr. Brontë, where the genius was nursed which soon
afterwards burst forth and astonished the world. It was a time of mad
unrest--of downright money mania. In private residences and public
halls, in London reception rooms, in hotels and the stables of hotels,
among gipsies and costermongers, nothing was spoken of but the state of
the share market, the prospects of projected lines, the good fortune
of the ostler or potboy who by a lucky stroke of business had cleared
£10,000. High and low, rich and poor, joined in the reckless game.
During my professional connection with railways I endured three weeks’
misery. It was not defeated ambition; it was not a rejected suit; it
was not the hardship endured in either office or field; but it was the
possession of certain shares purchased in one of the lines then afloat.
The share list of the day proved the winding-sheet of my peace of mind.
I was haunted by the Stock Exchange. I became at last so savage with
myself that I went to my brokers and put away, without gain or loss,
the shares as an accursed thing.”
When in Halifax in 1845 he attended a lecture which was delivered by
Mr. George Dawson, and which appeared to make a lasting impression on
his mind. That popular lecturer then defined duty as a debt owed; and
with reference to the Chartist doctrine of “levelling” then in vogue,
he said: Supposing two men to be equal at night, and that one rises at
six while the other sleeps till nine, what becomes of the gospel of
levelling then? The Professor regarded these as the words of Nature,
and there was, according to his impression, “a kindling vigour in the
lecturer’s words that must have strengthened the sense of duty in the
minds of those who heard him.”
It was while working in Yorkshire about that time that he first met
Mr. T. A. Hirst, then an articled pupil, who became one of his most
intimate friends, and who afterwards became Professor of Mathematics
in University College, London. At that time, too, Sir John Hawkshaw,
who afterwards was Prof. Tyndall’s successor as President of the
British Association, was chief engineer on the Manchester and Leeds
Railway, and it was in his Manchester office that Tyndall spent the
last days of his railway life. A calm followed the storm of competition
just described; work became scarce, and the prospects of engineers were
once more overcast.
In these circumstances he accepted, in 1847, an appointment as a
teacher in Queenswood College, Hampshire. The well-known Socialist
reformer, Robert Owen, and his disciples built that college--a fine
edifice occupying a healthy position--and called it Harmony Hall,
as it was meant to inaugurate the millennium; the letters “C. of M”
(commencement of millennium) being inserted in flint in the brickwork
of the house. Around this college were large farms, where lessons
were given by Prof. Tyndall to the more advanced students on the
subjects which he had mastered in his previous labours. With teaching
he combined self-improvement. The chemical laboratory was under the
charge of Dr. Frankland, with whom he soon became friendly. In order
to spend part of his time in study in the chemical laboratory, Tyndall
relinquished part of his salary, and there he laid the foundations of
that knowledge of physical science which was destined afterward to be
his own passport to fame and to afford delight to many thousands of
his fellowmen. He was also very successful as a teacher in Queenswood
College. He is said to have exercised a kind of magnetic influence
over his students, and such was their faith in him that when any
disturbances arose among them he was invariably called upon to settle
them, and he did so merely by the power of moral influence and force of
character. As to his impressions of life at Queenswood, the Professor
says:--
“Schemes like Harmony Hall look admirable upon paper; but, inasmuch
as they are formed with reference to an ideal humanity, they go to
pieces when brought into collision with the real one. At Queenswood,
I learned, by practical experience, that two factors went to the
formation of a teacher. In regard to knowledge he must, of course,
be master of his work. But knowledge is not all. There might be
knowledge without power--the ability to inform without the ability to
stimulate. Both go together in the true teacher. A power of character
must underlie and enforce the work of the intellect. There were men
who could so rouse and energise their pupils--so call forth their
strength and the pleasure of its exercise--as to make the hardest work
agreeable. Without this power it is questionable whether the teacher
could ever really enjoy his vocation--with it, I do not know a higher,
nobler, and more blessed calling than that of the man who, scorning the
cramming so prevalent in our day, converts the knowledge he imparts
into a lever, to lift, exercise, and strengthen the growing minds
committed to his care.”
After pursuing their scientific studies together for some time, both
Tyndall and Frankland began to think of extending the range of their
scientific culture. But that could not then be done in England. In
1845 a man could not easily get first-class instruction in practical
chemistry and the other physical sciences that were then making great
strides forward. Between 1840 and 1850 Germany assumed the lead in
these sciences. In that country science then organised itself on a
vast scale, and from that time to this it has been growing there at a
most extraordinary rate; indeed, Prof. Huxley declared in 1884 that in
the whole history of the world there has never been such a tremendous
amount of organised energy bestowed in the development of physical
science as in Germany.
“At the time here referred to,” says Professor Tyndall, “I had emerged
from some years of hard labour the fortunate possessor of two or three
hundred pounds. By selling my services in the dearest market during
the railway madness the sum might, without dishonour, have been made a
large one; but I respected ties which existed prior to the time when
offers became lavish and temptation strong. I did not put my money in
a napkin, but cherished the design of spending it in study at a German
university. I had heard of German science, while Carlyle’s references
to German philosophy and literature caused me to regard them as a
kind of revelation from the gods. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1848,
Frankland and I started for the land of universities, as Germany is
often called. They are sown broadcast over the country, and can justly
claim to be the source of an important portion of Germany’s present
greatness.
“Our place of study was the town of Marburg, in Hesse-Cassel, and
a very picturesque town Marburg is. It clambers pleasantly up the
hillsides, and falls as pleasantly towards the Lahn. On a May day,
when the orchards are in blossom, and the chestnuts clothed with
their heavy foliage, Marburg is truly lovely. It is the same town in
which my great namesake, when even poorer than myself, published his
translation of the Bible. I lodged in the plainest manner in a street
which perhaps bore an appropriate name while I dwelt there. It was
called the Ketzerbach--the heretics’ brook--from a little historical
rivulet running through it. I wished to keep myself clean and hardy,
so I purchased a cask and had it cut in two by a carpenter. That cask,
filled with spring-water over night, was placed in my small bedroom,
and never during the years that I spent there, in winter or in summer,
did the clock of the beautiful Elizabethekirche, which was close at
hand, finish striking the hour of six in the morning before I was in my
tub. For a good portion of the time I rose an hour and a-half earlier
than this, working by lamp-light at the Differential Calculus when the
world was slumbering around me. I risked this breach of my pursuits
and this expenditure of my time and money, not because I had any
definite prospect of material profit in view, but because I thought the
cultivation of the intellect important; because, moreover, I loved my
work, and entertained a sure and certain hope that armed with knowledge
one can successfully fight one’s way through the world. I ought not
to omit one additional motive by which I was upheld at the time here
referred to--that was the sense of duty. Every young man of high aims
must, I think, have a spice of this principle within him. There are
sure to be hours in his life when his outlook will be dark, his work
difficult, and his intellectual future uncertain. Over such periods,
when the stimulus of success is absent, he must be carried by his sense
of duty. It may not be so quick an incentive as glory, but it is a
nobler one, and gives a tone to character which glory cannot impart.
That unflinching devotion to work, without which no real eminence in
science is now attainable, implies the writing at certain times of
stern resolve upon the student’s character: ‘I work not because I like
work, but because I ought to work.’ At Marburg my study was warmed
by a large stove. At first I missed the gleam and sparkle from flame
and ember, but I soon became accustomed to the obscure heat. At six
in the morning a small milch-brod and a cup of tea were taken to me.
The dinner hour was one, and for the first year or so I dined at an
hotel. In those days living was cheap in Marburg. Dinner consisted of
several courses, roast and boiled, and finished up with sweets and
dessert. The cost was a pound a month, or about eightpence per dinner.
I usually limited myself to one course, using even that in moderation,
being convinced that eating too much was quite as sinful, and almost
as ruinous, as drinking too much. By attending to such things I was
able to work without weariness for sixteen hours a day. My going to
Germany had been opposed by some of my friends as quixotic, and my
life there might, perhaps, be not unfairly thus described. I did not
work for money; I was not even spurred by ‘the last infirmity of noble
minds.’ I had been reading Fichte, and Emerson, and Carlyle, and had
been infected by the spirit of these great men, the Alpha and Omega
of whose teaching was loyalty to duty. Higher knowledge and greater
strength were within reach of the man who unflinchingly enacted his
best insight.”
Even a statue was capable of impressing this truth upon him. But it was
the statue of the man who said of his own features: “This is the face
of a man who has struggled energetically”--the man of whose portrait
Carlyle says: “Reader, to thee thyself, even now, he has one counsel
to give, the secret of his whole poetic alchemy. Think of living! Thy
life, were thou the pitifullest of all the sons of earth, is no idle
dream, but a solemn reality. It is thy own; it is all thou hast to
front eternity with. Work, then, even as he has done and does--LIKE
A STAR, UNHASTING YET UNRESTING.” Equally impressive was the effect
produced on Professor Tyndall by even the sight of the form of such a
man. Finding himself one fine summer evening standing beside a statue
of Goethe in a German city, the contemplation of this work of art,
which he considered the most suitable memorial for a great man, excited
a motive force within his mind, which he thought no purely material
influence could generate. “There was then,” he says, “labour before me
of the most arduous kind. There were formidable practical difficulties
to be overcome, and very small means wherewith to overcome them; and
yet I felt that no material means could, as regards the task I had
undertaken, plant within me a resolve comparable with that which the
contemplation of this statue of Goethe was able to arouse.”
From his youth Tyndall appeared to have a remarkable power, not only
of attracting friends, but of retaining them. The circumstances under
which he early became acquainted with his life-long friends, General
Wynne and Professor Hirst, have already been mentioned. Hirst was
scarcely sixteen years of age when he became acquainted with Tyndall,
who was ten years older. Though they stood in the relation of pupil
and teacher, their intimacy ripened into an enduring friendship which
separation heightened rather than dissolved. An incident that occurred
while Tyndall was studying at Marburg affords honourable evidence of
this fact. The death of a relative in 1849 made Hirst the possessor of
a small patrimony, which he determined to divide between himself and
his former teacher. He accordingly pressed Professor Tyndall to accept
one half of his small fortune, but much to his disappointment Tyndall
would have none of it. Entreaties to accept it for friendship’s sake
were unavailing, but friendship, like necessity, can invent strange
means for attaining its end. Hirst took counsel with a German banker as
to a way of conveying the money to his friend, and soon a device was
carried out, by means of which the devotee of science had to sacrifice
his self-denial on the altar of friendship. While at work one morning
in his lodgings in Marburg the postman brought him a heavy roll closely
packed and sealed, which, to his astonishment, contained all sorts of
German coins amounting to 20_l._ sterling, a considerable gratuity for
a student to receive in those days. He had no alternative but to accept
it. On a subsequent occasion when Tyndall left Marburg to visit England
another friend of his youth, General Wynne, offered to replenish his
exchequer, which he feared must be nearly empty, but the offer was
declined with assurances that such generous assistance was unnecessary.
CHAPTER II.
“No man ever yet made great discoveries in Science who was
not impelled by an abstracted love.”--SIR HUMPHRY DAVY.
At the time when Professor Tyndall was studying at Marburg University,
the principal figure there was Bunsen, who had been appointed Professor
of Chemistry in 1838. He was a profound chemist, and his fame as a
lecturer was so eminent as to attract many foreign students. A prolific
discoverer, and peculiarly happy in his manner of demonstrating his
scientific teaching, he soon fascinated the ardent minds of the two
students from Queenswood. For two years Tyndall attended his chemical
lectures. Indeed he learned German chiefly by listening to Bunsen.
He has himself stated that Bunsen treated him like a brother, giving
his time, space, and appliances, for the benefit of his studies. The
subject which most attracted Tyndall’s attention was electro-chemistry,
upon which Bunsen delivered an admirable course of lectures in 1848.
The whole principle of the voltaic pile was thus explained to him in
a masterful manner. He also made himself acquainted with chemical
analyses, both quantitative and qualitative. He displayed no less zeal
in the study of mathematics. For a considerable period he got private
lessons from Professor Stegmann, under whose tuition he worked through
analytical geometry of two and three dimensions, the Differential and
Integral Calculus, and part of the Calculus of Variations.
His first scientific paper was a mathematical essay on screw surfaces,
respecting which he says:--“Professor Stegmann gave me the subject
of my dissertation when I took my degree: its title in English was,
‘On a Screw Surface with Inclined Generatrix, and on the Conditions
of Equilibrium on such Surfaces.’ I resolved that if I could not,
without the slightest aid accomplish the work from beginning to end it
should not be accomplished at all. Wandering among the pine wood and
pondering the subject, I became more and more master of it; and when
my dissertation was handed in to the Philosophical Faculty it did not
contain a thought that was not my own.”
But the man whose acquaintance at Marburg appeared to exercise most
influence over his career was Dr. Knoblauch, who had just come thither
from Berlin as extraordinary Professor of Physics, and who had already
distinguished himself by his researches in radiant heat. He illustrated
his lectures with a choice collection of apparatus brought from
Berlin; and he not only suggested to Tyndall an exhaustive series of
experiments bearing on a newly-discovered principle of physics, but
supplied him with the necessary apparatus, and placed his own cabinet
at his disposal for that purpose. The subject of investigation was
diamagnetism.
Faraday’s discoveries and experiments in magnetism were then attracting
the attention of the scientific world. He had shown in 1830 that
by moving a magnet within the hollow of a coil of copper wire an
electrical current was produced in the wire. This was a startling and
pregnant discovery. Taking six hundred feet of insulated copper wire
and winding it into a large vertical coil, he arranged the two ends
of the wire into a small coil a little distance away from the large
coil, and immediately above this small coil he suspended a balanced
compass needle by a silk thread. Then, on dropping a bar magnet, or
piece of iron magnetised, into the large coil, the needle, which was
pointing towards the North Pole, instantly swung round, evidently
impelled by magnetic force; when, again, the bar magnet was raised
out of the hollow of the large coil, the needle moved round in the
opposite direction; while it remained motionless so long as the bar
magnet was at rest either inside or outside the coil. It thus appeared
that an electrical current could be produced by the movement of the
bar magnet--by dropping it into the coil or taking it out; and the
current so produced he called an induced current. This operation is
called magneto-electric induction. In 1845 Faraday greatly extended his
magnetic discoveries. He not only established the magnetic condition
of all matter by showing that every known body or thing could be
influenced by magnetism, but he discovered a new property of magnetism,
which he called diamagnetism. This was considered his greatest
discovery.
By suspending bodies of an elongated form between the ends or poles
of powerful magnets, he found that every substance was attracted or
repelled from the magnetic poles; and he divided all bodies into two
great classes, called magnetic and diamagnetic. The way in which a
piece of iron is attracted by the poles or ends of a horseshoe magnet
is a familiar illustration of the action of magnetic bodies, and
the position that such bodies assume, pointing in a line from one
pole to the other, he termed _axial_. On the other hand, diamagnetic
bodies were those which, when freely suspended within the influence
of the magnet, assumed a position at right angles to the line joining
the poles of a magnet, or to the magnetic meridian; in other words,
magnetic bodies pointed axially from pole to pole, or north and south;
while diamagnetic bodies pointed east and west, or in an _equatorial_
direction. Bismuth is a conspicuous example of diamagnetic substances.
Scientific curiosity soon became excited as to the exact nature of the
diamagnetic force in relation to crystals, some of which behaved in a
mysterious manner between the poles of a magnet. Professor Plücker, of
Bonn, discovered that some crystals formed of diamagnetic substances
were not subject to the diamagnetic force; and to account for this
he attributed to crystals an optical axis, upon which the poles of a
magnet exercised a peculiar force. Plücker brought this theory before
the British Association in 1848, and called it a new magnetic action.
At the close of the same year, Faraday told the Royal Society that he
had often been embarrassed by the anomalous magnetic results given by
small cylinders of bismuth, and after investigation he referred these
effects to the crystalline condition of the bismuth. In concluding his
lecture on this subject, Faraday said:--“How rapidly the knowledge of
molecular forces grows upon us, and how strikingly every investigation
tends to develop more and more their importance, and their extreme
attraction as an object of study. A few years ago, magnetism was to
us an occult power affecting only a few bodies: now it is found to
influence all bodies, and to possess the most intimate relations with
electricity, heat, chemical action, light, crystallisation, and,
through it, with the forces concerned in cohesion.” He thought there
was in crystals a directive impelling force distinct from the magnetic
and diamagnetic force.
Frequent conversations on this subject took place between Knoblauch and
Tyndall in Germany during 1849. Knoblauch suggested that Tyndall should
repeat the experiments of Plücker and Faraday; and as this operation
was proceeding they agreed to make a joint inquiry into the deportment
of crystals under the diamagnetic force. They laboured long at the
problem before attaining any encouraging success. They examined the
optical properties of crystals as well as made magnetic experiments
with them, a great many experiments being made without discovering
any new fact. Eventually, however, they found that various crystals
did not act in accordance with the principles enunciated by Plücker,
and the more they worked at the subject the more clearly it appeared
that the deportment of certain bodies under the influence of magnetism
was due, not to the presence of some force previously unknown, but to
the crystalline structure of the substance under investigation, or as
Tyndall put it, to peculiarities of material aggregation. For example,
he showed that while a bar of iron attracted by a magnet sets itself
in a line from pole to pole, an iron bar made of an aggregate of small
bars sets itself in the opposite direction. Tyndall showed that the
cause of the latter bar assuming an equatorial position was simply its
mechanical structure, the small plates composing the “aggregated” bar
setting from pole to pole. He found that the same law regulated the
magnetic deportment of crystals, whose mechanism or structure, however,
was generally less evident.
In 1849 eminent natural philosophers were studying this subject
in England, France, and Germany, and it was expected that the
investigation of diamagnetic phenomena would rapidly throw some new
light upon the molecular forces which determine the conditions of the
material creation. In allusion to this expectation, Tyndall said in
1850, that as nature acts by general laws, to which the terms great
and small are unknown, it cannot be doubted that the modifications of
magnetic force, exhibited by bits of copperas and sugar in the magnetic
field, display themselves on a large scale in the crust of the earth
itself, and as a lump of stratified grit, though a magnetic material,
could be made, on account of its planes of stratification, to act as
if it were diamagnetic, he suggested that this element might have some
influence in determining the varying position of the magnetic poles of
the earth--a subject which still perplexes the scientific world. Not
only has the north magnetic pole gradually been changing its position,
as shown by the records of three centuries, but, according to Barlow,
every place has a magnetic pole and equator of its own; and according
to Faraday the earth is a great magnet, whose power, as estimated by
Gauss, is equal to that which would be conferred if every cubic yard
of it contained six one-pound magnets; the sum of the force being thus
equal to 8,464,000,000,000,000,000,000 such magnets. “The disposition
of this magnetic force is not regular,” said Faraday, “nor are there
any points on the surface which can be properly called poles: still
the regions of polarity are in high north and south latitudes; and
these are connected by lines of magnetic force (being the lines of
direction), which, generally speaking, rise out of the earth in one
(magnetic) hemisphere, and passing in various directions over the
equatorial regions into the other hemisphere, there enter into the
earth to complete the known circuit of power.”
It was in connection with his investigations on this subject that
Prof. Tyndall first saw Prof. Faraday. Returning from Marburg in 1850,
he called at the Royal Institution and sent in his card, together
with a copy of a paper he had prepared, giving the results of his
experiments on magne-crystallic action. Prof. Faraday conversed with
him for half-an-hour, and being then on the point of publishing one of
his papers on magne-crystallic action, he appended to it a flattering
reference to the notes which Tyndall had placed in his hands.
Tyndall went back to Germany, where he worked for another year. In
the beginning of 1851 he went to Berlin, where, he says, Prof. Magnus
had made his name famous by physical researches of all kinds. “On
April 28th, 1851, I first saw this Professor on his own doorstep in
Berlin. His aspect won my immediate regard, which was strengthened to
affection by our subsequent intercourse. He gave me a working place in
his laboratory, and it was there I carried out my investigations on
diamagnetism and magnecrystallic action published in the _Philosophical
Magazine_ for September, 1851. Among the other eminent scientific
men whom I met at Berlin was Ehrenberg, with whom I had various
conversations on microscopic organisms. I also made the acquaintance of
Riess, the foremost exponent of frictional electricity, who more than
once opposed to Faraday’s radicalism his own conservatism as regarded
electric theory. Du Bois-Reymond was there at the time, full of power,
both physical and mental. His fame had been everywhere noised abroad in
connection with his researches on animal electricity. Du Bois-Reymond
became perpetual secretary to the Academy of Sciences, Berlin. From
Professor Magnus, and from Clausius, Wiedemann, and Poggendorff, I
received every mark of kindness, and formed with some of them enduring
friendships. Helmholtz was at this time in Königsberg. He had written
his renowned essay on the “Conservation of Energy,” which I afterward
translated. Helmholtz had, too, just finished his experiments on the
velocity of nervous transmission, proving this velocity, which had
previously been regarded as instantaneous, or, at all events, as equal
to that of electricity, to be, in the nerves of the frog, only 93
ft. a second, or about one-twelfth of the velocity of sound in air
of the ordinary temperature. In his own house I had the honour of an
interview with Humboldt. He rallied me on having contracted the habit
of smoking in Germany, his knowledge on this head being derived from my
little paper on a water-jet, where the noise produced by the rupture
of a film between the wet lips of a smoker is referred to. He gave me
various messages to Faraday, declaring his belief that he (Faraday)
had referred the annual and diurnal variation of the declination of
the magnetic needle to their true cause--the variation of the magnetic
condition of the oxygen of the atmosphere. I was interested to learn
from Humboldt himself that, though so large a portion of his life had
been spent in France, he never published a French essay without having
it first revised by a Frenchman. In those days I not unfrequently
found it necessary to subject myself to a process which I called
depolarisation. My brain, intent on its subjects, used to acquire a
set, resembling the rigid polarity of a steel magnet. It lost the
pliancy needful for free conversation, and to recover this I used to
walk occasionally to Charlottenburg or elsewhere. From my experiences
at that time I derived the notion that hard thinking and fleet talking
do not run together.”
Prof. Tyndall was exceptionally fortunate in getting so easily and so
early into the friendship of such eminent men of science. In those
days to form such eminent acquaintances was no small achievement for
a young Irishman; but on the other hand, he had fully earned this
distinction by the vigour and originality with which he attacked the
latest and most perplexing problem of that time. During the five years
that had elapsed since Faraday discovered diamagnetism, the subject
had been investigated by the greatest scientists in England, France,
and Germany, and no one had done so much to elucidate it as Prof.
Tyndall. In order to master that subject he began in November, 1850, an
investigation of the laws of magnetic attractions. The laws of magnetic
action at distances in comparison with which the thickness of the
magnet vanishes, had long been known, but the laws of magnetic action
at short distances, where the thickness of the magnet comes fully into
play, had not previously been subjected to reliable experiments, and
were therefore at that time a perplexing matter of speculation. That
desideratum he now supplied. He found, among other things, that the
mutual attraction of a magnet and a sphere of soft iron, when both are
separated by a small fixed distance, is directly proportional to the
square of the strength of the magnet, and that the mutual attraction of
a magnet of constant strength and a sphere of soft iron is inversely
proportional to the distance between them.
Next year (1851) he published the results of further investigations
into the relations between magnetism and diamagnetism. He found that
the laws which govern magnetism and diamagnetism are identical, that
the superior attraction or repulsion of a mass in any particular
direction is due to the direction in which the material particles are
arranged most closely together, that the forces exerted are attractive
or repulsive according as the particles are magnetic or diamagnetic,
and that this law is applicable to matter in general.
A paper on “The Polarity of Bismuth,” which might be regarded as a
temporary instalment of his diamagnetic researches, ended with the
remark that during this inquiry he had changed his mind too often to
be over-confident now in the conclusion at which he had arrived. Part
of the time he was a hearty subscriber to the opinion of Faraday that
there existed no proof of diamagnetic polarity; and if, he said, “I now
differ from that great man, it is with an honest wish to be set right,
if through any unconscious bias of my own I have been led either into
errors of reasoning or mis-statements of fact.”
The theory of diamagnetism was still an apple of discord in the
scientific world; and although Prof. Tyndall used the language of
deference rather than of doubt, he did not allow the subject to remain
in a state of uncertainty. He continued his researches in Berlin,
in the private laboratory of Prof. Magnus, who afforded him every
possible facility for carrying on experiments, and took a lively
interest in the investigation. The result was the confirmation of his
previous impression that the action of crystals within the range of a
magnet’s influence (technically called the “magnetic field”) was due
to peculiarities of molecular arrangement. He found, for example, that
a crystal of carbonate of iron, which, when suspended in the magnetic
field, showed a certain deportment, could be pounded into the finest
dust, and the particles could be so put together again that the mass
would exhibit the same deportment as before.
Dr. Bence Jones, the Secretary of the Royal Institution, who had heard
of Tyndall in Berlin in 1851, afterwards invited him to give a Friday
evening lecture at the Royal Institution. “I went,” he says, “not
without fear and trembling, for the Royal Institution was to me a kind
of dragon’s den, where tact and strength would be necessary to save
me from destruction.” The lecture, which was delivered on February
11th, 1853, was “On the Influence of Material Aggregation upon the
Manifestations of Force,” and it gave a beautiful and simple exposition
of the principles of magnetic and diamagnetic action discovered by
himself, the chief being that the line of greatest density is that
of strongest magnetic power. In the course of his lecture he pointed
out that anything which increases density increases magnetic power;
and upon that principle he contended that the local action of the sun
upon the earth’s crust must influence in some degree the diurnal range
of the magnetic needle, which Faraday, on the other hand, attributed
to the modification of our atmosphere by the sun’s rays. While thus
endeavouring to upset Faraday’s theory, he concluded by saying: “This
evening’s discourse is, in some measure, connected with this locality,
and thinking thus, I am led to inquire wherein the true value of a
scientific discovery consists? Not in its immediate results alone, but
in the prospect which it opens to intellectual activity, in the hopes
which it excites, in the vigour which it awakens. The discovery which
led to the results brought before you to-night was of this character.
That magnet was the physical birthplace of these results; and if they
possess any value they are to be regarded as the returning crumbs of
that bread which in 1846 was cast so liberally upon the waters. I
rejoice in the opportunity here afforded me of offering my tribute to
the greatest worker of the age, and of laying some of the blossoms of
that prolific tree which he planted at the feet of the great discoverer
of diamagnetism.” At the conclusion of the lecture Faraday quitted his
usual seat, and crossing the theatre to the corner where the lecturer
stood, cordially shook him by the hand and congratulated him on his
success. A second lecture was delivered by him on June 3rd, 1853,
“On some of the Eruptive Phenomena of Iceland,” and a month later he
was unanimously elected Professor of Natural Philosophy in the Royal
Institution.
Some years previously he had read in a serial publication an account
of Davy’s experiments on radiant heat at the Royal Institution, and
he remembered ever after the longing then excited in him to be able
to do something of the same kind. Now he was to occupy a position
in which he should use, in his own lectures, the same apparatus of
which illustrations were given in the magazine article that had
fired his youthful ambition. To that position he was promoted on the
recommendation of Faraday, and respecting his appointment he himself
said: “I was tempted at the time to go elsewhere, but a strong
attraction drew me here. It was his (Faraday’s) friendship that caused
me to value my position here more highly than any other.”
While the controversy respecting magnetic and diamagnetic hypotheses
was still raging, Faraday delivered a lecture at the Royal Institution
early in 1855 with the express object of cautioning the investigators
of scientific truths against placing too much confidence on any
hypothesis. He stated that every year of increased experience had
taught him more and more to distrust the theories he had once adhered
to; and his present impression with regard to existing Magnetic and
Electrical hypotheses was, that they were very unsatisfactory, and
that the propounders of them had been following in a wrong track. As
an instance of the obstacles which erroneous hypotheses throw in the
way of scientific discovery, he mentioned the unsuccessful attempts
that had been made in this country to educe magnetism from electricity,
until Oersted showed the simple way. He said that the identity of
magnetism and electricity had been strongly impressed upon the minds
of all: when he came to the Royal Institution, as an assistant in the
laboratory, he saw Davy, Wollaston, and Young trying by every way that
suggested itself to them to produce magnetic effects from an electric
current; but, having their minds diverted from the true course by their
existing hypotheses, it did not occur to them to solve the point by
holding a wire, through which an electric current was passing, over a
suspended magnetic needle--the experiment by which Oersted afterwards
proved, by the deflection of the needle, the magnetic property of an
electric current.
Such cautions, however, did not deter Professor Tyndall from defending
the position he had taken up with regard to magnetism and diamagnetism.
He still maintained that the influence of structure was supremely
important,--that under the influence of magnetism or electricity
a normal diamagnetic bar always exhibits a deportment precisely
antithetical to that of a normal magnetic bar; but that, by taking
advantage of structure, it is possible to get diamagnetic bars which
exhibit precisely the same deportment as normal magnetic ones, and
magnetic bars which exhibit a deportment precisely similar to normal
diamagnetic ones. He showed numerous experiments before the British
Association in support of his contention that the diamagnetic force
is a polar one, with a direction opposite to that of the force in
ordinary magnetic bodies. Professor William Thomson, who witnessed
the experiments, certified the success of every one of them; and
stated that Professor Tyndall’s discoveries in this domain of science
had cleared away a mass of rubbish and set things in their true
light, adding that in many cases he had repeated and varied Tyndall’s
experiments, and had found them to be true.
In 1855 he delivered the Bakerian lecture, in which he gave an
elaborate account of his latest researches respecting the phenomena
of diamagnetism. He was now firmly convinced, he said, that the force
that repelled a body was similar in character to that which attracted
a body; in other words, that diamagnetic bodies possess the same kind
of polarity, but in the opposite direction to that of magnetic bodies.
But the opponents of diamagnetic polarity, who were not yet satisfied
by the evidence he adduced, said that his experiments were made with
electrical conductors in which induced currents could be formed that
might account for the attractions and repulsions. Professor Tyndall
thought it would tend to settle the question if he were to use a new
kind of apparatus that would obviate that objection. He therefore
wrote to Professor Weber, of Göttingen, whom Professor William
Thomson described at the time as the most profound and accurate of
all experimenters, asking him to devise more delicate and powerful
means than had hitherto been used in experimental tests. Weber not
only devised a greatly improved apparatus, but had it constructed
under his own superintendence at Leipsig.[2] With this apparatus
Professor Tyndall was able to satisfy the severest conditions proposed
by those who discredited the results of previous experiments. He then
silenced doubt by demonstrating that magnetism and diamagnetism stand,
in respect of polarity, on the same footing, with this difference,
that the one polarity is the inversion of the other. This diamagnetic
polarity, previously established in the case of bismuth, he showed to
exist in slate, marble, calcspar, sulphur, &c. He also established the
polarity of liquids, magnetic and diamagnetic. At the Royal Institution
in February, 1856, he showed that prisms of the same heavy glass as
that with which Faraday discovered the diamagnetic force, behaved
under the magnet in the same way as bismuth; and this evidence was
admitted to be conclusive by the opponents of diamagnetic polarity. The
controversy thereafter subsided.
His chief papers recording his most important investigations in
connection with diamagnetism were afterwards collected into a volume
entitled _Researches on Diamagnetism and Magnecrystallic Action_.
In 1855 Professor Tyndall was appointed Examiner under the Council for
Military Education, and an incident which occurred shortly afterwards
illustrated the confidential relations into which his intimacy with
Faraday had ripened, as well as the independence of character which
distinguished both. Being strongly impressed with the advantage of
increasing the knowledge of physical science given to artillery
officers and engineers, Professor Tyndall advocated a more liberal
recognition of scientific attainments in their examinations. At that
time a committee of the British Association was endeavouring to get
the British Government to recognise the claims of science; and in
reply to inquiries made by that committee as to the expediency of
offering inducements for the acquisition of science and of offering
orders and decorations as rewards for proficiency, Professor Faraday
said: “I cannot say that I have not valued such distinctions; on the
contrary, I esteem them very highly; but I don’t think I have ever
worked for, or sought after, them.” Lord Harrowby, in his address as
President of the British Association, said that the State had till
recently done absolutely nothing for the promotion of science; and
it was remarked as a strange circumstance that though there were
then in the Cabinet the President and President-elect of the British
Association, it was considered too hazardous to apply to the Government
for money for scientific purposes. While this neglect of science was
being freely discussed a number of well-instructed young men were sent
from Trinity College, Dublin, to compete at the Woolwich examinations
in 1856 for appointments in the artillery and engineers, and their
scientific knowledge appeared so creditable that Professor Tyndall
thought it unnecessary to say anything about it. His colleagues, on
the other hand, sent in as usual brief reports with their returns
calling attention to the chief features of the examination, and a
leader in the _Times_ pointed out that the concurrent testimony of the
examiners was that, both in mathematics and classics, the candidates
showed a marked improvement, but that on other points they broke down.
This appeared to Professor Tyndall an unjust reflection upon their
scientific attainments, which were thus ignored. He accordingly wrote
to the _Times_ simply stating that “in justice to the candidates for
commissions in the artillery and engineers examined by me in natural
philosophy and chemistry, you will perhaps permit me to state that the
general level of the answers in the last examination was much higher
than that attained in the first; many of the papers returned to me gave
evidence of rare ability, and if during their future career the authors
of these papers continue to cultivate the powers which they have
shown themselves to possess, they will, I doubt not, justify by their
deeds the high opinion entertained of them.” This modest statement,
intended to put the students right, put himself wrong. The Secretary
of State for War promptly informed him that an examiner appointed by
the Commander-in-Chief had no right to appear in the public papers as
Professor Tyndall had done without the sanction of the War Office.
To this reproof he at once wrote a firm but respectful reply, which,
however, he submitted to Faraday before despatching it. Faraday pointed
out that the consequence of sending such a reply would be dismissal.
Professor Tyndall said he knew that, but he would not silently accept
the reproof of the War Office. “Then send the reply,” said Faraday; and
it was sent. Henceforth Professor Tyndall was in daily expectation of
receiving his discharge. After a delay, the length of which surprised
him, he received a reply, the contents of which still more surprised
him. His explanation was “deemed perfectly satisfactory” by the
Secretary for War, and he therefore continued for many years afterwards
in the service of the Council for Military Education.
One of the next subjects that occupied his attention was the cleavage
of slate rocks. It is a question of great importance in connection with
geological problems, and hitherto only speculative solutions had been
offered of what appeared to be one of the most mysterious but grandest
operations of nature. For twenty years previously geologists were
mostly content to accept on trust the suggestion of Professor Sedgwick,
that crystalline forces had rearranged whole mountain masses so as to
produce a beautiful crystalline cleavage. In 1854 Professor Tyndall
visited the quarries of Cumberland and North Wales, where the question
of cleavage came prominently before him. When at Penrhyn Quarry he was
told that the planes of cleavage were the planes of stratification
lifted up by some convulsion into an almost vertical position. But
a little observation satisfied him that this view was essentially
incorrect; for in certain masses of slate in which the strata were
distinctly marked, the planes of cleavage were at a high angle to the
planes of stratification. A little experiment, he said, demonstrated
that the cleavage of slate was no more a crystalline cleavage than that
of a hayrick. An elaborate examination of all the conditions of the
phenomena led him to the conclusion that cleavage was the result of
pressure, and that this effect of pressure was not confined to slates.
In a lecture delivered in 1856 he stated that for the previous twelve
months the subject had presented itself to him almost daily under one
aspect or another. “I have never,” he said, “eaten a biscuit during
this period in which an intellectual joy has not been superadded to
the more sensual pleasure, for I have remarked in all such cases
cleavage developed in the mass by the rolling-pin of the pastrycook
or confectioner. I have only to break these cakes and to look at the
fracture to see the laminated structure of the mass.” He exhibited some
puff-paste baked under his own superintendence, and explained that
while the cleavage of our hills was accidental, in the pastry it was
intentional.
Among those who heard the lecture upon slaty cleavage was his friend
Professor Huxley, who suggested that probably the principles then
enunciated might account for the structure of glaciers, another subject
that had long perplexed scientific observers. The greatest authority
on glaciers at that time was Professor J. D. Forbes, of Edinburgh
University, who in 1842 declared that a “glacier is an imperfect fluid
or viscous body, which is urged down slopes of a certain inclination
by the mutual pressure of its parts,” and who detected in glaciers a
veined structure which he explained as fissures produced by particles
of ice in motion sliding past each other, leaving the fissures to
be filled with water and to be frozen in winter. On examining the
published observations of Forbes, Professor Tyndall was struck with the
probable accuracy of Professor Huxley’s suggestion, and in order to
examine the matter more thoroughly, the two advocates of the cleavage
theory arranged to visit together the glaciers of Grindelwald, the Aar,
and the Rhone. This personal investigation and subsequent reflection
confirmed Professor Tyndall in his views. He found that glaciers were
formed by the property of ice which Faraday called _regelation_; that
is, the freezing together of two pieces of ice by simple contact and
slight pressure. It is the same property that enables boys to make
snowballs and snow men when the snow is beginning to melt, or when
the warmth of the hand raises its temperature to the point at which
regelation takes place. Professor Tyndall found that when two confluent
glaciers united to form a single trunk, their mutual pressure developed
the veined structure in a striking degree along their line of junction.
In his lectures on the subject at the Royal Institution he ingeniously
illustrated the processes of Nature which make and unmake the glacier.
To show that ice only becomes compressed into a solid mass at a
temperature near that of freezing water, he cooled a mass of ice by
exposing it to the action of the coldest freezing mixture then known.
He then crushed this cooled mass of ice into fragments, and applied
pressure to the fragments for the purpose of making them cohere, but
they did not show the slightest cohesiveness. Very different was their
action when their temperature was raised to the freezing point. When
placed in a wooden cup and pressed by a hollow wooden die a size
smaller than the cup, the pieces of ice became united into a compact
cup of nearly transparent ice. Glaciers, he contended, were formed by
a similar operation. As particles of snow or ice descend the mountain
side, the pressure becomes sufficiently great to compress the particles
into a mass of solid ice, which eventually assumes the magnitude of a
beautiful glacier. He observed that in the laboratory of Nature it was
exactly at the places where squeezing took place that the cleavage of
the ice was most highly developed. In fact, he said, the association
of pressure and lamination was far more distinct in the case of the
glacier than in the case of the slate rock, and as it was now known
that pressure caused the lamination of slate rock, he contended that it
was the same cause that produced like effects in glaciers.
In a lecture delivered early in 1858, he gave an account of some
beautiful phenomena of the glacier. In the preceding September and
October he examined the effect of sending a beam of radiant heat
through a mass of ice. When sunbeams condensed by a lens were sent
through slabs of ice, the path of the beam was instantly studded with
lustrous spots like brilliant stars, and “around each the ice was so
liquefied as to form a beautiful flower-shaped figure, possessing six
petals. From this number there was no deviation. At first the edges
of the liquid leaves were clearly defined: but a continuance of the
action usually caused the edges to become serrated like those of ferns.
When the ice was caused to move across the beam, or the reverse, the
sudden generation and crowding together of these liquid flowers, with
their central spots shining with more than metallic brilliancy, was
exceedingly beautiful.” By means of the electric light and a piece
of ice prepared for the purpose he was able to exhibit these lovely
ice-flowers to a delighted audience at the Royal Institution.
During the years 1857 and 1858 Professor Tyndall continued his
observations of glacier phenomena amid the solitude of the Alps. In
the summer of the latter year he betook himself to the mountains with
the view of settling once for all “the rival claims of the only two
theories, which then deserved serious attention, namely, those of
pressure and of stratification.” Again his former views were completely
confirmed. It is difficult, he said, to convey in words the force of
the evidence which the glacier of Grindelwald presents to the mind of
the observer who sees it; it looked like a grand laboratory experiment
made by Nature herself with special reference to the point in question.
The squeezing of the mass, its yielding to the force brought to bear
upon it, its wrinkling and scaling off, and the appearance of the veins
at the exact point where the pressure began to manifest itself, left no
doubt on his mind that pressure and structure stood to each other in
the relation of cause and effect.
The conclusions at which he arrived as to the structure and movement
of glaciers brought him into collision with Professor Forbes,
whose views, enunciated fifteen years previously, were then widely
accepted as the most scientific exposition of the subject. Forbes
seemed rather sensitive about his own theory, and complained that
he had to some extent been misrepresented. But in the conflict of
opinions Professor Tyndall invariably referred to Professor Forbes’s
labours in connection with the subject in the most appreciative and
complimentary language. For instance, in 1858 he said he would not
content himself with saying that the book of Professor Forbes was the
best that had been written upon the subject; “the qualities of mind,
and the physical culture invested in that excellent work, were such as
to make it, in the estimation of the physical investigator at least,
outweigh all other books upon the subject taken together.” That is more
generous language than Professor Forbes ever used respecting Professor
Tyndall. In 1865, after the heat of controversy had been dissipated,
Forbes wrote that “Dr. Tyndall’s so-called proofs that it is through
‘fracture and regelation’ that a glacier moulds itself to its bed
are to my mind no proofs at all;” and that he regarded Mr. Hopkins’s
mathematical demonstrations about glaciers as “irrelevant mathematical
exercitations.” Nevertheless, Professor Tait, the friend and scientific
biographer of Forbes, said in 1873: “To say that Forbes thoroughly
explained the behaviour of glaciers would be an exaggeration; but he
must be allowed the great credit of being the Copernicus or Kepler of
this science.” As the subject still continues to exercise the intellect
of the scientific explorers of the Alps, suffice it for the present
to say that if time ratifies the position which Professor Tait has
assigned to Professor Forbes, his greatest and boldest successor in the
same field may be described as the Newton of glacier phenomena.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] The force of diamagnetism is vastly feebler than
that of ordinary magnetism. According to Weber,
the magnetism of a thin bar of iron exceeds the
diamagnetism of an equal mass of bismuth about two and
a-half million times.
CHAPTER III.
“Every secret which is disclosed, every discovery which is
made, every new effort which is brought to view, serves
to convince us of numberless more which remain concealed,
and which we had before no suspicion of.... Knowledge
is not our proper happiness. Whoever will in the least
attend to the thing will see that it is the gaining,
not the having of it, which is the entertainment of the
mind.”--BISHOP BUTLER.
Next, probably, to magnetism and electricity, the scientific
investigation of the laws of heat has yielded the most fruitful and the
most curious results. The science of heat made the greatest progress
about the middle of the present century, and Professor Tyndall was
one of its most successful investigators. Being a force co-related
to electricity, it is scarcely remarkable that the same natural
philosopher should reveal to us not a few of these silent operations of
magnetism and heat that previously were unobserved or were regarded as
mysteries.
When, in 1859, he turned his attention to the absorption of radiant
heat by gases and vapours, there was considerable diversity of opinion
as to the effect of the atmosphere on radiant heat; and great skill and
patience were required in devising experiments, and in detecting and
eliminating the various sources of error. Till then it was thought that
the subject was outside the realm of experiment, but Professor Tyndall
soon demonstrated that heat in gases and vapours was subject to various
laws which had most important effects in every part of the world. In
his first memoir he established not only the existence of absorption
and radiation in gases, but that the differences of absorption and
radiation were as great among gases as among liquids and solids. He
showed that the elementary gases, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, as well
as air freed from moisture and carbonic acid, examined in a length of
four feet, absorb about 3½ per cent. of heat radiated from lamp-black
at 212°, the slightest impurity in the gas, however, altering the
rate of absorption. With compound gases and vapours very different
results were obtained. About twenty gases and vapours were examined,
and it was found that while the elementary gases already named gave
the feeblest action, olephiant gas showed the most energetic action,
absorbing 81 per cent. He also made the important discovery that by
arranging the various gases in order according to their power, first of
radiating heat and then of absorbing radiant heat, the order was the
same in both cases; in short, the order of radiation was exactly that
of absorption. In his second memoir he introduced a new and remarkable
method of determining absorption and radiation. This method he called
“dynamic radiation.” Dispensing with the use of any extraneous source
of heat, he obtained his results by the heat or cold produced by the
condensation or rarefication of the gases. Just as a ball striking a
target is heated by collision, so he heated gas contained in one part
of a tube by the collision of its particles against the surface of
another part into which they rushed to fill a vacuum. He found, he
said, by strict experiments that the dynamic radiation of an amount of
boracic ether vapour, possessing a tension of only one 1,012,500,000th
of an atmosphere, was easily measurable.
His researches on the relation of radiant heat to aqueous vapour,
published in 1863, were the most interesting and useful. Such were
the difficulties connected with the investigation of this part of the
subject that Professor Tyndall and his old friend Professor Magnus,
of Berlin, arrived at and long maintained opposite conclusions as
to the absorption of radiant heat by the air and the influence of
aqueous vapour. Early in his researches Professor Tyndall regarded the
action of the atmosphere as a particular part of his inquiry, and,
accordingly, his third memoir was specially devoted to the radiation of
aqueous vapour. The conclusion he came to was that the aqueous vapour
in our atmosphere intercepted or absorbed eighty times more heat than
the air, and as there was only one atom of aqueous vapour for every 200
of oxygen and nitrogen composing the air, it appeared that one atom
of the former absorbed 16,000 times more than one atom of oxygen or
nitrogen. This startling conclusion he verified by a system of checks
and counter-checks which were considered as decisive. The applications
of this discovery were manifold and important. The aqueous vapour which
absorbed so much heat he likened to a blanket which is more necessary
to the vegetable life of England than clothing is to man. “Remove for a
single summer night,” he said, “the aqueous vapour from the air which
overspreads this country, and you would assuredly destroy every plant
capable of being destroyed by a freezing temperature. The warmth of our
fields and gardens would pour itself unrequited into space, and the sun
would rise upon an island held fast in the iron grip of frost.” The
aqueous vapour constitutes a local dam, which deepens the temperature
at the earth’s surface, but which finally overflows and gives to
space all that we receive from the sun. This discovery presented an
explanation of some phenomena, which hitherto had been imperfectly
understood. It was evidently the absence of this aqueous screen which
made the winters in Central Asia almost unendurable; and it showed how
the burning heat of the Sahara during the day was followed by intense
cold at night.
Before Professor Tyndall had published all his observations on the
relations between radiant heat and aqueous vapour, his friend,
Professor Frankland, regarded them as sufficient to account for the
glacial era, and the action of glaciers over the entire globe. During
a visit to Norway in 1863 Frankland considered the subject afresh, and
came to the conclusion that the chief cause of the phenomena of the
glacial epoch was a higher temperature of the ocean than prevails at
present. The critics of the day pointed out that such a view depended
upon the accuracy of the assumption that our earth had gradually cooled
down from an originally incandescent state; and it is now generally
admitted by natural philosophers that the earth has cooled down from
a state of liquid heat. In that case the waters of the ocean, when
cooling down from the boiling point, would be at a higher temperature
than the present; and Professor Frankland maintained that it was in the
later stages of the cooling process that the glacial epoch occurred.
The great natural glacial apparatus he divided into three parts--the
evaporator, the condenser, and the receiver. The cooling ocean was the
evaporator; the mountains were the icebearers or receivers; while the
dry air which permitted the heat from the vapour to radiate into space,
acted as the condenser. He made numerous experiments to show that under
these conditions the land would cool more rapidly than the sea; and
he maintained that in the glacial epoch the “rays of heat streamed
into space from the ice-bearing surfaces with comparatively little
interruption, whilst the radiation from the sea was as effectually
retarded as if the latter had been protected with a thick envelope of
non-conducting material. Thus, whilst the ocean retained a temperature
considerably higher than at present, the icebearers had undergone a
considerably greater refrigeration.” He calculated that an increase
of 20° in the temperature of the coast of Norway would double the
evaporation from a given surface, and such an increased evaporation,
accompanied of course by a corresponding precipitation, “would suffice
to supply the higher portions of the land with that gigantic ice-burden
which ground down the mountain slopes during the glacial epoch.” Such
a view did not require the assumption of any natural convulsion or
catastrophe; on the contrary it accounted for the glacial epoch by
the evolution of thermal conditions, the existence of which is now
generally admitted.[3]
In his fourth memoir, published in 1864, “On the Radiation and
Absorption of Heat by Gaseous and Liquid Matter,” Professor Tyndall
showed that generally the absorption of non-luminous radiant heat by
vapours was the same as that of the liquids from which the vapours were
produced.
His fifth memoir, entitled “Contributions to Molecular Physics,” was
made the Bakerian lecture for that year. In it he deduced from numerous
experiments the remarkable law that the opacity of a substance with
respect to radiant heat from a source of comparatively low temperature
increases with the chemical complexity of its molecule. He examined
the effects of temperature on the transmission of radiant heat, the
radiation from flames of various kinds, and the influence of vibrating
periods on the absorption of radiant heat.
In November, 1864, the Royal Society presented him with the Rumford
medal for his researches on the absorption and radiation of heat by
gases and vapours; and General Sabine, in making the presentation, said
such had been the fate of Professor Tyndall that each last achievement
might almost be said to have dimmed the lustre of those which
preceded it. Curiously enough his very next achievements thereafter
did dim the lustre of those published prior to the presentation of the
Rumford Medal. It was the discovery of a means of separating light
from heat. Melloni had previously discovered a combination of screens
by which radiant heat could be arrested or separated from light,
an operation which is effected on a vast scale by the moon when it
reflects the light of the sun. Professor Tyndall effected the converse
operation. He discovered that a solution of iodine in bisulphide of
carbon entirely intercepted the light of the most brilliant flames.
A hollow prism filled with that opaque liquid and placed in the path
of the beam from an electric lamp, completely intercepted the light,
but transmitted the heat unimpaired. In this way he succeeded in
separating with marvellous sharpness the invisible from the visible
radiations of the lime light, the electric light, and the sun. He
not only produced combustion, fusion, and incandescence by invisible
radiation, but he proved that in the case of the electric light the
invisible rays are no less than eight times as powerful as the visible
radiations. He obtained all the colours of the solar spectrum from
a platinum foil raised to incandescence at the invisible focus; and
this rendering of a refractory body incandescent by invisible rays
he called _calorescence_. In connection with these investigations he
performed a daring experiment. Knowing that a layer of iodine placed
before the eye intercepted the light, he determined to place his own
eye in the focus of strong invisible rays. He knew that if in doing so
the dark rays were absorbed in a high degree by the humours of the eye,
the albumen of the humours might coagulate; and on the other hand, if
there was no high absorption, the rays might strike upon the retina
with a force sufficient to destroy it. When he first brought his eye,
undefended, near the dark focus, the heat on the parts surrounding the
pupil was too intense to be endured. He therefore made an aperture in a
plate of metal, and placing his eye behind this aperture, he gradually
approached the point of convergence of the invisible rays. First the
pupil and next the retina were placed in the focus without any sensible
damage. Immediately afterwards a sheet of platinum foil placed in the
position which the retina had occupied became red-hot.
In a subsequent memoir he dealt with the influence of colour and
mechanical condition upon radiant heat, demonstrating that white bodies
are far more potent absorbers of radiant heat than black ones.
During the first thirteen years of his researches in the laboratory of
the Royal Institution he produced thirteen papers, which were published
in the _Philosophical Transactions_. Conspicuous among these were his
papers on the radiation and absorption of heat, and his researches on
that subject have generally been admitted to be of the most thorough
and original character. A lucid epitome of the chief results he
obtained was given in the Rede lecture which he delivered before the
University of Cambridge in 1865, when the University conferred on him
the honorary degree of LL.D.
In 1863 he published the first edition of one of his most popular
books, _Heat Considered as a Mode of Motion_--a book which an eminent
electrician has recommended students of electricity to master; in
1867 he published a volume of lectures on “Sound”; and in 1869-74
he published his lectures on “Light.” These works have gone through
several editions. As an illustration of the interest with which he
can invest such impalpable subjects, it is worth remarking that a
Chinese official, named Hsii-chung-hu, was so pleased with the book on
Sound that he had it translated into the Chinese language and printed
at Shanghai, in order that his countrymen might participate in the
pleasure and instruction which he had derived from it. It was published
at the expense of the Chinese Government, and sold at 1_s._ 6_d._ a
copy.
During the ten years from 1859 to 1869, says Professor Tyndall,
“researches on radiant heat in its relations to the gaseous form of
matter occupied my continual attention.” But towards the close of that
period his main inquiry, as it extended into space, began to spread out
into various branches. In 1866 he entered upon an examination of the
chemical action of light upon vapours, and the action of heat of high
refrangibility as an explorer of the molecular condition of matter.
“In this investigation one obstacle to be overcome was the presence
of the floating matter in the air. The processes for the removal
of these particles became the occasion of an independent research,
branching out into various channels: on the one hand, it dealt with the
practical problem of the preservation of life among firemen exposed
to heated smoke; and, on the other, it approached the recondite
question of spontaneous generation. He subjected the compound vapours
of various substances to the action of a concentrated beam of light.
The vapours were decomposed, and non-volatile products were formed.
The decompositions always began with a blue cloud, which discharged
perfectly polarised light at right angles to the beam. This suggested
to him the origin of the blue colour of the sky; and as it showed the
extraordinary amount of light that may be scattered by cloudy matter
of extreme tenuity, he considered that it might be regarded as a
suggestion towards explaining the nature of a comet’s tail.”
Regions of cloud and smoke are proverbial as symbols of the negation
of human interest; but Professor Tyndall imparted new beauties to the
one and deprived the other of its terrors. He said to the chaotic
vapours “Light,” and that which was without form and void instantly
assumed the loveliest forms that Nature knows. Incredible as this
language may appear to some, it is no mere Oriental hyperbole. He
made the light from an electric lamp to pass through a great glass
tube containing transparent, invisible vapours, and the action of the
light at once commencing chemical decomposition, various cloud forms
resembling organic structures were seen in the tube. The following is
the beautiful description he gave to the Royal Society of the phenomena
presented by hydriodic acid:--
“The cloud extended for about eighteen inches along the tube, and
gradually shifted its position from the end nearest the lamp to the
most distant end. The portion quitted by the cloud proper was filled by
an amorphous haze, the decomposition, which was progressing lower down,
being here apparently complete. A spectral cone turned its apex towards
the distant end of the tube, and from its circular base filmy drapery
seemed to fall. Placed on the base of the cone was an exquisite vase,
from the interior of which sprang another vase of similar shape; over
the edges of these vases fell the faintest clouds, resembling spectral
sheets of liquid. From the centre of the upper vase a straight cord
of cloud passed for some distance along the axis of the experimental
tube, and at each end of this cord two involved and highly iridescent
vortices were generated. The frontal portion of the cloud which the
cord penetrated assumed in succession the form of roses, tulips,
and sunflowers. It also passed through the appearance of a series
of beautifully-shaped bottles placed one within the other. Once it
presented the shape of a fish, with eyes, gills, and feelers.”
In 1869 it was stated before the British Association that M. Morren,
while living in the South of France, had succeeded in producing similar
results by the use of sunlight instead of the electric light.
For a long time during his researches on the decomposition of vapours
he was troubled by the presence of floating matter revealed by a
powerful condensed beam of light, and he tried numerous expedients
for the purpose of intercepting this matter. At last he succeeded.
By causing the air intended for experimental purposes to pass over
the tip of a spirit-lamp flame, the floating matter disappeared. He
therefore concluded that it was organic matter, which had been burned
out by the flame. This discovery took place on October 5th, 1868. Till
then he regarded the dust of our air as for the most part inorganic
and noncombustible. This led him on to the investigation of the germ
theory. On the one hand he added proof to proof, and experiment to
experiment, to show that when a consuming heat was applied to air its
organic matter disappeared; and on the other hand he maintained that
as surely as a fig comes from a fig, a grape from a grape, and a thorn
from a thorn, so surely does the typhoid virus or seed, when planted or
scattered about among people, increase and multiply into typhoid fever,
scarlatina virus into scarlatina, and small-pox virus into small-pox.
These conclusions formed the subject of a famous lecture on “Dust and
Disease,” delivered at the Royal Institution on January 21st, 1870.
Among his audience were some of the foremost men of the day, such as
Mr. W. E. Gladstone, then Prime Minister, Earl Granville, Dean Stanley,
Sir Edwin Landseer, Sir Henry Holland, and Professor Huxley. The views
which Professor Tyndall then put forth were received with marked
disfavour among the medical profession. Even scientific men did not
hesitate to pour ridicule upon the germ theory. For example, Professor
Bloxam, Lecturer on Chemistry to the Department of Artillery Studies,
suggested in one of his lectures that the Committee on Explosives
should abandon gun cotton, and collecting the germs of small-pox
and similar malignant diseases in cotton or other dust-collecting
substances, should load shells with them, and we should then hear of
the enemy being dislodged from his position by a volley of typhus or
a few rounds of Asiatic cholera. Like most truths, the germ theory
survived the ridicule of its opponents.
The labours of Pasteur in relation to the germ theory always appeared
to command Professor Tyndall’s admiration. A large part of his lecture
on “Dust and Disease” consisted of an account of the successful way
in which Pasteur dealt with the epidemic among silkworms in France.
Writing in April, 1870, the Professor said: “There is more solid
science in one paper of Pasteur than in all the volumes and essays that
have been written against him. Schroeder and Pasteur have demonstrated
that air filtered through cotton-wool is deprived wholly, or in part,
of its power to produce animalcular life. Why? An experiment with a
beam of light answers the question; for while it proves our ordinary
air to be charged with floating matter, the beam pronounces air, which
has been carefully filtered through cotton-wool, to be visibly pure;
there are no germs afloat in it; hence it is impossible as a generator
of life. Again, Pasteur prepared twenty-one flasks, each containing
a decoction of yeast, which he boiled in order to destroy whatever
germs it might contain. While the space above the liquid was filled
with pure steam he sealed the necks of his flasks with a blow-pipe. He
opened ten of them in the damp, still caves of the Paris Observatory,
and eleven of them in the courtyard of the same establishment. Of the
former only one showed signs of life subsequently. In nine out of the
ten flasks no organisms of any kind were developed. In all the others
organisms speedily appeared. Pasteur ascribed this unexpected result to
the subsidence of the germs in the motionless air of the caves. Is this
surmise correct? The beam of light enables us to answer this question.
I have had a chamber constructed, the lower half of which is of wood,
and the upper half of glass. On the 6th February this chamber was
closed, and every crevice that could admit dust or cause a disturbance
of the air was carefully stopped. The electric beam when sent through
the glass showed the air at the outside to be loaded with floating
matter. The chamber was examined almost daily, and a gradual diminution
of the floating matter was observed. At the end of the week the chamber
was optically empty. The floating matters, germs included, had wholly
subsided, and the air held nothing in suspension. Here again the ocular
demonstration furnished by the luminous beam goes hand in hand with the
experimental result of Pasteur.”
Professor Tyndall did not, however, adopt the germ theory on the
authority of Pasteur. He not only discovered it for himself, but
demonstrated its accuracy by innumerable experiments, in the course
of which he made use of 10,000 vessels. To him, too, science owes
the use of the electric beam as an explorer of germ particles which
could not otherwise be made visible by the best optical aids. The most
exquisitely minute particles, which could not be detected by the most
powerful glasses, have been revealed in the air by the electric beam.
For some time he carried on a controversy with some doughty champions
of the old theory of spontaneous generation; but as the evidences in
favour of the germ theory increased, the antagonism to it diminished.
One practical evidence, not only of the reality, but of the utility
of the germ theory, was Pasteur’s discovery of the nature of the
organisms in yeast that produced “beer disease;” and when Pasteur
visited England, after that discovery, and explained the cause of beer
turning sour, Professor Tyndall afterwards visited some of the most
prominent breweries in London to make inquiries on the subject. He
was extremely surprised at the paucity of knowledge possessed by the
brewers, although they had over and over again incurred disastrous
losses in consequence of their lack of knowledge. He said that when the
brewers found their beer becoming bad they used to exchange their yeast
among themselves, and thus get on with their losses, when five minutes’
examination with the microscope would have prevented this waste and
loss; for it would have shown them the minute organisms which spoiled
the beer.
In connection with his researches on the germ theory, he produced a
useful invention which had a philanthropic rather than a commercial
object. To the title of inventor he never made any claim; on the
contrary, he repeatedly expressed his view of the difference between
a scientific discoverer and a mechanical inventor; contending that
while the practical man is not usually the man to make the necessary
antecedent discoveries, the cases are rare in which the discoverer in
science knows how to turn his labours to practical account.
Nevertheless scientific reflection enabled him to devise a form of
respirator which protects firemen from the stifling effects of dense
smoke. His attention had repeatedly been directed to the risks that
firemen encountered when in conflict with smoke and flame, and he
had been told that smoke was a greater enemy to them than flame.
He therefore endeavoured to find a means of protecting them from
suffocation. First he tried a respirator made of cotton-wool, but
that was insufficient; so to the cotton-wool he added glycerine; and
though this was an improvement, still it only enabled them to remain in
dense smoke for three or four minutes. He next added charcoal and this
greatly increased the utility of the respirator, which when complete
was composed of a layer of cotton-wool moistened with glycerine, next
a thin layer of dry wool, then a layer of charcoal fragments, succeeded
by another thin layer of dry cotton-wool and a layer of fragments of
caustic lime. These were inclosed in a wire gauze cover. The first
experiments with this respirator were made in a small cellar-like
chamber with stone flooring and stone walls in the basement of the
Royal Institution. A fire of resinous pine-wood was lighted, and
was so covered over as to generate dense smoke instead of flames.
Professor Tyndall and his assistant, having each put on one of the new
respirators, and suitable glasses to protect their eyes, were able to
remain for half an hour or longer in that apartment full of smoke so
dense and pungent that he believed a single inhalation through the
undefended mouth would have been perfectly unendurable. Captain Shaw,
the chief officer of the Metropolitan Fire Brigade, on being asked
whether such a respirator would be of use to him, replied that it
would be most valuable; but he had made himself acquainted with every
contrivance of the kind in this and other countries, and had found none
of them of any practical use. However, at the request of Professor
Tyndall, the Captain and some of his men went to the Royal Institution
to test the new invention. The small room was again filled with dense
smoke, three men went successively into it, and remained there as long
as their Captain desired. On coming out they declared that with the
respirators they had not felt the least discomfort, and that they could
have remained all day in the smoke. Captain Shaw himself then tested it
with the same result, and he afterwards stated that Professor Tyndall,
in the kindest possible manner, at once placed his invention at the
service of the Fire Brigade.
In 1870 he accompanied the eclipse expedition to Oran, and having been
disappointed in the special object of his journey, he determined in
returning to investigate the causes of the varying tints presented by
sea-water. On board H.M.S. _Urgent_, between Gibraltar and Spithead, he
filled nineteen bottles with sea-water, and afterwards examined them by
the electric light. This examination showed that the yellowish water
of the coast and harbours contained a large quantity of particles,
that in the green water the particles were finer and less abundant,
and that the blue water of the deep was comparatively clear of them.
The explanation he gave of the colours of the ocean, in a lecture at
the Royal Institution, was that when a beam of light entered the sea
the heat-rays were absorbed at the surface, the red rays by a very
superficial layer of water, the green rays next, and ultimately the
blue rays; but when the light encountered particles in the water the
green rays would be reflected by them. If there were no particles, the
green rays would continue their course till they were wholly quenched,
and thus water of more than ordinary depth and purity would appear as
black as ink.
In later years he made some practical additions to our knowledge
of sound. His advice had repeatedly been asked as to the laws
which affected the distribution of sound variously in different
buildings--a subject upon which volumes had been written, but which
was still imperfectly understood. As an illustration of the unexpected
circumstances that affected the transmission of sound, he sometimes
related what occurred to himself in the Senate House of Cambridge
University when he delivered the Rede lecture in 1865. On going to the
Senate House to test its acoustic qualities, he was astonished to find
that from the usual place of speaking his words could not be heard at
all by a friend whom he had placed at the extreme end of the hall as
his auditory. He found that the reverberation from the floor and walls
followed the direct sound of his voice in such a way as to destroy
the clearness of the words as they were uttered. Dismayed at this
effect, he made up his mind that in respect of audibleness his lecture
was doomed to be a failure. But the reverse was the case. The lecture
was in every respect a great success. An overflowing audience filled
the hall, and listened to him with rapt attention. During the hour
and a half that he spoke every syllable was heard by the most distant
hearer; and he attributed this unexpected result to the presence of
the audience, which, he said, quenched the prejudicial effect of the
reverberation of his voice produced by the sides and bottom of the
room. After that experience, he advocated the making of different
experiments with the view of extending the practical knowledge of
acoustics.
To that knowledge he himself became a valuable contributor. In 1873
he conducted a series of experiments with a view to determine the
properties of the atmosphere as a vehicle of sound. Navigators had
often been at a loss to understand how it was that the most powerful
fog-signals--such as gongs, whistles, and guns--were sometimes
easily heard at a great distance on rainy days, and were inaudible
at comparatively short distances on fine days. Even within a few
minutes the acoustic properties of the atmosphere sometimes underwent
remarkable variations. Professor Tyndall’s experiments led him to the
conclusion that the aqueous vapour raised by the sun, though often
invisible, produced a cloud which formed as impervious a barrier to
the waves of sound as a dense black cloud does to the waves of light.
The presence of water in a vaporous form being the real enemy to the
transmission of sound through the atmosphere, it was easy to understand
its frequent occurrence on days apparently clear and bright. This was
previously unknown.
He also furnished an interesting illustration of the corelation of heat
and sound.
Notwithstanding the elaborate data upon which he had founded his
conclusions as to the interaction of radiant heat on vapours, some
Continental physicists questioned their accuracy, and accordingly
Professor Tyndall in later years resumed the inquiry and obtained some
remarkable results. He had previously shown that heat will pass without
any loss through a long glass tube filled with nitrogen or air, and
closed up at the ends by lenses of crystal; but if the same tube is
filled with carbonic acid or the vapour of ether the heat, instead of
being transmitted through it, is almost entirely intercepted. In 1880
Mr. Graham Bell showed him that musical sounds were produced by a beam
of light striking upon thin discs of matter; and Professor Tyndall at
once discovered the secret of this surprising effect. He said that
before making an experiment he pictured in his mind a highly-absorbent
vapour exposed to the shocks of an intermittent beam suddenly expanding
at the moment of exposure, and as suddenly contracting when the beam
was intercepted; and thus pulses of an amplitude probably far greater
than those obtainable with solids would be produced, and would be
sufficient to give forth musical sounds. He soon proved this surmise
to be correct. He filled a glass tube or bulb with absorbent gas or
vapour, and between it and the limelight he placed a round piece of
cardboard with equi-distant holes in it; then by placing the bulb
in such a position that when the light passed through the holes it
impinged upon the glass bulb, and by causing the cardboard to revolve,
the action of the beam became intermittent, as it only reached the
vapour when one of the holes in the revolving cardboard came in front
of the bulb. By this contrivance a series of calorific shocks were
produced that gave sound vibrations of surprising intensity. When,
however, the bulbs were filled with gases or vapours, such as nitrogen
or air, that transmitted the heat, no sounds were produced. He tried
the sounding power of ten gases and eighty vapours, and found that
the sounds produced by chloride of methyl were the loudest; and that,
conveyed to the ear by a tube of indiarubber, they seemed as loud
as the peal of an organ. He also found that in respect of intensity
the order of the sound in gases was the same as the order of their
absorption of radiant heat. These marvellous results he described in
his Bakerian lecture for 1881, “On the Action of Free Molecules on
Radiant Heat and its Conversion thereby into Sound.”
FOOTNOTES:
[3] This glacier theory is all the more deserving of
prominence since the publication in 1886 of Lieutenant
Greely’s discovery of lakes, rivers, and valleys
rich in vegetation and animal life in the interior
of Grinnell Land at points the farthest north ever
reached by explorers.
CHAPTER IV.
“Undaunted he hies him
O’er ice-covered wild,
Where leaf never budded,
Nor spring ever smiled;
And beneath him an ocean of mist, where his eye
No longer the dwellings of man can espy.”
--SCHILLER.
As a traveller in search of Nature’s grandest works, Professor Tyndall
occupies a foremost place for his adventures in Alpine regions
previously regarded as unapproachable, as well as for his descriptions
of the views presented and the sentiments inspired by those peaks
of everlasting snow. The narrative of his achievements as an Alpine
traveller fills a larger volume than this one. Two or three specimens
must therefore suffice here. The following is the account he gave in a
letter to Faraday in August, 1858, of his ascent of Monte Rosa, which
was then considered much more difficult to climb than Mont Blanc:--
“I reached this mountain wild the day before yesterday. Soon after my
arrival it commenced snowing, and yesterday morning the mountains were
all covered by a deep layer. It heaped itself up against the windows
of this room, obscuring half the light. To-day the sun shines, and I
hope he will soon banish the snow, for the snow is a great traitor on
the glacier, and often covers smooth chasms which it would not be at
all comfortable to get into. I am here in a lonely house, the only
traveller. If you cast your eye on a map of Switzerland you will find
the valley of Saas not far from Visp. High up this valley, and three
hours above Saas itself, is the Distil Alp, and on this Alp I now
reside. Close beside the house a many-armed mountain torrent rushes,
and a little way down a huge glacier, coming down one of the side
valleys, throws itself across the torrent, dams it up, and forms the
so-called ‘Matmark See.’ Looking out of another window I have before
me an immense stone, the unshipped cargo of a glacier, and weighing
at least 1,000 tons. It is the largest boulder I have ever seen; it
is composed of serpentine, and measures 216,000 cubic feet. Previous
to coming here I spent ten days at the Riffel Hotel, above Zermatt,
and explored almost the whole of that glacier region. One morning
the candle of my guide gleamed into my room at three o’clock, and he
announced to me that the weather was good. I rose, and at four o’clock
was on my way to the summit of Monte Rosa. My guide had never been
there, but he had some general directions from a brother guide, and
we hoped to be able to find our way to the top. We first reached the
ridge above the Riffel, then dropped down upon the Görner glacier,
crossed it, reached the base of the mountain, then up a boss of rock,
over which the glacier of former days had flowed and left its mark
behind. Then up a slope of ice to the base of a precipice of brown
crags: round this we wormed till we found a place where we could assail
it and get to the top. Then up the slopes and round the huge bosses
of the mountain, avoiding the rifted portions, and going zigzag up
the steeper inclinations. For some hours this was mere child’s play
to a mountaineer--no more than an agreeable walk on a sunny morning
round Kensington Gardens. But at length the mountain contracted her
snowy shoulders to what Germans call a kamus--a comb, suggested, I
should say, by the toothed edges which some mountain ridges exhibit,
but now applied to any mountain edge, whether of rock or snow. Well,
the mountain formed such an edge. On that side of the edge which
turns toward the Lyskamm there was a very terrible precipice, leading
straight down to the torn and fissured _névé_ of the Monte Rosa
glaciers. On the other side the slope was less steep, but exceedingly
perilous-looking, and intersected here and there by precipices. Our
way lay along the ledge, and we faced it with steady caution and
deliberation. The wind had so acted upon the snow as to fold it over,
forming a kind of cornice, which overhung the first precipice to which
I have alluded. Our attack for some time was upon this cornice. The
incessant admonition of my guide was to fix my staff securely into
the snow at each step, the necessity of which I had already learned.
Once, however, while doing this, my staff went right through the
cornice, and I could see through the hole that I had made into the
terrible gulf below. The morning was clear when we started, and we
saw the first sunbeams as they lit the pinnacles of Monte Rosa, and
caused the surrounding snow summits to flush up. The mountain remained
clear for some hours, but I now looked upwards and saw a dense mass of
cloud stuck against the summit. She dashed it gallantly away, like a
mountain queen; but her triumph was short. Dusky masses again assailed
her, and she could not shake them off. They stretched down towards us,
and now the ice valley beneath us commenced to seethe like a boiling
cauldron, and to send up vapour masses to meet those descending from
the summit. We were soon in the midst of them, and the darkness
thickened; sometimes, as if by magic, the clouds partially cleared
away, and through the thin pale residue the sunbeams penetrated,
lighting up the glacier with a supernatural glare. But these partial
illuminations became rarer as we ascended. We finally reached the
weathered rocks which form the crest of the mountain, and through these
we now clambered up cliffs and down cliffs, walking erect along edges
of granite with terrible depths at each side, squeezing ourselves
through fissures, and thus jumping, swinging, squeezing, and climbing,
we reached the highest peak of Monte Rosa.
“Snow had commenced to fall before we reached the top, and it now
thickened darkly. I boiled water, and found the temperature 184·92°
Fahr. But the snow was wonderful snow. It was all flower--the most
lovely that ever eye gazed upon. There, high up in the atmosphere,
this symmetry of form manifested itself and built up these exquisite
blossoms of the frost. There was no deviation from the six-leaved type,
but any number of variations. I should hardly have exchanged this dark
snowfall for the best view the mountain could afford me. Still, our
position was an anxious one. We could only see a few yards in advance
of us, and we feared the loss of our track. We retreated, and found
the comb more awkward to descend than to ascend. However, the fact
of my being here to tell all about it proves that we did our work
successfully. And now I have a secret to tell regarding Monte Rosa. I
had no view during the above ascent, but precisely a week afterwards
the weather was glorious beyond description. I had lent my guide to
a party of gentlemen, so I strapped half a bottle of tea and a ham
sandwich on my back, left my coat and neckcloth behind me, and in my
shirt sleeves climbed up Monte Rosa alone.” The latter act has been
described as a feat of daring never heard of before.
Between 1856 and 1862 he ascended Mont Blanc three times. One ascent,
made in 1859, was for the purpose of carrying into effect a proposal
he had made to the Royal Society some months previously to place
suitable thermometers at different stations between the top and the
foot of the mountain. On that occasion he was accompanied by his
friend Dr. Franklin, the notable guide Balmat, Mr. Alfred Wills, and
several porters. Professor Tyndall afterwards gave a graphic account
of the ascent to the British Association at Leeds, when he spoke in
the highest terms of the services rendered by Balmat. Mr. Wills says
he made the Leeds Town Hall ring with well-deserved applause as he
recounted to the first _savants_ in Europe the dangers Balmat had
undergone, and the courage and disinterestedness he displayed. The
ascent was made late in September in fearful weather, and in order
to cut a hole four feet deep in the solid glacier, Balmat used his
hands for shovelling out the ice and snow, till both hands were soon
found to be badly frost-bitten and quite black. When the circulation
began to return, after half-an-hour’s rubbing and beating, he suffered
great agony; and though he was for some time in danger of losing his
hands, he said he could have endured even that calamity in the cause of
science.
In August, 1861, Professor Tyndall succeeded in reaching the top of
the Weisshorn, a mountain 14,800 feet high, which he regarded as the
noblest peak in the Alps. People at the base described him and his two
guides as appearing like flies upon the summit. “I never,” he said
afterwards, “witnessed a scene that affected me like this one. I opened
my note-book to make a few observations, but soon relinquished the
attempt. There was something incongruous, if not profane, in allowing
the scientific faculty to interfere where silent worship seemed the
‘reasonable service.’” In like manner Principal Forbes, who preceded
but did not equal Professor Tyndall as an Alpine traveller, said that
“the seeds of a poetic temperament usually germinate amidst mountain
scenery, and we envy not the man, young or old, to whom the dead
silence of sequestered nature does not bring an irresistible sense of
awe--an experience which a picturesque writer has thus expressed: It
seems impious to laugh so near Heaven,” Hence probably the words of
Byron:--
“There stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
In solitude, when we are _least_ alone;
A truth, which through our being then doth melt,
And purifies from self: it is a tone,
The soul and source of music, which makes known
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm,
Like to the fabled Cytherea’s zone,
Binding all things with beauty;--’twould disarm
The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm.”
Professor Tyndall translated such sentiments into actions. At the time
when he began to ascend the highest of those Alpine peaks, accidents
of the most painful description were frequently reported as occurring
to travellers, owing to the absence of that more intimate knowledge of
the routes and methods of travelling which has since been acquired by
experience or revealed by science--knowledge which he himself rendered
generous and valuable aid in acquiring and diffusing. For instance,
while he was at Breuil on August 18th, 1860, intelligence reached him
that three Englishmen and a guide had perished on the Col-du-Géant. The
more he heard of the sad occurrence, he said, the stronger became his
desire to visit the scene of it. He accordingly went to Cormayeur on
the 22nd, and called on the resident French pastor, M. Curie, who had
visited the place and made a sketch of it. Accepting this gentleman’s
offer to accompany him, Professor Tyndall reached the Pavilion early on
the morning of Thursday, the 24th. “Wishing,” says the Professor, “to
make myself acquainted with every inch of the ground over which, from
the commencement of their _glissade_, the unfortunate men had passed, I
walked straight up from the Pavilion to the base of the rocky _couloir_
along which they had been precipitated. This _couloir_ was described as
being so dangerous that a chamois hunter had declined ascending it some
days before; but I secured at Cormayeur the service of an intrepid
man who had once made the ascent, and whom it was now my intention to
follow. We commenced our climb at the very bottom of the rocks, while
the pastor made a détour and joined us on the spot where the body of
the guide had been found. From this point upward, M. Curie shared the
dangers of the ascent--strongly, I confess, against my will--until
we reached the place where the rocks ended and the fatal snow slope
commenced. Here we parted company, he deeming it more prudent to
resort to a stony _arête_ to the right than to trust himself upon the
snow. I was urged by M. Curie to content myself with an inspection
of the place, but no inspection, however close, could have given the
information I desired. I asked my guide whether he feared the slope,
and his reply being negative, we entered upon the snow, and ascended
it along the course of the fatal _glissade_, the traces of which had
not been entirely obliterated. Among the rocks below we had frequent
and often melancholy occasion to assure ourselves that we were on the
proper track.... From the beginning to the end of this fatal track, I
made myself acquainted with its true character, and as I stood upon
the summit of the incline and scanned the ground over which I had
passed a feeling of augmented sadness took possession of me. There
was no sufficient reason for this terrible catastrophe. With ordinary
precaution the _glissade_ might in the first instance have been
avoided, and with average capacity to cope with such an accident the
motion might, I am persuaded, have been arrested after it commenced.”
He concluded a long letter to the _Times_, from which the foregoing
extract is taken, by saying that the guides of Chamouni ought to regard
this terrible disaster as a stain upon their order which it would
require years of services faithfully and wisely rendered to wipe away.
It is much easier to censure than to set a good example, and from that
point of view Professor Tyndall was blamed at the time for being so
severe in his strictures. Ere long, however, an opportunity occurred
which put his own resources to the severest test. While staying at
Pontresina in 1864, he, along with Mr. Hutchinson and Mr. Lee-Warner,
of Rugby, ascended the Piz Morteratch, a very noble mountain, which
was thought safe and easy to ascend. The top was reached without
any exceptional difficulty; but in descending they came to a broad
_couloir_ filled with snow, which, having been melted and refrozen,
appeared like a sloping wall of ice. The party were tied together, with
one guide named Jenni in front, and another named Walter in the rear.
Jenni cut steps in the ice, and then reached snow, which he expected
would give them a footing. As he led the party he said, “Keep carefully
in the steps, gentlemen; a false step here might detach an avalanche.”
The word was scarcely uttered, says the Professor, whose account has
been corroborated by his companions, “when I heard the sound of a
fall behind me, then a rush, and in a moment my two friends and their
guide, all apparently entangled together, whirled past me. I suddenly
planted myself to resist their shock, but in an instant I was in their
wake, for their impetus was irresistible. A moment afterwards Jenni
was whirled away, and thus, in the twinkling of an eye, all five of us
found ourselves riding downwards with uncontrollable speed on the back
of an avalanche which a single slip had originated.
“Previous to stepping on the slope, I had, according to habit,
made clear to my mind what was to be done in case of mishap; and
accordingly, when overthrown, I turned promptly on my face, and drove
my bâton through the moving snow, and into the ice underneath. No
time, however, was allowed for the break’s action; for I had held it
firmly thus for a few seconds only when I came into collision with
some obstacle and was rudely tossed through the air, Jenni at the same
time being shot down upon me. Both of us here lost our bâtons. We had
been carried over a crevasse, had hit its lower edge, and, instead of
dropping into it, were pitched by our great velocity far beyond it.
I was quite bewildered for a moment, but immediately righted myself,
and could see the men in front of me half buried in the snow, and
jolted from side to side by the ruts among which we were passing.
Suddenly I saw them tumbled over by a lurch of the avalanche, and
immediately afterwards found myself imitating their motion. This was
caused by a second crevasse. Jenni knew of its existence and plunged,
he told me, right into it--a brave act, but for the time unavailing.
By jumping into the chasm he thought a strain might be put upon the
rope sufficient to check the motion. But though over thirteen stone in
weight, he was violently jerked out of the fissure, and almost squeezed
to death by the pressure of the rope.
“A long slope was before us which led directly downwards to a brow
where the glacier fell precipitously. At the base of the declivity ice
was cut by a series of profound chasms, towards which we were rapidly
borne. The three foremost men rode upon the forehead of the avalanche,
and were at times almost wholly immersed in the snow; but the moving
layer was thinner behind, and Jenni rose incessantly and with desperate
energy drove his feet into the firmer substance beneath. His voice,
shouting ‘Halt! Herr Jesus, halt!’ was the only one heard during the
descent. A kind of condensed memory, such as that described by people
who have narrowly escaped drowning, took possession of me, and my
power of reasoning remained intact. I thought of Bennen on the Haut
de Cry, and muttered, ‘It is now my turn.’ Then I coolly scanned the
men in front of me, and reflected that, if their _vis viva_ was the
only thing to be neutralised, Jenni and myself could stop them; but to
arrest both them and the mass of snow in which they were caught was
hopeless. I experienced no intolerable dread. In fact the start was
too sudden and the excitement of the rush too great to permit of the
development of terror.
“Looking in advance, I noticed that the slope for a short distance
became less steep and then fell as before. ‘Now or never we must be
brought to rest.’ The speed visibly slackened, and I thought we were
saved. But the momentum had been too great; the avalanche crossed the
brow and in part regained its motion. Here Hutchinson threw his arm
round his friend, all hope being extinguished, while I grasped my belt
and struggled to free myself. Finding this difficult, from the tossing,
I sullenly resumed the strain upon the rope. Destiny had so related
the downward impetus to Jenni’s pull as to give the latter a slight
advantage, and the whole question was whether the opposing force would
have sufficient time to act. This was also arranged in our favour,
for we came to rest so near the brow that two or three seconds of our
average motion of descent must have carried us over. Had this occurred,
we should have fallen into the chasm, and been covered up by the tail
of the avalanche. Hutchinson emerged from the snow with his forehead
bleeding, but the wound was superficial; Jenni had a bit of flesh
removed from his hand by collision against a stone; the pressure of the
rope had left black welts on my arms; and we all experienced a tingling
sensation over the hands, like that produced by incipient frost-bite,
which continued for several days. This was all.”
Another incident which illustrates the nature and variety of his
experience as a traveller he has himself described as prompted more
by the instincts of the mountaineer than by the curiosity of the man
of science. In 1868 he visited Vesuvius; and if he did not collect
information of much scientific value, he saw a good deal that was very
interesting. He said he was most struck with the condition of the
country all round Naples; it was so seething, and smoking, and hot,
showing the presence of vast subterranean fires. It was the same at
Vesuvius, where in one place at the entrance to a gallery in the side
of the mountain, he found a little boy quite naked, who volunteered to
enter the gallery and cook an egg which he held in his hand. Both the
Professor and his companion (Sir John Lubbock) determined to explore
the gallery. On doing so they found at the end of it a hot salt spring,
where they cooked the egg. The guide told them of a hotter gallery
adjoining, which they also explored; and a hotter one still being
pointed out, they likewise tried it and found it very hot indeed. They
also visited the grotto Del Cano, where the floor was covered with
carbonic acid gas, a broad stream of which flowed out of the mouth of
the cavern. There he performed what he called some of the commoner
Royal Institution experiments for the benefit of the natives. He
collected some of the heavy gas in his hat, carried it to a distance,
and then put out lighted matches by pouring the heavy gas over them. A
little dog being kept near the cave for the purpose of showing visitors
how easily the gas could half choke it, he protested against the
cruelty of that experiment. At Pompeii, he came to the conclusion that
the ashes which burned it could not have been of very high temperature
when they fell, having been much chilled by their previous passage
through the air. Among the evidences of this was the fact that a
fountain of pure lead, which was uncovered during the excavations, was
uninjured. The analysis of a piece which he took away with him showed
that the temperature of the ashes in which it was engulfed, was lower
than the melting point of lead. In ascending Vesuvius they crossed a
ridge which formed the ancient crater of the mountain; others had been
thrown up since, the latest being 300 feet higher than the ancient
one. Vesuvius, he said, was nineteen feet higher in 1868 than it had
ever been before in human history. In the midst of the smoking centres
of eruption, they listened to the noises in the mountain beneath, and
saw three discharges of red-hot stones from the crater. The wind was
so strong that one gust blew down Sir John Lubbock on his face. On
another occasion when they ascended the mountain, they were favoured
with a strong wind, and going further than the guide would lead them,
they went to the edge of the principal crater, and looked down into the
great central hole of the volcano itself, where they saw little but
smoke and a lurid glare. Sometimes they were enveloped in smoke and
sulphurous acid gas, but they avoided any risk from it by keeping well
to windward. As to the dispute among geologists on the question whether
the cones on the top of Vesuvius were made by eruption or upheaval,
he came to the same conclusion as Lyell, that they were craters of
eruption. It was afterwards estimated that during the eruption which
was in progress at the time of Professor Tyndall’s visit, Mount
Vesuvius emitted about 20,000,000 cubic feet of lava.
His travels and explorations in another part of the world where
Nature displays her operations on a grand scale, and where personal
achievement is the only recognised title to fame, were still more
memorable. When in June, 1851, Professor Tyndall came back from Germany
to England, he met on his way to the meeting of the British Association
at Ipswich “a man who has since made his mark upon the intellect of
his time,” and to whom he was ever afterwards attached by the strong
law of mental affinity. This was Professor Huxley, and both the young
scientists being then on the look out for work, they determined to
apply for the vacant chairs of natural history and physics in the
University of Toronto, but their applications were declined. Faraday,
who was Tyndall’s philosopher and friend in the matter, wrote a letter
urging him to apply for the Toronto appointment; but happily for
both of them and for the glory of British science, Toronto would not
have them, and England could not spare them. Twenty years after that
Professor Tyndall visited the United States, whence his reputation as a
scientific lecturer had preceded him. No people are so quick in their
observations of men and manners as the Americans, and it may therefore
be opportune here to give an American’s impressions of the man to whom
that people gave an enthusiastic reception in 1872. Mr. George Ripley
gave the following description of him:--
“Professor Tyndall has all the ardour of a reformer, without any
tendency to vague and rash speculations. Recognising whatever is
valuable in the researches of a former age, he extends a gracious
hospitality to new suggestions. With a noble pride in his favourite
branches of inquiry, he is not restricted to an exclusive range of
research, but extends his intellectual vision over a wide field of
observation. The English, as a rule, are inclined to be suspicious of
a man who ventures beyond a special walk in the pursuit of knowledge.
They have but little sympathy with the catholic taste which embraces
a variety of objects, and is equally at home in the researches of
science, the speculations of philosophy, the delights of poetry, and
the graces of elegant literature. But a single exception to this trait
is presented by Professor Tyndall. His mind is singularly comprehensive
in its tendencies, and betrays a versatility of aptitude and a reach
of cultivation, which are rarely found in unison with conspicuous
eminence in purely scientific pursuits. In his own special domain
his reputation is fixed. His expositions of the theory of heat and
light and sound, and of some of the more interesting Alpine phenomena,
are acknowledged to be masterpieces of popular statement, to which
few parallels can be found in the records of modern science. But, in
addition to this, he possesses a rare power of eloquence and manifold
attainments in different departments of learning. I do not know that
he has ever written poetry, but he is certainly a poet in the fire
of his imagination and in his love for all the forms of natural
beauty. Nor has he disdained to make himself familiar with the leading
metaphysical theories of the past age, in spite of the disrepute
and comparative obscurity into which science has been thrown by the
brilliant achievements of physical research. I noticed with pleasure
in his conversation his allusions to Fichte, Goethe, R. W. Emerson,
Henry Heine, and other superior lights of the literary world, showing
an appreciation of their writings which could only have been the fruit
of familiar personal studies. Besides the impression produced on a
stranger by his genius and learning, I may be permitted to say that I
have met with few men of more attractive manners. His mental activity
gives an air of intensity to his expression, though without a trace
of vehemence, or an eager passion for utterance. In his movements he
is singularly alert, gliding through the streets with the rapidity
and noiselessness of an arrow, paying little attention to external
objects; and, if you are his companion, requiring on your part a nimble
step and a watchful eye not to lose sight of him. Though overflowing
with thought, which streams from his brain as from a capacious
reservoir while his words ‘trip around as airy servitors,’ he is one
of the best of listeners, never assuming an undue share of the talk,
and lending an attentive and patient ear to the common currency of
conversation, without demanding of men the language of the gods. The
singular kindness of his bearing, I am sure, must proceed from a kind
and generous heart. With no pretence of sympathy, and no uncalled for
demonstrations of interest, his name will certainly be set down by the
recording angel as one who loves his fellow men.”
Such was the man who had now come amongst the Americans to enjoy their
hospitality and to enlighten them on the subject of light. He delivered
a course of lectures at Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and
Washington. At Boston, he said he would long gratefully remember his
reception on the occasion of his first lecture there, and that if he
was treated in the same manner elsewhere he would return to the old
country full of gratitude. Other places tried to outdo Boston in the
cordiality of their reception. The halls in which he lectured were
crowded by audiences described as distinguished for their appreciation
of learning and their enthusiasm in the presence of “the great
teacher.” His lectures were reported _verbatim_ with illustrations in
the daily newspapers; and the _New York Tribune_ published a cheap
reprint of them of which over 300,000 were sold.
While in America he did not miss an opportunity not only of inspecting
but of exploring its grandest cataract. With him the roar of the
waterfall was early a subject of scientific investigation. At a meeting
of the British Association in 1851 he showed by some simple experiments
that water falling for a certain distance into another vessel of water
would produce neither air-bubbles nor sound; but that, as soon as the
distance is so increased that the end of the column becomes broken into
drops, both air-bubbles and sounds, varying from the hum of the ripple
to the roar of the cataract and of the breaker, were produced. About
the same time he published a paper in the _Philosophical Magazine_
for the purpose of showing that in waterfalls sound was produced by
the bursting of the bubbles, and he therein stated that “were Niagara
continuous and without lateral vibration, it would be as silent
as a cataract of ice. It is possible, I believe, to get behind the
descending water at one place; and if the attention of travellers were
directed to the subject, the mass might perhaps be _seen through_. For
in all probability it also has its ‘contracted sections;’ after passing
which it is broken into detached masses, which, plunging successively
upon the air-bladders formed by their precursors, suddenly liberate
their contents, and thus create the thunder of the waterfall.”
On the 1st of November, 1872, he visited Niagara, and not only got
behind the descending water, but “saw through” it, and afterwards
graphically described it. He states that “the season” being then
over, the scene was one of weird loneliness and beauty. On reaching
the village he at once proceeded to the northern end of the American
Fall. After dinner he, accompanied by a friend, crossed to Goat Island
and went to the southern end of the American Fall. “The river is here
studded with small islands. Crossing a wooden bridge to Luna Island,
and clasping a tree which grows near its edge, I looked long at the
cataract which here shoots down the precipice like an avalanche of
foam. It grew in powder and beauty as I gazed upon it. The channel,
spanned by the wooden bridge, was deep, and the river there doubled
over the edge of the precipice, like the swell of a muscle, unbroken.
The ledge here overhangs, the water being poured out far beyond the
base of the precipice. A space, called the Cave of the Winds, is thus
inclosed between the wall of rock and the cataract.
“At the southern extremity of the Horseshoe is a promontory, formed by
the doubling back of the gorge, excavated by the cataract, and into
which it plunges. On the promontory stands a stone building called
the Terrapin Tower, the door of which had been nailed up because of
the decay of the staircase within it. Through the kindness of Mr.
Townsend, the superintendent of Goat Island, the door was opened to
me. From this tower, at all hours of the day, and at some hours of
the night, I watched and listened to the Horseshoe Fall. The river
here is evidently much deeper than the American branch; and instead of
bursting into foam where it quits the ledge, it bends solidly over and
falls in a continuous layer of the most vivid green. The tint is not
uniform but varied; long stripes of deeper hue alternating with bands
of brighter colour. Close to the ledge over which the water falls, foam
is generated, the light falling upon which and flashing back from it is
shifted in its passage to and fro, and changed from white to emerald
green. Heaps of superficial foam are also formed at intervals along
the ledge, and immediately drawn down in long white striæ. Lower down,
the surface, shaken by the reaction from below, incessantly rustles
into whiteness. The descent finally resolves itself into a rhythm, the
water reaching the bottom of the fall in periodic gushes. Nor is the
spray uniformly diffused through the air, but is wafted through it in
successive veils of gauze-like texture. From all this it is evident
that beauty is not absent from the Horseshoe Fall, but majesty is its
chief attribute. The plunge of the water is not wild, but deliberate,
vast, and fascinating.”
On the first evening of his visit the guide to the Cave of the Winds,
a strong-looking and pleasant man, told him that he once succeeded in
getting almost under the green water of the Horseshoe Fall. Professor
Tyndall asked whether the guide could lead him to that spot to-morrow.
Such a cool question coming from a slender and refined-looking man
seemed to non-plus the guide; but on being assured that where he
would lead the Professor would endeavour to follow, the guide, with a
smile, said “Very well, I shall be ready for you to-morrow.” They met
according to agreement on the morrow. First the Professor had to change
his clothes drawing on two pairs of woollen pantaloons, three woollen
jackets, two pairs of socks, and a pair of felt shoes, which supply of
woollens the guide said would preserve him from cold. Over all was put
a suit of oil-cloth, and the Professor was advised to carry a pitchfork
as his staff. It was decided to take the Horseshoe first as being the
most difficult of access. Descending the stairs they commenced to
cross the huge boulders which cover the base of the first portion of
the cataract, and among which the water pours in torrents. They got
along without difficulty till they came to a formidable current, and
the guide on reaching the quietest part of it, told the Professor that
this was their greatest difficulty; “if we can cross here,” he said,
“we shall get far towards the Horseshoe.” The guide entered the torrent
first, and was soon up to the waist in water. He had to wade his way
among unseen boulders which increased the violence of the current.
On reaching the shallower water on the other side, he stretched his
arm across to the Professor and asked him to follow. “I looked,” says
the undaunted traveller, “down the torrent as it rushed to the river
below, which was seething with the tumult of the cataract. I entered
the water. As it rose around me, I sought to split the torrent by
presenting a side to it; but the insecurity of the footing enabled it
to grasp the loins, twist me fairly round, and bring its impetus to
bear upon the back. Further struggle was impossible, and feeling my
balance hopelessly gone, I turned, flung myself towards the bank I had
just quitted, and was instantly swept into the shallower water.”
The oil-cloth covering, which was too large for him, was now filled
with water, and notwithstanding this incumbrance, the guide urged him
to try again. After some hesitation he determined to do so. Again
he entered the water, again the torrent rose, again he wavered; but
instructed by the experience of his first misadventure, he so adjusted
himself against the stream that he was able to remain upright. At
length they were able to clasp hands, and on thus reaching the other
side he was told that no traveller had ever been there before. Soon
afterwards he was again taken off his feet through trusting to a piece
of treacherous drift, but a protruding rock enabled him to regain his
balance. As they clambered over the boulders the weight of the thick
spray now and then caused them to stagger. Among such volumes of spray
nothing could be seen. “We were,” he says, “in the midst of bewildering
tumult, lashed by the water which sounded at times like the cracking of
innumerable whips. Underneath this was the deep resonant roar of the
cataract. I tried to shield my eyes with my hands and look upwards;
but the defence was useless. My guide continued to move on, but at a
certain place he halted, and desired me to take shelter in his lee and
observe the cataract. On looking upwards over the guide’s shoulder
I could see the water bending over the ledge, while the Terrapin
Tower loomed fitfully through the intermittent spray gusts. We were
right under the tower. A little farther on the cataract, after its
first plunge, hit a protuberance some way down, and flew from it in a
prodigious burst of spray; through this we staggered. We rounded the
promontory on which the Terrapin Tower stands, and pushed, amidst the
wildest commotion, along the arm of the Horseshoe until the boulders
failed us and the cataract fell into the profound gorge of the Niagara
River. Here my guide sheltered me again, and desired me to look up. I
did so, and could see as before the green gleam of the mighty curve
sweeping over the upper ledge, and the fitful plunge of the water as
the spray between us and it alternately gathered and disappeared. My
companion knew no more of me than that I enjoyed the wildness; but
as I bent in the shelter of his large frame, he said: ‘I should like
to see you attempting to describe all this.’ He rightly thought
it indescribable.” Their egress was nearly as adventurous as their
entrance. They had another struggle with the torrent which proved such
a formidable barrier in entering, but they succeeded in crossing it
without serious mishap.
He next endeavoured to see the fall from the river below it; but on
reaching the base of the Horseshoe he found the water so violent, and
the rock and boulders so formidable, that after a fierce struggle the
attempt to go further had to be relinquished. He therefore returned
along the base of the American Fall. “Seen from below,” says the
Professor, “the American Fall is certainly exquisitely beautiful,
but it is a mere fringe of adornment to its nobler neighbour, the
Horseshoe. At times we took to the river, from the centre of which
the Horseshoe Fall appeared especially magnificent. A streak of cloud
across the neck of Mont Blanc can double its apparent height, so here
the green summit of the cataract, shining above the smoke of spray,
appeared lifted to an extraordinary elevation.”[4]
In his American lectures he never appeared to miss an opportunity of
telling his audience that the pursuit of scientific truth should be
conducted regardless of monetary considerations, and that the men who
had made the great discoveries in science that had so enriched the
world were not actuated by the love of money. At New York he said the
presence there for six inclement nights of an audience, embodying to a
great extent the mental force and refinement of the city, showed their
sympathy with scientific pursuits. “That scientific discovery may put
not only dollars into the pockets of individuals but millions into the
exchequers of nations the history of science amply proves, but the
hope of its doing so is not the motive power of the investigator. It
never could be the motive power.... You have asked me to give these
lectures, and I cannot turn them to better account than by asking
you to remember that the lecturer is usually the distributor of
intellectual wealth amassed by better men. It is not as lecturers but
as discoverers that you ought to employ your highest men. Keep your
sympathetic eye upon the originator of knowledge. Give him the freedom
necessary for his researches; above all things avoiding that question
which ignorance so often addresses to genius--What is the use of your
work? Let him make truth his object, however impracticable for the
time being that truth may appear. If you cast your bread thus upon the
waters, then be assured it will return to you though it may be after
many days.”
In 1873 his advice appeared to be like seed sown in good ground, for
immediately after his visit several munificent gifts were made by
private individuals for the promotion of science. His example was also
as worthy as his teaching. The profits of his lectures, amounting to
nearly 3,000_l._, he gave as a contribution towards the establishment
of a fund for the advancement of theoretic science and the promotion
of original research, especially in the department of physics. In the
first instance the interest of the fund was to be applied to assisting
and supporting two American students with a decided talent for physics;
so that they might thus be able to spend at a German university at
least four years, of which three should be devoted to the acquisition
of knowledge and the fourth to original investigation. Some difficulty
being experienced by the trustees in selecting suitable persons, they
represented to Professor Tyndall, after some years of experience,
that the object aimed at by him would probably be better accomplished
by placing the administration of the fund in the hands of some one
or more educational institutions, where numbers of young men were
always on trial, and where suitable subjects for his benefaction would
probably be more easily found. In 1885 Professor Tyndall, acting on
this advice, divided the money, which had increased from 13,000$ to
32,000$, into three equal parts, and gave one part to Columbia College,
one to Harvard University, and one to the University of Pennsylvania.
On February 4th, 1873, he was entertained at a farewell banquet at New
York “in the great hall of the finest restaurant in the world.” On that
occasion he stated with regard to the work done and the reception of
that work during his visit to America, that nothing could be added to
his cup of satisfaction; his only drawback related to the work undone;
for he carried home with him the consciousness of having been unable
to respond to the invitations of the great cities of the west; but
the character of his lectures, the weight of instrumental appliances
which they involved, and the fact that every lecture required two
days’ possession of the hall--a day of preparation and a day of
delivery--entailed heavy loss of time and even severe labour. He then
returned to England, where he found many friends ready to welcome him.
Next year (1874) he was President of the British Association, and
the address which he delivered at the annual meeting, held that year
in Belfast, caused some sensation among “the orthodox.” For this he
was not unprepared. He admitted that he had touched on debateable
questions, and gone over dangerous ground--and this partly with
the view of telling the world that as regards religious theories,
schemes, and systems which embrace notions of cosmogony, science
claims unrestricted right of search. The address was condemned by
the unscientific as veiled materialism, and a flood of sermons and
pamphlets were published to expose its “heresies.” One writer went
so far as to publish “an inquiry of the Home Secretary as to whether
Professor Tyndall had not subjected himself to the penalty of persons
expressing blasphemous opinions.”
It seemed to be generally forgotten that Professor Tyndall had stated
before the British Association in 1868 that the utmost the materialist
“can affirm is the association of two classes of phenomena, of whose
real bond of union he is in absolute ignorance. The problem of the
connection of body and soul is as insoluble in its modern form as it
was in the pre-scientific ages. If you ask him whence is this ‘matter,’
who or what divided it into molecules, he has no answer. Science
also is mute in reply to these questions. But if the materialist is
confounded and science rendered dumb, who else is entitled to answer?
To whom has the secret been revealed? Let us lower our heads and
acknowledge our ignorance one and all.” In 1874 he desired to set forth
equally “the inexorable advance of man’s understanding in the path of
knowledge, and the unquenchable claims of his emotional nature, which
the understanding can never satisfy. And if, still unsatisfied, the
human mind, with the yearning of a pilgrim for his distant home, will
turn to the mystery from which it has emerged, seeking so to fashion
it as to give unity to thought and faith--so long as this is done,
not only without intolerance or bigotry of any kind, but with the
enlightened recognition that ultimate fixity of conception is here
unattainable, and that each succeeding age must be held free to fashion
the mystery in accordance with its own needs--then, in opposition
to all the restrictions of Materialism, I would affirm this to be a
field for the noblest exercise of what, in contrast with the _knowing_
faculties, may be called the _creative_ faculties of man.”
Next year, in introducing Sir John Hawkshaw as President of the
British Association, Professor Tyndall said his successor would steer
the Association through calm water, which would be refreshing after
the tempestuous weather which “rasher navigators had thought it their
duty to encounter rather than to avoid.” Carlyle says we pardon genial
weather for its changes, but the steadiest climate of all is that of
Greenland.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] For the descriptions of the Falls of Niagara and of
the adventure on the Piz Morteratch we are indebted to
the kindness of Professor Tyndall, who readily granted
permission to quote them from his copyright works.
CHAPTER V.
“There is something in the contemplation of general laws
which powerfully persuades us to merge individual
feeling, and to commit ourselves unreservedly to
their disposal; while the observation of the calm,
energetic regularity of nature, the immense scale of her
operations, and the certainty with which her ends are
attained, tends irresistibly to tranquillise and reassure
the mind, and render it less accessible to repining,
selfish, and turbulent emotions.”--J. F. W. HERSCHEL.
The Royal Institution, the scene of Professor Tyndall’s labours, is
situated in Albemarle Street, London, and was founded in 1800 by Count
Rumford. George III., appreciating the importance of “forming a public
institution for diffusing knowledge and facilitating the general
introduction of useful mechanical inventions and improvements, and
for teaching by courses of philosophical lectures and experiments the
application of science to the common purposes of life,” granted it a
charter of incorporation in the fortieth year of his reign; and in 1810
the objects of the Institution were extended to the prosecution of
chemical science and the discovery of new facts in physical science,
as well as the diffusion of useful knowledge. Curiously enough, while
the Royal Institution of Great Britain was founded by an American, the
great Smithsonian Institute in Washington was founded by an Englishman.
As in most institutions founded by private enterprise, the first
arrangements made in the Royal Institution were on a humble scale.
The building selected for a chemical laboratory was originally a
blacksmith’s shop with a forge and bellows; and the physical laboratory
remained in its original state for nearly seventy years, during which
period it was the scene of the great discoveries of Davy, Faraday,
and Tyndall, including the laws of electro-chemical decomposition,
the decomposition of the fixed alkalies, the investigation of the
nature of chlorine, the philosophy of flame, the condensability of
many gases, the science of magneto-electricity, the twofold magnetism
of matter, comprehending all known substances, the magnetism of
gases, the relation of magnetism and light, the physical effects of
pressure on diamagnetic action, the absorption and radiation of heat
by gases and vapours, the transparency of our atmosphere, and the
opacity of its aqueous vapour to radiant heat. A place hallowed by so
many scientific achievements Professor Tyndall desired to preserve,
notwithstanding that, owing to the progress made in other scientific
institutions, its reputation had changed from that of the best to that
of the worst in London; but when he saw that a transformation of the
scene was inevitable he did what he could to promote it. Accordingly
new laboratories were built in 1872. In reference to this event, Mr.
Spottiswoode said in 1873, when he was treasurer to the Institution,
that “the one act of wisdom, among the many aberrations of an eccentric
member of Parliament, saved Faraday to us, and thereby, as seems
probable, our Institution to the country. The liberality of a Hebrew
toy-dealer[5] in the east of London, has made the rebuilding of our
laboratories possible. It is said that Mr. Fuller, the feebleness
of whose constitution denied him at all times and places the rest
necessary for health, could always find repose and even quiet slumber
amid the murmuring lectures of the Royal Institution; and that in
gratitude for the peaceful hours thus snatched from an otherwise
restless life, he bequeathed to us his magnificent legacy of £10,000.”
On his return from America in 1873, Professor Tyndall presented to
the Royal Institution the new philosophical apparatus that he had
used in his lectures in the United States, and it was thereupon
resolved to present the warmest congratulations of the members of the
Royal Institution “to their Professor of Natural Philosophy upon his
safe arrival in England from the United States, in which, upon the
invitation of the most eminent scientific men of America, he has been
recently delivering a series of lectures unexampled for the interest
they have created in that country, and the large and distinguished
audiences who have been attracted to them. The members rejoice and
welcome him on his return to what they are proud to be able to
designate as his own scientific home, with satisfaction and delight,
and wish him all continued health and prosperity. They also thank him
for his liberal gift to the Institution of the splendid and extensive
apparatus employed by him in his lectures in America, and congratulate
him on the generous spirit and the love of science which has led him
to appropriate the profits of his lectures in the United States to
the establishment of a fund to assist the scientific studies of young
Americans.”
Another evidence of the respect entertained for him was given on the
occasion of his marriage, in 1876, to Lady Louisa Charlotte, eldest
daughter of Lord and Lady Claude Hamilton. The ceremony was performed
by Dean Stanley in Henry the Seventh’s Chapel, Westminster Abbey;
and in commemoration of the event a silver salver with 300 guineas
was presented to Professor Tyndall by the members of the Royal
Institution, the subscriptions being limited to one guinea each.
Professor A. de la Rue stated in 1843, before Professor Tyndall had
begun his scientific studies, that the study of electricity was always
a favourite and popular study in England, and as evidence of that
observation he added that Professor Faraday had delivered in London
lectures on electricity at the Royal Institution, to which resorted
in crowds not only men of the world and elegant ladies, who came in
great numbers to admire the graces and enjoy the charm which the
amiable professor so well knew how to diffuse over his teaching, but
also _savants_ who always found something new to acquire from the
interesting views of the learned philosopher. These words might with
equal propriety be applied to the lectures of Professor Tyndall. During
his reign the Royal Institution made marked progress in popularity and
usefulness. According to his own statement, the main object of its
existence is that of a school of research and discovery; and during the
whole time he has been there no manager or member of the Institution
ever interfered with his researches, though a bye-law gave them
power to do so. The salient features of his researches have already
been described; but only those who have had the privilege of hearing
the Professor’s own descriptions, and seen his simple and beautiful
experiments illustrating the subtle laws of matter, can adequately
appreciate the charm with which he invests scientific subjects. It is
not an unusual occurrence for the theatre to be full of people nearly
an hour before the lecture begins, and whether addressing an audience
of young or old people, he rivets attention by his easy, lucid, and
fascinating exposition and illustrations of the science of electricity,
heat, light, and sound.
As a specimen of the descriptive power with which he can impart
interest to a subject generally regarded as unattractive, take the
following exposition of the development of electricity:--“Volta
found that by placing different metals in contact with each other,
and separating every two pairs of metals by what he called a ‘moist
conductor,’ he obtained the development of electricity. He imagined
that the source of power was simply the contact of the two metals that
he employed; he regarded the moist conductor as a neutral body; and his
theory was called, in consequence of this view, the ‘contact theory.’
He was perfectly correct in affirming that the contact of different
metals produces electricity; one of the metals in contact being
positive, and the other being negative. The voltaic current was capable
of producing light and heat; but light and heat require the expenditure
of power to produce them; and it was shown by Roget that if Volta’s
conception were correct, it would be tantamount to the production
of a perpetual motion; if the simple contact of metals produced an
unfailing source of electricity, it would be the creation of power out
of nothing. Here Volta failed. Afterward he devised an instrument which
showed the conversion of mechanical power into electricity, and thus
into heat and light. That instrument he called the _electrophorus_,
and it furnishes perhaps the simplest means of showing the conversion
of mechanical power into electricity, and thence into heat and light.
Volta himself was not aware of the doctrines which we now apply to his
discoveries. I will go through the form of Volta’s experiment. I have
here a piece of vulcanised indiarubber, and I would first remark that
when I place a sheet of tin with an insulating handle upon the table
and lift it, I simply overcome the gravity of the tin; but if, after
having whisked a sheet of vulcanised indiarubber with a fox’s brush,
I place the plate upon it, I find that on lifting it something more
than the weight of the plate is to be overcome. That plate now is in a
different condition from its former one. It is now electrified, and
if I bring my knuckle near it I receive an electric spark. What I want
to make clear is this: that there is, first of all, the expenditure
of an extra amount of mechanical force in order to lift the sheet of
tin; that, by the lifting of the tin, you liberate electricity upon its
surface; and that then, if you bring your knuckle near it, you receive
an electric spark. There is, therefore, first of all, an expenditure
of mechanical power in lifting the sheet of tin; then an intermediate
stage when the tin is electrified; and finally, the passage through
that electric stage into heat. So that you have mechanical power,
electricity, and heat; mechanical power and heat being the two extremes
of the circuit.
“When you have electricity developed, the connection of heat and
light is necessarily accompanied by resistance to the passage of the
electricity. The action of lightning conductors, for example, is
entirely dependent upon that fact. The chimneys that the conductors
protect offer resistance to the passage of the discharge, and therefore
would be destroyed by that discharge; but the conductor offering small
resistance, the current passes through it without any disruptive action.
“I will explain the principles of an ordinary Grove’s battery, in order
to give a better idea of what internal and external resistances there
are in the current. In a Grove’s battery there are two metals, zinc
and platinum. They are in contact with each other. There are also two
liquids, nitric acid and dilute sulphuric acid. If I connect by a wire
one end or pole of the battery with the other, I, being close at hand,
can see a small spark. There is now flowing through that connecting
wire what we call an electric current, which passes from one end of the
battery through the wire to the other end. When there is very little
resistance offered to the passage of the current, there is no sensible
heat developed; but if I sever the wire in the middle and unite the
ends by a thin platinum wire, the thin platinum wire introduced into
the circuit is first raised to incandescence and then fused. It is
because of the resistance that it offers that we see the incandescence
of the wire.
“The source of power in this battery is the combustion, for it is to
all intents and purposes combustion of the metal zinc. When we connect
the two poles of that battery by a thick wire we have no sensible
external heat produced. The heat due to the combustion of the zinc is
liberated wholly in the cells of the battery itself. That quantity of
heat, as is very well known, is the amount developed by the solution or
oxidation of zinc in dilute sulphuric acid. Supposing that we allowed
the current to pass through the thick wire until a certain definite
weight of zinc was dissolved in the battery, that would produce in
the cells of the battery a perfectly definite amount of heat. Let us
compare that amount of heat with the amount produced in the battery
when we introduce the thin platinum wire. In the one case we have no
external heat, and in the other we have. The great law which regulates
these transactions is this: that the sum of the internal and the
external heats is a constant quantity; so that when the platinum wire
was ignited we had less heat developed in the battery than before. The
zinc in the battery is burned as fuel upon a hearth; the heat, however,
being developed either upon the hearth itself or at any distance from
it.
“As a primary source of electricity here is the combustion of a metal,
the voltaic battery is not an economical source of power for producing
electric light. Had it been so we should have employed the electric
light long before the present time. Davy, seventy years ago, made most
important experiments upon the light and heat of the voltaic circuit,
but the reason why it was not applied previously is simply that zinc is
an exceedingly expensive fuel. That stopped the economical application
of the electric light to the purposes of public lighting.
“If we burnt the zinc in the open air instead of in the battery there
would be a considerable amount of heat and light produced. To burn it
in the acid fluid of the battery, afterwards converting it into heat
and light, is only another mode of burning it: both are due to the same
combustion.
“In the year 1820 Arago discovered that when he carried an electric
current parallel to a magnetic needle, he deflected the needle to the
right or to the left, as the case may be. Soon afterwards one of the
greatest geniuses that ever lived, Ampère, within eight or ten days of
the description of [OE]rsted’s discovery before the Academy of Sciences
of Paris, enriched this field by a sudden burst of new discoveries and
experiments. To Ampère we are indebted for our knowledge of the action
of electric currents one upon another. For instance, if I suspend
two flat coils in the presence of each other, it is easy to send an
electric current in the same direction through both. The consequence of
that would be an immediate attraction of the two coils for each other.
It would be also easy to send currents in opposite directions, and the
immediate consequence of that would be repulsion. If, having sent an
electric current through one of these coils, a magnet is brought to
bear upon it, the coil and the magnet interact almost like two magnets.
The great law established by Ampère was that currents flowing in the
same direction attract each other, whilst currents flowing in opposite
directions repel each other. To show the interaction of magnets and
currents, and to illustrate the simulation, if I may use the term, of
magnetism by electricity, Ampère, by an extremely ingenious device,
suspended spiral wires, and proved that when an electric current is
sent through such a wire, it behaves, to all intents and purposes, like
a magnet; it will set like a magnetic needle in the magnetic meridian.
It was Ampère who first of all established the interaction of electric
currents amongst themselves, and also between electric currents and
magnets.
“Arago was engaged at the same time in joint work with Ampère. Perhaps
one or two further illustrations might be given. Here we have a piece
of copper wire. At the present moment there is no action whatever of
that wire upon iron filings; the copper wire has no magnetic power
whatever. But I send what for want of a better name, we call an
electric current, through the wire, and then the iron filings crowd
round the wire. If I break the circuit, the magic entirely disappears.
This is one of the effects that enables us to see that a current is
passing through the wire. Arago, who noticed this, went further and
showed that, when you coil a wire round a piece of iron, the piece
of iron is rendered strongly magnetic by the passage of the current
through the wire.”
It is, however, as an experimentalist that Professor Tyndall excels,
especially in illustrating by experiments the effects of electricity
and magnetism. He was the first to show publicly the elongation of a
solid bar of iron by magnetising it. He had a small mirror so connected
with the end of a bar of iron two feet long that it reflected a long
beam of light on a screen, and the beam moved on the screen as the bar
of iron was lengthened or shortened. When the iron was magnetised by
electricity from a battery the mirror showed a lengthening movement
on the screen; and he explained that the bar being composed of
irregular crystalline granules, the magnetism tended to set the longest
dimensions of the granules lengthwise, or parallel to the flow of the
current. Mr. Joule who discovered this lengthening effect of magnetism,
found that a bar of soft iron was by this means extended one 720,000th
of its length; and in later years Professor Hughes demonstrated the
mechanical theory of magnetism, which, like the mechanical theory of
heat, attributes such phenomena to a simple mechanical motion of the
molecules of matter. Numerous researches and experiments led him to
the conclusion that each molecule of a piece of iron, as well as the
atoms of all matter, solid, liquid, and gaseous, is a separate and
independent magnet, that each molecule can be rotated upon its axis by
magnetism and electricity, and that the inherent polarity or magnetism
of each molecule is a constant quantity like gravity.
Professor Tyndall also exhibited, both at the Royal Institution and
at the Royal Society, Faraday’s marvellous experiment showing the
magnetisation of light, which he described as Faraday’s third great
discovery, and compared “to the Weisshorn among mountains--high,
beautiful, and alone.” In a dark room a ray of light from a lamp passed
between the poles of a large horse-shoe, and appeared as a spot of
light on a screen. When by connecting a battery with the horse-shoe,
the latter became powerfully magnetic, the spot of light was instantly
moved on the screen, being visibly deflected by the magnetism of the
horse-shoe.
To illustrate the velocity of the electric current he showed that a
spark sent through a copper wire which passed through some gunpowder,
did not ignite the gunpowder, because it had not time; but when a wet
string--a slower conductor--was substituted for the copper wire, the
passage of the current was retarded and the powder ignited. Another
illustration of an accidental character he frequently narrated.
While lecturing to an audience of young and old people at the Royal
Institution, he caused fifteen Leyden jars to be charged with
electricity, and by some awkwardness his shoulder touched the conductor
leading from the jars. “I am extremely sensitive to electricity,”
he said, “yet a charge from such a powerful battery as fifteen jars
seemed to have no disastrous effect upon me. I stood perfectly still,
wondering that I did not feel it; but I knew something had occurred;
and after standing for a moment or two I seemed to open my eyes, which
probably were open all the time. I saw a confused mass of apparatus
about me. I felt it necessary to reassure the people before me, so I
said: ‘Over and over again I have wanted that battery to be discharged
into me, and now I have had it.’ Although I appeared unaffected, really
the optic nerve in me was so affected that I saw my arm severed from my
body. I soon, however, recovered proper sight, and saw that I was all
right.” The explanation given for his intellect being thus clear while
his vision was distorted, is that the electric current moved with much
greater rapidity than the nervous agency by which the consciousness
of pain is excited. According to Professor Bois-Reymond, the latter
moves at the rate of ninety-eight feet per second, while, according
to Professor Wheatstone, electricity moves in a copper wire at the
rate of 288,000 miles per second. Hence it is probable that death by
electricity or lightning is painless.
In a course of lectures delivered to a juvenile audience in December,
1884, he gave a fresh illustration of the ease with which electricity
can be generated in a rather unusual way. It is stated in text-books
on electricity that if a man could be suspended between the poles
of a common magnet, he would point equatorially, because all the
substances of which he is made are diamagnetic. Professor Tyndall,
however, showed how easily his body could be made to act the part of
a magnet. In the presence of his audience, a man repeatedly struck
the back of the Professor’s coat with a piece of catskin, and in a
minute or two sufficient electricity was generated to make his hand,
held out in front of him, magnetic and capable of attracting to it
different objects, just as a small magnet attracts bits of iron near
it. He stated that this experiment had never, so far as he knew, been
performed before.
In other lectures he illustrated the resistance of a telegraph cable to
the transmission of the electric current over a length of 14,000 miles,
by introducing into the path of the current gaps containing feebly
conducting liquids, so distributed as to represent intervals equal to
those in telegraphing between Gibraltar, Malta, Suez, Aden, Bombay,
Calcutta, Rangoon, Singapore, Java, and Australia. Connected with these
gaps were mirrors which cast ten dots of light on a large screen, being
one for each gap or station; when the electric current was sent through
the miniature cable, it so deflected a needle attached to each mirror
as to cause dot after dot to start aside upon the screen. The interval
between the movement of each dot of light exactly represented the time
which the electric current would require to reach the several stations
named in the working of a real cable. He thus strikingly illustrated
the fact that the resistance of a cable depends in some degree upon
its length, and visibly showed the time consumed in overcoming that
resistance. To show the different resistances of different metals and
how resistance produces heat, he took pieces of platinum and silver,
and arranging them alternately in a long line, sent an electric
current through them. Thereupon each piece of platinum, being a metal
of great resisting power, glowed with a brilliant red heat, while the
intervening pieces of silver, being good conductors, were invisible.
In 1878 he was exhibiting and explaining to a Parliamentary Committee
the electrical effects produced in working by hand a dynamo machine,
when Lord Lindsay asked, as “an elementary question,” what was the
source of the mechanical power by which he was able to turn the
wheel of the dynamo. The Professor explained that it was simply the
combustion of the fat and tissues of his muscle. “Then will you
explain,” said Lord Lindsay, “how it is that as the temperature of
your muscle and your blood is only 100°, you get it up to fuse a wire
which would require a temperature of 3,500°.” To that the Professor
replied: “I would give all that I possess to be able fully to answer
that question; but this much is absolutely certain, that all the heat
developed in that dynamo, amounting to between 3,000° and 4,000° Fahr.,
is certainly derived from the combustion of my muscle. It is nothing
more mysterious than the combustion of zinc in the voltaic battery.”
The facility with which he extemporises illustrations to make science
entertaining appears from the following incident. “On one occasion,”
he says, “I paid a visit to a large school in the country, and was
asked by the principal to give a lesson to one of the classes. I
agreed to do so provided he would let me have the youngest boys in
his school. To this he willingly assented; and after casting about
in my mind as to what could be said to the little fellows, I went to
a village hard by and bought a quantity of sugar-candy. This was my
only teaching apparatus. When the time for assembling the class had
arrived I began by describing the way in which sugar-candy and other
artificial crystals were formed, and tried to place vividly before
their young minds the architectural process by which the crystals
were built up. They listened to me with the most eager interest. I
examined the crystal before them, and when they found that in a certain
direction it could be split into thin laminæ with shining surfaces of
cleavage, their joy was at its height. They had no notion that the
thing they had been crunching and sucking all their lives embraced
so many hidden points of beauty.” That incident occurred many years
ago; and as illustrating his own perennial admiration of the phenomena
of crystallisation another incident may be added that occurred in a
lecture delivered in the Royal Institution in 1855. He was exhibiting
the effect of applying an electric current by means of two wires to
acetate of lead--vinegar and lead. The mixture becoming decomposed,
the atoms of water appeared, when magnified and reflected on a large
screen, as beautiful rings moving up and down the one wire, while the
atoms of lead on the other wire formed themselves by crystalline action
into pretty fern-like leaves and plants of all shapes and sizes. “Is
not that beautiful?” said the Professor; “I have seen it done a hundred
times, but I can never see it without wonder.”
Professor Tyndall has seen the triumph of several scientific principles
of which he was one of the earliest and foremost advocates. Thus in
1884 he said: “With regard to the theory of evolution, I cannot help
noting the wide toleration which has been infused into the public mind
since the appearance of Mr. Darwin’s _Origin of Species_ in 1858.
Well do I remember the cry of anguish and detestation with which the
views of Mr. Darwin were assailed when they were first enunciated.
To one example of this I will here refer. There was a meeting of the
British Association at Oxford in 1860, when the subject of the origin
of species was discussed by the late Bishop Wilberforce. I was at a
distance from the platform, my neighbours being for the most part
clergymen. The vehemence with which the Bishop’s powerful sarcasm was
cheered was extraordinary; and knowing full well that he would be
effectually answered by a friend of mine, I was not able to forecast
the consequences. But whatever these might be I was determined to share
them; so I gradually edged my way through the crowd, overturning in my
passage a seat on which many people were standing, till I got close to
my friends, who, I feared, incurred some risk of a physical mauling.
But the discussion passed away without violence, and in virtue of that
plasticity with which the human mind in the long run takes the stamp
of truth, those who were then so perturbed in spirit are now ready
to admit, not only that the origin of species did them no particular
harm, but that they are quite prepared to accept its doctrine.” On the
occasion in question the Bishop of Oxford stated that the greatest
names in science were then opposed to the Darwinian theory, which was
chiefly defended by Professor Huxley and Dr. Hooker.
In like manner Professor Tyndall was able to say in 1885 that the germ
theory of infectious diseases had grown like a mustard tree in his
time. “I remember,” he said, “the time when it was referred to as an
extravagant absurdity, but far-seeing men saw its final triumph. Now
I suppose there is hardly a scientific physician in Europe that does
not hold the germ theory of disease. In 1873 cases came before me of
men suffering from intermittent or relapsing fever, and I longed to
examine their blood; for it is a small spiral-looking organism in the
blood that is the cause of relapsing fever. In 1876 Professor Cohn,
of Breslau, was in this country, and he handed me a memoir that marks
an epoch in the history of the subject with which it dealt. It was
called in England the wool sorter’s disease, or splenic fever. It was
sometimes also called Siberian plague. The paper had been drawn up from
his own experiments and observations by a perfectly unknown physician,
who held a small appointment in the neighbourhood of Breslau. The
investigation impressed me as masterly in execution and as pregnant in
result. The writer followed with the most unwearying patience and the
most consummate skill, the life history of _bacillus anthracis_, which
is the contagium of splenic fever. I said at the time this young man
will soon find himself in a higher position, and next time I heard of
him he was at the head of the Imperial Sanitary Institution of Berlin.
That young man was Dr. Koch, who succeeded in detecting the living
organism and in proving it to be beyond all doubt the veritable cause
of the disease. Some years ago I paid a visit to a laboratory in Paris
where I was shown by Pasteur himself, who verified Dr. Koch’s results
as to the parasitic origin of splenic fever, this formidable _bacillus
anthracis_, and it was curious to reflect how a thing so truly mean and
contemptible should have such power over the lives of brutes and men.”
A report published in 1886 of examinations made by Dr. Miquel of the
bacterial condition of the air at Paris and Mountsouris disclosed some
remarkable facts. He stated that in the Rue de Rivoli the average
number of bacteria in a cubic metre of air during the year 1881 was
6,295, whilst in 1884 the average number was only 1,830--a diminution
which he attributed to the better draining and scavenging of the city.
In the same period the deaths from zymotic disease in Paris showed a
decrease of 27 per cent. The air over the Atlantic Ocean and on the top
of high mountains showed only one to six bacteria per cubic metre. Such
investigations are now recognised as a special department of science.
Some reminiscences which Professor Tyndall gave in 1880 of Thomas
Carlyle showed his sympathetic appreciation of literary as well as
scientific excellence. He exhibited the “sage of Chelsea” in a more
favourable light than some of his literary friends have done. “It
has been said that in respect to science Mr. Carlyle was not only
incurious but hostile. This does not tally with my experience,” says
Professor Tyndall. “During the lifetime of his wife and afterwards I
frequently saw him, and as long as his powers continued unimpaired I
do not remember a single visit in which he failed to make inquiries
both regarding my own work and the general work of science. In physical
subjects I never encountered a man of stronger grasp and deeper
penetration than his. During my expositions, when these were clear, he
was always in advance of me, anticipating and enunciating what I was
about to say. He not unfrequently called to see me in Albemarle Street,
and on such occasions I usually described to him what I was doing
there. When I was engaged on the ‘chimera’ of spontaneous generation,
I took him into my warm room, and explained to him the part played by
the floating matter in the air in the phenomena of putrefaction and
infection. He was profoundly interested, and as docile as a child.
“This, however, was not always his attitude. He sometimes laid down
the law in matters where special study rendered my knowledge more
accurate than his, and had in consequence to bear my dissent. Allow
me to cite an illustration. In 1866 I accompanied him to Mentone, and
by desire of his generous hostess stayed with him two or three days.
One evening while returning from a drive the glow of sunset on sea
and mountain suggested a question regarding the light. He stated his
view with decision, while I unflinchingly demurred. He became dogmatic
(‘arrogant’ is a word which can only be applied to Carlyle by those
who never felt his influence) and invoked his old teachers, Playfair
and Leslie, in support of his view. I was stubborn, and replied that
though these were names meriting all honour, they were not authorities
regarding the matter in hand. In short, I flatly and firmly opposed
him; and it was not for the first time. He lapsed into silence, and we
drove home. I went with him to his room. As he drew off his coat he
looked at me mildly and earnestly, and pointing to an arm-chair, said
in his rich Scotch accent, ‘I did not want to contradict you; sit down
there and tell me all about it.’ I sat down, and beginning with the
alphabet of the question, carried it as far as my knowledge reached.
For more than an hour he listened to me, not only with unruffled
patience, but with genuine interest. His questions were always
pertinent, and his remarks often profound. I don’t know what Carlyle’s
aptitude in the natural history of science might have been, but in
regard to physics the contrast between him and Goethe was striking in
the highest degree. His opinions had for the most part taken their
final set before the theory of man’s descent was enunciated, or rather
brought within the domain of true causes, by Mr. Darwin. For a time
he abhorred the theory as tending to weaken that ethical element in
man which, in Carlyle’s estimation as in that of others, transcends
all science in importance. But a softening, if not a material, change
of his views was to be noticed later on. To my own knowledge he
approved cordially of certain writings in which Mr. Darwin’s views
were vigorously advocated, while a personal interview with the great
naturalist caused him to say afterwards that Charles Darwin was a most
charming man.”
Of Carlyle’s own disposition, Professor Tyndall gives a more generous
estimate than the public have been led to form since his death.
“Knowing,” he says, “the depth of Carlyle’s tenderness, I should almost
feel it to be bathos to cite the cases known to me which illustrated
it. I call to mind his behaviour towards some blind singers in the
streets of Marseilles, and the interest he took in the history of a
little boy, whom, during my momentary separation from him, he had found
lying in the shade of a tree, and over whose limbs paralysis was slowly
creeping. There was a kind of radiance in the sorrow depicted in the
old man’s face, as he listened to the tale and probably looked to woes
beyond. The self-same radiance I saw for the last time as he lay upon
his sofa, and for some minutes raised his head upon my shoulder a few
weeks before his death.”
Professor Tyndall succeeded Faraday not only as Professor of the Royal
Institution, but also as Scientific Adviser to the Trinity House, a
position which he also regarded as one of honour on account of its
associations with his distinguished predecessor. He has stated that,
“When, in 1836, Professor Faraday accepted the post of Scientific
Adviser to the Trinity House, he was careful to tell the Deputy Master
that he did not do so for hire. ‘In consequence,’ he says, ‘of the
goodwill and confidence of all around me, I can at any moment convert
my time into money.’ In my little book on Faraday, published in 1868,
I have stated that he had but to will it to raise his income in 1832
to 5,000_l._ a year. In 1836 the sum might have been doubled. Yet
this son of a blacksmith, this journeyman bookbinder, with his proud
and sensitive soul, rejecting the splendid opportunities open to
him--refusing even to think them splendid in presence of his higher
aims--cheerfully accepted from the Trinity House a pittance of 200l.
a year. And when, in 1866, his mind, worn down in the service of his
country and of mankind, was no longer able to deal with lighthouse
work, I accepted his position, on terms not less independent than his
own. I had no need to play the part of a candidate. The late able and
energetic Deputy Master of the Trinity House, Sir Frederick Arrow, came
to the Royal Institution, where, in courteous and indeed apologetic
terms, he asked me to accept the post. I say apologetic, because,
inasmuch as it was desired to continue Faraday’s salary to the end of
his life, 100_l._ a year was all that could for the moment be offered
to me. I set the mind of the Deputy Master at rest by expressing my
willingness, for the sake of my illustrious friend, to do the work
for no salary at all. In due time the larger income became mine, and
later on, the scope of my duties being extended by the Board of Trade,
my salary was raised from 200_l._ to 400_l._ a year. With this I was
entirely content. Still, the chances open to a man of my reputation
in physical science have not diminished since Faraday’s time; on the
contrary, they have indefinitely increased. No person of understanding
in such matters will doubt me when I say that had I gone in for
consultations and experiments on commercial and technical matters, I
could with ease have converted every hundred rendered to me by the
Trinity House and Board of Trade into a thousand. And if I chose the
lesser sum instead of its tenfold multiple, it was because I deemed its
source to be one of peculiar honour, and the work it involved a work of
peculiar beneficence.”
The Elder Brethren of the Trinity House have control of the
lighthouses, lightships, beacons, and buoys around the United Kingdom;
and some difference that arose as to a new invention for lighthouse
illumination led to the retirement of Professor Tyndall from the
position of Scientific Adviser to that body in May, 1883. The incident
gave rise to an animated, not to say acrimonious, correspondence in the
press, in the course of which the Professor stated that, “the head and
front of my offending was my effort to protect from official extinction
an able and meritorious man, who had the misfortune to raise a rival
at the Trinity House, and to ruffle the dignity of the gentlemen of
the Board of Trade. Struggling single-handed, relying solely on his
own industry and talents, and with no public funds to fall back upon
at pleasure, Mr. John Wigham, to whom I refer, during the brief period
of his permitted activity, had made advances in the art of lighthouse
illumination which placed him far ahead of all competitors. This man
I did my best to protect from the effects of professional jealousy
and bureaucratic irritation. It was my earnest desire to utilise Mr.
Wigham’s genius for the public good. It was the object of officials
whom he had offended to extinguish him. They did what they could to
weary him and worry him and take the heart of enterprise out of him,
and they certainly succeeded in checking the development of his system
of lighthouse illumination. Had it not been for an opposition which,
considering the interests at stake, seemed to me at times criminal,
that system would assuredly be far more advanced than it now is. His
rival was encouraged to push forward, while he was held back. The
boldest attempt made against Mr. Wigham was the appropriation of his
invention of superposed lenses for the new Eddystone lighthouse. This
high-handed proceeding would have provoked litigation, had not the
Elder Brethren, reverting to their more generous instincts, lately
taken a more reasonable course than that which they were at one time
advised to pursue. A compensation of 2,500_l._ was offered to Mr.
Wigham, and eventually accepted by him.”
It thus appears that the independence of mind and chivalrous defence of
scientific merit which characterised his early career were displayed
with undiminished vigour and self-denial in later years, when the
mellowing influences of age and the sunshine of popularity would
have induced minds of a more flexible fibre to yield complacently to
self-interest and power.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Mr. Alfred Davis, after paying his composition of
sixty guineas as a member of the Institution and three
annual donations of twenty guineas for the promotion
of research, at his death in 1870 bequeathed £2,000
for the same purpose. His deafness prevented him
deriving any benefit from the lectures.
PROFESSOR WHEATSTONE.
CHAPTER I.
“Talent may follow and improve; emulation and industry
may polish and refine; but genius alone can break those
barriers that restrain the throng of mankind in the
common track of life.”--ROSCOE.
The saying is as old as Lucretius that time by degrees suggests
every discovery, and skill evolves it into the regions of light and
celebrity; thus in the various arts we see different inventions
proceed from different minds, until they reach the highest point of
excellence. The electric telegraph is sometimes mentioned as one of
the latest illustrations of this theory of evolution. One of its first
inventors, Steinheil, defined telegraphic communication, in its most
general sense, as the method employed by one individual to render
himself intelligible to others; and regarding it in that light as
synonymous with intercourse, declared that it was no human discovery,
but one of the most wonderful gifts of nature. In man, he said, this
gift of nature has attained an astonishing development in the form of
speech and writing; and as writing redeems the passing sounds from
fleeting time, so in like manner are the remotest distances to be
annihilated and thoughts to be interchanged with those far away; “the
means of accomplishing this do not lie directly within our reach, but
by patient observance of the powers and the phenomena of nature,
we render these subservient to us and make them the bearers of our
thoughts; and it is this task which in the ordinary acceptation of the
word is termed telegraphic communication.” Such was the philosophic
view of the nature of the electric telegraph propounded by Steinheil in
1838 when it was in nonage, and later writers have not hesitated to say
that the idea of using the transmission of electricity to communicate
signals is so obvious as hardly to deserve the name of an invention.
But the fact is that this “idea” was in existence for two centuries
before it could be turned to good account, because the one thing
wanting in order to utilise it was an invention.
In 1617, Strada, in one of his prolusions published at Rome, mentioned
the possibility of one friend communicating with another at a great
distance by means of a loadstone so influencing a needle on a dial
containing the letters of the alphabet as to make it point to the
letters intended to form the communication. The same idea was recorded
in 1669 by Sir Thomas Browne, who stated that this conceit was
widespread throughout the world, and that credulous and vulgar auditors
readily believed it, while the more judicious and distinctive heads
did not altogether reject it. “The conceit,” he said, “is excellent,
and if the effect would follow, somewhat divine: it is pretended that
from the sympathy of two needles touched with the same loadstone and
placed in the centre of two rings with letters described round about
them, one friend keeping one and another the other, and agreeing upon
the hour wherein they will communicate, at what distance of place
soever, when one needle shall be removed unto another letter, the
other, by wonderful sympathy, will move unto the same.” Dr. Johnson,
in his _Life of Sir Thomas Browne_, says that “he appears indeed to
have been willing to pay labour for truth. Having heard a flying
rumour of sympathetic needles, by which, suspended over a circular
alphabet, distant friends or lovers might correspond, he procured two
such alphabets to be made, touched his needles with the same magnet,
and placed them upon proper spindles; the result was that when he moved
one of his needles, the other, instead of taking by sympathy the same
direction, ‘stood like the pillars of Hercules.’ That it continued
motionless will be easily believed; and most men would have been
content to believe it without the labour of so hopeless an experiment.”
The prevalence of this “idea” on the Continent is shown by the
following passage which appeared in a book of _Mathematical
Recreations_ by Schwenter, published in 1660:
“If Claudius were at Paris and Johannes at Rome, and one wished to
convey some information to the other, each must be provided with a
magnetic needle so strongly touched with the magnet that it may be
able to move the other from Rome to Paris. Now suppose that Johannes
and Claudius had each a compass divided into an alphabet according to
the number of letters, and always communicating with each other at six
o’clock in the evening; then (after the needle had turned round three
and a half times from the sign which Claudius had given to Johannes),
if Claudius wished to say to Johannes--‘Come to me,’ he might make his
needle stand still, or move it till it came to _c_, then to _o_, then
to _m_, and so forth. If now the needle of Johannes’ compass moved at
the same time to the same letters, he could easily write down the words
of Claudius and understand his meaning. This is a pretty invention; but
I do not believe a magnet of such power could be found in the world.”
Addison, in the _Spectator_ of 1711, called attention to the “idea”
of Strada, and like Dr. Johnson spoke of it as a chimera. It thus
appears that the two greatest intellects in England in the eighteenth
century, the former adorning its opening and the latter its closing
years, treated with supreme contempt the “idea” that intelligence could
be communicated to a distance by magnetised needles pointing to the
letters of the alphabet on a dial. Yet in the next century this “idea”
became an accomplished fact, and Charles Wheatstone did more than any
other man to make it an every day occurrence. Hence his name in England
has been most prominently associated with the invention of the electric
telegraph. Many able men had tried to solve the problem before him, but
had not succeeded. Yet that which our wisest forefathers regarded as
chimerical, and scientists of different nations laboured for in vain,
we are now told was so obvious and simple as scarcely to deserve the
name of an invention.
The electric telegraph claims a long pedigree. One of the first
attempts to transmit signals through a wire by means of electricity
was made in 1727 by Stephen Gray, a pensioner of the Charterhouse. He
connected a glass tube with the end of a wire 700 feet long, and by
rubbing the tube the wire became so electrified as to attract light
bodies at the other end. He also discovered that a wire loop should
not be used to fasten up his conductor, because such a loop not being
an insulator the electricity escapes through it. His observations were
written down by the Secretary to the Royal Society the day before his
death. He stated that “there may be found a way to collect a greater
quantity of electrical fire, and consequently to increase the force of
that power, which by several of these experiments seems to be of the
same nature with that of thunder and lightning.” Similar experiments
were made a few years afterwards by Winkler of Leipsig, Lemonnier of
Paris, and Watson in London, Franklin at Philadelphia, and De Luc at
the Lake of Geneva.
In 1753 a definite scheme of telegraphic communication was published.
In the _Scots Magazine_ for February appeared a letter from a Renfrew
correspondent, who signed himself C. M., on “An Expeditious Method of
Conveying Intelligence.” This writer said: “Let a set of wires equal in
number to the letters of the alphabet be extended horizontally between
two given places; at the end of these wires let balls be suspended
against a glass sheet, and the wires striking the glass, these balls
would drop upon an alphabet arranged upon the table, and thus by a
spelling method, communication could be made of words.”
In a book published in 1792, Mr. Arthur Young, who travelled in France
in 1787, stated that “a very ingenious and inventive mechanic,” M.
Lomond, had made a remarkable discovery in electricity: “You write two
or three words on a paper; he takes it with him into a room and turns
a machine inclosed in a cylindrical case, at the top of which is an
electrometer, a small fine pith ball; a wire connects with a similar
cylinder and electrometer in a distant apartment; and his wife by
remarking the corresponding motions of the ball, writes down the words
they indicate; from which it appears that he has formed an alphabet of
motions. As the length of the wire makes no difference in the effect,
a correspondence might be carried on at any distance. Whatever the use
may be, the invention is beautiful.”
Twenty years after the publication of the letter of C.M. in the _Scots
Magazine_, Le Sage of Geneva endeavoured to work a telegraph by means
of twenty-four wires with a pair of pith balls attached to each, thus
representing the letters of the alphabet. By the use of frictional
electricity any of the balls at one end of the wire could be moved by
the operator at the other end, but it was found difficult to get the
balls after being electrified to resume their respective places. To
overcome this difficulty, and also to produce the requisite number
of signals with fewer wires, experiments were afterwards made by
different men on the Continent, and notably by Ronalds in England.
This experimenter erected a wire eight miles long in his garden at
Hammersmith, and laboured for seven years to solve the problem of
telegraphy with frictional electricity. He used a dial containing
letters and figures, and the collapsing or diverging of a pith ball
was to correspond with the desired letter. He offered this telegraph
to the Government, who informed him in reply, that “telegraphs of
any kind are now wholly useless, and no other than the one now in
use will be adopted.” In a book which he wrote in 1823 he described
a complete system of telegraph, and expressed the hope that he would
see the day when the King at Brighton would be able to communicate by
telegraph with his ministers in London. Both his plan and his book
were neglected, but his wishes for the success of the telegraph were
abundantly fulfilled. In 1874 Mr. Gladstone conferred on him the honour
of knighthood in recognition of his early efforts in connection with
the telegraph. He died shortly afterwards at the patriarchal age of
ninety-one.
The discovery of the Voltaic pile, described in a previous chapter,
gave a fresh impulse to electricians, and eventually supplied the
requisite kind of electricity for working a practical telegraph. So
great was the sensation excited among the learned by the discovery
of the Voltaic pile, that in 1801 Napoleon called Volta from Pavia
to Paris, and attended a meeting of the Institute to hear the theory
of the pile explained by its discoverer. There and then Napoleon
caused a gold medal to be voted to Volta, and afterwards gave him a
valuable present of money. Indeed it is said that the pile excited the
enthusiasm of Napoleon more than any other scientific discovery. Volta
was made a member of the French Institute in 1802, and in the same year
was born the man whose name was destined to be for ever associated
with one of the most useful applications of Voltaic electricity--the
electric telegraph.
Charles Wheatstone was born at Gloucester in February 1802. His
father was a music-seller in that town; and on removing afterwards to
London he became a teacher of the flute, and was accustomed to boast
that he had been engaged in connection with the musical education of
the Princess Charlotte. His son, Charles, was educated at a private
school in his native city. It is said that he early showed an aptitude
for mathematics and physics; but not much is known of his youthful
career. On his removal to London he became a manufacturer of musical
instruments, the scientific principles of which formed with him the
subject of profound studies. His practical ingenuity was displayed
in the application of the scientific principles he discovered to new
purposes, to the construction of philosophical toys and the improvement
of musical instruments. “In 1823,” says a friend of his who wrote a
notice of him in the _Proceedings of the Royal Society_, “at the age
of twenty-one, we find him in conjunction with his brother, long since
deceased, engaged in the manufacture and sale of musical instruments in
London.” But there is unquestionable evidence of his having obtained
distinction in London by his ingenuity at the age of nineteen.
Of his first notable achievement in London the following curious
account was given in September, 1821, in the leading literary journal
of that time: “We have been much gratified,” said the writer, “with
an exhibition in Pall Mall of an instrument under the denomination of
the enchanted lyre, the invention of a Mr. Wheatstone. The exhibition
room presents a work of handsome construction in the form of an
ancient lyre suspended from the ceiling. Its horns terminate in mouths
resembling bugles. Its centre is covered on both sides with plates of
a bright metallic lustre, and there is an ornamented keyhole, like
that of a timepiece, which admits of its being wound up, but which is
evidently a mere _ruse_, as the instrument certainly does not utter
melodious sounds in consequence of that operation. Round it there is
a slight hoop-rail, perhaps five feet in diameter, which is supported
by equally slight fixtures in the floor. The inventor disclaims
mechanism altogether (though he winds up the machine) and asserts
that the performance of the enchanted lyre is entirely the result of
a new combination of powers. Be that as it may, its execution is both
brilliant and beautiful. The music _seems to proceed from it_; the
tones are very sweet; the expression soft or powerful, and the whole
really charming. We listened to Steibelt’s battle-piece with unfeigned
pleasure, and were equally delighted with several other compositions of
simple melody and of more difficult harmony. Mr. Wheatstone professes
to be able to give a concert, producing by the same means an imitation
of various wind and stringed instruments; the lovers of music will
have a treat in hearing the enchanted lyre go through a half hour’s
entertainment.”
Another contemporary account is more prescient, if not amusing. On the
1st of September, 1821, it was reported in the _Repository of Arts_
that “Under the appellation of the enchanted lyre Mr. Wheatstone has
opened an exhibition at his music shop in Pall Mall, which has excited
considerable sensation among the votaries of the art. The form of a
lyre of large dimensions is suspended from the ceiling apparently by
a cord of the thickness of a goose-quill. The lyre has no strings or
wires, but these are represented by a set of metal or steel rods,
and it is surrounded by a small fence. The company being assembled,
Mr. Wheatstone applies a key to a small aperture, and gives a few
turns representative of the act of winding up, and music is instantly
heard, and apparently from the belly of the lyre. The sceptical he
invites to stoop under the fence, and hold their ears close to the
belly of the lyre; and they, including ourselves, are compelled to
admit that the sound appears to be within the instrument; but while
making this admission, the attentive auditor is instantly convinced
that the music is not the effect of mechanism (a fact indeed which Mr.
Wheatstone not only concedes, but openly avows, even in his notice).
It is quite obvious that the music is produced by a skilful player, or
perhaps two, upon one or more instruments. The music seems to proceed
from a combination of harp, pianoforte, and dulcimer; it certainly at
times partakes of the character of these three instruments; and in
point of tone, the difference sometimes is considerably in favour of
the lyre; the piano and forte appear more marked, the crescendo is
extremely effective, and the forte in the lower notes is inconceivably
powerful in vibration. The performance lasts an hour: various pieces
of difficult execution are played with precision, rapidity, and proper
expression.”
“It is evident that some acoustical illusion, effected through a
secret channel of some sort or other, is the cause of our hearing the
sound in the belly of the lyre.... How then is sound thus conducted
so as to deceive completely our sense of hearing? This seems to
be the only question that can suggest itself on witnessing this
singular experiment; it is a secret upon which Mr. Wheatstone rests
the interest and merit of this invention; and to this question, no
one, as far as we can learn, has yet been able to return an answer
that could solve every difficulty. It is really a very ingenious
invention, which the proprietor as yet wishes to keep a secret. It
may be proper to add that Mr. Wheatstone represents the present
exhibition to be an application of a general principle for conducting
sound, which principle he professes himself to be capable of carrying
to a much greater extent. According to his statement, it is equally
applicable to wind instruments; and the same means by which the sound
is conducted into the lyre will, when employed on a larger scale,
enable him to convey in a similar manner the combined strains of a
whole orchestra. This promised extension of the principle of conducting
musical sounds from one place to another gives rise to some curious
reflections on the progress which our age is constantly making in
discoveries and contrivances of every description. Who knows but by
this means the music of an opera performed at the King’s Theatre may
ere long be simultaneously enjoyed at Hanover Square Rooms, the City of
London Tavern, and even at the Horns Tavern at Kennington, the sound
travelling, like gas, through snug conductors, from the main laboratory
of harmony in the Haymarket to distant parts of the metropolis;
with this advantage, that in its progress it is not subject to any
diminution? What a prospect for the art, to have music ‘laid on’ at
probably one-tenth the expense of what we can get it ourselves! And
if music be capable of being thus conducted, perhaps words of speech
may be susceptible of the same means of propagation. The eloquence of
counsel, the debates in Parliament, instead of being read the next day
only--But we really shall lose ourselves in the pursuit of this curious
subject.”
It has been said that the death of mystery is the grave of interest.
Nevertheless, Charles Wheatstone did not keep secret the means by which
this mysterious music was produced. In 1823 he contributed a paper to
_Thomson’s Annals of Philosophy_ in which he described the remarkably
simple and original experiments that led him to the invention of this
apparatus, and explained how molecular vibrations produced sound.
With reference to phonic vibrations in linear conductors he said: “In
my first experiments on this subject I placed a tuning-fork at the
extremity of a glass or metallic rod five feet in length communicating
with a sounding-board. The sound was heard as instantly as when the
fork was in immediate contact, and it immediately ceased when the rod
was removed from the sounding-board or the fork from the rod. From
this it is evident that vibrations inaudible in their transmission,
being multiplied by meeting with a sonorous body, become very sensibly
heard. Pursuing my investigations on this subject, I discovered
means of transmitting, through rods of much greater length, and of
very inconsiderable thickness, the sounds of all musical instruments
dependent on the vibrations of solid bodies and of many descriptions of
wind instruments. One of the practical applications of this discovery
has been exhibited in London for about two years under the appellation
of the ‘Enchanted Lyre.’ So perfect was the illusion in this instance
from the intense vibratory state of the reciprocating instrument and
from the interception of the sounds of the distant exciting one,
that it was universally imagined to be one of the highest efforts of
ingenuity in musical mechanism.” It is a noteworthy evidence of the
interest evoked by this article that it was reproduced in the leading
French and German publications of that year.
This “Enchanted Lyre” has since been described by Mr. W. H. Preece
as the first telephone. It was exhibited, he says, “to delighted
crowds at the Adelaide Gallery; it was often used by Prof. Faraday,
and has frequently since been produced by Prof. Tyndall at the Royal
Institution. A large special box was placed in one of the cellars of
the Institution, and a light rod of deal rested upon it. No sound was
heard in the theatre until a light tray or other sounding-box was
placed on the rod, whereupon its music pealed forth over the whole
place. The vibrations of the musical box, with all their complexity and
beauty, are imparted to the rod of wood and are thence given up to the
sounding-box. The sounding-box impresses them upon the air, and the air
conveys them to the ear, whence they are transmitted to the brain,
imparting those agreeable sensations called music.”
Wheatstone’s invention of the Enchanted Lyre or the “first telephone”
was no accidental discovery or lucky idea: it was the result of a
profound and original investigation of the scientific principles of
sound. He discovered and demonstrated by numerous experiments that
sound was produced by the vibrations of the atmosphere; and in 1823
when he announced for the first time that “the loudness of sound is
dependent on the excursions of the vibrations, volume or fulness
of sound on the number of the coexciting particles put in motion,”
he stated that he had just seen Fresnel’s paper, in which the same
conclusions were arrived at with respect to light as he (Wheatstone)
had proved with respect to sound. He added that “the important
discoveries of Dr. Thos. Young have recently re-established the
vibratory theory of light, and new facts are every day augmenting its
probability. The new views in acoustical science which I have opened
will, I presume, give additional confirmation to the opinions of these
eminent philosophers.” Prophetic words!
The analogy between sound and light as results of wave-motions in air
or ether is now part of the alphabet of science. Charles Wheatstone
made an independent discovery of the principles of sound; but in this
he was partly anticipated by Young. Nor was he alone in the original
and practical experiments by which he demonstrated their accuracy. At
the time he made these experiments (he was then only twenty years old),
he thought he was the first who had indicated the phenomena of sound in
that way; but Professor Oerstead, of Copenhagen, on seeing him perform
these experiments, informed him of some similar ones he had previously
made.
In the middle of the year 1827 he invented a small instrument
consisting of a steel rod on the top of which a glass silvered bead
was placed. By concentrating on it an intense light and making the
rod to vibrate, beautiful forms were created. In this respect this
philosophical toy resembled the Kaleidoscope which Brewster invented;
and it was therefore called the kaleidophone. There is, however, no
similarity between the construction or mode of action of the two
instruments. In 1828 he devised the terpsiphone which made music by the
reciprocal vibrations of columns of air. In 1833 he contributed to the
Royal Society a paper on acoustic or Chladni figures, so called because
Chladni in 1787 showed that by strewing sand on vibrating surfaces, and
then throwing the particles into vibration by means of a violin bow,
beautiful and varied symmetrical figures could be produced. Wheatstone
showed that all the figures of vibrating surfaces result from very
simple modes of vibration, oscillating isochronously, and superposed
upon each other, the figures varying with the component modes of
vibration, the number of the superpositions, and the angles at which
they are superposed.
As indicating the variety of subjects that engaged his attention about
the same time, a fact recorded by a friend may be quoted here. At one
period Wheatstone’s attention was for a time directed to problems of
mental philosophy, and especially to the quasi-mechanical solution of
them which was hoped for by the followers of Gall and Spurzheim; he was
an active member of the London Phrenological Society, then presided
over by Dr. Elliotson, and in January 1832 he read a paper at one of
the meetings on dreaming and somnambulism, which was published _in
extenso_ in the _Lancet_ of that date. This paper is remarkable like
all his writings for the extreme clearness with which known facts are
stated and the deductions based upon them.
Another subject which occupied his attention for some years was
the construction of speaking-machines, upon which he made certain
improvements, and of which he wrote a short and interesting history.
He declared in 1837 that the advantages which would result from the
completion of a speaking-machine rendered the subject worthy of the
attention of philosophers and mechanicians; and he endorsed a remark
of Sir D. Brewster that before another century was complete a talking
and singing machine would doubtless be numbered among the conquests of
science.
In a paper which he communicated to the Journal of the Royal
Institution in 1831 “On the Transmission of Musical Sounds through
solid Linear conductors and on their subsequent Reciprocation,” he
gave an account of some experiments that evolved a principle now
found to be next in importance to that of the telegraph. He said: “I
believe that previous to the experiments which I commenced in 1820,
none had been made on the transmission of the modulated sounds of
musical instruments, nor had it been shown that sonorous undulations,
propagated through solid linear conductors of considerable length, were
capable of exciting in surfaces with which they were in connection
a quantity of vibratory motion sufficient to be powerfully audible
when communicated through the air. The first experiments of this kind
which I made were publicly exhibited in 1821; and on June 30th, 1823,
a paper of mine was read by M. Arago at the Academy of Sciences, in
which I mentioned these experiments, and a variety of others relating
to the passage of sound through rectilinear and bent conductors. I
propose in the present instance to give a more complete detail of these
experiments.” He then proceeds to give an account of the experiments
he had made during the intervening ten years, and concludes by saying:
“As the velocity of sound is much greater in solid substances than
in air, it is not improbable that the transmission of sound through
solid conductors, and its subsequent reciprocation, may hereafter be
applied to many useful purposes. Sound travels through the air at
the rate of 1,142 feet in a second of time, but it is communicated
through iron, wire, glass, or wood with a velocity of about 18,000
feet per second, so that it would travel a distance of 200 miles in
less than a minute.... Should any conducting substance be rendered
perfectly equal in density so as to allow the undulations to proceed
with uniform velocity without any interference, it would be easy to
transmit sounds through such conductors from Aberdeen to London, as it
is now to communicate from one chamber to another. The transmission to
distant places of a multiplication of musical performances are objects
of far less importance than the conveyance of the articulations of
speech. I have found by experiment that all these articulations, as
well as the musical inflections of the voice, may be perfectly, though
feebly, transmitted to any of the previously described reciprocating
instruments, by connecting the conductor either immediately with
some part of the neck or head contiguous to the larynx, or with a
sounding-board, to which the mouth of the singer or speaker is closely
applied.” Nearly half a century elapsed before these observations found
their full application in the telephone and microphone.
It may be here noted that in a paper on experiments in audition
published in 1827 Wheatstone said: “The great intensity with which
sound is transmitted by solid rods at the same time that its diffusion
is prevented, affords a ready means of augmenting the loudness of
external sounds and of constructing an instrument which, from its
rendering audible the weakest sounds, may with propriety be named
the microphone.” It is said that that was the first time the word
microphone was ever used; and it was the name given in 1878 to an
instrument which has since come into general use as the complement
of the telephone, the microphone being the best adapted for sending
spoken messages by electric wire, and the telephone the best for
receiving them.
Concurrently with these scientific studies, his practical powers as
an inventor were being advantageously exercised in the improvement
of musical instruments, old and new. In a communication to the Royal
Institution in February, 1828, he gave an account of a Javanese musical
instrument called the Génder, which was brought to England by the late
Sir S. Raffles, and in which “the resonances of unisonant columns of
air” were used to augment the sounds of the vibrations of metallic
plates. A hollow bamboo of a certain length was placed perpendicularly
under each metallic plate which, being struck and made to vibrate,
produced a deep, rich tone by the resonance of the column of air within
the bamboo. He then stated that, though other rude Asiatic and African
instruments made use of the same principle, he did not know of its
being used in any European instrument; and he therefore promised to
publish soon an account of several methods which he had devised for
utilising the resonance of columns of air. About two months afterwards
his attention was called to a newly-invented German instrument which
made use of that principle. It was called the Mund Harmonica; and, as
the name implies, music was produced in it by placing the mouth over
some small metallic tongues or springs and blowing upon them so as to
cause them to vibrate; “these vibrations produced so many impulses
upon the current of air and thus caused sound.” This instrument is
now best known as a child’s toy. It was soon improved in Germany into
a primitive kind of accordion, in which keys were placed over the
metallic tongues, and the requisite current of air to vibrate them when
the keys were opened was produced by compressing a kind of bellows,
which formed the body of the instrument. This was the most simple form
of wind instrument; and Charles Wheatstone soon increased its range
and facilitated its manipulation. His improvements consisted in the
employment of two parallel rows of finger studs or keys on each end,
and in so placing them with respect to their distances and positions as
that they might, singly, be progressively and alternately touched or
pressed down by the first or second fingers of each hand without the
fingers interfering with the adjacent studs, and yet be placed so near
together as that any two adjacent studs might be simultaneously pressed
down when required by the same finger; the peculiarity and novelty
of this arrangement consisted in this, that whereas in the ordinary
keyed wind musical instrument then in use the fingering was effected
by a motion sideways of the hands and fingers, in the new arrangement
that mode of fingering was rendered entirely inapplicable: and he made
available a motion not previously employed, namely, the ascending and
descending motions of the fingers. By this method of arranging the
studs he was able to bring the keys much nearer together than had been
done previously, and the instrument was made more portable. He also
introduced two additional rows of finger studs on each end of the
instrument for the purpose of introducing semitones when required. In
other words, he invented the concertina, the first patent for which
was dated June 19th, 1829, under the title of improvements in the
construction of wind-musical instruments.
The accordion, (said to have been invented at Vienna by Damian in
1829,) is described by the best musical authorities as little more than
a toy in comparison with the concertina. Indeed, the concertina is one
of the few musical instruments distinguished for sweetness and compass,
that is known to be the exclusive invention of one man. Music intended
for the oboe, flute, and violin, can be played on it; while the only
other instruments upon which music written for the concertina can be
played, are the organ and harmonium. Nothing, says Dr. Grove, but the
last-named instruments can produce at once the extended harmonies,
the sostenuto and the staccato combined, of which the concertina is
capable. The origin of the organ is lost in the myths of antiquity,
and it has been the subject of improvements during the last 500 years.
The harmonium is an evolution of the present century, and has been
brought to its present state by the combined improvements of several
musical men, including Charles Wheatstone. But of the concertina he
was the sole inventor; and if it be true that the unknown man (or
rather men) who invented the fiddle was a greater genius than the
inventor of the steam-engine, surely the invention of the concertina
was no mean achievement. Certainly it was not an instant achievement.
Its perfection appeared to be a work of time; for in 1844 he took out
another patent for improvements, consisting of (1) the arrangement of
the touches or finger-stops which regulate the opening of the various
valves covering the apertures in which the springs or tongues vibrate;
(2) a mode of obtaining a different degree of loudness for each side
of the concertina independently by applying a partition to divide the
bellows into two parts; (3) a mode of arranging and constructing the
cavities in which the tongues or spirals are placed, by which a bass
concertina may be made of more portable dimensions than by the mode of
arrangement usually adopted in the treble concertina; (4) a mode of
constructing concertinas whereby the same tone or spring is made to
sound whether the wind be driven into or out of the bellows, namely, by
means of a double passage valve applied to each tongue separately; (5)
a mode of varying at pleasure the pitch of the concertina by apparatus
capable of altering the effective length of its tongues or springs;
(6) an arrangement of the lever or support of the key or apparatus for
admitting the wind to act upon the tongue of the concertina; (7) a
mode of applying apparatus to sting a tongue or spring into vibration
in addition to the wind on that tongue; and (8) of modifying or
ameliorating the tone of a freely vibrating tongue or spring by means
of the resonance of a column of air in a tube tuned in unison with it,
the tube being so placed that the free air shall intervene between its
open end and the tongue or spring.
In connection with this subject, it should be added that he made
important improvements in the harmonium when it might be said to be in
its infancy. Without going into details, suffice it to say that at the
Great Exhibition of 1851 he exhibited the portable harmonium, which
the jury on musical instruments described as quite original in all
its mechanical parts. It had a compass of five octaves, and although
the keyboard was of the same extent as in the larger harmoniums, the
instrument could be instantly folded up so as to occupy less than
half its height and length. The jury, in awarding the inventor a
prize medal, said the portable harmonium was peculiarly constructed
for producing expression, and might either be used by itself for the
performance of music written for the organ or harmonium, or for taking
violin, flute, or violoncello solos or parts--its capabilities of
expression giving it great advantages in imitating these instruments.
In 1834 he was appointed Professor of Experimental Physics in
King’s College, London; and as such he delivered in the following
year a course of eight lectures on Sound; but while retaining the
professorship, he soon discontinued lecturing because of his invincible
distrust of his own powers as a speaker.
About the same time he gave to the world what, in order of time, might
be described as the first fruits of his studies in electricity, and
what, in point of originality, many electricians have described as his
most brilliant discovery. In 1831 Professor Faraday told the Royal
Institution of the method by which the silent philosopher proposed to
ascertain the velocity of the electric spark; and in 1834 he himself
contributed to the Philosophical Transactions “An account of some
experiments to measure the velocity of electricity and the duration
of the electric light.” It has been repeatedly said that this one
experiment was enough to render his name immortal in the annals of
science. The velocity of electricity is so great that it was believed
there was no means on earth capable of measuring it. This desideratum
Professor Wheatstone supplied. He devised means by which a small
mirror was made to revolve at the immensely rapid rate of 800 times in
a second, and in front of it placed half a mile of insulated copper
wire, on the ends and in the middle of which were fixed brass balls
intended to interrupt a current of electricity sent through the wire.
On connecting the ends of the wire with a Leyden jar, he saw three
sparks--one was at each end as the electricity left the jar, the other
was at the brass balls in the middle of the wire. The one end of the
wire was connected with the inner coating of the jar charged with
positive electricity, while the other end of the wire was attached
to the outer coating, which had negative electricity, so that at the
moment of contact the electricity passed from each end of the wire
in order to find an equilibrium. The middle of the wire, however,
was cut, and had a small brass ball at each end, distant one-tenth
of an inch; and when the two currents of electricity reached that
interruption the middle spark was produced. These sparks were reflected
by the rapidly revolving mirror; and he had the wire so arranged that
if the three sparks were simultaneous, the mirror would show them in
parallel straight lines. But they evidently were not simultaneous,
for the middle one appeared a little later than the other two; the
revolving mirror had in the interval moved round a minute distance,
thus showing the reflection of the middle spark behind the others.
The interval between the sparks was found to be the one millionth
part of a second, and their appearance on the mirror, as it revolved,
supplied data as to the rate at which the current moved, from which
it was easily calculated that the velocity of electricity is 288,000
miles a second. Thus, it was said, he forced the lightning to tell how
fast it was going. This experiment, which was originally made in his
lecture-room at King’s College, and with the result of which he was
much delighted, instantly spread his name throughout the civilised
world as the discoverer of one of Nature’s greatest secrets.[6] The
original apparatus used for that purpose was also used at the Royal
Institution in 1856, to illustrate the instantaneous duration of a
spark. It was ascertained that the duration of a spark does not exceed
the twenty-fifth thousandth part of a second; it was explained that
a cannon ball, if illuminated in its flight by a flash of lightning,
would, in consequence of the momentary duration of the light, appear to
be stationary; and that even the wings of an insect moving 10,000 times
in a second would seem at rest.
With regard to the scientific value of the revolving mirror, M. Dumas
said in 1875: “This admirable method enabled Arago to trace with a
certain hand the plan of a fundamental experiment which should decide
whether light is a body emanating from the sun and stars, or the
undulating movement excited by them. Executed by the accomplished
experimentalist, it proved that the theory of emission was wrong.
This method has then furnished to the philosophy of the sciences the
certain basis on which rest our ideas of the nature of force, and
especially that of light. By means of this or some other analogous
artifice, we can even measure the speed of light by experiments purely
terrestrial, which, pursued by an able physicist, have guided the
measure of distance between the earth and the sun.”
Professor Wheatstone himself suggested that the velocity of light
might be measured in the same way as electricity. In July, 1835, he
told the Royal Society that he proposed to extend his experiments on
the velocity of electricity to measure the velocity of light in its
passage through a limited portion of the terrestrial atmosphere. It
may be added that the complete solution of the velocity of light by
the revolving mirror, although the subject of elaborate experiments by
Arago, was facilitated by some improvements made in the apparatus by
later experimenters.
The mirror has been used in different ways for the measurement of
light. In 1850, Arago gave a description of his attempts to determine
its velocity, but failing eyesight prevented him carrying out his
full design. The subject was, however, taken up by M. Fizeau and M.
Foucault, who employed steam power instead of clockwork to give motion
to the mirror. By Foucault’s method a beam of light was reflected
from a revolving mirror to a fixed concave mirror, and before it was
reflected back again the revolving mirror had moved a sufficient space
to enable him to compute therefrom the velocity of light. Fizeau’s
method was simpler. He made a toothed wheel revolve with great
rapidity, while a beam of light passed through one of the open spaces
between the teeth, and fell upon a reflecting mirror at a considerable
distance away. If the wheel were at rest, the beam would be reflected
back through the same space by which it had entered; but the wheel
being in rapid motion, the reflected beam would either fall on the next
tooth which would prevent it passing through, or if the motion were
increased, it would get through the next opening. A variety of tests
like these has given the velocity of light as about 187,000 miles per
second.
Professor Wheatstone also rendered memorable service in connection with
the development of spectrum analysis. In a paper which he communicated
to the Dublin meeting of the British Association in 1835, on “The
Prismatic Analysis of Electric Light,” he expounded a discovery which
has since led to useful results. Most metals, such as iron, copper,
and platinum, when exposed to the gas flame, impart no colour;
for that purpose they must be subjected to a higher temperature;
and Professor Wheatstone found that the best way of attaining the
requisite temperature was by the use of the electric spark. He found
that a single electric discharge passed through a gold wire at once
dissipated the metal into vapour. He also showed that by looking
through a prism at the spark proceeding from two metallic poles, the
spectra seen contained bright lines which differed according to the
kind of metal employed. “These differences,” he said, “are so obvious
that any one metal may instantly be distinguished from others by the
appearance of its spark, and we have here a mode of discriminating
metallic bodies more ready than chemical examination, and which may
hereafter be employed for useful purposes.” Hofmann has well said
that “within this fact a new mode of distinguishing bodies from each
other lay folded, like the tree within the seed, awaiting evolution.
The new line of research thus opened by Wheatstone with reference
to bright lines produced by electric discharges, was pursued in a
variety of directions by several observers. Foucault (1849), Masson
(1851-55), Angström (1853), Alter (1854-55), Secchi (1855), Plückar
(1858-59), Bunsen and Kirchhoff (1860), were successively engaged in
this inquiry. It would exceed the limits of this sketch to minutely
describe the phenomena presented by the spectra of the known metals,
or to dwell on the infinitely minute quantities of substances found to
be capable of producing the effect. The extreme delicacy of the new
process is now a familiar fact; and it is equally well known that in
using this method, the presence of one metal scarcely interferes with
that of another. It would be out of place here to do more than simply
mention the astronomical applications of spectrum analysis; such as,
for example, the determination by its means of the composition of the
solar atmosphere, in which M. Kirchhoff has proved, with a degree of
probability approaching to certainty, the presence of several metals
well known on this earth; amongst others potassium, sodium, calcium,
iron, nickel, chromium, &c.” This delicate test has made it possible to
detect the presence of the two hundred millionth part of a grain (in
weight) of sodium, while by revealing bright lines not referable to any
known body it has been the means of discovering five new metals--cæsium
and rubidium by Professor Bunsen in 1860, thallium by Mr. Crookes in
1861, indium by Professors Richter and Reich in 1864, and gallium by M.
Lecoq in 1875.
The year 1836 was distinguished in the history of electricity by the
discovery of the constant battery of Professor Daniell. Early in that
year Professor Daniell, of King’s College, announced in a letter
to Faraday, that he had been led to the construction of a voltaic
arrangement which furnished a constant current of electricity for any
length of time, and had thus been able to remove one of the greatest
difficulties which had hitherto obstructed those who had endeavoured to
measure and compare different voltaic phenomena. This constant battery,
which he improved in the spring of the same year, is still in general
use. In it the zinc is placed in a semi-saturated solution of sulphate
of zinc, and the copper in a saturated solution of sulphate of copper,
the two solutions being separated by a porous earthenware partition.
This battery furnishes a constant supply of electricity for weeks
together.
Early in 1837 Professor Wheatstone publicly called attention to the
capability of the thermo-electric pile as a source of electricity.
Seebeck of Berlin discovered in 1822 that when different metals are
soldered together and their junction heated, a current of electricity
is generated; and Nobili and Melloni contrived on that principle the
thermo-multiplier, an apparatus which indicates the effects of heat by
the deflections of a needle on a scale, like a thermometer, the needle
being moved by the electricity produced by the heat. But this means
of producing electricity was better known for its delicacy than for
its strength till Professor Wheatstone made some experiments--probably
the first made in England--for the purpose of showing how the
thermo-electric pile could be utilised as a source of electricity. In
his account of these experiments he stated that “the Cav. Antinori,
director of the Museum at Florence, having heard that Professor Linari,
of the University of Siena, had succeeded in obtaining the electric
spark from the torpedo by means of an electro-dynamic helix and a
temporary magnet, conceived that a spark might be obtained by applying
the same means to a thermo-electric pile. Appealing to experiments,
his anticipations were fully realised. No account of the original
investigations of Antinori had reached England in April, 1837; but
Professor Linari, to whom he early communicated the results, published
certain experiments and observations of his own on the subject in
_L’Indicatore Sanese_ for December 13, 1836.” The interesting nature
of these experiments induced Professor Wheatstone to attempt to verify
the principal results. For that purpose he used a thermo-electric
pile consisting of 33 elements of bismuth and antimony formed into a
cylindrical bundle ¾ of an inch in diameter, and 1⅕ in length. The
poles of this pile were connected by means of two thick wires with a
spiral of copper ribbon 50 feet in length and 1½ inch broad, the coils
being well insulated by brown paper and silk. One face of the pile was
heated by means of a red-hot iron brought within a short distance of
it, and the other face was kept cool by contact with ice. Two short
wires formed the communication between the poles of the pile and the
spiral, and the contact was broken, when required, in a cup of mercury
(a non-conductor) between one extremity of the spiral and one of these
wires. Whenever contact was thus broken a small but distinct spark
was seen. He added that Professors Daniell, Henry, and Bache assisted
in the experiments, and were all equally satisfied of the reality
of the appearance. At another trial the spark was obtained from the
same spiral connected with a small pile of fifty elements, on which
occasion Dr. Faraday and Professor Johnson were present, and verified
the fact. By connecting two such piles together, so that similar poles
of each were connected with the same wire, the spark was seen still
brighter. He concluded by stating that such experiments supplied a
link that was wanting in the chain of experimental evidence tending to
prove that electricity, from sources however varied, is similar in its
nature and in its effects; and that the effect thus obtained from the
electric current originating in the thermo-electric pile might no doubt
be easily exalted by those who had the requisite apparatus at their
disposal, till it equalled the effect of an ordinary voltaic pile.
As Professor Wheatstone was not accustomed to write articles or to
deliver lectures, it is not an easy matter to measure the extent of
his knowledge at any particular time; but one more incident may be
mentioned as indicating the range of his studies on electricity about
this time. Between 1830 and 1835 William Snow Harris wrote several
articles in the _Nautical Magazine_ on the utility of fixing lightning
conductors in ships. It was a popular impression then that pointed
metal rods attracted lightning. Snow Harris contended, on the contrary,
that damage to ships occurred not where good conductors were, but where
they were not, and that such conductors could no more attract lightning
than a watercourse could be said to attract water, which necessarily
flowed through it at the time of heavy rains. He afterwards prepared
a list of 220 ships of the British Navy which were struck and damaged
by lightning between 1792 and 1846. In June, 1839, a committee of the
Admiralty consulted Professor Wheatstone and Professor Faraday as to
the safety of the continuous conductors advocated by Snow Harris. To
that committee Professor Wheatstone stated that “it has been proved
beyond all doubt that electricity follows the best conducting path
which is open to it; and that when it finds a metallic road sufficient
to conduct it completely, it never flies to surrounding bodies greatly
inferior in conducting power. The experiments of M. de Romas, made
in France, with the electrical kite, immediately after Franklin’s
first attempt, might satisfy the most timid in this respect. Imagine,
writes he to the Abbé Nollet, ‘that you see sheets of fire nine or
ten feet long and an inch broad, which made as much or more noise
than reports of a pistol. In less than an hour I had certainly thirty
sheets of these dimensions, without counting a thousand others of
seven feet and under. But what gives me the greatest satisfaction
in this new spectacle is that the largest sheets were spontaneous,
and notwithstanding the abundance of fire which formed them, they
constantly followed the nearest conducting body. This constancy gave
me so much security that I did not fear to excite this fire with
my discharger, even when the storm was violent; and when the glass
branches of the instrument were only two feet long I conducted wherever
I pleased, without feeling the smallest shock in my hand, sheets of
fire six or seven feet long, with the same facility as those of only
six or seven inches.’ The wire of the kite was insulated, and the
sparks were drawn by a metallic conductor held in the hand by means of
an insulating handle, and communicating with the ground by a chain. The
human body is known not to be one of the worst conductors; yet, because
it was two feet further than a far more perfect one, it received none
of the discharge, even though the conducting path were an interrupted
one. The phenomenon to which the name of lateral explosion has been
generally given was first observed by Henly, more than half a century
ago, and has been subsequently experimented upon by Priestly, Cavallo,
and more recently by Biot.” The committee attached the greatest weight
to the opinion of Professor Wheatstone, which Faraday supported, and
which was eventually adopted. Experiment and experience confirmed its
accuracy.
At the time when he had attained such a recognised position as an
electrician he was making progress in another field of electrical study
in which he was destined to gain still greater eminence and to obtain
more extensive and permanent results.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] The accuracy of Wheatstone’s experiment has been
generally accepted; but, as Faraday said in 1838,
“the velocity of discharge through the same wire may
be greatly varied by circumstances.... If the two
ends of the wire in Professor Wheatstone’s experiment
were immediately connected with two large insulated
metallic surfaces exposed to the air ... then the
middle spark would be more retarded; and if these two
plates were the inner and outer coating of a large
jar, or a Leyden battery, then the retardation of that
spark would be still greater.”
CHAPTER II.
“There is a certain meddlesome spirit which, in the garb
of learned research, goes prying about the traces of
history, casting down its monuments, and maiming and
mutilating its fairest trophies. Care should be taken to
vindicate great names from such pernicious erudition. It
defeats one of the most salutary purposes of history,
that of furnishing examples of what human genius and
laudable enterprise may accomplish. For this reason some
pains have been taken to trace the rise and progress of
this grand idea (in the mind of Columbus); to show that
it was the conception of his genius, quickened by the
impulse of his age, and aided by those scattered gleams
of knowledge, which fell ineffectually upon ordinary
minds.”--WASHINGTON IRVING.
In all the inventions and discoveries previously described as made
by Professor Wheatstone, his originality has never been seriously
challenged, but when we turn to his greatest work we enter upon
contested ground. The contests that ever arise as to the origin of
great inventions afford evidence of their greatness; for, as Aeschylus
says, he who is not envied is not worthy of admiration.
“In 1435,” says Sir James Mackintosh, “a law suit was carried on at
Strasburg between one John Guttenberg, a gentleman of Mentz, celebrated
for mechanical ingenuity, and Drizehn, a burgher of the city, who was
his partner in a copying press. No litigation could seem more base
and mechanical to the barbarous Barons of Suabia and Alsace; but the
copying machine was the printing press which has changed the condition
of mankind.” In like manner it fell to the lot of Professor Wheatstone
when he had completed his most useful invention to have his originality
disputed by his own partner in business, Mr. William Fothergill Cooke.
There are five mechanical inventions that have conferred incalculable
benefit on the industrial world in modern times--the printing press,
the steam engine, the electric telegraph, the dynamo, and the Bessemer
process of steel making. The originality of every one of these has been
either divided or disputed, with the single exception of the Bessemer
process, which is therefore the only one that is universally known
by the inventor’s name. In the case of the electric telegraph the
originality or priority of Professor Wheatstone was disputed not only
at home but abroad. Hence writers on the subject are accustomed to say
that the telegraph was invented independently and almost simultaneously
by Professor Wheatstone, of London, Professor Morse, of New York, and
Professor Steinheil, of Munich. This was in the year 1837.
After the discovery of the voltaic pile, Oersted discovered in 1819
that if a needle were placed parallel to a conducting wire, an electric
current from a voltaic battery applied to the wire would cause the
deflection of the needle to a position at right angles to the wire
or across the direction of the current. Ampère proposed to make an
electric telegraph by utilising this property of a compass needle, and
he designed an apparatus to which twenty-five wires were attached; and
by touching keys which corresponded to the letters of the alphabet,
needles attached to the other ends of the wires were set in motion
by the action of an electric current. It was this incipient and very
imperfect design that Professor Wheatstone brought to perfection by
a series of inventions and discoveries extending over a number of
years. His own account of the origin of his telegraph is candid and
interesting. “When, in 1823,” he says, “I made my important discovery
that sounds of all kinds might be transmitted perfectly and powerfully
through solid wires and reproduced in distant places, I thought I had
the most efficient and economical means of establishing telegraphic (or
rather telephonic) communication between two remote points that could
be thought of. My ideas respecting establishing a communication of this
kind between London and Edinburgh you will find in the _Journal_ of the
Royal Institution for 1828. Experiments on a larger scale, however,
showed me that the velocity of sound was not sufficient to overcome
the resistance and enable it to be transmitted efficiently through
long lengths of wire. I then turned my attention to the employment of
electricity as the communicating agent; the experiments of Ronalds
and others failed to produce any impression on the scientific world;
this want of confidence resulted from the imperfect knowledge then
possessed of the velocity and other properties of electricity; some
philosophers made out a few miles per second; others considered it to
be infinite; if the former were true, there would not be much room for
hope; but if the velocity could be proved to be very great there would
be encouragement to proceed. I undertook the inquiry, and with the
result the whole scientific world is acquainted. At the same time I
ascertained that magnetic needles might be deflected, water decomposed,
induction sparks produced, &c., through greater lengths of wire than
had yet been experimented upon. In the following year, at the request
of the Royal Society, I repeated these experiments with several miles
of insulated wire, and the results were witnessed by the most eminent
philosophers of Europe and America. I ascertained experimentally (which
had never been done before) many of the conditions necessary for the
production of the various magnetic, mechanical, and chemical effects
in very long circuits; and I devised a variety of instruments by which
telegraphic communication should be realised on these principles.
“Some time before Mr. Cooke introduced himself to me I considered
my experiments to be sufficiently matured to enable me to undertake
some important practical results. I informed Mr. Fox, the engineer
of the London and Birmingham Railway, of my expectations, and told
him of my willingness to superintend the establishment of an electric
telegraph on that railway. I had also made arrangements for trying an
experiment across the Thames. Mr. Enderby kindly undertook to prepare
the insulating rope containing the wires and to obtain permission from
Mr. Walker to carry the other termination to his shot tower. After many
experiments had been made with the rope, and the permission granted, I
relinquished the experiment, because after my connection with Mr. Cooke
it was necessary to divert the funds I had destined for this purpose
to other uses. What I have stated above is sufficient to show that I
had paid great attention to the subject of telegraphic communication by
means of electricity, and had made important practical advances long
before I had any acquaintance with or ever heard of Mr. Cooke.”
On reading this account two questions arise: first, whether the
Wheatstone telegraph was the first of its kind; and, secondly,
whether there is any corroborative evidence of the early labours of
its inventor. These two questions at the time became interlinked in
a singular way. In 1833 the celebrated scientists, Gauss and Weber,
placed a line of wire from the Observatory of Göttingen University to
a building a mile distant, and by sending magneto-electric currents
through that wire they communicated intelligible signals; but as the
needle they used weighed nearly a hundredweight they saw that their
apparatus needed much improvement before it would be of practical
utility. Being otherwise engaged themselves, they invited Professor
Steinheil, of Munich, to construct an improved electric telegraph;
and Steinheil, after much labour, succeeded in producing an apparatus
capable of transmitting signals, but it was too refined for practical
working with the means then available. His instrument for receiving and
recording the signals consisted of two needles, one of which was to be
moved by a positive and the other by a negative current, both currents
being sent through one wire. Connected with each needle was a small
reservoir of ink and a pen, which, on being depressed by the motion of
the needle, marked a line upon a strip of paper that was drawn along
by means of clockwork. At first he used a second wire for the return
circuit, but in the course of his experiments he discovered that the
earth was the best receiver of the return current, and accordingly
dispensed with the second wire. Now, strange to say, the experiments
connected with this telegraph of Steinheil’s became indirectly a
circumstantial witness of Professor Wheatstone’s labours before ever he
saw Mr. Cooke.
The number of the _Magazine of Popular Science_ published on
March 1st, 1837, contained “an account of some new experiments in
electro-magnetism.” It was a description of the experiments of Gauss
at Göttingen, communicated to the Munich Academy of Sciences by Prof.
Steinheil, who, in concluding, stated that he himself “had fitted up a
telegraph similar in principle to that which connected the Observatory
and the Cabinet of Natural Philosophy at Göttingen. Signals made in
the room appropriated to the magnetic observations were transmitted
to another department at a considerable distance, whence the answers
were returned to the first room. He had arranged this apparatus for the
purpose of demonstrating the peculiarities and the practicability of
Professor Gauss’s contrivance, hoping by these means to draw attention
to it, and to induce persons to employ it for connecting stations far
more distant than any to which it has yet been applied.” To that was
added the following: “NOTE BY EDITOR: During the month of June last
year (1836), in a course of lectures delivered at King’s College,
London, Professor Wheatstone repeated his experiments on the velocity
of electricity, which were published in the Philosophical Transactions
for 1834, but with an insulated circuit of copper wire, the length of
which was now increased to nearly four miles; the thickness of the
wire was 1/16th of an inch. When machine electricity was employed, an
electrometer placed on any point of the circuit diverged, and wherever
the continuity of the circuit was broken, very bright sparks were
visible. With a voltaic, or with a magneto-electric machine, water was
decomposed, the needle of a galvanometer deflected, &c., in the middle
of the circuit. But, which has a more direct reference to the subject
of our esteemed correspondent’s communication from Munich, Professor
Wheatstone gave a sketch of the means by which he proposes to convert
his apparatus into an electric telegraph, which, by the aid of a few
finger-stops, will instantaneously and distinctly convey communications
between the most distant points. These experiments are, we understand,
still in progress, and the apparatus, as it is at present constructed,
is capable of conveying thirty simple signals, which, combined
in various manners, will be fully sufficient for the purposes of
telegraphic communication.”
These words must have been in type, and most probably were printed
before the day on which Mr. Cooke said he first saw Professor
Wheatstone; and they were certainly printed before the date fixed by
Professor Wheatstone as the time of Mr. Cooke’s introduction to him.
Professor Wheatstone says:
“I believe it was on the first day of March, 1837, that Mr. Cooke
introduced himself to me. He told me that he had applied to Dr. Faraday
and Dr. Roget for some information relative to the subject on which
he was engaged, and that they had referred him to me. He gave me no
clue as to the purpose he had in hand. I replied that he was welcome
to all the information I could give him, and that the experiments I
had been making for some time relative to employing electric currents
for the purpose of telegraphic communication would enable me to give
him much of the information he required. At our next interview shortly
after, he told me he was working at an electric telegraph, and that the
questions he had previously put to me related to this subject. After
that I showed him some of my apparatus, and explained my proposals. Mr.
Cooke showed me some of his drawings and models. I at once told him it
could not act as a telegraph, and to convince him of the truth of this
assertion I invited him to King’s College to see the repetition of my
experiments. He came, and after seeing a variety of voltaic magnets,
which even with powerful batteries exhibited only slight adhesive
attraction, he expressed his disappointment in these words which I well
remember: ‘Here is two years’ labour wasted.’
“With regard to Mr. Cooke’s invention, so far from its being
practically useful, he has never, during my whole acquaintance with
him, shown it to me in action, even in a short circuit. Mr. Cooke’s
intention was, as he told me in the early stage of our acquaintance, to
take out a patent for his invention. Mine was, when I had finished my
experiments, to publish the results, and then to allow any person to
carry them into effect. When Mr. Cooke found that his instrument was
inapplicable to the purpose proposed, and that my researches were more
likely to be practically useful, he proposed a partnership, and that
we should take out a joint patent. The proposal did not proceed from
me, and the sole reason of my acquiescing in the arrangement was that
Mr. Cooke appeared to me to possess the zeal, ability, and perseverance
necessary to make the thing successful as a commercial enterprise. I
felt confident of overcoming myself all the scientific and mechanical
difficulties of the subject, but neither my occupations nor my
inclination qualified me for the part Mr. Cooke promised to perform. He
said he was not wanting a scientific reputation, his sole object being
to make money by it.
“The magnetic needle telegraph, as it appears in its most perfect state
in the lecture room of the college, is to all intents and purposes
entirely and exclusively my own invention. The original suggestion
of Ampère (that a telegraph should be constructed by utilising the
tendency of the magnetic needle always to place itself at right angles
to an adjoining wire through which an electric current passed) was all
that I borrowed in it. The most important point was my application
of the theory of Ohm to telegraphic circuits, which enabled me to
ascertain the best proportions between the length, thickness, and
circumference of the multiplying coils and the other resistances in
the circuit, and to determine the number and size of the elements
of a battery to produce the maximum effect. With this law and its
applications none of the persons who had before occupied themselves
with experiments relating to electric telegraphs, had been acquainted.”
It may here be explained that Ohm was another eminent electrician,
whose immortal discovery was at first consigned to neglect. His work,
expounding the principle now known as Ohm’s law, was published at
Berlin in 1827; but was not translated into English till 1841. It is
said that for the first ten years after the publication of his work,
only one continental author admitted or confirmed his views, but
between 1836 and 1841, scientific men began to appreciate the value of
his researches. Wheatstone was one of them. In 1841 Ohm was presented
with the Copley gold medal of the Royal Society, when the President
said: “Ohm has shown that the usual vague distinctions of intensity and
quantity have no foundation, and that all the explanations derived from
these considerations were perfectly erroneous. He has demonstrated
both theoretically and experimentally that the action of a circuit is
equal to the sum of the electromotive force (E. M. F.) divided by the
sum of the resistances, and that whatever the nature of the current,
whether voltaic or thermo-electric, if this quotient be equal, the
effect is the same.”
Mr. George Cruikshank afterwards published a statement confirming the
claims of Professor Wheatstone. He said that having been a friend
of Professor Wheatstone, he wished to state that “the discovery of
the telegraph arose from the circumstance that when first appointed
lecturer at King’s College, he had seven miles of wire in the lower
part of the building which abuts upon the river Thames, for the purpose
of measuring the speed of lightning or the electric current. Upon one
occasion when explaining his experiments to me, he said: ‘I intend one
day to lay some of this wire across the bed of the Thames and to carry
it up to the Shot Tower on the other side, and so to make signals.’
This was, I believe, the first idea or suggestion of a submarine
telegraph. We are also indebted to him for the electric bell, for long
before the telegraph came before the public, in explaining the machine
to me, he said that as it was possible that one party might be asleep
at one end of the wire, he had so arranged the working that the first
touch should ring the bell at the other end, even if thousands of
miles apart. This, it will be admitted, is an important part of the
discovery.”
Next to the mechanism by which electric signals are made intelligible,
one of the most important inventions is that by which an electric
current is enabled to renew its strength as it goes along a great
length of wire. The apparatus used for this purpose is called a relay,
and the first man to publish an account of it was Prof. Wheatstone.
Its mechanism is delicate and sometimes complex, but its principle
can be easily understood. Most people understand that when a railway
train has run a great distance, the engine requires to take in water
or coal, and for that purpose it sometimes moves on to a siding in
connection with which there is a constant supply of water or coal. In
like manner, on long telegraphic lines electric batteries are kept
in readiness at certain distances; but if they were connected with
the main line it is obvious that their contents would be uselessly
dissipated. They are therefore kept in a kind of siding, and are
only temporarily connected with the main line for the purpose of
replenishing a passing current. In the case of a railway the service of
a pointsman is often needed to connect and disconnect a siding; but in
the case of the telegraph the connecting link between the replenishing
battery and the main line is made self acting. This is effected by the
use of that property of electricity which causes an electrified wire
to attract to it an adjacent piece of wire or iron. In the relay a
needle or lever is so adjusted that when a feeble current comes along
the main line, it attracts the needle of the relay line, and by means
of this connection a fresh current from the local battery flows on to
the line, and does the work which the original current had become too
feeble to accomplish. This invention was embodied in the first patent
of Professor Wheatstone; and Professor Henry, of New York, has sworn
to the fact that when he was in London, in 1837, Professor Wheatstone
showed him in King’s College, early in April, his method of bringing
into action a second galvanic current by means of the deflection of a
needle. Professor Bache was also present.
The first patent was taken out in June, 1837, in the joint names
of Cooke and Wheatstone. Their telegraph had five wires and five
needles. The guiding principle of their signalling apparatus was that
a current of electricity on passing along a wire deflected the magnet
or needle. Professor Wheatstone candidly acknowledged that he was
not the discoverer of that principle; but it was he who discovered
the practical basis upon which the wires and magnets should be
adjusted so as to produce the desired effects. He arranged in a row
five needles like those in a mariner’s compass; and when a current of
electricity was sent along one of the wires the needle attached to it
could be deflected to the right or left at the will of the sender. In
the original form of the receiving instrument the needle was worked
or deflected upon the face of a dial, upon which the letters of the
alphabet were so arranged that any letter could be indicated at will
by the sender making two of the deflected needles converge towards the
desired letter. Any person could manipulate this instrument, as there
was no secrecy or code involved in its signals.
[Illustration: FACE OF WHEATSTONE’S FIRST TELEGRAPH INSTRUMENT.]
A glance at the illustration will show the simplicity of this
apparatus. The objection to it was that it required five wires to
transmit the signals and a sixth wire to bring back the electricity
after it had done its work. But the only other electric telegraph then
announced in England required twenty-six wires; and it is in comparison
with previous efforts that the first Wheatstone instrument should be
judged. It is a curious fact that just fifty years after the invention
of this instrument with six wires, a new system of telegraphing was
tried by which six messages could be sent almost simultaneously on one
wire, either all in one direction, or part of them in one direction and
the remainder in the opposite direction.
The first electric telegraph designed by Wheatstone was laid down
on the North Western Railway between Euston Square and Camden Town
Stations, a distance of a mile and a half. It was first worked on the
evening of July 25th, 1837, which may be considered as the birthday of
the electric telegraph in England. Let us see how and where it came
to pass. Late in the evening, in a dingy little room near the booking
office at Euston Square, by the light of a flaring dip candle, which
only illuminated the surrounding darkness, sat the inventor with a
beating pulse and a heart full of hope. In an equally small room at
Camden Town Station, where the wires terminated, sat Mr. Cooke, his
co-partner, and among others two witnesses well known to fame, Mr.
Charles Fox and Mr. Stephenson. These gentlemen listened to the first
word spelled by that trembling tongue of steel, which will only cease
to speak with the extinction of man himself. Mr. Cooke, in his turn
touched the keys and returned the answer. “Never,” said Professor
Wheatstone, “did I feel such a tumultuous sensation before, as when all
alone in the still room I heard the needles click, and as I spelled
the words I felt all the magnitude of the invention now proved to be
practicable beyond cavil or dispute.”
Nevertheless the public treated it with indifference; the directors of
the railway soon gave it notice to quit, and one of them even denounced
it as “a new-fangled thing.”
The next line of telegraph was made on the Great Western Railway. In
July, 1839, a line of wires was laid from Paddington to West Drayton,
a distance of thirteen miles. An arrangement had been made between the
Railway Company and Messrs. Cooke and Wheatstone to the effect that
within a certain number of months after the telegraph had been laid
and efficiently worked between these two places, the Railway Company
might call on the patentees to give them a license for the whole of the
line, and the Railway Company had the power to construct a telegraph
all the way from Bristol to London for a certain number of years; but
the work not being done within the prescribed time, the agreement
became void, and for some time the telegraph did not extend beyond
Slough--a distance of seventeen miles. From the first the line to West
Drayton worked satisfactorily. For the purpose of testing whether it
could be relied on, it was used for nearly two months to communicate to
Paddington the moment of the passing of the trains at West Drayton and
Hanwell, and it was found to answer admirably. The cost of making that
line was from £250 to £300 a mile, including the charge for station
instruments. At first the wires placed in a tube were put underground,
but it was soon found better to have them above ground, where they were
less liable to injury from wet.
Early in 1840 Professor Wheatstone claimed as the result of experience
that thirty signals could be conveniently made in a minute by this
telegraph, and at the same time he stated that “having lately occupied
myself in carrying into effect numerous improvements which had
suggested themselves to me, I have, in conjunction with Mr. Cooke,
who has turned his attention greatly to the same subject, obtained
a new patent for a telegraph which I think will present very great
advantages over the present one. It can be applied without entailing
any additional expense by simply substituting new instruments for the
old ones. This new instrument requires only a single pair of wires
to effect all that the present one does with five; so that three
independent telegraphs may be immediately placed on the line of the
Great Western. It presents in the same place all the letters of the
alphabet according to the order of succession, and the apparatus is so
extremely simple that any person, without any previous acquaintance
with it, can send a communication and read the answer.”
When Professor Wheatstone made the above statement, he also explained
that Mr. Cooke had devised an apparatus whereby a bell worked by one
wire could be rung at the other end of the wire by the sender, in
order to draw the attention of the receiver to the message about to be
sent. He added that Mr. Cooke had particularly directed his attention
to an arrangement by means of which communications could be made from
intermediate parts of the line where there were no fixed stations.
For that purpose posts were placed at every quarter of a mile along
the line from which the guard of a train might, if necessary, send
a message to a station in either direction by means of a portable
instrument which he was to carry with him.
It was in the same year, after these statements were made, that Mr.
Cooke began his series of complaints against Professor Wheatstone, whom
he accused of claiming the invention of the telegraph as his exclusive
work, and of omitting all mention of his (Mr. Cooke’s) name in
connection with it. Mr. Cooke now (1840) maintained that he himself had
invented the first telegraph, and thereupon a war of words arose as to
the respective parts played by the patentees in the joint undertaking.
The controversy thus raised between the two partners, instead of being
allowed to produce an instant rupture, which might have injured the
progress of the telegraph, was submitted to the decision of Sir M.
Isambard Brunel, engineer of the Thames Tunnel, and Professor Daniell,
of King’s College, the one a friend of Mr. Cooke and the other a friend
of Professor Wheatstone, and on April 27th, 1841, these two gentlemen
drew up the following statement: “In March, 1836, Mr. Cooke, while
engaged at Heidelberg in scientific pursuits, witnessed, for the first
time, one of those well-known experiments with electricity considered
as a possible means of communicating intelligence which have been
tried and exhibited from time to time during many years by various
philosophers. Struck with the vast importance of an instantaneous mode
of communication to the railways then extending themselves over Great
Britain as well as to Government and general purposes, and impressed
with the strong conviction that so great an object might be practically
attained by means of electricity, Mr. Cooke immediately directed his
attention to the adaptation of electricity to a practical system of
telegraphing, and giving up the profession in which he was engaged,
he from that hour devoted himself exclusively to the realisation of
that object. He came to England in April, 1836, to perfect his plans
and instruments. In February, 1837, while engaged in completing a
set of instruments for the intended experimental application of his
telegraph to the tunnel of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway,
he became acquainted, through the introduction of Dr. Roget, with
Professor Wheatstone, who had for several years given much attention
to the subject of transmitting intelligence by electricity, and had
made several discoveries of the highest importance connected with this
subject. Among these were his well-known determination of the velocity
of electricity when passing through a metal wire; his experiments in
which the deflection of magnetic needles, the decomposition of water,
and other voltaic and magneto-electric effects were produced through
greater lengths of wire than had ever before been experimented upon;
and his original method of converting a few wires into a considerable
number of circuits, so that they might transmit the greatest number
of signals that can be transmitted by a given number of wires by the
deflection of magnetic needles.
“In May, 1837, Messrs. Cooke and Wheatstone took out a joint English
patent on a footing of equality for their existing inventions. The
terms of their partnership, which were more exactly defined and
confirmed in November, 1837, by a partnership deed, vested in Mr.
Cooke as the originator of the undertaking the exclusive management of
the invention in Great Britain, Ireland, and the Colonies, with the
exclusive engineering department, as between themselves, and all the
benefits arising from the laying down of the lines and the manufacture
of the instruments. As partners standing on a perfect equality, Messrs.
Cooke and Wheatstone were to divide equally all proceeds arising
from the granting of licenses or from the sale of patent rights, a
percentage being first payable to Mr. Cooke as manager. Professor
Wheatstone retained an equal voice with Mr. Cooke in selecting and
modifying the forms of the telegraphic instruments, and both parties
pledged themselves to impart to each other for their equal and mutual
benefit all improvements of whatever kind which they might become
possessed of connected with the giving of signals or the sending of
alarms by means of electricity. Since the formation of the partnership
the undertaking has rapidly progressed under the constant and equally
successful exertions of the parties in their distinct departments, till
it has attained the character of a simple and practical system worked
out scientifically on the sure basis of actual experience.
“While Mr. Cooke is entitled to stand alone as the gentleman to whom
this country is indebted for having practically introduced and carried
out the electric telegraph as a useful undertaking, promising to be a
work of national importance; and Professor Wheatstone is acknowledged
as the scientific man whose profound and successful researches had
already prepared the public to receive it as a project capable of
practical application; it is to the united labours of two gentlemen so
well qualified for mutual assistance that we must attribute the rapid
progress which this important invention has made during the five years
that they have been associated.”
For a time the rivalry or jealousy seemed at rest. Both Mr. Cooke and
Professor Wheatstone concurred in the above statement, and Mr. Cooke
gave prominence to the portions of it most favourable to him, claiming
that such passages formed the award of an arbitration that resulted in
his favour. But Professor Daniell in 1843 explained that this document
was not an “award” of the arbitrators, for the arbitration was not
proceeded with. The arbitrators, considering the pecuniary interests
at stake and the relative position of the parties, were of opinion, he
said, that without entering into the evidence of the originality of the
invention on either side, a statement of facts might be drawn up, of
the principal of which there appeared to be no essential discrepancy in
the statement of either party, and that they might thus amicably settle
the unfortunate misunderstanding that had occurred. He added that with
a view to promote such an amicable settlement the arbitrators insisted,
as a preliminary step, upon the withdrawal and destruction of 1000
copies of an _ex parte_ statement of evidence proposed to be brought
forward, and of a most intemperate address prepared by Mr. Cooke’s
solicitor.
The lull produced by that document was only temporary. When anything
was published making favourable mention of Professor Wheatstone’s
originality as the inventor of the telegraph, Mr. Cooke or his
partisans openly accused the Professor of tampering with the press,
and Mr. Cooke himself was not above publishing protestations for
the purpose of showing his “own surprising forbearance,” as well
as the “egotism,” “humiliation,” and “perseveringly repeated
misrepresentations” of Professor Wheatstone!
In later years Mr. Cooke or his friends paraded before the public
an article in his favour that appeared in a quarterly review since
deceased. That article was represented as having been written by Sir
David Brewster, and as giving a correct account of the origin of the
telegraph. It stated that Mr. Cooke had previously held a commission in
the Indian Army, “and having returned from India on leave of absence
and on account of ill health, he afterwards resigned his commission
and went to Heidelberg to study anatomy. In the month of March, 1836,
Professor Möncke of Heidelberg exhibited an electro-telegraphic
experiment in which electric currents, passing along a conducting
wire, conveyed signals to a distant station by the deflection of the
magnetic needle inclosed in Schweigger’s galvanometer or multiplier.
The currents were produced by a voltaic battery placed at each end of
the wire, and the apparatus was worked by moving the ends of the wires
backward and forward between the battery and the galvanometer. Mr.
Cooke was so struck with this experiment that he immediately resolved
to apply it to purposes of higher utility than the illustration of
a lecture, and he abandoned his anatomical pursuits and applied his
whole energies to the invention of an electric telegraph. Within three
weeks, in April, 1836, he made his first electric telegraph, partly
at Heidelberg, and partly at Frankfort. It was of the galvanometer
form consisting of six wires, forming three metallic circuits, and
influencing three needles. By the combination of these, he obtained an
alphabet of twenty-six signals. Mr. Cooke soon afterwards made another
electric telegraph of a different construction. He had invented the
detector, for discovering the locality of injuries done to the wires,
the reciprocal communicator, and the alarm. All this was done in the
months of March and April, 1836; and in June and July of the same
year he recorded the details of his system in a manuscript pamphlet
from which it was obvious that in July, 1836, he had wrought out his
practical system from the minutest official details up to the records
and extended ramifications of an important political and commercial
engine.” The article goes on to say that when his telegraphic apparatus
was completed, he showed it in November, 1836, to Mr. Faraday,
and afterwards submitted it and his pamphlet in January, 1837, to
the Liverpool and Manchester Railway Company, with whom he made a
conditional arrangement, with the view of using it on the long tunnel
at Liverpool. In February, 1837, when he was about to apply for a
patent he consulted Mr. Faraday and Dr. Roget on the construction of
the electro-magnet employed in a part of his apparatus, and the last of
these gentlemen advised him to consult Professor Wheatstone, to whom he
went, according to Mr. Cooke’s account, on the 27th of February, 1837.
Now the article containing these statements was doubtless attributed
to Sir David Brewster in the hope that his name would be accepted as
a guarantee of its accuracy. Fortunately for all concerned, however,
Sir David Brewster had previously placed on record his opinion on
this question of the telegraph in a manner that put it beyond doubt.
Asked by a Committee of the House of Lords in 1851 whether Professor
Wheatstone was the undoubted inventor of the electric telegraph, Sir
David Brewster replied: “Undoubtedly he is.” Further asked whether
there was not a Swede who had paid great attention to the subject, Sir
David said Oersted was the discoverer of electromagnetism, but had
that not been discovered at all, ordinary magnetism was quite capable
of being the moving power in the electric telegraph. He added that
if electromagnetism had been the only means of working a telegraph,
then the merit, not of the telegraph, but of what was necessary to the
existence of the telegraph, would have belonged to Professor Oersted.
When, on the other hand, the same Committee pressed Sir I. K. Brunel
to say whom he considered the inventor of the telegraph, he replied:
“Messrs Cooke and Wheatstone derive a large sum of money from the
electric telegraph; but I believe you will find fifty people who will
say that they invented it also: I suppose it would be difficult to
trace the original inventor of anything.”
It has never been denied, though often overlooked, that Mr. Cooke
obtained his first idea of a telegraph from Professor Möncke of
Heidelberg--a circumstance which detracts from its originality. But the
matter did not rest there.
When Mr. (then Sir) W. F. Cooke died in 1879, Mr. Latimer Clark
published the portion of his private correspondence which related
to his first connection with Professor Wheatstone, and although
Mr. Latimer Clark endeavoured to put everything in the light most
favourable to Mr. Cooke, the letters of the latter in essential points
confirm the case of Professor Wheatstone. For example, after writing
numerous letters to his mother explaining that he was busy trying to
make a telegraph, Mr. Cooke wrote on February 27th, 1837: “Dissatisfied
with the results obtained, I this morning obtained Dr. Roget’s opinion,
which was favourable but uncertain; next Dr. Faraday’s, who, though
speaking positively as to the general results formerly, hesitated to
give an opinion as to the galvanic fluid action on a voltaic magnet
at a great distance when the question was put to him in that shape.
I next tried Clark, a practical mechanician, who spoke positively
in favour of my views, yet I felt less satisfied than ever, and
called upon a Mr. Wheatstone, Professor of Chemistry at the London
University, and repeated my inquiries. Imagine my satisfaction at
hearing from him that he had four miles of wire in readiness, and
imagine my dismay on hearing afterwards that he had been employed for
months in the construction of a telegraph, and had actually invented
two or three with the view of bringing them into practical use. We had
a long conference, and I am to see his arrangement of wire to-morrow
morning, &c.... The scientific men know little or nothing absolute on
the subject. Wheatstone is the only man near the mark.” Mr. Latimer
Clark accounts for the notice of Professor Wheatstone’s experiments
in the _Magazine of Popular Science_ for March, 1837, by saying that
it was “evidently inserted after the remainder of the articles had
been completed, and set in type,” and that Wheatstone supplied the
information after Mr. Cooke’s visit to him--a gratuitous assertion
which is not supported by any positive evidence. Then, again, Mr.
Latimer Clark, an eminent authority upon the laws of electricity,
says, concerning Mr. Cooke’s proposed telegraph, that “upon the whole
the instrument, the result of such long cogitation and experiment,
is disappointing, and one is not surprised at Wheatstone, with his
exquisite mechanical appreciation, criticising it as severely as he
did.” Moreover, he admits that the first telegraph instrument used
between Camden Town and Euston was Wheatstone’s.
Not less emphatic or explicit was the statement of the case given by
Professor Wheatstone himself, and moreover it contained some passages
of biographical interest. Addressing Mr. Cooke, he said: “You state
that you alone had succeeded in reducing to practical usefulness
the electric telegraph at the time you sought my assistance. This I
wholly deny. Your instrument had never been practically applied, and
was incapable of being so. Mine were all founded on principles which
I had previously proved by decisive experiments would produce the
required effects at great distances. Your statement that I employed
myself at your request in perfecting your invention in detail is
equally erroneous. My time, so far as it was devoted to telegraphic
researches, was exclusively occupied in perfecting my own instrument,
which had nothing in common with yours, and in which I was not only
known to be engaged by all my scientific friends, but which was even
announced in public print before I knew of your existence. I confined
myself to carrying out one of my own inventions for two reasons: First,
because my experiments led me to believe that the motions of a needle
could be produced at distances at which no effects of electro-magnetic
attraction could be obtained; and, secondly, I did not wish to
interfere with you. With regard to the subsequent development of my
first telegraph, the essential principles of which are the formation
of numerous circuits from a few wires and the indication of characters
by the convergence of needles, I am indebted to no person whatever; it
is in all its parts entirely and exclusively my own. The modifications
you introduced without consulting me in the instruments for the Great
Western Railway altered the simplicity and elegance of the arrangement
without the slightest advantage, and I certainly should not recognise
them in any published description.”
“The circumstances under which your name was allowed to take the lead
in the titles of the British patents have escaped your memory. I will
endeavour to recall them to you. When you first proposed partnership,
you know how strongly I opposed it, and on what grounds. I said I was
perfectly confident of being able to carry out my views to the end
I anticipated, that I fully intended doing so, and publishing the
results, then allowing any person to carry them into practical effect.
I told you that, while I admired the ingenuity of your contrivance
I deemed it inapplicable to the purpose proposed, and I urged that
in that case the association of my name with that of others would
diminish the credit I should obtain by separately publishing the result
of my researches. You replied that you were not seeking scientific
reputation, and therefore no difference could arise between us on
that account, and that your sole object was to carry the project into
profitable execution. A patent was arranged to be taken out in our
joint names which should include our two separate instruments. When
we met to settle the preliminaries for the English patent I was much
surprised to find your name inserted first, considering that, as we put
ourselves on an equality by each contributing an invention, to put my
well-known name after yours, then totally unknown, might be construed
into an admission of the superiority of your share. You urged that your
pecuniary obligations were the greater, and that as I intended to leave
negotiations with you, your authority might be less respected if your
name appeared second, and that your invention was the more valuable--an
assumption I did not admit, and the event proved I was right. But we
agreed that in subsequent patents the order should alternate. Some
time after we met to settle the Scotch patent draft, for which you
had prepared the declaration. I was again surprised to find the same
order of precedence repeated, and I objected to it as contrary to
our previous understanding. You said it had been done without your
knowledge, but objected to the alteration on the ground of delay. After
discussion we made a new arrangement, that on my allowing your name to
stand on the British patents, mine should take the lead in all foreign
ones. It was resolved afterwards that an American patent should be
obtained, and when I attended to sign the preliminary papers, I found
that again, without any notice to me, my name was made to follow yours.
I refused to sign the papers, and you then consented to keep your
word. The only reason you alleged was that your authority as manager
would be diminished if you appeared as second partner.
“When I had attained some complete results, I invited you to the
College to see them, and before describing or showing the new
experiments and instruments, I proposed conditions: That having, at
my own expense, undertaken a series of investigations which led to
important consequences greatly increasing the pecuniary value of the
patents, and having invented new instruments which, besides being
applicable to all the purposes for which the existing arrangements
could be applied, might also be profitably applied to other purposes to
which the previous instruments were not at all adapted, I required as a
compensation that I should retain the exclusive right of manufacturing
them and all instruments I should construct involving the same
principles, and also the privilege of employing them exclusively for
domestic and official purposes. To these conditions you assented, and
afterwards I showed you the completed instruments, and read to you a
list of the further experiments. You confirmed your assent. On this
occasion you breathed not a word respecting the claim since put forward
to be considered the joint inventor of my new instruments.
“You ask me to acknowledge that ‘I, having certain improvements on our
joint invention in progress depending fundamentally upon principles
first discovered and applied by you, had asked as a favour,’ &c. It
is unjust to urge such an acknowledgment upon me, and I state plainly
that nothing shall compel me to make it. My instruments are original
combinations involving a great number of points entirely new. With
equal justice Mr. Ronalds might call upon me to declare that he is
the joint inventor, because, like him, I use a revolving dial with
letters--or Professor Steinheil complain of my suppressing his name
because, in one of my most recent important modifications I employ,
as he has done, the magneto-electric machine--as you to put forth
that claim, because in some of my new instruments I have employed
magneto-electric attraction, which you had done before me in your
instrument; or with the same reason might Mr. Morse call upon me to
proclaim him to be joint inventor because he, independently of you, has
employed an electro-magnet to move machinery intended for a telegraph.
One of your complaints is, that in the notices of my experiments in
Belgium the employment of two wires for an electric telegraph was not
specifically mentioned as a discovery of yours. Such a claim on your
part has no foundation, for, without going further back, Ronalds’ two
telegraphs--two telegraphs on different principles, which I myself
proposed before I knew you,--and Steinheil’s telegraph, with which I
was acquainted before yours, had two wires. You forget that it is my
electric telegraph, and not yours, that is in daily use. And, lastly,
you forget that, had it not been for my exclusive attention to it since
I first conceived the idea, a practical telegraph might still have
remained an unaccomplished purpose.
“Do not, however, misunderstand me. Far be it from me to underrate your
exertions; they have been very great, and absolutely indispensable
to the success of our joint undertaking. Without your zeal and
perseverance and practical skill, what has been done would not have
been so readily effected; but on the other hand, I may say, that had
you entered the field without me, your zeal, perseverance, and money
would have been thrown away.”
His subsequent as well as his previous inventions afford the strongest
evidence of his originality. His inventions were not more distinguished
for ingenuity than for permanent usefulness, and they had this unusual
characteristic, that nearly every one of them became the parent of a
considerable offspring. These form his most enduring monument, and a
simple record of them forms his best vindication.
In 1840 he produced three inventions at one birth--his dial telegraph,
his printing telegraph, and his electric clock. Each of these
instruments was worked by utilising one of the great discoveries
previously made in electro-magnetism. It was known that when an
electric current is sent through a wire coiled round a piece of soft
iron, the iron becomes a magnet. If the current is stopped for a
moment, the iron instantly ceases to act as a magnet. When the piece
of iron is magnetic, it will attract another piece of iron, and as the
attraction ceases as soon as the current ceases, the iron can then by
means of a spring be made to resume its original position. Thus by
frequently interrupting an electric current, a piece of iron held in
its place by a small spring can be made to move to and fro as often as
it is attracted. Professor Wheatstone invented a method of regulating
the application of the current to such a magnet, and of converting the
to-and-fro motion of the iron into symbols. The piece of mechanism that
regulated the current was a wheel called a commutator or communicator;
around its circumference were twenty-four teeth; and each tooth was
made to act as a conductor of electricity in this way: Under the teeth
of the communicator there was a metallic circle which was connected
with the telegraph wire; and in this metallic circle twenty-four pieces
of wood were inserted at equal distances apart; so that the teeth of
the communicator, which was connected by wire with the battery, at one
moment touched the conducting metal of the circle underneath it, and
thus imparted a current to the telegraph wire, while at the next turn a
pace round they rested on the non-conducting wood, by which the current
was prevented from passing from the communicator wheel to the telegraph
wire. In a complete revolution of such a wheel the current would be
twenty-four times established and as often interrupted; and each of
these twenty-four alternations was made to indicate a letter of the
alphabet at the other end of the wire by means of a piece of mechanism
like a clock. When the current passed along the wire, it electrified
a magnet, which then drew towards it an armature (a piece of iron).
The movement of this armature (forward by electricity and backward
again by a spring) acted like a pendulum in moving a wheel, which in
turn moved a hand on a dial containing the letters of the alphabet.
Just as at each movement of the pendulum of a clock, a wheel moves
one tooth forward; so at each movement of the armature by an electric
current, a twenty-four toothed wheel was moved one tooth forward, and
at each such movement the hand on the dial moved from one letter of the
alphabet to the next one. If, for instance, the indicator hand stood at
A and it was desired to transmit E, this would be done by moving the
communicator wheel four teeth onward; in doing that four successive
currents would be transmitted to the indicator, the hand of which would
consequently move over B, C, D, and then reach E, where a pause would
indicate that this was the letter intended to be read. This was called
Wheatstone’s electro-magnetic telegraph, because it was worked by an
electric current from a battery electrifying a magnet.
In 1841 he invented a machine in which magnets produced electricity
sufficient to work the telegraph. Hence it was called a
magneto-electric machine, and the telegraph worked by it was
called a magneto-electric telegraph. In 1840 he explained that
magneto-electricity was of momentary duration as contrasted with the
continuous action of electro-magnetism. The magneto-electric machine
then in use consisted of a coil or coils of insulated wire being
made to revolve in the vicinity of a magnet, or the magnet revolving
in the vicinity of the insulated coils of wire, and this apparatus
only produced a series of shocks, or instantaneous as compared with
continuous currents. His new invention combined several of these
machines into one by so uniting their coils as to form one continuous
circuit, thereby producing the same effect as a perfectly continuous
current. He said this magneto-electric machine could be used for many
purposes for which a voltaic battery had been employed. The patent for
it was taken out in his own name.
Meanwhile another competitor had begun to challenge his originality.
On November 26, 1840, Professor Wheatstone read a paper before the
Royal Society describing his electro-magnetic telegraph clock as his
own invention. He also showed the clock in action in the library.
In January following he received notice from a Mr. Barwise, of St.
Martin’s Lane, that he claimed to be the inventor of the clock, and
shortly afterward it was stated in placards that Messrs. Barwise and
Bain were the joint inventors. At first Professor Wheatstone took
little notice of the attacks thus made upon his originality, but in
June, 1842, he was directly charged by Mr. Bain in the public press
with appropriating his inventions. In reply to that accusation,
Professor Wheatstone stated that Alexander Bain was a working mechanic
who had been employed by him between the months of August and December,
1840; and to the allegation that Bain communicated the invention
of the clock to him in August, 1840, he answered that there was no
essential difference between his telegraph clock and one of the forms
of his electro-magnetic telegraph, which he had patented in January,
1840; that the former was one of the numerous and obvious applications
which he had made of the principle of the telegraph, and that it only
required the idea of telegraphing time to present itself and any
workman of ordinary skill could put it in practice--in telegraphing
messages the wheel for making and breaking the circuit was turned
round by the finger of the operator, while in telegraphing time it
was carried round by the arbor of a clock. He also stated that, long
before the date specified, he mentioned to many of his friends how
the principle of his telegraph could be applied “to enable the time
of a single clock to be shown simultaneously in all the rooms of a
house, or in all the houses of a town connected together by wires.”
The accuracy of these statements was verified by Dr. W. A. Miller,
of King’s College, and by Mr. John Martin, the eminent artist. The
latter stated that Professor Wheatstone explained to him in May, 1840,
his proposed application of his electric telegraph for the purpose of
showing the time of a distant clock simultaneously in as many places
as might be required. Mr. Martin, on hearing the explanation, said to
him, “You propose to lay on time through the streets of London as we
now lay on water.” Mr. F. O. Ward, a former student of King’s College,
stated that Professor Wheatstone explained the matter to him on June
20, 1840. While watching the motions of the dial telegraph as he turned
the wheel that made and broke the circuit, Mr. Ward remarked that if
it were turned round at a uniform rate, the signals of the telegraph
would indicate time, to which Professor Wheatstone replied: “Of course
they would, and I have arranged a modification of the telegraphic
apparatus by which one clock may be made to show time in a great many
places simultaneously;” and the Professor showed him drawings of an
apparatus for that purpose, in which the making and breaking of the
circuit by the alternate motion of the pendulum of a clock, would
produce isochronous signals on any number of dials, provided they were
connected by wire. The electric clock in question has been repeatedly
tried, but has not answered expectations.
Mr. Alexander Bain also accused Professor Wheatstone of appropriating
his printing telegraph. He said he communicated the invention of
the electric clock, together with that of the electro-magnetic
printing telegraph, to Professor Wheatstone in August, 1840, before
ever Professor Wheatstone did anything in the matter. To that the
Professor replied that the printing apparatus was merely an addition
to the electro-magnetic telegraph, of which he was undoubtedly the
inventor. As to the way in which this telegraph printed the letters,
he explained that for the paper disc (or dial) of the telegraph, on
the circumference of which the letters were printed, he substituted
a thin disc of brass, cut from the circumference to the centre so as
to form twenty-four radiating arms on the extremities of which types
were fixed. This type-wheel could be brought to any desired position
by turning the commutator wheel. The additional parts consisted of a
mechanism which, when moved by an electro-magnet caused a hammer to
strike the desired type--brought opposite to it--against a cylinder,
round which were rolled several sheets of thin white paper along with
the alternate blackened paper used in manifold writing. By this means
he obtained at once several distinct printed copies of the message
transmitted. He maintained that the plan was begun and carried out
solely by himself; and Mr. Edward Cowper stated, as corroborative
evidence, that on June 10, 1840, he sent a note to Professor Wheatstone
(who had previously told him of the contrivance by which his telegraph
could be made to print), giving him information, which he had asked
for, respecting the mode of preparing manifold writing paper, and the
best form of type for printing on it.
It was also at the beginning of 1840 that he invented the
“chronoscope,” an instrument for measuring the duration of small
intervals of time. It was used for measuring the velocity of
projectiles, and consisted of a clock movement set free at the moment a
ball was discharged from a gun, and stopped when the ball reached the
target. For this purpose a wire in an electric circuit at the gun’s
mouth was broken at the instant the ball passed out of the gun; and the
circuit was completed when the ball reached the target, the circuit
acting on the clock movement by means of an electro-magnet. It was
publicly stated in 1841 by independent witnesses that the chronoscope
was capable of indicating the one 7300th part of a second; and the
inventor himself stated in 1845 that with it the law of accelerated
velocities had been obtained with mathematical rigour, that with it he
could measure the fall of a ball from the height of an inch, and that
by different arrangements which he had adopted to render the instrument
applicable to different series of experiments, he intended to employ it
for measuring the velocity of sound through air, water, and masses of
rock, with an approximation that had never been obtained before.
In 1843 he brought before the Royal Society several methods of
measuring the force of an electric current, and the paper he then read,
and the methods he described, were for many years unrivalled both for
simplicity and ingenuity. Speaking of electricity as an energetic
source of light, of heat, of chemical action, and of mechanical
power--prescient words in those days--he said it was only necessary
to know the conditions under which its various effects may be most
economically and energetically manifested to enable us to determine
whether the high expectations formed in many quarters of some of its
daily increasing practical applications are founded on reasonable
hope or on fallacious conjecture. He considered that they had ample
theory, but not enough of experiment to supply, except in a few cases,
the numerical value of the constants which enter into various voltaic
circuits; and without that knowledge accurate conclusions could not be
arrived at. He explained that electro-motive force (E.M.F.) meant the
cause which in a closed circuit originated an electric current; that
by resistance was signified the obstacle opposed to the passage of
the electric current by the bodies through which it passed; and that
resistance was the inverse of what is usually called their conducting
power. The principle of his methods was the use of variable instead
of constant resistances, bringing thereby the currents compared to
equality, and inferring from the amount of the resistances measured out
between two deviations of the needle the electro-motive force and the
resistances of a circuit, according to the particular conditions of
the experiment. If a needle be connected with two coils of wire, and
if a current be sent through one coil, the needle will be deflected
to one side. If at the same time a current of the same strength
be sent through the other coil, the currents will neutralize each
other and the needle will remain at rest. This is what is called a
differential galvanometer, and when two currents of different strength
are sent through it simultaneously the needle is only affected by
their difference. One form in which Professor Wheatstone used this
principle has ever since been known as “the Wheatstone bridge.” It is
a method by which pieces of wire of known resistance are interposed in
a circuit until the current in the wire to be tested counter-balances
that of the wire used as a standard of resistance; when that happens
the needle indicator stands still, the wire to be tested being now
of the same resistance as that of the known standard. Professor
Wheatstone perceived that it was of the highest importance to have a
correct standard of resistance, and one that could be easily reproduced
for the purpose of comparison. He therefore adopted as a unit of
resistance a copper wire one foot in length, 100 grains in weight, and
·071 of an inch in diameter. He was the first man who made a unit of
resistance, and who introduced into electrical science the name of a
unit and multiples of a unit; and when, nearly a quarter of a century
afterward, the British Association appointed a committee on electrical
standards, their reports describing about a dozen standards, paid a
tribute to the originality of Professor Wheatstone as the introducer
of the first unit. He was not, however, the first to use the method of
measuring electrical currents or the resistance of wires, since known
as the Wheatstone Bridge. In a note appended to his paper read before
the Royal Society in 1843 he stated that Mr. Christie had described
the same principle in the _Philosophical Transactions_ for 1833, and
added that “to Mr. Christie must therefore be attributed the first
idea of this useful and accurate method of measuring resistances.”
Mr. Christie, who was connected with the Royal Military Academy at
Woolwich, said in his paper that the arrangement he proposed possessed
many advantages; it afforded a very accurate measure of the difference
of intensities of two electric currents, whether they were from
the same source and were merely modified by circumstances, or had
different sources; and it afforded likewise a very accurate measure
of the conducting powers of different substances. Mr. Christie did
not, however, succeed in drawing attention to this method, and it lay
unheeded till Professor Wheatstone revived it and expounded it with
matchless clearness. He at the same time devised an instrument called
the Rheostat, in which a highly resisting wire was so wound round the
surface of a cylinder that any length of it could be connected with a
circuit by merely turning round the handle of the cylinder till the
needle or galvanometer connected with it showed that the resistance of
the wire on the cylinder was equal to that of the wire to be tested.
As the resistance of the wire on the cylinder was accurately known
beforehand, the length of it required to counterbalance the resistance
of the wire in course of being tested became the measure of the latter.
The wire on the cylinder may be compared to a winding measuring line;
only being of high resisting power, a short length of it suffices to
measure a long wire of low resistance.
Professor Wheatstone told the Royal Society in 1843 that he had
employed the Rheostat and differential resistance measurer (the
Wheatstone Bridge) for several years previously for the purpose of
investigating the nature of electrical currents--a statement which had
received a singularly generous corroboration; for in 1840 Professor
Jacobi told the British Association meeting in Glasgow that Professor
Wheatstone had shown him in London an instrument for regulating a
galvanic current, similar in principle to one that he had laid before
the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences at the beginning of that
year. Professor Jacobi, in stating that it was quite impossible that
Professor Wheatstone could have had any knowledge of his similar
instrument, said he must add that while he had only used his instrument
for regulating the force of currents, Professor Wheatstone had founded
upon it a new method of measuring those currents and of determining the
different elements of them.
The Royal Society, which in 1840 had presented him with a royal medal
“for the ingenious method by which he had solved the difficult question
of binocular vision,” presented him with another medal in 1843, when
the President, the Marquis of Northampton, said: “I now present you
with this medal, one of those intrusted to the President and Council
of the Royal Society by Her Most Gracious Majesty, for your paper
entitled, ‘An account of several new Instruments and Processes for
determining the Constants of the Voltaic Circuit.’ This is not the
first time that I have had the pleasing task of acknowledging on the
part of the Royal Society the great ingenuity as well as knowledge that
you bring to the increase of science. You not only add to our store of
knowledge, but you give to others the means of doing so too. You not
only set the example of scientific pursuit, but you also facilitate it
in those who may become at once your followers and your rivals. In the
particular case before us you have introduced accuracy where even rough
numerical data were almost wholly wanting. The improvement of such
facilities in any branch of science can hardly be overstated.”
In 1845 a patent was taken out for a new form of needle telegraph,
respecting the origin of which Mr. Latimer Clark relates the following
incident as told to him by Mr. Greener some fifteen years after it
occurred. A very high tide which occurred in 1841 caused an inundation
of the Blackwall Railway, and injured the piping in which were inclosed
the seven or eight wires then in use--they were then using a wire to
each station; so that only one wire or two could be worked. Mr. Cooke,
who was the practical engineer of the telegraph, was much concerned
lest some accident might happen through the failure of the telegraph,
whereby they would, he feared, be unable to communicate with the
intermediate stations from the Blackwall end of the line. In view of
this contingency Mr. Greener and another clerk arranged a code of
signals which could be worked on one wire by simply deflecting the
needle alternately, once, twice, or thrice, to the right or left; and
in this way they managed to carry on communications respecting their
dinners and other private matters. “Mr. Cooke, on being informed that
it was still possible to telegraph, gladly availed himself of the new
means of communication by one wire, and from that moment our well-known
single and double-needle instrument was practically invented. If these
statements be accurate the first idea of the double-needle telegraph
did not originate either with Wheatstone or Cooke, but was suggested by
Mr. Greener and his partner, who was at this time engaged with him on
the Blackwall telegraph.”
In the popular accounts of great discoveries or inventions it is
generally the falling of an apple that is said to suggest to a Newton
the law of gravitation, or it is the boiling of a tea-kettle that
suggests to a Watt the mechanism of the steam-engine. This has become
the orthodox way of accounting for the triumphs of mind over matter in
order to make them acceptable to intellectual mediocrity. Indeed, the
Abbé Raynal says that the only difference between a genius and one of
common capacity is that the former anticipates and explores what the
latter accidentally hits upon. But, he adds, “even the man of genius
himself more frequently employs the advantages that chance presents
to him; it is the lapidary that gives value to the diamond which the
peasant has dug up without knowing its worth.” Now it is a curious
fact that while the needle telegraph was one of the few telegraphic
inventions of Professor Wheatstone that was undisputed during his
lifetime, the preceding account of its origin was never publicly
mentioned till after his death.
Facts, however, are against its accuracy. The high tide referred to
in the story occurred on November 18th, 1841, after the five-needle
telegraph had been in operation on the Great Western Railway more
than two years; and a few weeks’ experience of its working enabled a
clerk of ordinary intelligence to tell the letters transmitted by the
movement of the needles, even if the printed letters on the dial to
which the needles pointed were covered over or obliterated. A minute’s
examination of the five-needle instrument shows that a different
combination of movements is required to represent each letter, and if
these combinations be learned by a few weeks’ practice, or be written
down on paper, they constitute a complete alphabet of signs. And that
alphabet of signs which the five-needle instrument first taught could
obviously be produced by a single needle. Thus on the five-needle
instrument A is represented by the movement of the first needle to
the right, and the fourth from it to the left; but it would also
be represented by the movement of one needle first to the right and
then four times to the left. In like manner B is represented on the
five-needle instrument by the first needle moving to the right and
the third from it to the left. By means of a single needle it could
be represented by one movement to the right and three to the left;
and so on with the other letters. Experience has suggested that the
alphabet could be represented by fewer movements than those practically
exhibited by the five-needle instrument; but it is obvious that a few
weeks’ working of the five-needle instrument--and not a flood in the
Thames--was sufficient to show that the movements of needles, without
a dial or a printed alphabet, could be made to convey intelligence.
This is no mere speculation. More than this was in actual operation
on the Blackwall Railway; for in a contemporaneous account it is
stated that the wires run all along the line inclosed in a metal
tube, and the arrangement is such that whenever a particular index
deviates to the right or left at the Minories Station, an index
deviates to the right or left at all the other stations at the same
instant. “If then,” says the contemporary writer, “a preconcerted
alphabet, or key, or dictionary, or table of signals be agreed on, the
relative positions of two or more index-hands will serve to convey a
message. By the side of the telegraphic case a large chart is hung
up, containing about a hundred sentences, instructions or questions,
each of which is symbolled by a particular position of two or three
index hands. Thus one position, capable of being effected by two
movements of the handles, implies, ‘Will the next train wait for the
next steam-boat?’ Another implies, ‘Will the steam-boat wait for the
next train?’ And others: ‘How many passengers?’ ‘How many carriages?’
and various inquiries and directions relating to the engines, the
ropes, the telegraphs, and the steam-boats which start from and
arrive at Blackwall.” The writer added that by employing the combined
simultaneous motion of three or four needles, the five-wire telegraph
would afford nearly 200 signals, besides those appropriated to the
alphabetic characters.
It thus appears that the idea of making the deviations of a needle
represent messages or letters was not only obvious but in daily
use. Yet the erroneous traditions that already envelop the infancy
of this telegraph do not end here. The contemporaneous account just
quoted concludes with the remark that a telegraph like that used on
the Blackwall Railway and the Great Western Railway, if consisting
merely of three needles and giving only twelve signs, has a power
of combination fully equal to the semaphore then in use; and in
recent years it has been represented by persons of authority in
the telegraph world that the double-needle instrument formed the
transition stage from five needles to one. Hence the single-needle
instrument has generally been regarded as a gradual improvement of
the parent instrument of five needles. But the fact is that both the
single and double-needle instrument were minutely described in one and
the same patent taken out in 1845. In that description, which would
fill a chapter of this book, Professor Wheatstone was more careful
to explain the advantages of the single than of the double-needle
instrument. He expressly disclaimed any intention to lay down a
particular signification to the signals by which the alphabet could
be represented; he merely gave illustrations to show how easily a
sufficient variety of signals could be obtained. At the same time he
gave an alphabet of signs suitable for a single-needle instrument,
and although experience has suggested a more convenient combination
of signals, it is on record that within a year or two after the
patent for the single and double-needle telegraphs was taken out, the
single-needle instrument was tried on some of the railway lines, and
the alphabet of signals used was that which the five needle instrument
suggested, with slight modifications. The single needle, however, was
considered deficient in rapidity; and consequently to obtain greater
speed the double-needle instrument was preferred. One of the first
lines to adopt it was the South Western; it soon came to be regarded as
the most rapid means of telegraphing; and hence it came into general
use. It maintained its supremacy in England till more expeditious
instruments were invented, and then it was gradually superseded by
the single-needle instrument, which was found to be more accurate
and economical. Now the single-needle instrument may be seen at most
railway stations and rural post offices in the United Kingdom. In this
instrument the needle when moved by a current to the right hand or the
left, strikes against a projecting pin placed on each side to arrest
its motion; the sender by moving a handle can deflect the needle at
will either to the right or the left; one deflection to the left and
one to the right represents A; one to the right and three to the left
B; one to the right, one to the left, another one to the right and
another to the left C; one to the right and two to the left D; and so
on. None of the twenty-four letters of the alphabet has more than four
deflections. While E has one to the left, I has two, S three, and H
four. T has one to the right, M two, O three, and Ch. four.
It was calculated that about 15,000 of these instruments were in use in
Great Britain in 1885.
Meanwhile another improvement of a permanent nature had taken place.
The use of the earth instead of a special wire as the return circuit
was first adopted in England on the Blackwall Railway telegraph in
1841, and on the Manchester and Leeds line in 1843. The history of this
improvement is curious. In 1838 Professor Steinheil used the earth to
complete the circuit of an electric telegraph which he established at
Munich, and he has generally been regarded as the first electrician who
purposely did so. But William Watson discovered the same thing in 1747.
He erected a wire fully two miles long over Shooter’s Hill, supporting
it upon rods of wood. When electricity was communicated to the wire
at one end, the shock at the other end appeared to be instantaneous,
and the electricity was then communicated to the earth by means of a
rod of iron. It is also on record that in 1756 Kennersley, of Boston,
suggested to the celebrated Franklin that “as water is a conductor as
well as metals, it is to be considered whether a river or a lake, or
sea may not be made part of the circuit through which the electric fire
passes instead of a circuit all of wire.”
This expedient, though now considered essential to the successful
working of a telegraph, was not practically adopted till nearly a
century afterwards, when it was found that as soon as the electricity
had done its work the best thing to do with it was to convey it into
the earth, for just as the flow of rivers is accelerated by their
waters falling into the sea, so electric conduction is greatly improved
by establishing a good connection between the end of a telegraph
wire and the earth. Thus it was found in 1841 that by leading the
electricity to the earth, after it had done its work at the telegraphic
apparatus, the wire which had been previously used to bring it back,
or to complete the circuit, could be dispensed with, that by the earth
thus absorbing the electricity its transmission along the wire was
greatly facilitated, and that it could be transmitted to a greater
distance and through a smaller wire.
CHAPTER III.
“In conducting the petty affairs of life, common sense
is certainly a more useful quality than genius itself.
Genius, indeed, or that fine enthusiasm which carries the
mind into its highest sphere, is clogged and impeded in
its ascent by the ordinary occupations of the world, and
seldom regains its natural liberty and pristine vigour
except in solitude. Minds anxious to reach the regions
of philosophy and science have indeed no other means
of rescuing themselves from the burden and thraldom of
worldly affairs.”--ZIMMERMAN.
The invention of electrical apparatus had reached a stage of progress
in 1841 sufficiently advanced to make the telegraph a practical
success. What was next wanted was the general adoption of the telegraph
by the public, and this was the task which exercised the business
energy of Mr. Cooke. It was fortunate that the dispute between
Professor Wheatstone and Mr. Cooke as to the origin of the telegraph
did not interfere with their efforts to promote its extension. Like
most new inventions, it had to fight its way at first. In 1841 Mr.
Cooke wrote a small book on _Telegraphic Railways; or the Single Way_,
in which he contended that the whole system of double way, time tables,
and signals of railways was a vain attempt to attain indirectly and
very imperfectly, at any cost, that safety from collision which would
be perfectly and cheaply conferred by the electric telegraph. It was
well known, he said, that on the Blackwall Railway “the carriages on
each line are moved by what is called ‘a tail rope,’ to which they are
attached and which is almost incessantly being drawn along the line to
be wound up on a drum at one terminus or the other, by the alternate
action of the stationary engines. It is consequently necessary that
before the engineman applies the power of his engine to the rope for
the purpose of giving motion to a train, he should receive a specific
intimation from every other station that its carriage is attached to
the rope ready to start; otherwise an independent and uncontrolled
motive power acting from the terminus would frequently cause dreadful
collisions among carriages placed at stations so nearly adjacent as
those of Shadwell, Stepney, Limehouse, the West India Docks, and
Poplar.” But such a matter of fact illustration was not enough for Mr.
Cooke to give; so after dilating on the good the telegraph was likely
to do as the handmaid of the railway, he concluded by saying that
“as the basis of an essentially new system of railway communication,
at once safe, economical, and efficient, the electric telegraph may
diffuse its blessings of rapid intercourse to districts which could
never otherwise enjoy them. It may increase the revenues of the
greatest lines by adding to them fresh sources of lateral traffic; it
may permanently raise the price of shares by opening important lines
now destitute of the means of completion; and reduce indefinitely
the expense of travelling on lines yet to be made. Above all it may
accomplish the otherwise scarcely attainable union by railway between
England and Scotland, and perhaps realise the patriotic aspirations
of those who see in an extended system of railways employing her
population and developing her resources, a restoration of tranquillity
to Ireland.” No wonder that Professor Wheatstone appreciated Mr.
Cooke’s “zeal and perseverance,” not to speak of his imagination. But
all these were insufficient. Throughout the year 1842 a prominent
advertisement in the _Railway Times_ invited the attention of railway
companies, engineers, and other parties requiring a certain and
instantaneous mode of communicating intelligence between distant
points, to Messrs. Cooke and Wheatstone’s electric telegraph, an
invention which, “besides its superiority for general telegraphic
purposes, in point of expedition, secrecy, night action, and
preliminary warning, is peculiarly adapted to the use of railways,” and
“is also well adapted for mines, coal pits, docks, &c.”
At the same time the general public were being invited to witness
its performances as the latest and greatest sensation in London. One
announcement issued in 1842 stated that “under the special patronage
of Her Majesty and H. R. H. Prince Albert, the public are respectfully
informed that this interesting and extraordinary apparatus, by which
upwards of fifty signals can be transmitted 280,000 miles in one
minute, may be seen in operation daily (Sundays excepted) from 9 A.M.
till 8 P.M. at the telegraph office, Paddington, and telegraph cottage,
Slough. Admission 1_s._”
Those who were among the first to respond to this tempting invitation
must have marvelled at the littleness of the apparatus capable of doing
such wonderful work. It was inclosed in a mahogany case a little larger
than a hat-box, which stood upon a table; it was worked by pressing
small brass keys, similar to those on a keyed bugle, and spectators
were informed that these keys acting, by means of electric power, upon
various hands placed upon a dial plate at the other end of the line
made them point not only to each letter of the alphabet as each key
was struck or pressed, but when desired to numerals and to points of
punctuation, such as a comma, colon, &c. When any mistake was made in
transmitting a message, and a certain key was struck in consequence,
it made the hand point to an X, which indicated that an “erasure” was
intended.
Ere long its utility was shown to be greater than its novelty. As it
continued in good working order, events occurred which demonstrated
its value. For instance, it transmitted the following messages which
effected results that excited public interest at the time:--
Eton Montem, August 28th, 1844.--The Commissioners of Police have
issued orders that several officers of the detective force shall be
stationed at Paddington to watch the movements of suspicious persons
going by the down-train, and give notice by the electric telegraph to
the Slough station of the number of such suspected persons and dress,
their names if known, also the carriages in which they are.
Paddington, 10.20 A.M.--Mail train just started. It contains three
thieves, named Sparrow, Burrell, and Spurgeon, in the first compartment
of the fourth first-class carriage.
Slough, 10.48 A.M.--Mail train arrived. The officers have cautioned the
three thieves.
Paddington, 10.50 A.M.--Special train just left. It contained two
thieves: one named Oliver Martin, who is dressed in black, crape on his
hat. The other, named Fiddler Dick, in black trousers and light blouse.
Both in the third compartment of the first second-class carriage.
Slough, 11.16 A.M.--Special train arrived. Officers have taken the two
thieves into custody, a lady having lost her bag containing a purse
with two sovereigns and some silver in it; one of the sovereigns was
sworn to by the lady as having been her property. It was found in
Fiddler Dick’s watch-fob.
Slough, 11.51 A.M.--Several of the suspected persons who came by
the various down trains are lurking about Slough, uttering bitter
invectives against the telegraph. Not one of those cautioned has
ventured to proceed to the Montem.
It was afterwards reported that when the train arrived at Slough a
policeman, opening the door of the carriage described in the telegram,
asked if any passenger had missed anything. On search being made by the
astonished passengers, one of them, the lady, exclaimed that her purse
was gone. “Then you are wanted, Fiddler Dick,” said the constable to
the thief, who appeared thunderstruck at the supernatural discovery.
Fiddler Dick surrendered himself, and delivered up the stolen money. It
was said that after that the light-fingered gentry avoided “the wire.”
Another placard which was distributed all over London informed the
public that “the telegraph, Great Western Railway, may be seen in
constant operation daily, Sundays excepted; by this powerful agency
murderers have been apprehended, thieves detected, and, lastly (which
is of no little importance), the timely assistance of medical men has
been procured in cases which would otherwise have proved fatal.”
Yet something more than sensational placards was necessary to impress
upon the public mind the utility of the telegraph. “The genius of the
English people,” says Smollett, “is perhaps incompatible with a state
of perfect tranquillity: if it is not ruffled by foreign provocations
or agitated by unpopular measures of domestic administration, it will
undergo fermentations from the turbulent ingredients inherent in its
own constitution: tumults are excited and faction kindled into rage by
incidents of the most frivolous nature.” He goes on to say that in 1753
the metropolis of England was divided and discomposed in a surprising
manner by a dispute in itself of so little consequence to the community
that it did not deserve a place in a general history if it did not
serve to convey a characteristic idea of the English nation. In like
manner an incident occurred in 1845 which would not deserve a place
here, if it had not been the means of directing public attention to the
value of the telegraph. When the first telegraph was started in 1837,
England was absorbed in the turmoil of a general election; and all the
efforts made for the next eight years to excite public interest in its
favour were of little avail, till on the evening of January 2nd, 1845,
it played a notable part in effecting the apprehension of a notorious
murderer.
Between six and seven o’clock in the evening of that day, a woman named
Sarah Hart was murdered at Salt Hill, and a man was seen hurrying from
her house in a way that aroused suspicion. The police ascertained that
the murdered woman was kept by a Quaker named John Tawell, living at
Berkhampstead, who was in comfortable circumstances and respected in
the neighbourhood. He answered the description of the man seen near the
scene of the murder, and was believed to have hurried to Slough Station
and taken the train thence to Paddington. The police accordingly
telegraphed to Paddington as follows:
“A murder has just been committed at Salt Hill, and the suspected
murderer was seen to take a first-class ticket for London by the train
which left Slough at 7h. 42m. P.M. He is in the garb of a Quaker with a
brown coat on, which reaches nearly down to his feet; he is in the last
compartment of the second first-class carriage.”
The distance from Slough to Paddington being only seventeen miles,
there was not much time for telegraphing, and a circumstance occurred
which is said to have imperilled the transmission of the message. It
was transmitted on one of Wheatstone’s five-needle instruments, which
was afterwards preserved by the Post Office authorities on account of
the important part it played on this occasion. Among the letters of the
alphabet stamped on its diamond-shaped face, there was no “Q;” and when
the telegraph clerk at Paddington saw, in the middle of the message,
the needles pointing to the letters K-w-a he thought there must be
some mistake or fault, as no English word began with these letters.
He therefore asked the clerk at Slough to repeat the word, and again
came the letters K-w-a. Another repetition threw no fresh light on the
difficulty; and it is said that after several repetitions a sharp boy
suggested that the sender should be allowed to finish the word. This
being done the word came K-w-a-k-e-r, which the clerk recognised as
meaning Quaker. Notwithstanding the delay thus caused by the absence
of Q, the message was delivered in time, and after a short interval
the following reply to it was received: “The up train has arrived,
and the person answering in every respect the description given by
telegraph came out of the compartment mentioned. I pointed the man out
to Sergeant Williams. The man got into a New Road omnibus, and Sergeant
Williams into the same.” On arriving at Paddington, Tawell endeavoured
to elude observation, but unawares he was watched by the police as he
went to a coffee tavern in the City, where he was arrested next day
by order of the authorities. He was afterwards tried and convicted of
the murder, which was effected by administering prussic acid. In a
written confession left after his execution, Tawell said he had made
a previous unsuccessful attempt at murder, as he lived in perpetual
dread of his connection with Mrs. Hart becoming known to his wife. The
account given of his previous life also tended to increase the public
excitement. After a career of concealed profligacy, he was sentenced to
transportation in 1820 for forgery, but in Australia his intelligence
and good conduct induced the authorities to grant him first a ticket
of leave, and then emancipation. Eventually he became successful in
business as a chemist in Sydney, and at the end of fifteen years left
Sydney a rich man. Returning to England, he married as his second wife
a Quaker lady, who was thereupon expelled from the Society of Friends,
and who lived to see him executed for a crime which startled the whole
country, and for which the telegraph was accredited with effecting his
arrest.
Another instance of telegraphic speed created both astonishment and
amusement in 1845. In a contemporary publication it was reported that
“by the use of the telegraph has been accomplished the apparent paradox
of sending a message in the year 1845 and receiving it in 1844. Thus,
directly after the clock had struck twelve on the night of December 31,
the superintendent at Paddington signalled to his brother at Slough
that he wished him a happy new year. An answer was immediately returned
suggesting that the wish was premature, as the new year had not yet
arrived at Slough!”
In April following a passenger, while proceeding from Paddington by the
Great Western Railway, discovered that he had lost his purse containing
notes and cash to the amount of nearly 1000_l._ Alighting at Slough in
a state of great agitation, he telegraphed inquiries to Paddington, and
was quickly relieved of his load of distress by learning that he had
left his purse on the counter there, and that it was safe in the hands
of the clerk.
In 1845, too, it was thought a telegraphic achievement worth
proclaiming, that the entire report of a railway meeting was
transmitted in less than half an hour from Portsmouth to London; and
that in the spring of 1845 the Queen’s Speech, containing 3600 letters,
was transmitted from London to Southampton. This line of ninety miles
was then the longest in England. Prior to that the old semaphore system
was worked between London and Portsmouth. It consisted in the movement
in a preconcerted manner of elevated boards, fans, or shutters, in
a way that was visible from one station to another, it being agreed
that each particular movement should represent a letter, a word, or a
sentence. These semaphore stations had to be on elevated spots so as to
be visible to each other; but as the weather often obscured the view,
this means of communication was only available during one-fifth of the
year. Moreover, it cost 3,000_l._ a year to work it, and it was worked
for the last time on December 31, 1847. For the use of the new electric
telegraph to Portsmouth the Government paid 1,500_l._ a year; and to
preserve secrecy they had an alphabet of signals of their own, which
could only be read and worked by their own trusted servants.
As the line was also used for the transmission of public messages, it
may be noted that the charge for sending a message then was from 3_s._
to 9_s._ to Southampton, according to the number of words. By this
South Western telegraph a game of chess was played in April, 1845,
between Mr. Staunton and Captain Kennedy at the Portsmouth terminus,
and Mr. Walker and another gentleman at the Vauxhall terminus. Details
of the game were published in the press, and it was said that “the
electric messenger” had travelled 10,000 miles in course of the game.
Such were the infantine achievements of an agency which in less than
forty years was to transmit about 200 million messages per annum, and
was to connect the most distant parts of the civilised world.
Although the telegraph made little progress in England during the five
years that followed the construction of the line between Paddington and
Slough, the capture of Tawell, the Quaker murderer, followed by reports
of such incidents as those related above, gave such an impetus to its
extension that eighteen months after that event nearly 1000 miles
were constructed; and it was thought in those primitive times worth
recording that no less than 300 tons of wire, and 5000 loads of timber
had been used in telegraph works.
The year of 1847 was a time of great activity in telegraphic
construction. It was not till then that the London and North Western
Railway Company, on whose line the first working telegraph ever made
was tried, decisively adopted it--just ten years after the first
experiment. In 1847 the Company considered the commercial advantages
of the telegraph to be established beyond doubt, and they arranged for
its construction along their entire line. The Midland Company followed
their example.
The South Eastern Railway Company, which adopted the telegraph in 1845,
had a line 132 miles long in 1846, and that line was then the longest
in existence. On September 1, 1846, that railway company announced
that messages of twenty words would be sent for the public on payment
of 1½_d._ per mile. The minimum charge was 5_s._; and the cost of
sending a message from London to Ramsgate was 12_s._ 6_d._ Mr. C. V.
Walker, who had charge of the line, afterwards stated that the cost
of telegraphing was fixed at a Parliamentary fare and a half, because
it was suggested by “an authority” that it would not do to make the
telegraph rates too low, lest they might reduce the traffic receipts
of the Company by inducing passengers to use the wire instead of the
trains. That this was no mere fancy appears from a letter published in
a respectable weekly journal in September, 1846. The writer of that
letter complained that the directors had set such high prices upon
telegraphic communications as would entirely prevent their use, and
that they would thus by their covetousness defeat their own purpose
and interests. Five shillings for a message of less than twenty words
to Tonbridge; 7_s._ 6_d._ to Maidstone; 10_s._ 6_d._ to Canterbury
and Folkestone; 11_s._ to Dover, and 12_s._ 6_d._ to Ramsgate--who,
he asked, would pay “such a price for a few words’ conveyance when he
can send a sheet of foolscap fully written by the post for one penny;
or when for the amount they charge he can run there and back in the
Company’s own trains, and see his friends or correspond _vis à vis_,
with a ride into the bargain. How different is this from the charges on
the Continent! The telegraph on the Brussels and Antwerp line is open,
and the charge is 50 cents (about 5_d._).”
Events were already in progress which were destined to provide a
remedy for such primeval arrangements. On October 1, 1845, Mr. Cooke
was introduced to Mr. John Ricardo, M.P., who was so impressed with
the value of the telegraph that within three weeks he accepted the
terms upon which Mr. Cooke offered to sell it. Mr. Ricardo then
became chairman of the newly formed Electric Telegraph Company, which
obtained an Act of Parliament in June, 1846. The Company having been
thus empowered to acquire and work the telegraphs, gave £140,000 for
the patents of Messrs. Wheatstone and Cooke. Professor Wheatstone told
some of his friends that when the first patent was taken out for his
telegraph he had not the means to pay the cost of it, and hence he had
to get the support of others. Nine years afterwards when the patents
were sold for £140,000, only £30,000 of that sum went into his pocket,
though the original agreement was that he should be “on a footing of
equality” with Mr. Cooke as to participation in profits. It was Mr.
Cooke who negotiated the sale of the patents.
From a financial point of view the Company at the outset was not
prosperous, but under their management the telegraph was rapidly
extended; indeed its extension for a time appeared to exceed the public
requirements; and Mr. Ricardo had to advance money to pull them through
their difficulties. It was stated in 1847 that there were then twenty
lines of telegraph in England, while in Scotland, where in 1841 Sir
Charles Fox ordered a line to be made on the Glasgow and Cowlairs
Railway, there were now three lines. The total length of the lines laid
in 1847 was 1,250 miles; but as most of the lines had three or four
wires the total length of wire in operation was 6,017 miles. There were
253 stations, and nearly 400 instruments in use. In 1849 the Company
completed arrangements with the Post-master General and the different
lines of railway for further extensions of telegraphic lines from
their office at the General Post Office, St. Martin’s-le-Grand, to
most of the large towns in England and Scotland, to which messages of
twenty words could be sent for 1_d._ per mile for the first 50 miles,
½_d._ for the second 50 miles, and ¼_d._ for any distance beyond 100
miles. In course of their first five years’ operations, the receipts of
the Company increased nearly fivefold. In January, 1849, a message was
transmitted direct from London to Manchester for the first time.
The Electric Telegraph Company endeavoured to make telegraphic
communication a monopoly by buying up every new invention that seemed
likely to enable any other Company to compete with them. With reference
to the inventions made for improving the telegraph, Mr. Ricardo, the
chairman of the Company, stated some curious facts in 1851. He said,
“It has happened, not once, but I think twenty times, that a man has
brought to us an instrument of great ingenuity for sale; we have taken
him to a cupboard, and brought out some dusty old models, and said,
‘That is your invention, and there is wheel for wheel generally.’
Nevertheless he has, in fact, invented it. The ideas of several men
are set in motion by exactly the same circumstances. One invention was
brought for purchase to the Electric Telegraph Company; no model was
brought with it; there was simply a description of the apparatus. It
was on a principle which was received by electricians as impossible,
and the men of science connected with the Company declared it to be
impossible. Nevertheless the model was brought; and it was found that
the thing was practicable against all rules by which hitherto they
had been guided in the matter. We have bought a good many patented
improvements; in most cases they were valueless in themselves; but in
combination with others which we have, they may be made useful. We have
found, after every possible experiment, that the original system of
the needles is by far the best for all practical purposes. There is not
one invention which is not brought to the Company before it is started
against the Company, and we have expended nearly £200,000 in buying
patents and litigating them; but we find, after all, that the original
patent is by far the best and the most suitable for practical purposes.
There is one patent of Mr. Bain’s for which we gave £8000 or £9000;
although it did not quite come up to our expectations, it has proved
useful in combination with other patents.”
This testimony will appear all the more remarkable when it is added
that between 1837 and 1857 about forty different inventors took out
patents for telegraphic apparatus, and that some of these men took out
several patents. It is remarkable, moreover, that from the time of the
formation of the Company till 1858, Professor Wheatstone did not patent
any improvement of telegraphic apparatus. It has been said that during
these years he entirely ceased to be an inventor, and did not bring
his great electrical knowledge and inventive faculties into use. But
this is not strictly accurate, for circumstances had occurred which
for a time diverted his attention to another field for the application
of electricity in which he became a pioneer. About the year 1850 Sir
Charles Pasley was experimenting as to the explosion of submarine
mines, and being acquainted with Professor Wheatstone and Professor
Daniell, he informed them of his intention to use electricity for that
purpose, and sought their advice on the subject.
These eminent electricians took much interest in the proposal, and
under their superintendence the first arrangements for exploding
submarine charges were worked out in the laboratory of King’s College.
Acting on their advice Sir Charles Pasley used electricity to explode
the charges of gunpowder that blew up the wreck of the _Royal George_
at Spithead, which he was then engaged in removing. In 1853 Sir John
Burgoyne, Inspector General of Fortifications, requested Captain Ward,
R.E., to carry out some experiments for determining the best form of
voltaic battery for military purposes. That officer then made himself
fully acquainted with the labours of Professor Wheatstone and others;
and afterwards reported in favour of a small battery seven inches long
by four wide; but in 1855 Professor Wheatstone, who was then a member
of the Select Committee on Ordnance, advised Sir John Burgoyne to
institute a further experimental inquiry into the relative advantages
of different sources of electricity. This investigation was accordingly
carried out by Professor Wheatstone and Professor Abel; and in the
course of it Wheatstone invented the first efficient magneto-electric
machine for the explosion of mines. It was called the Wheatstone
exploder, and it weighed 32 pounds. In a report on their experiments,
presented to the Secretary for War in 1860, it was stated that by means
of “a magneto-electric apparatus similar to that used in the Chatham
experiments, and termed by Mr. Wheatstone the ‘Magnetic Exploder,’
the ignition at one time of phosphide of copper fuzes, varying in
number from two to twenty-five, is certain, provided these fuzes are
arranged in the branches of a divided circuit; to attain this result
it is only necessary to employ a single wire insulated by a coating of
gutta-percha or india-rubber and simple metallic connections of the
apparatus and the charge with the earth.” They stated that from twelve
to twenty-five charges could be exploded simultaneously on land at a
distance of 600 yards from the apparatus; but the number of submarine
charges which it could explode at one time was more limited. During the
next seven years this apparatus was much used in gunnery experiments as
well as in mining; and several modifications of it were devised on the
Continent and in America. In 1867-8 Professor Wheatstone constructed
a more powerful modification of his magnetic exploder, and Professor
Abel ever afterwards spoke in the highest terms of the ingenuity and
industry with which his former colleague had worked out the solution
of this problem. He said that Professor Wheatstone brought under the
notice of the Government the successful labours of Du Moncel, Savari,
von Ebner, and others on the applications of electricity to military
purposes; and if he had only done that service, he would have done an
important work. But he did more; he constructed the first practical
and thoroughly efficient magneto-electric machine for the explosion of
mines.
Let us now pass from submarine mines to submarine cables. There have
been several claimants to the honour of being the first to develop
the idea of submarine telegraphy; and among them Professor Wheatstone
is entitled to honourable mention. One of the first suggestions of a
sub-aqueous telegraph was made by him. In 1840 he was giving evidence
before a Select Committee of the House of Commons, and after he had
given an account of the short line of telegraph from Paddington to
Drayton, then the only line in existence, he was questioned as to
whether an electric telegraph could be worked over a distance of 100
miles. He replied in the affirmative. “Have you tried to pass the line
through water?” said Sir John Guest. “There would be no difficulty in
doing so,” replied Wheatstone; “but the experiment has not been made.”
“Could you communicate from Dover to Calais in that way?” “I think it
perfectly practicable,” replied the enthusiastic inventor. The subject
thus started for the first time in public was not new to Professor
Wheatstone; for it afterwards appeared from manuscripts in his
possession that he had given much consideration to it in 1837. Mr. John
Watkins Brett, who was also honourably connected with the initiation
of submarine telegraphy, stated in 1857 that he was ignorant until
three or four years previously that a line across the Channel had
been suggested years before by that talented philosopher, Professor
Wheatstone; and he exhibited at the Royal Institution the original
plans of Wheatstone drawn in 1840 for an electric telegraph between
Dover and Calais. The cable he then designed was to be insulated by
tarred yarn and protected by iron wire; and his plan of laying down and
picking up was also shown in the drawing. The man who made the drawing
for Wheatstone went to Australia in 1841, and did not return. But there
were other evidences of its genuineness. Professor Wheatstone showed
his plans to a number of visitors at King’s College, and a Brussels
paper records that in the same year (1840) he repeated his experiments
at the Brussels Observatory in the presence of several literary and
scientific men, for the purpose of showing them the feasibility of
making a cable between Dover and Calais. For carrying out his plans he
designed three new machines, and minutely worked out the other details
of the undertaking. In a manuscript written in 1840 on “a means of
establishing an electric cable between England and France,” he stated
that the wire should form the core of a wrought line well saturated
with boiled tar, and all the lines be made into a rope prepared in the
same manner. His correspondence shows that his plan became the subject
of communications with persons of authority during the next few years;
and in the month of September, 1844, he and Mr. J. D. Llewellyn made
experiments with submerged insulated wires in Swansea Bay. They went
out in a boat from which they laid a wire to Mumblehead Lighthouse,
and they tested various kinds of insulation. These experiments were so
successful that Wheatstone returned to his original Channel project.
His idea, says Mr. R. Sabine, was to inclose the wire, insulated
with worsted and marine glue, in a lead pipe; and for some time he
was engaged in making inquiries as to the nature of the bed of the
Channel and the action of the tides, as well as experiments with the
metals he proposed to use. There is also evidence to show that in 1845
he proposed to use gutta percha in the manufacture of his proposed
cable. It is said that gutta percha was first brought to England in the
previous year, and there was such a demand for the small quantity then
available that he could not get what he wanted of it.
In June 1846, the _Times_ announced, in reference to a statement
made “some time ago that a submarine telegraph was to be laid down
across the English Channel, by which an instantaneous communication
could be made from coast to coast,” that the Lords Commissioners
of the Admiralty, with a view of testing the practicability of
this undertaking had now approved of the projector’s laying down a
submarine telegraph across the harbour of Portsmouth, from the house
of the admiral in the dockyard to the railway terminus at Gosport.
“By this means there will be a direct communication from London to
the official residence of the Port-Admiral at Portsmouth, whereas
at present the telegraph does not extend beyond the terminus at
Gosport, the crossing of the harbour having been hitherto deemed an
insurmountable obstacle.... In a few days after the experiment has
been successfully tested at Portsmouth, the submarine telegraph will
be laid down across the Straits of Dover under the sanction of both
the English and French Governments.” There is evidence extant to show
that Professor Wheatstone was in the previous year in communication
with the Admiralty on the subject of a cable across the Channel. It was
on the twenty-fifth of the same month in which the above remarks were
published that the Corn Law Importation Bill was carried through the
House of Lords; and on the twenty-ninth the Duke of Wellington in the
House of Lords and Sir Robert Peel in the House of Commons announced
the resignation of the Government. Changes of Government, the famine
in Ireland, and the great commercial panic that followed were of more
absorbing interest than the laying of a submarine cable. At all events
the small cable across Portsmouth Harbour was not laid till 1847. It
was then stated that an offer made to the Admiralty to lay down a
telegraph inclosed in metallic pipes was found to be impracticable.
The successful cable had the appearance of an ordinary rope which was
coiled into one of the dockyard boats, and as the boat was pulled
across the telegraph rope was paid out over the stern, an operation
that occupied a quarter of an hour. It worked satisfactorily.
Professor Wheatstone, in an agreement which he made with Mr. Cooke
in April 1843, reserved to himself authority to establish “electric
telegraph communication between the coasts of England and France ...
for his own exclusive profit.” In a subsequent agreement dated October
1845, with reference to the sale of his patents, it was provided that
“Mr. Wheatstone will take the chair of a committee of three, to take
charge of the manufacture of the patent telegraphic instruments,
and the taking out and specifying future patents and matters of the
like nature, at a salary of 700_l._ a year, and shall devote to such
objects what time he shall think necessary. It is also understood that
a patent shall be applied for immediately to secure Mr. Wheatstone’s
improvements in the mode of transmitting electricity across the water;
that Mr. Wheatstone shall superintend the trial of his plans between
Gosport and Portsmouth; and if these experiments prove successful, then
in the practical application of the improvements to the purpose of
establishing a telegraph between England and France, the terms on which
such telegraph is to be held being a matter of arrangement between the
proprietors of the English and French patents.”
But something more than the ingenuity of Professor Wheatstone was
needed to carry the projected cable across the Channel. It required
all the energy and enthusiasm of Mr. J. W. Brett to make it an
accomplished fact. He did for the submarine telegraph what Mr. Cooke
did for Wheatstone’s land telegraph in England, and he always bore
generous testimony to the initiatory efforts of Professor Wheatstone.
Mr. Brett, who was an inventor as well as an _entrepreneur_, in 1845
offered to the Admiralty to connect Dublin Castle by telegraph with
Downing Street for a sum of £20,000, and the offer being refused,
he turned his attention to uniting together France and England by a
submarine line. In 1847 Louis Philippe granted the requisite permission
to land and work a cable on the French coast; but the British public
considered the scheme too hazardous to give it financial support. Three
years later he brought the subject before Louis Napoleon, who was
favourable to it. Accordingly in 1850, when 2000_l._ were subscribed
for the work, a cable was made and laid. On August 28th, 1850, the
paddle steamer _Goliath_, carrying in her centre a gigantic drum, with
thirty miles of telegraph wire in a covering of gutta percha wound
round it, started from Dover about ten o’clock, with a crew of thirty
men and provisions for the day. The track in a direct line to Cape
Grisnez had been previously marked by buoys and flags on staves. As the
steamer moved along that track at the rate of four miles an hour, the
cable was continuously paid out; leaden weights affixed to it at every
one-sixteenth of a mile sank it to the bottom; and about eight o’clock
in the evening the work was done.
Taking up an elevated position at the Dover Railway, Mr. Brett was able
by the aid of a glass to distinguish the lighthouse and cliff at Cape
Grisnez. The declining sun, he says, “enabled me to discern the moving
shadow of the steamer’s smoke on the white cliff, thus indicating
her progress. At length the shadow ceased to move. The vessel had
evidently come to an anchor. We gave them half an hour to convey the
end of the wire to shore, and attach the printing instrument, and
then I sent the first electric message across the Channel: this was
reserved for Louis Napoleon. I was afterwards informed that some French
soldiers, who saw the slip of printed paper running from the little
telegraph instrument, bearing a message from England, inquired how it
could possibly have crossed the Channel, and when it was explained that
it was the electricity which passed along the wire and performed the
printing operation, they were still incredulous. After several other
communications, the words ‘All well’ and ‘Good night’ were printed,
and closed the evening. In attempting to resume communication early
next morning, no response could be obtained.” The cable had broken.
“Knowing the incredulity expressed as to the success of the enterprise,
and that it was important to establish the fact that telegraphic
communication had taken place, I that night sent a trustworthy person
to Cape Grisnez, to procure the attestation of all who had witnessed
the receipt of the messages there; and the document was signed by some
ten persons, including an engineer of the French Government who was
present to watch the proceedings; this was forwarded to the Emperor of
the French, and a year of grace for another trial was granted.”
Near the rugged coast of Cape Grisnez the wire had been cut asunder
about 200 yards out to sea; but though of short duration the experiment
was considered so encouraging that it was determined to lay a much
stronger cable next year, and to land it at a more favourable part
of the French coast. When next year came the public were informed in
the newspapers that the manufacture of the submarine telegraph cable
afforded another instance in which rapidity of execution bordered
on the marvellous, for “though the telegraph-rope was not less than
twenty-four miles in length, it was completed in the short space of
three weeks--an undertaking which manual labour could scarcely effect
in as many years.” This cable was successfully laid, and on Thursday,
the 13th of November, 1851, communications passed between Dover and
Calais. The connections, however, with the land lines, giving direct
communication between London and Paris, were not completed till
the following November. It was remarked at the time as a singular
coincidence that the day chosen for the opening of the Submarine
Telegraph was that on which the Duke of Wellington attended in person
to close the Harbour sessions. It was accordingly resolved by the
promoters that his Grace on leaving Dover by the two o’clock train
for London should be saluted by a gun fired by the transmission of a
current from Calais. It was arranged that as the clock struck two at
Calais the requisite signal was to be passed; and, punctual to the
moment, a loud report reverberated on the water, and shook the ground
with some force. It was then evident that the current had fired a
22-pounder loaded with 10 lbs. of powder, and the report had scarcely
ceased ere it was taken up from the heights by the military who, as
usual, saluted the departure of the Duke with a round of artillery.
Guns were then fired successively on both coasts; Calais firing the
guns at Dover, and Dover returning the compliment to Calais.
Professor Wheatstone also did some useful work in connection with the
first Atlantic cables. In 1855 Professor Faraday was explaining the
subject of induction at the Royal Institution, when it was mentioned
to him that a current was obtained from a gutta percha covered wire,
300 miles long, half an hour after contact with the battery. “I
remember,” says Mr. J. W. Brett in 1857, “speaking to him on the
subject, and inquiring if he did not believe that this difficulty was
to be overcome, and I received from him every encouragement to hope
it might; but it at once became necessary that this point should be
cleared up, or it would be folly to pursue the subject of the union of
America with this country by electricity. I at once earnestly urged on
Mr. Whitehouse to take up this subject, and pursue it independently of
every other experiment, and a successful result was at last arrived
at on 1000 miles and upwards of a continuous line in the submarine
wires in the several cables, when lying in the docks. It did not rest
upon one, but many thousand experiments.” But these experiments did
not solve the problem, which exercised the ingenuity of the greatest
electricians of the age. Professor Wheatstone conducted several series
of experiments to aid in its solution. He showed that iron presented
eight times more resistance to the electric current than copper
did, and that differences in the size and quality of conductors and
insulators affected the transmission of signals.
In 1859 the Board of Trade selected Professor Wheatstone as a member
of the committee appointed to inquire into the subject of submarine
cables with special reference to the Atlantic cable. To that committee
he supplied an elaborate report which would fill fifty pages of this
volume, “On the circumstances which influence the inductive discharge
of submarine telegraph cables.” He was also a member of the scientific
committee appointed in 1864 to advise the Atlantic Telegraph Company as
to the manufacture, laying, and working of the cables of 1865 and 1866.
In 1848 Lord Palmerston made a remark about the telegraph that was
at the time regarded as a jest. He said the day would come when a
minister, if asked in Parliament whether war had broken out in India,
would reply, “Wait a minute, I’ll just telegraph to the Governor
General, and let you know.” At that time two or three months usually
elapsed between the sending of a message and the receipt of an answer
from Calcutta to London; and hence the remark of Lord Palmerston was
derided as a joke. But in 1855 the electric telegraph performed a feat
which astonished the nations of Europe. On the 2nd of March the Czar
Nicholas died at St. Petersburg at one o’clock; and the same afternoon
the Earl of Clarendon announced his death in the House of Lords--the
intelligence having been received by two different lines of telegraph.
Two years afterwards two different schemes were promoted for connecting
Europe with India by telegraph; but this was not successfully
accomplished till eight years afterwards. Three years before the
Palmerstonian jest of 1848 became an accomplished fact, Professor
Wheatstone communicated to Lord Palmerston the effects of a new
telegraphic invention which seemed nearly as incredible as the idea of
telegraphing to India appeared a few years previously. The noble lord
was at Oxford University receiving his honorary degree, and was watched
by Sir Henry Taylor at an evening party as the Professor gave him a
somewhat prolonged explanation of his new invention for facilitating
telegraphy. “The man of science,” says Sir Henry, “was slow, the man
of the world _seemed_ attentive; the man of science was copious, the
man of the world let nothing escape him; the man of science unfolded
the anticipated results--another and another, the man of the world
listened with all his ears: and I was saying to myself, ‘His patience
is exemplary, but will it last for ever?’ when I heard the issue:--‘God
bless my soul, you don’t say so! I _must_ get you to tell that to the
Lord Chancellor.’ And the man of the world took the man of science to
another part of the room, hooked him on to Lord Westbury, and bounded
away like a horse let loose in a pasture.”
If it be true that men of the world regarded with impatience the
ingenious devices of Professor Wheatstone, very different was the
reception accorded to them by the prince of modern scientists. In the
beginning of the following year (19th January, 1858) Professor Faraday
wrote the following letter to him: “While thinking of your beautiful
telegraphs it occured to me that perhaps you would not think ill of
my proposing to give an account of the magneto-electric telegraph
and the recording telegraph on a Friday evening after Easter--about
the end of May or June. I suppose all will be safe by that time. I
think that by the electric lamp and a proper lens, we might throw
the image of the face on to the wall, and so we may illustrate the
action to the whole audience.” The proposed lecture was delivered by
Professor Faraday in the Royal Institution on June 11th, 1858, and his
subject was “Wheatstone’s electric telegraph in relation to science
(being an argument in favour of the full recognition of science as a
branch of education).” That lecture was very interesting, not only as
indicating the progress made in the telegraph, but as showing his high
appreciation of the inventive ingenuity which had accelerated that
progress. So far from representing the telegraph as “no invention” he
spoke of it as a series of inventions. “It teaches us to be neglectful
of nothing,” he said; “not to despise the small beginnings, for they
precede of necessity all great things in the knowledge of science,
either pure or applied. It teaches a continual comparison of the _small
and great_, and that under differences almost approaching the infinite:
for the small as often comprehends the great in principle as the great
does the small.” As to the work done by Professor Wheatstone, he said:
“Without referring to what he had done previously, it may be observed
that in 1840 he took out patents for electric telegraphs, which
included, amongst other things, the use of the electricity from magnets
at the communicators--the dial face--the step-by-step motion--and the
electro-magnet at the indicator. At the present time, 1858, he has
taken out patents for instruments containing all these points; but
these instruments are so altered and varied in character above and
beyond the former, that an untaught person could not recognise them.
In the first instruments powerful magnets were used, and keepers[7]
with heavy coils associated with them. When magnetic electricity was
first discovered, the signs were feeble, and the mind of the student
was led to increase the results by increasing the force and size of
the instruments. When the object was to obtain a current sufficient to
give signals through long circuits, large apparatus were employed, but
these involved the inconveniences of inertia and momentum; the keeper
was not set in motion at once, nor instantly stopped; and if connected
directly with the reading indexes, these circumstances caused an
occasional uncertainty of action. Prepared by its previous education,
the mind could perceive the disadvantages of these influences, and
could proceed to their removal.... The alternations or successions of
currents produced by the movement of the keeper at the communicator,
pass along the wire to the indicator at a distance; there each one
for itself confers a magnetic condition on a piece of soft iron, and
renders it attractive or repulsive of small permanent magnets; and
these, acting in turn on a propelment, cause the index to pass at will
from one letter to another on the dial face. The first electro-magnets,
_i.e._, those made by the circulation of an electric current round a
piece of soft iron, were weak; they were quickly strengthened, and
it was only when they were strong that their laws and actions could
be successfully investigated. But now they are required small, yet
potential; and it was only by patient study that Wheatstone was able
so to refine the little electro-magnets at the indicator as that they
shall be small enough to consist with the fine work there employed,
able to do their appointed work when excited in contrary directions
by the brief currents flowing from the original common magnet, and
unobjectionable in respect of any resistance they might offer to these
tell-tale currents. These small transitory electro-magnets attract and
repel certain permanent magnetic needles, and the to-and-fro motion of
the latter is communicated by a propelment to the index, being there
converted into a step-by-step motion. Here everything is of the finest
workmanship; the propelment itself requires to be watched by a lens, if
its action is to be observed; the parts never leave hold of each other;
the holes of the axes are jewelled; the moving parts are most carefully
balanced, a consequence of which is that agitation of the whole does
not disturb the parts, and the telegraph works just as well when it is
twisted about in the hands, or placed on board a ship or in a railway
carriage, as when fixed immovably. All this delicacy of arrangement
and workmanship is introduced advisedly; for the inventor considers
that refined and perfect workmanship is more exact in its action, more
unchangeable by time and use, and more enduring in its existence, than
that which, being heavier, must be coarser in its workmanship, less
regular in its action, and less fitted for the application of force by
fine electric currents.... Now,” added Faraday, “there was no chance in
these developments;--if there were experiments, they were directed by
the previously acquired knowledge;--every part of the investigation was
made and guided by the instructed mind.... The beauty of electricity,
or of any other force, is not that the power is mysterious and
unexpected, but that it is under _law_, and that the taught intellect
can even now govern it largely.”
The instrument which Faraday described in such appreciative terms has
superseded the step-by-step instrument which was invented in 1840. The
new instrument, like the old one, has a dial with the letters of the
alphabet round the edge, and when in operation the indicating hand
or finger points successively to each letter forming the message,
which can thus be read by anyone. The sending instrument also has a
dial round which are the letters of the alphabet, and projecting from
each letter is a brass key or stud. The new mechanism inside this
instrument is so ingeniously designed that when the sender of a message
turns round a small handle which puts in motion the magneto-electric
apparatus so as to generate electric currents, the indicating finger
on the receiving dial moves round till it is stopped at the desired
letter. This stoppage is effected by the sender depressing the brass
stud which represents the desired letter. By this depression of
any particular stud, the currents of electricity are cut off just
when the indicating finger reaches the letter on the receiving dial
corresponding to that of the depressed stud at the sending instrument;
and the indicating finger remains at that letter till the stud of
another letter is depressed, whereupon the indicating finger moves
along the receiving dial till it reaches again the letter corresponding
to that of the depressed stud. No knowledge of electrical science or of
mechanics is needed to work this instrument, the hidden mechanism of
which cannot be easily described in popular language. Surely it is an
illustration of the classic adage that the highest art is to conceal
art.
The working of this instrument excelled all others in simplicity; and
at the same time Professor Wheatstone invented one which exceeded all
others in rapidity. The former became known as Wheatstone’s A, B, C
instrument, the latter as Wheatstone’s automatic fast speed printing
instrument. The latter is so constructed that the passage of the
current is regulated by means of a perforated strip of paper. The
apparatus consists of three parts--the perforator, the transmitter,
and the receiver. The perforator has keys which when pressed down by
an operator punch in a strip of paper combinations of holes, which
represent letters of the alphabet, thus
A B C
o o o o o o o o o o
o o o o o o o o o o
One person working a perforator can simultaneously punch duplicate
messages, but only one strip of perforated paper can be put into the
transmitter, which draws it forward with a continuous motion. Two
small pins, one on each side, are underneath the strip of paper, and
whenever one of these pins comes to a perforated hole it momentarily
rises through it, and imparts sufficient electricity from the battery
to the telegraph wire to move a pen at the other end of the wire, so
as to make a mark in ink on a clean strip of paper passing through
the receiving instrument. The ink marks thus produced in combinations
represent letters of the alphabet, namely,
A B C
__ ______ ____ __ __ __ ______ __ ______ __
The receiver is thus a recording instrument so exact and sensitive that
it mechanically and rapidly imprints on a strip of paper dots, dashes,
and spaces, which, in a sense, correspond with the holes perforated
in the tape passing through the transmitter, at the other end of the
wire. When this apparatus was invented it was represented as capable of
forwarding messages at the rate of 500 letters per minute, being five
times faster than any other system then in use.
In 1868 the inventor stated that although for rapidity of transmission
his automatic instrument had never been surpassed, he did not expect
that the existing instruments would in all cases be given up for it.
He believed it would be very useful on all “lines of great traffic,”
and particularly on those lines over which newspaper intelligence is
sent. In 1870 the telegraph lines of the United Kingdom were acquired
by the Government--a step which Professor Wheatstone advocated as
the best means of cheapening messages and extending the telegraph to
places unapproached by the Telegraph Companies. Let us see how his
expectations have been realised.
In 1872 Mr. Culley, the engineer-in-chief of the Telegraphic system
of the United Kingdom, stated that in order to increase the number
of messages which could be sent through the wires in a given time, a
very large use had to be made of the Wheatstone automatic instrument,
which was in use by the Electric Company before the transfer to
the Government. There were only four circuits then; but in the two
years following the transfer fifteen circuits were supplied with
that apparatus. In addition to these automatic circuits for ordinary
business, the Telegraph Department had also fitted up with that
system what they called the Western News circuit running from London
to Bristol, Gloucester, Cardiff, Newport, Exeter, and Plymouth, the
news being then sent to all these places simultaneously, and at the
rate of fifty to fifty-five words a minute. A very great improvement
had also been effected, at considerable expense, in the single-needle
instrument. A very large number of inventions had been brought before
the Department, and it might have been hoped that very considerable
advantage to the public would have arisen from the breaking up of the
monopoly of the Companies and the private interests which almost all
the officers had in perpetuating the form of some old instrument. But
Mr. Culley had to report that not in any one instance had any apparatus
or system of signalling of practical value been laid before him. One
system only had been of such a nature as could possibly have any value,
and he said that one would have required fully ten years to mature
before it could be brought out.
Professor Wheatstone lived to see 140 of his automatic instruments in
use. In 1872 he applied to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council
for a prolongation of his patent; and it being then stated that he had
received £12,000 in 1870, when the transfer of the telegraphs took
place, the Government agreed to pay him an additional sum of £9,200 in
six yearly instalments as compensation for his patent rights.
In 1879 Mr. Preece, the electrician to the Post Office, said that the
automatic transmitter “is an instrument of great delicacy and great
power; it is now used to an enormous extent in this country, and it is
one that we are improving every day. For instance, while about this
time last year we were able to transmit all our news to Ireland at
the rate of 60 words a minute, we are now doing it with ease at the
rate of 150 words a minute; and with the improvements which we have
now in hand, we shall be able next year to transmit nearly 200 words a
minute.” This expectation was realised. Although experience suggested
improvements in nearly every part of the apparatus, the leading
principles remained the same. In 1885 Mr. Preece gave the following
account of the successive stages of the progress made: it was capable
of transmitting in 1877, 80 words per minute; in 1878, 100; in 1879,
130; in 1880, 170; in 1881, 190; in 1882, 200; in 1883, 250; in 1884,
350; in 1885, 420. It thus appears that if three men were speaking
at the same time, one of Wheatstone’s automatic instruments could
transmit the three speeches in the same time that they were spoken, the
instrument transmitting three times as fast as one man could speak.
Towards the close of the first half century of the existence of the
telegraph, the Wheatstone automatic transmitter achieved the great
feat of transmitting 1,500,000 words from London on the night when Mr.
Gladstone explained his plan for giving self-government to Ireland, On
that occasion (April 8, 1886) one hundred Wheatstone’s perforators
were used in the Central Telegraph Office in London to prepare the
messages. Thirty of these perforators punched six slips at once,
thirteen punched three slips at once, thirty-one punched two slips at
once, and twenty-six punched single slips. The largest number of words
previously transmitted in one night was 860,000; and to give some idea
of what 1,500,000 words represent, it may be added that if an average
quick speaker like Mr. Gladstone were to speak without any stoppage for
a week, night and day, that would just be about the number of words
that he would utter, or that another person could read aloud.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] The keeper or armature is the piece of iron which is
placed across the ends or poles of a horseshoe magnet.
CHAPTER IV.
“A name, even in the most commercial nation, is one of the
few things which cannot be bought. It is the free gift
of mankind, which must be deserved before it will be
granted, and is at last unwillingly bestowed. But this
unwillingness only increases desire in him who believes
his merit sufficient to overcome it.”--DR. JOHNSON.
From the two preceding chapters it appears that Professor Wheatstone
was not only the inventor of the first electric telegraph used in
England, but that he at last invented the most perfect transmitter of
telegraphic intelligence. He not only nursed it from its birth, but
reared it to maturity; and the period that elapsed between his first
and last invention of telegraphic apparatus was exactly twenty-one
years. But this was not enough for his versatile mind to accomplish.
He had worked successfully as an inventor for seventeen years before
his first telegraph was invented, and he continued to work at his
favourite subjects for seventeen years after his last great telegraphic
invention. Having confined our attention in the last two chapters
almost exclusively to the progress of the telegraph, it remains for
us to follow the inventor into the bye-paths which he now and then
delighted to tread, as well as to follow his course during his latter
years along the highway of electrical science in which his genius
appeared to find its most congenial exercise.
It has already been explained that in the early years of his electrical
researches, he was one of the first men in England to draw attention
to the thermo-electric pile originally constructed by Nobili and
Melloni in 1831; it consisted of a bundle or pile of small plates of
bismuth and antimony, which when heated converts heat into electricity.
By connecting this pile by coils of wire with a galvanometer (a
movable needle) it becomes a delicate means of indicating minute
changes of temperature, the electricity generated by heat moving the
needle. This instrument can be affected by the warmth of the hand
held several yards away from it; and it is believed that without it,
as a thermoscope, the important discoveries respecting radiant heat
made by Professor Tyndall and others would have been impossible. It
has even been found possible by means of this sensitive apparatus
to estimate the amount of radiant heat emitted by insects. In 1837
Professor Wheatstone predicted great results from the thermo-electric
pile as a source of electricity, and in 1865 he constructed a powerful
thermo-electric battery of that description. It was composed of
sixty pairs of small bars, and it was stated that by its action “a
brilliant spark was obtained, and about half an inch of fine platinum
wire when interposed was raised to incandescence and fused; water was
decomposed, and a penny electro-plated with silver in a few seconds;
whilst an electro-magnet was made to lift upwards of a hundredweight
and a half.” This thermo-electric battery may be said to have
electrified the imaginations of men of science, who saw visions and
dreamt dreams about its future. For instance, it was suggested that
“like windmills, thermo-electric batteries might be erected all over
the country for the purpose of converting into mechanical force, and
thus into money, gleams of sunshine which would be to them as wind to
the sails of a mill.” Many other attempts have been made to construct
a thermo-electric pile capable of being used as a generator of
electricity instead of the voltaic battery or the dynamo; and although
much progress was made in later years, the difficulty in the way, as
Lord Rayleigh observed in 1885, was the too free passage of heat by
ordinary conduction from the hot to the cold junction.
However, Professor Wheatstone, having once taken in hand the production
of electricity by an improved method, worked at the problem until he
solved it. The electrical invention that ranks next in importance to
the telegraph is the dynamo machine, and this also he had a share
in introducing and improving. Its first conception has been claimed
by different electricians. On the 4th of February, 1867, two papers
were read before the Royal Society, one by Sir William Siemens, “On
the conversion of dynamic into electrical force without the use of
permanent magnetism,” and the other by Professor Wheatstone, “On the
augmentation of the power of a magnet by the reaction thereon of
currents induced by the magnet itself.” Both papers described the same
discovery--the dynamo machine. The instrument described by Professor
Wheatstone was made of a strip of soft iron, the core, fifteen inches
long, bent in the form of a horse-shoe, and wound round in the
direction of its breadth by 640 feet of insulated copper wire (covered
with silk). The keeper or armature (the piece of iron extending across
the ends of the horse shoe magnet) was hollow at two sides for the
reception of eighty feet of insulated wire coiled lengthwise. The two
wires being connected so as to form a single circuit, and the armature
made to rotate in the opposite direction to that of the hands of a
watch, powerful electrical effects were produced. The electricity
generated by this motion of the armature soon made four inches of
platinum wire red-hot, and decomposed water. These effects were thus
explained by Professor Wheatstone: The electro-magnet always retains
a slight residual magnetism, so is always in the condition of a weak
permanent magnet; the motion of the armature occasions feeble currents
in its coils in alternate directions, which, brought into the same
direction, pass into the coil of the horse-shoe electro-magnet in such
a manner as to increase the magnetism of the iron core; the strength
of the magnet being thus increased, it produces in its turn stronger
currents in the coil of the armature; and this alternate increase goes
on until it reaches a maximum dependent on the rapidity of the motion
and the capacity of the magnet.
Sir William Siemens, whose paper was sent in ten days before
Professor Wheatstone’s, described a similar machine, but that they
were independent discoveries has never been questioned. It was
almost inevitable, however, that the question of priority should be
discussed. Mr. Robert Sabine, who defended the rights of Professor
Wheatstone, stated in 1877 that the time when “the idea of making a
machine which would work into itself occurred to Professor Wheatstone,
it is of course after his death impossible to determine, unless some
manuscript notes should turn out in evidence. I am also unable to
ascertain when the first experimental apparatus was made and tried. We
must therefore start from the later stage, viz., the finished machine
which was exhibited at the Royal Society in February, 1867.” It is
interesting, however, to go a few years further back, and to find
that the idea of producing powerful electrical effects by mechanical
means was present in the mind of Professor Wheatstone a quarter of a
century before it was announced as an accomplished fact. Early in 1843
he showed Professor A. De La Rive his new electro-magnetic telegraph;
and in publishing an account of it the French Professor said that
he (Wheatstone) “has endeavoured to apply the same principle to the
production of a useful mechanical force; but he does not seem to me to
have completely succeeded on this point; and I am convinced that a long
period must yet elapse before steam is in this respect dethroned by
electricity.”
Now it is a remarkable fact that at that very time there was a plan
of a dynamo in MS., which unfortunately did not attract attention
till thirty years afterwards. Dr. Gloesener, professor of physics at
Liège University, in an extant MS. which was dated 20th of April,
1842, and which remained in the custody of public bodies in Belgium
from that date, described electro-magneto oscillating and rotatory
motors which he designed, and which he spoke of “as destined to take
the place of steam and other motors.” In honour of this inventor, who
died unrewarded for his prescience, the Electrical Congress at Paris
admitted his daughter as their only lady member. However, Professor
Wheatstone did not announce the practical realisation of his idea
till February, 1867. “The machines then exhibited,” continues Mr. R.
Sabine, “were made for Professor Wheatstone by Mr. Stroh in the months
of July and August, 1866. When they were finished, tried, and approved
of, they were in the usual course of business charged for by Mr. Stroh
on the 12th of September, 1866. Mr. S. A. Varley says his machine (as
it was exhibited at the Loan Collection) was completed and tried at
the end of September or the beginning of October, 1866. Sir William
Siemens says that his brother tried his first experimental machine
in December, 1866. It is clear therefore that Professor Wheatstone’s
machines--those exhibited at the Royal Society--were completed, tried,
and charged for, before the first experimental machines of Sir W.
Siemens or Mr. Varley were finished or ready for trial. The date when
the undefined idea of making any machine first occurred to an inventor
is of very little comparative importance, unless the idea be productive
of some evidence of its existence, without which one would, I think,
be inclined to suspect that memory might after a lapse of years be a
little treacherous. Who had the first happy inspiration of a reaction
machine we can scarcely expect to know now. Of its fruits we have
better evidence, and I venture to think that the claims of the three
inventors in question stand thus:
“Professor Wheatstone was the first to complete and try the reaction
machine.
“Mr. S. A. Varley was the first to put the machine officially on record
in a provisional specification, dated 24th of December, 1866, which was
therefore not published till July, 1867.
“Dr. Werner Siemens was the first to call public attention to the
machine in a paper read before the Berlin Academy on the 17th of
January, 1867.”
In such cases the date of publication is generally regarded as the date
of discovery; but whoever was the first inventor of the dynamo, it is
now admitted that Professor Wheatstone’s machine was the most complete.
After explaining how the rotation of the armature generated currents of
electricity in the magnet, he stated that “a very remarkable increase
of all the effects, accompanied by a diminution in the resistance of
the machine, is observed when a cross wire is placed so as to divert a
great portion of the current from the electro-magnet. Four inches of
platinum wire, instead of flashing into redness and then disappearing,
remain permanently ignited; the inductorium wire, which before gave
no spark, now gave one of a quarter of an inch in length; and other
effects were similarly increased.” Strange to say this discovery,
announced in 1867, lay dormant till 1880, and then it was utilised by
Sir William Siemens so as to obviate the great fluctuations previously
experienced in electric-arc lighting. Till then the electric light
often flickered instead of shining steadily, and the cause of its
irregularity puzzled the electricians. In 1880 Sir William Siemens gave
Professor Wheatstone full credit for having suggested a remedy for this
defect in 1867.
Such an array of electrical inventions and discoveries was surely
enough for one man; but electricity was only one of the many subjects
that engaged his attention or exercised his ingenuity. Having traced
the progress of his electrical inventions over a period of forty
years, we must now collect some of the fruits of his labour in other
sciences during that period. After his initial success with the
electric telegraph in 1837, he began to publish in the following year
his _Contributions to the Physiology of Vision_, in which he gave the
results of experiments showing “that there is a seeming difference in
the appearance of objects when seen with two eyes, and when only one
eye is employed; and that the most vivid belief in the solidity of an
object of three dimensions arises from two perspective projections of
it being simultaneously presented to the mind.” At the same time he
gave a description of his newly-invented instrument for illustrating
these phenomena--the stereoscope, which was first announced in 1838,
and was improved in course of the next fourteen years.
When he described the stereoscope to the British Association in 1838
and explained the scientific principle which it illustrated, Sir David
Brewster said he was afraid that the members could scarcely judge--from
the very brief and modest account given by Professor Wheatstone of
the principle and of the instrument devised for illustrating it--of
its extreme beauty and generality. He (Sir David) considered it one
of the most valuable optical papers which had been presented to the
Association. He observed that when taken in conjunction with the law of
visible direction in binocular vision, it explained all those phenomena
of vision by which philosophers had been so long perplexed; and that
vision in three dimensions received the most complete explanation
from Professor Wheatstone’s researches. At the same time Sir John
Herschel characterised Professor Wheatstone’s discovery as one of the
most curious and beautiful for its simplicity in the entire range of
experimental optics.
At the date of the publication of his experiments on binocular vision,
said Professor Wheatstone, the brilliant photographic discoveries of
Talbot, Niepce, and Daguerre had not been announced to the world, as
illustrating the phenomena of the stereoscope. He could therefore at
that time only employ drawings made by the hands of the artists. “Mere
outline figures, or even shade perspective drawings of simple objects,
did not present much difficulty; but it is evidently impossible,” he
says, “for the most accurate and accomplished artist to delineate by
the sole aid of his eye the two projections necessary to form the
stereoscopic relief of objects as they exist in nature with their
delicate differences of outline, light, and shade. What the hand of
the artist was unable to accomplish, the chemical action of light,
directed by the camera, is enabled to effect. It was at the beginning
of 1839, about six months after the appearance of my memoir in the
_Philosophical Transactions_, that the photographic art became known,
and soon after, at my request, Mr. Talbot, the inventor, and Mr. Collen
(one of the first cultivators of the art) obligingly prepared for me
stereoscopic Talbotypes of full-sized statues, buildings, and even
portraits of living persons. M. Quetelet, to whom I communicated this
application and sent specimens, made mention of it in the _Bulletins_
of the Brussels Academy of October 1841. To M. Fizeau and M. Claudet I
was indebted for the first daguerreotypes executed for the stereoscope.”
As indicating the relations that continued to exist between him and Sir
David Brewster on the subject of vision, it is worthy of remark that
in 1844 Professor Wheatstone brought before the British Association
some singular effects produced by certain colours in juxtaposition.
Observing that a carpet of small pattern in green and red appeared in
the gas-light as if all the parts of the pattern were in motion, he
had several patterns worked in various contrasted colours in order to
verify and study the phenomena. Both he and Sir David Brewster brought
to York separate communications on this subject, and specimens of
coloured rugwork to illustrate it; but on seeing Professor Wheatstone’s
specimens, Sir David withheld both his paper and his illustrations, and
simply made a few remarks on Wheatstone’s paper, stating that when he
came to York he did not know that the phenomena were produced by any
other colours but red and green, and that he was indebted to Professor
Wheatstone for showing him that red and blue had the same effect.
The Professor accounted for it by saying that the eye retained its
sensibility for various colours during various lengths of time.
In the stereoscope designed by Professor Wheatstone mirrors were used
instead of lenses; and though the effect produced by mirrors was
similar to that which we now see by means of lenses, its startling
novelty did not excite popular interest. Indeed it was only used by
two or three Professors to illustrate optical phenomena; and with that
exception it might be said to have been unhonoured and unused for
several years. It was Sir David Brewster who proposed to use lenses
instead of mirrors, and thus gave to it the form in which it eventually
became popular; but even then its popularity might be described as of
foreign origin. In addressing the British Association in 1848 on the
theory of vision, Sir David Brewster said that the solution of some
problems that had long baffled opticians was greatly facilitated by
that beautiful instrument, the stereoscope of Professor Wheatstone.
Next year Sir David exhibited his new form of the stereoscope before
the British Association at Birmingham, and in 1850 he exhibited it at
Paris, and explained it to M. Duboscq Soleil, an optician of that city,
who was so impressed with its advantages that he began to manufacture
it, and to call public attention to its powers. One was also exhibited
before the French Academy of Sciences, who appointed a committee to
examine it.
In 1849 Sir David Brewster offered his improvement in the stereoscope
gratuitously to opticians in Birmingham and London; but they did
not accept it; and it was only after it became an object of wonder
in France that it began to be appreciated in England. At the Great
Exhibition of 1851 M. Duboscq Soleil showed a beautiful instrument
together with a fine set of binocular daguerreotypes; and another
instrument by the same maker was presented by Sir David Brewster to the
Queen. In the same year some were exhibited at one of the _soirées_ of
Lord Rosse, where they excited much interest. The attention of English
photographers being then directed to it, photographic pictures and
portraits began to be executed for it in abundance. The stereoscope
soon came to be in demand; it was manufactured by English as well as
French makers; and thus became a favourite ornament or scientific
curiosity. During the next five years 500,000 stereoscopes were sold.
While Sir David Brewster did so much to make the stereoscope popular,
Professor Wheatstone was generally accredited with the original
invention. In 1849 the eminent French philosophers, MM. L. Foucault
and J. Regnault, stated in the _Comptes Rendus_ that “in a beautiful
investigation on the vision of objects of three dimensions, Professor
Wheatstone states that when two visual fields, or the corresponding
elements of the two retinæ, simultaneously receive impressions from
rays of different refrangibility, no perception of mixed colours is
produced. The assertion of this able philosopher being opposed to
the opinion of the majority of those who have attended to the same
subject, we have thought it useful to repeat, modify, and extend these
experiments; and the stereoscope of Professor Wheatstone offered a
simple means of disentangling these delicate observations of all
complication capable of injuriously affecting the accuracy of the
physiological results.”
In an account of it published in London in 1851 it was truly stated
that the phenomena of vision had engaged the attention of the most
acute philosophers; and that the researches of Professor Wheatstone
had done more than those of any other man to explain the result of
single vision with a pair of eyes while under the influence of two
impressions; for in his stereoscope two images drawn perspectively upon
plane surfaces, when viewed at the angle of reflection appear to be
converted into a solid body, and to convey to the mind an impression of
length, breadth, and thickness. At the same time it was explained that
Sir David Brewster modified the instrument and imitated the mechanical
conditions of the eye by cutting a lens into halves, and placing each
half so as to represent an eye with a distance of two and a half
inches between them. Although it was this use of lenses that made the
stereoscope fashionable, Professor Wheatstone continued to recommend
his original reflecting instrument as the most efficient form, not
only for investigating the phenomena of binocular vision, but also for
exhibiting the greatest variety of stereoscopic effects, “as it admits
of every required adjustment, and pictures of any size may be placed in
it.”
But in 1856 the chorus of unanimity as to the original invention of
the stereoscope was broken. Detraction then began. A book, which was
published in that year, not only disputed the scientific accuracy
of the principles of vision enunciated by Professor Wheatstone,
but endeavoured to divest him of all credit in connection with the
invention of the stereoscope. Who ever could have written such a book?
Sir David Brewster! Nor did a book suffice. In 1860 he read a paper
before the Photographic Society of Scotland “respecting the invention
of the stereoscope in the sixteenth century and of binocular drawings
by Jacopo da Empoli, a Florentine artist.” He stated that inquiry into
the history of the stereoscope showed that its fundamental principle
was known even to Euclid; that it was distinctly described by Galen
1500 years ago; and that Baptista Porta had, in 1599, given such a
complete drawing of the two separate pictures as seen by each eye,
and of the combined picture placed between them, that in it might
be recognised not only the principle, but the construction of the
stereoscope.
It is noteworthy that Sir David Brewster first gave Professor
Wheatstone the credit of being the inventor of the telegraph, and
afterwards ridiculed his claims.
As to the principle of the stereoscope, it was at the meeting of the
British Association in 1848 that Sir David Brewster definitely disputed
the theory of vision which ascribes to experience instead of intuition
the correct perception of objects and of distances with two eyes as
well as with one. He observed that an infant obtained his first glances
of the external world by opening on it both eyes which evidently
conveyed single vision to the mind; and in like manner he contended
that young animals saw distances correctly almost at the instant of
their birth. The duckling ran to the water almost as soon as it broke
the shell; the young boa constrictor would involve and bite an object
presented to it; and on the other hand no person ever saw a child use
such motions as proved it to perceive objects at its eye, to grasp at
the sun or moon or other inaccessible objects, but quite the contrary.
Dr. Whewell entirely dissented from the views of Sir David Brewster,
which were not new; and in confirmation of Dr. Whewell’s contention
that experience was a necessary guide in the use of the senses, a
Bristol oculist gave several instances of persons who on being restored
to sight from total blindness could not at first form any idea of the
distances, or directions, or shapes of bodies; in one instance the
patient, for a length of time, was in the habit of shutting her eyes
entirely and feeling the objects, in order to get rid of the confusion
which vision gave rise to; and it was only as her experience grew more
perfect that she saw with increasing correctness and pleasure, until
at length her sight became perfect. The controversy on this subject
has engaged the attention of many philosophers and has not yet been
settled. In later years Helmholtz, who preferred the mirror stereoscope
of Wheatstone to the lenticular one of Brewster on the ground that the
former gave more sharply-defined effects, stated that the hypotheses
successively formed by the various supporters of the intuitive theories
of vision were quite unnecessary, as no fact had been discovered
inconsistent with the empirical theory, which supposes nothing more
than the well-known association between the impressions we receive and
the conclusions we draw from them, according to the fundamental laws of
daily experience.
In 1851 Professor Wheatstone invented the pseudoscope, an instrument
which conveys to the mind false perceptions of all external objects,
called conversions of relief, because the illusive appearance had the
same relation to that of the real object as a cast to a mould or a
mould to a cast. Thus a china vase ornamented with flowers in relief
showed in the pseudoscope a vertical section of the interior with
painted hollow impressions of the flowers. In like manner a bust became
a deep hollow mask. When two objects at different distances were viewed
through it, the most remote object appeared the nearest, while the
nearest became the most remote. A flowering shrub in front of a hedge
appeared in the pseudoscope as behind the hedge, and a tree standing
outside a window was transferred to the inside of the room.
This instrument has been useful in illustrating mental phenomena
according to the impressions it produces on observers. It is found
that with most persons the inverted appearance that an object presents
when seen through the instrument is alone seen at first; but after the
real form of the object becomes known, their visual perception is so
much under the control of their matter-of-fact experience that they are
unable again to see the inversion of the object. With other observers
the real appearance of the object lasts a shorter or longer time, after
which their visual impressions predominate to such an extent that it
again appears inverted.
Nor did his fertility in illustrating visual effects end here. Mr. J.
Plateau stated in the journal of the Belgian Royal Academy for 1851
that Professor Wheatstone had communicated to him a plan for combining
the principle of the stereoscope with that of the Phenakisticope,
whereby figures simply painted upon paper would be seen both in relief
and in motion, thus presenting all the appearances of life.
In 1851 he supplied the scientific world with a mechanical illustration
of the earth’s rotatory motion which was much admired, and which set at
rest some disputed points. Questions had been raised at that time as
to the effect which the rotation of the earth had upon bodies which,
like the pendulum, oscillated from fixed points; and M. Foucault
designed mechanical means of showing such effects which were said
to make the rotation of the earth as evident to the sight as that
of a spinning-top. His original experiment was shown in Paris to M.
Arago and other scientific men, and was described as follows:--To
the centre of the dome of the Pantheon (272 feet high) a fine wire
was attached, from which a sphere of metal, four or five inches in
diameter, was suspended so as to hang near the floor of the building.
This apparatus was put in vibration after the manner of a pendulum.
Under, and concentrical with it, was placed a circular table, some
twenty feet in diameter, the circumference of which was divided into
degrees, minutes, &c., and the divisions were numbered. The elementary
principles of mechanics showed that, supposing the earth to have the
diurnal motion upon its axis which explains the phenomena of day and
night, the plane in which the pendulum vibrated would not be affected
by this diurnal motion, but would maintain strictly the same direction
during twenty-four hours. In this interval, however, the table over
which the pendulum was suspended would continually change its position
in virtue of the diurnal motion, so as to make a complete revolution in
about 30h. 40m. Since, then, the table thus revolved, and the pendulum
which vibrated over it did not revolve, a line traced upon the table
by a point or pencil projecting from the bottom of the ball would
change its direction relatively to the table from minute to minute, and
from hour to hour; so that when paper was spread upon the table, the
pencil formed a system of lines radiating from the centre of the table;
and the two lines thus drawn after the interval of one hour always
formed an angle with each other of about eleven and a half degrees,
being the twenty-fourth part of the circumference. This was actually
shown to crowds who daily flocked to the Pantheon to witness this
remarkable experiment. The practised eye of a correct observer, aided
by a magnifying glass, could actually see the motion which the table
had in common with the earth under the pendulum between two successive
vibrations, it being apparent that the ball did not return precisely to
the same point of the circumference of the table after two successive
vibrations.
This experiment was repeated in other towns both on the Continent
and in England with accordant results. It was pointed out, however,
that the influence of the earth’s magnetism and other sources of
error might produce discrepancies; but Professor Wheatstone invented
an apparatus which presented a complete illustration not only of
the general principle, but of the precise law of the sine of the
latitude. He maintained the principle that so long as the _axis_ of
vibration continues parallel to itself, the _arc_ of vibration will
continue parallel to itself; but if the _axis_ does not continue
parallel, the direction of the arc of vibration will _deviate_. His
apparatus illustrated that principle. Instead of a pendulum he used
the vibrations of a coiling spring, the axis of which could be placed
in any required inclination or _latitude_ with respect to a vertical
semicircular frame which revolved about its vertical axis: the
direction of the vibration was seen to change in a degree proportioned
to the sine of the latitude or inclination. He remarked, with reference
to Foucault’s experiment, that the difficulty of the mechanical
investigation of the subject, and the delicacy of an experiment liable
to so many causes of error, had led many persons to doubt either the
reality of the phenomena or the satisfactoriness of the explanation;
and he therefore supplied an experimental proof which was not dependent
upon the rotation of the earth. His experimental proof was pronounced
the most complete and satisfactory that had been given.
Another subject that attracted his attention for years was the art of
writing in cipher. When he was before a Parliamentary Committee in
1840 he was asked whether the telegraph was not open to the objection
that the officials working it necessarily became acquainted with the
contents of all the messages. His only reply to that objection then
was that secret messages could be sent in cipher. In later years
he constructed a machine for that purpose, intending to complete
the benefits of the electric telegraph by rendering it possible to
transmit telegraphic messages in a way that would render their contents
unintelligible to the officials through whose hands they passed.
This machine was called the cryptograph, and it periodically changed
the characters representing the successive letters of the written
communication, so that it could not be read except by the receiver,
who, possessing a corresponding machine set in the same way as the
sender’s, could by reversing the operation understand the characters.
He stated that by the aid of this instrument an extensive secret
correspondence could be carried on with several persons, and a separate
cipher could be employed by each correspondent. The cipher despatches
prepared by it were unintelligible to any person unacquainted with the
word that might be selected as the basis of the cipher alphabet, and
though any person might possess one of the instruments, he could not
translate the cipher so long as the key-word was kept secret. Although
this instrument has been scarcely known to the public, experience has
proved its simplicity and efficiency; and it has been employed by the
British Government, the French Government, and the English police.
Its principle is easily understood. Any word in which the same letter
does not recur, may be selected as the key-word. Take the word
“saucer,” and write under the separate letters of it, the remaining
letters of the alphabet consecutively in the following columnar form:
S a u c e r
b d f g h i
j k l m n o
p q t v w x
y z
In the machine are two movable spaces, one containing the letters of
the alphabet in the usual order, and the other adapted to receive in
juxtaposition the cipher letters which, with “saucer” as the key-word,
would be the above letters arranged in a row, one column following
another, thus:
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z
s b j p y a d k q z u f l t c g m v e h n w r i o x
A marvellous instance of his skill in deciphering cryptographic
documents occurred in 1858. Sir Henry Ellis relates that a good many
years previously the trustees of the British Museum purchased at a
high price what appeared to be a very important document in cipher,
occupying seven folio pages closely filled with numerals. The top
of every page bore the signature of King Charles the First, and was
countersigned by Digbye. For a long time Sir Henry Ellis endeavoured
to get it deciphered for the purpose of including it in his series of
letters illustrative of the history of England, but he could not get
any one able to read it. One evening at Earl Stanhope’s he accidentally
mentioned that fact to Lord Wrottesley, who suggested that Professor
Wheatstone’s ingenuity might be able to unravel the secret writing,
and accordingly Sir Henry Ellis at once sent it to the Professor,
requesting that he would investigate its contents. This took place on
June 1st, 1858. In the document in question about ninety different
numerals were employed to represent the letters of the alphabet, and
besides the complexity of each letter being represented by several
distinct numerals, there was no division between the different words,
and the numbers represented not English (as was at first supposed) but
French words. This document, which had baffled all other experts, was
interpreted by Professor Wheatstone. A copy of it having been sent two
or three years afterwards to the Philobiblon Society, along with the
key to the cipher, the Society expressed “their admiration of this
additional instance of that wonderful faculty of interpretation which
seems to ordinary minds a special intuition not unworthy of a great
scientific discoverer and practical benefactor of the age.”
Among the subjects that engaged his attention both at the beginning
and the close of his electrical studies was the construction of
self-registering thermometers. In 1843 he invented a telegraphic
thermometer, or rather an electro-magneto-meteorological register. It
recorded the indications of the barometer, and the thermometer, and
the psychrometer every half-hour, and printed the result in figures
on a sheet of paper. The recording mechanism was a kind of clockwork,
which was capable of registering 1000 observations in a week without
any readjustment, and it could be prepared in five minutes for
another week’s work. In consequence of this periodic winding up, the
instrument could not be left for an indefinite time; and as there
were many situations in which it was desirable to have meteorological
indications, but to which access could not be obtained for long
periods, he devised a new telegraphic thermometer whose indications
were made visible at distant stations without the aid of clockwork. It
consisted of two parts; one part, called the responder, contained a
metallic thermometer consisting of a spiral ribbon of two dissimilar
metals; this responder was connected by two telegraph wires with the
other portion of the apparatus called the questioner, which recorded
the changes of temperature by the movement of a hand on a dial round
the edge of which was a thermometric scale. The responder could be
placed at the top of a high mountain for any length of time, while its
indications could be read at the station below; it could be placed
deep down in the earth whose temperature could thus be ascertained
over a long period; or it might be lowered to the bottom of the sea,
and its indications read at intervals during its descent as well as
periodically at the bottom, whereas previous marine thermometers
required to be raised at every fresh observation.
In 1871 Mr. Spottiswoode delivered a lecture at the Royal Institution
on “Some experiments on successive polarisation of light made by Sir
Charles Wheatstone.” He explained that the experiments then described
were made by Wheatstone some years previously, but the pressure of
other avocations delayed their publication. Certain it is that the
polarisation of light formed the subject of experiments twenty-five
years previously, for in 1848 Professor Wheatstone described to the
British Association an apparatus which by means of the polarisation
of light indicated true solar time in places where a sun-dial would
be useless. It was called Wheatstone’s polar clock or dial, and he
described several forms of it.
It would be tedious to enumerate all his minor inventions; but it is
worthy of observation that from first to last there was a remarkable
periodicity in the production of his chief inventions. Beginning with
his magic lyre in 1821, he invented the concertina in 1829,[8] and
his first telegraph in 1837. Between 1837 and 1843 he produced eight
inventions; and after that period his next notable inventions were his
pseudoscope and his novel apparatus illustrating the rotation of the
earth in 1851. In 1858 he produced his automatic transmitter, which
was succeeded in 1867 by his dynamo. It thus appears that a period
of eight years elapsed between each of these important inventions,
with the single exception of the interval from 1837 to 1843, when he
produced eight inventions. This periodic ripening of his fertile mind
into a rich harvest of inventions extended over half a century. It
need scarcely be matter of surprise, therefore, that when death put
a stop to his labours on the eve of another cycle, he left evidences
of fresh fruits which were not yet matured. His last invention was a
new recording instrument for submarine cables. It consisted of a globe
of mercury which a slight electrical impulse caused to move to and
fro in a capillary tube containing acid, the movements of the globule
to the right or left by the delicate current of a cable representing
telegraphic signs. It was said at the time to be fifty-eight times more
sensitive than any previous recorder.
“The catalogue of Wheatstone’s valuable labours,” says a friend of
his, “is still far from being exhausted: but it must now suffice only
to mention some of his unpublished and incomplete researches, of
which many exist. At the early part of his career, when his thoughts
were mainly directed to Acoustics, he endeavoured to investigate
the causes of the differences of ‘timbre’ or _quality_ of tone in
different musical instruments, presuming it to depend on the nature
of superposed secondary vibrations, and of the material by which they
are affected. This the writer frequently, but in vain, urged him to
complete and publish; but such was the fecundity of his imagination
that he would frequently work steadily for a time at a given subject,
and then entirely put it aside in pursuit, it may be, of some more
important or more practical idea that had presented itself to his
mind. A short treatise is in existence on the capabilities of his
well-known wave-machine, in which rows of white balls, mounted on rods,
are actuated in two directions perpendicular to each other by guides
or templets with suitable curved outlines; by means of this machine
many combinations of plane and helical waves may be demonstrated, and
especially those related to the theory of polarised light.
“In furtherance of this subject he devised a new form or mode of
geometrical analysis, to which he gave the title of Bifarial Algebra,
in which both the magnitude and the relative position of lines on
a plane surface are designed to be represented by the introduction
of two new symbols to represent positive and negative perpendicular
directions. The same principle has also been extended to three
dimensions, with a further proposal of new symbols, under the name
of Trifarial Algebra. On this subject a brief treatise exists in
manuscript.
“Among the subjects of his more recent but still incomplete
investigations in light and electricity, the following may be
mentioned:--colours of transparent and opaque bodies; colours obtained
by transmission and reflection; absorption-bands in coloured liquids;
spectroscopic examination of light reflected from opaque and dichroic
bodies; electro-motive forces of various combinations; inductive
capacities of various bodies; experiments on electro-capillarity; and
the construction of relays.”
“Although any one would be charmed by his able and lucid exposition
of any scientific fact or principle in private, yet his attempt to
repeat the same process in public invariably proved unsatisfactory.
An anecdote may here be mentioned in confirmation of this peculiar
idiosyncrasy. Wheatstone and the writer of this were for several years
members of a small private debating society comprising several familiar
names in science, art, or literature, that met periodically at one
another’s houses to discuss some extemporaneous subject, and every
member was expected to speak. Wheatstone never could be induced to open
his lips, even on subjects on which he was brimful of information.”
His familiar form, says Mr. W. H. Preece, was well known to the old
_habitués_ of the Royal Institution. “Whenever either of his favourite
subjects, light, sound, or electricity, was under discussion, his
little, active, nervous, and intelligent form was present, eagerly
listening to the lecturer. He was no lecturer himself, yet no one was
more voluble in conversation. In explaining any object of his own
invention, or any apparatus before him, no one was more apt, but when
he appeared before an audience and became the focus of a thousand
eyes, all his volubility fled; and left him without a particle of that
peculiar quality which enables an individual with confidence to come
before a critical audience, such as is represented by the members
of the Royal Institution, to develop scientific facts or describe
apparatus. This defect proved fortunate, for it was the cause of
Wheatstone obtaining the aid of the greatest lecturer of the age; and
the annals of that Institution bear record of many Friday evenings
being occupied by Faraday in expounding the ‘beautiful developments,’
as he called them, of Wheatstone.... Though he was no lecturer, or
prolific writer, he was an unrivalled conversationalist, and those
who had the pleasure of his conversation could never forget the
lucidity with which he explained his apparatus. His bibliographical
knowledge was almost incredible. He seemed to know every book that
was written and every fact recorded, and any one in doubt had only to
go to Wheatstone to get what he wanted. The elegance of the design of
everything Wheatstone accomplished must always maintain him in the very
first rank of the wonderful geniuses of this wonderful century.”
Many honours and distinctions were conferred on him. He received
the degrees of D.C.L. and LL.D. from the Universities of Oxford and
Cambridge, and he was made a corresponding or honorary member of all
the principal scientific academies in Europe. Of the thirty-four
distinctions conferred on him by Governments, Universities, or learned
Societies, eight were German, six French, five English, three Swiss,
two Scotch, two Italian, two American, besides one Irish, Swedish,
Russian, Belgian, Dutch, and Brazilian. Most of his honours were
conferred in recognition of his electrical inventions. For these he
was knighted in 1868; and both before and after that date he was
more lavishly praised abroad than at home. In 1867, the President of
the Italian Society of Sciences, in conferring on him the honour of
honorary membership, said that the applications of the principle of the
Rotating Mirror were so important and so various that this discovery
must be considered as one of those which have most contributed in these
latter times to the progress of experimental physics. “The memoir
on the measure of electric currents and all questions which relate
thereto and to the laws of Ohm has powerfully contributed to spread
among physicists the knowledge of these facts and the mode of measuring
them with an accuracy and simplicity which before we did not possess.
All physicists know how many researches have since been undertaken
with the rheostat and with the so-called ‘Wheatstone Bridge,’ and how
usefully these instruments have been applied to the measurement of
electric currents, of the resistance of circuits, and of electro-motive
forces.”
In 1873 the French Society for the Encouragement of National Industry
presented him with the great medal of Ampère which is awarded every
six years for what is considered the most important application of
science to industry. The former recipients of this medal were Henri St.
Claire Deville, who introduced the manufacture of aluminium; Ferdinand
De Lesseps, the engineer of the Suez Canal; and Boussingault, the
distinguished agricultural chemist. Of Sir Charles Wheatstone, the
Committee of Economic Arts said: “While his kaleidophone has been the
point of departure in a method which permits sound to be studied by
the aid of the eye; while his researches on the qualities of sound and
on the production of vowels, as well as the creation of his speaking
machine have realised many points in the theory of the voice; while his
ingenious apparatus illustrating the propagation and the combination of
waves has facilitated the understanding of these delicate phenomena and
contributed to throw light on the mechanism of undulatory motion, his
numerous researches on the application of electricity, in which he has
shown both profound science and a genius marvellously inspired, occupy
a great place in the history of the electric telegraph. It was he who
first realised, under conditions really practicable, this admirable
means of communication between men and between nations, and we ought
not to forget that more than once he has come personally among us to
prepare its organisation and promote its success. The unanimous choice
made by the Committee of the Economic Arts, and cordially ratified by
the Council, honours our society as much as him who is the object of
it. We hope to give on this occasion a testimony of sympathy with a
nation in which science is held in such high esteem. In conferring on
Sir Charles Wheatstone a reward rendered valuable by those who have
already received it, the Council performs a pure act of justice, and
acquits, at least for some among us, a debt of gratitude.”
For many years he was a corresponding member of the French Academy of
Sciences, and on June 30, 1873, he was elected a Foreign Associate
in succession to Baron Liebig, deceased, and his election to this
position, the highest honour which it was in the power of that body to
bestow upon “a foreigner,” was almost unanimous.
While the highest honours that Science could bestow were thus being
conferred on him, he was seized with inflammation of the chest, from
which he died at Paris on October 19, 1875. His remains were removed
to London and interred in Kensal Green Cemetery. Prior to the removal
of his body from Paris, a religious service was held at the Anglican
chapel, at which a deputation from the Academy attended, and MM. Dumas
and Tresca delivered addresses. M. Dumas said: “To render to genius the
homage which is its due, without regard to country or origin, is to
honour one’s self. The Paris Academy of Sciences, always sympathising
with English science, did not hesitate, during the troubled time of the
wars of the Empire, to decree a _grand prix_ to Sir Humphry Davy. Now
in a time of peace it comes to fulfil with grief a duty of affection to
one of his noblest successors, by gathering round his coffin to offer
him a last homage. A foreign Associate of the Academy of Sciences,
exercising by a rare privilege in virtue of that title all the rights
of its members during his life, we are bound to render to his mortal
remains the same tribute which we render to fellow-countrymen who are
our colleagues. The memory of Sir Charles Wheatstone will live among us
not only for his discoveries and for the methods of investigation with
which he has endowed science; but also by the recollection of his rare
qualities of heart, the uprightness of his character, and the agreeable
charm of his personal demeanour.”
The President of the Society of Telegraph Engineers, Mr. Latimer Clark,
in announcing his death, said: “If you wish correctly to estimate
the magnitude of a building, it is necessary to place yourself at
a distance from it; it is only then you can fully realise its real
proportions as compared with its fellows. So it is with the name of
Sir Charles Wheatstone. I feel that in order to appreciate how great a
man he has been we must look forward many years--I mean by that a very
great many years--if we can take our stand in imagination a thousand
years hence, the name of Wheatstone will still be well known and highly
honoured. So far as we can judge from the history of the human race
and of the past, I am of opinion that, as long as history lasts, the
name of Wheatstone will be associated with that of Watt and Stephenson
as men who, in the era of Queen Victoria, were prominent in the
introduction of those magnificent enterprises by which the whole world
has been practically reduced to one-twentieth part of its former size.
Our successors will hear in their day of the giants of the Victorian
era; they will hear of Watt in connection with the steam-engine, and
of Stephenson in connection with the locomotive and railways; and they
will also hear of Wheatstone in connection with the electric telegraph.
We who are closer to him, and know more of the history of the
invention, are well aware that others are entitled to share with him
in the fullest degree the honour of the introduction of the electric
telegraph; but history is written very much by scientific men, and Sir
Charles Wheatstone was himself an eminently scientific man, and mingled
so much with scientific men, that those who will be the recorders of
the history of the future will, to a great extent, associate his name
alone with the practical introduction of the electric telegraph.”
FOOTNOTES:
[8] The date of his musical inventions were 1821,
1829, 1836, 1844, and 1851, giving an interval of
seven or eight years between each.
PROFESSOR MORSE.
CHAPTER I.
“The sun, the moon, the stars
Send no such light upon the ways of men
As one great deed.”--TENNYSON.
The ideas of several men, says Mr. J. L. Ricardo, are set in motion
by exactly the same circumstances; and men who are in the habit of
putting things together very often have the same ideas at the same
time. The history of electrical inventions presents many illustrations
of this observation; and at first sight it might appear as if the old
world had, in like manner, vied with the new in designing apparatus
for applying electricity to useful purposes. The study of electrical
phenomena began in America about the same time as in Europe. The story
of Franklin’s experiments with lightning has almost become a household
tale, and he is justly regarded as one of the patriarchs of electrical
science. But his strength lay in the application or explication of
electrical phenomena rather than in their initiation, and in that
respect subsequent American electricians may be said to have followed
in the footsteps of their illustrious ancestor. Hence in the history of
electricity America occupies a unique position. Dean Swift said that
invention was the talent of youth, and judgment of age; and certain
it is that America’s electrical inventions have shown the boldness and
novelty of youth, while Europe might be said to have gathered more of
the fruits of judgment or experience. In mechanical appliances the new
world has seemed to complete the inventions begun in the old world.
Such was the case with the recording telegraph, the telephone, and the
electric light. But in another class of inventions America did little
or nothing. It was Europe that supplied the artificial generators of
electricity. The voltaic pile, the thermo-electric pile, the Daniell
and Grove batteries, and the dynamo machine were creations of the
old world; and curiously enough, while the great inventions made in
America for the application of electricity were the work of men who
had not passed middle age, the men in the old world who supplied the
means of generating electricity did so after they had passed the
meridian of life. But if the inventors of generators had no rivals in
the new world, they were far from being exempt from rivalry nearer
home. The invention of the dynamo machine, almost simultaneously
as well as independently, by three different men, as narrated in a
previous chapter, is pretty well known. Nor is the pile which bears the
name of Volta an exception. In 1793 Professor Robinson, of Edinburgh
University, wrote that electricity could be generated by using a number
of pieces of zinc of the size of a shilling made into a rouleau with
as many real shillings. That was the first suggestion of the pile;
but it was not till Volta, writing from Como in 1800, announced, in a
more elaborate manner, his discovery that zinc and copper interlaid
with wet paper or leather produced electricity, that public attention
was directed to its importance. It is worthy of note that nearly all
the men who discovered generators of electricity--from Galvani to Sir
William Thomson, were natural philosophers, who, as already remarked,
made their discoveries at an advanced period of life--a fact which
seems to indicate that electrical generators are some of the choicest
and ripest fruits of the study of natural philosophy.
The close of the eighteenth century, says Sir John Leslie, was
distinguished by the accession of a new branch of electrical science
more brilliant and astonishing than even the parent stock; and
after describing the discoveries of Galvani and Volta, he says they
deservedly commenced a new epoch in physical science and led to the
most splendid and wonderful discoveries. The year 1791, when Galvani
published at Bologna a complete account of his experiments on animal
electricity, in which the leg of a frog played such a memorable part,
may therefore be described as the birth-time of modern electricity.
In the same year was born the immortal Faraday, whose researches in
electricity not only enriched science but silenced the voice of envy;
and in the same year was born Samuel F. B. Morse, whose ingenuity and
perseverance gave to the world one of the most original and useful
methods of conveying intelligence by electricity. Professor Daniell,
whose invention of the constant battery gave a marked impulse to the
progress of practical electricity, was born in 1790, the same year
in which Benjamin Franklin died, who, in the absence of artificial
generators, drew his supplies of electricity from the clouds. It has
been often said that Franklin was the American who brought electricity
from the clouds to the earth, and that Morse made it subservient to the
purposes of man.
Samuel Finley Breese Morse was born on April 27, 1791, a little over
a mile from where Franklin was born, and a little over a year after
Franklin died. Franklin was the youngest son of the youngest son for
five successive generations, and he was the fifteenth child of his
father. But in the Morse family it was generally the eldest son who
displayed ability or attained distinction. The family was of English
origin, but had been settled in America a century and a half. Anthony
Morse, who was born at Marlborough in Wiltshire in 1606, went to
America in 1635. His son had ten children, of whom the eldest, named
Jedediah, was born in 1726, and was an active public man. The eighth
son of the latter, also named Jedediah, was the father of Samuel
Morse. He was an eminent divine and author, whose attainments were
considered of such a high order that a Scotch University conferred
on him the degree of D.D. His wife was also described as a person of
unusual ability and dignity, who was born at New York in a house at
the corner of Wall Street and Hanover Street, near to which the first
telegraph office was afterwards opened. They were living at the foot
of Breeds Hill, Charlestown, Massachusetts, in 1791, when Samuel F. B.
Morse was born. He was the eldest of eleven children. In his fourth
year he was sent to an old dame’s school, and in his seventh year
to the preparatory school of Andover, where he is reported to have
studied with ability and assiduity. Like his prototype Franklin, he
then read Plutarch’s _Lives_, and this work is said to have given the
first impulse to his mind. At the age of thirteen he wrote a Life of
Demosthenes, which was preserved as a memorial of his early powers,
and which gave characteristic indications of the excellence that
distinguished his literary work in after life. At the age of fourteen
he entered Yale College, where he got his first lessons in electricity.
Jeremiah Day, who was then Professor of Natural Philosophy, delivered
some lectures in 1809 upon the laws of electricity, and illustrated
them by experiments. One proposition which Day expounded was that
if a circuit be interrupted the electricity will become visible at
the point of interruption, and that when it has passed it will leave
an impression upon any intermediate object. Day declared many years
afterward that he remembered one experiment which consisted in letting
the electricity pass through a chain or through any metallic bodies
placed at small distances from each other, whereby the current in a
dark room became visible between the links or between the metallic
bodies. In another experiment he showed that if several folds of paper
were placed so as to interrupt a circuit, they would be perforated by
the electricity. In after years Morse described these experiments as
the acorn which, falling into fruitful soil, eventually spread its
boughs far and wide. Another eminent professor at Yale College was
Benjamin Silliman, who in later years testified that Morse attended his
lectures on chemistry and galvanism between 1808 and 1810, and that the
batteries then in use were exhibited and explained in detail. Moreover,
Morse himself wrote letters to his parents in 1809 expressing much
gratification at the chemical lectures he had heard at Yale College,
and an earnest desire to get apparatus for the purpose of illustrating
the experiments at home. In his home letters he especially mentioned
Professor Day’s lectures on electricity as being most interesting,
and as being illustrated by some very fine experiments. Those who
knew Morse while at Yale College, where he took his degree in 1810,
described him as gentle, refined, studious, and enthusiastic; and as
he appeared then to be in love with the science of electricity, it is
natural to inquire how he came to forsake it for so many years.
Dr. Johnson states in his Life of Cowley that in the window of his
mother’s apartment lay Spenser’s _Fairy Queen_, in which he very
early took delight to read till by feeling the charms of verse, he
became, as he relates, irrecoverably a poet. “Such are the accidents
which, sometimes remembered and perhaps sometimes forgotten, produce
that particular designation of mind and propensity for some certain
science or employment, which is commonly called genius. The true genius
is a mind of large general powers, accidentally determined to some
particular direction. Sir Joshua Reynolds, the great painter, had the
first fondness for his art excited by the perusal of Richardson’s
treatise.” It was an accidental circumstance of a different kind that
directed the attention of Samuel Morse from electricity to art. His
father, being a man of small means and having a large family, was
unable to supply the enthusiastic student with sufficient funds to
complete his college course, and to provide for the deficiency, Samuel
betook himself to painting the portraits of such of his companions as
could afford to pay him five dollars, and it is said that by this means
he partly defrayed the cost of his education. A first success, like a
first love, often forms the keynote of a life; and so pleased was young
Samuel Morse at the success of his first artistic efforts that he soon
determined to make his living by art. He accordingly directed all his
energies and resources to the study of art, and became the pupil of a
distinguished American artist, Washington Allston, who took a great
interest in him and perceiving his fine powers took him to England in
1811. Though only a young man of twenty, Morse got introductions to
Copley and West, who in turn, introduced him to Wilberforce, Zachary
Macaulay, and other notable men. While in London he lodged with Charles
Leslie, who had not then risen to fame, and who was the son of American
parents.
While in London his patron was Benjamin West, who was himself a native
of Pennsylvania, and whose early career somewhat resembled that of
the young _protégé_ who now made him his guide, philosopher, and
friend. West not only entertained him with encouraging accounts of
how he managed to climb to the heights of fame, but did all he could
to initiate him into “the philosophy of his art.” He continued his
studies in London from 1811 to 1815, and though his circumstances
were humble and unpretending, he regularly associated with several
of the greatest men in art and literature of that time, and in his
letters and pursuits gave clear indications of a great future. After a
year’s study in London he wrote to his mother that his passion for art
was so firmly rooted that no human power could destroy it, and that
the more he studied it, the greater he thought was its claim to the
appellation of divine. His enthusiasm was not quenched by either penury
or disappointment. In 1814 he was induced by some friends to visit
Bristol, in the hope of getting some employment that would replenish
his purse, but he found that empty praise was the only recompense that
his labours could command. He accordingly returned to London, where he
was encouraged by the approbation of such severe judges as West and
Allston.
Having been allowed to witness West working at some of his historic
pictures, he determined to design and execute a large painting of his
own, and selected as his subject _The Dying Hercules_. Allston, who
was then engaged on his _Restoration of the Dead Man to Life_, told
him that he had first modelled his subject in clay, and suggested that
Morse should do likewise. The advice was followed. A model of Hercules
was made, and West, on accidentally seeing it, praised its vigour and
finish, remarking to his son that it showed that a true painter is a
sculptor also. The Society of Arts, Adelphi, was then offering a gold
medal for the best specimen of sculpture, and Morse was advised to
finish his model and send it to the Society for competition. In the
few days that remained before the competition began he finished the
model, and it succeeded in winning the prize, which was presented by
the Duke of Norfolk, then President of the Society. When his picture of
_The Dying Hercules_ was ready he went with it to West, who examined
it very carefully. In after years Morse was accustomed to tell his
friends that he had worked hard at the picture, and was so satisfied
with it that he expected to receive commendation from West. “Very
good, very good,” said West, as he handed it back, “go on and finish
it.” Somewhat taken aback, Morse, in a hesitating manner, said it was
finished. “Oh no, no,” said West, “see there, and there, and there, the
finish is imperfect; there’s much work to be done yet, go on and finish
it.” Morse quickly appreciated the defects pointed out by West; and
accordingly spent another week in perfecting his drawing. He then took
it to West with a feeling of confidence that it was finished. West was
more profuse than ever with his praise, but concluded by repeating his
former advice, “Go on and finish it.” “Is it not finished?” inquired
the almost discouraged student. “See,” replied West, “you have not
marked that muscle, nor the articulation of the finger joints.” A few
days more were spent in supplying the deficiencies pointed out by this
exacting critic. When it was again presented for examination, West
first praised it and then said, “Go on and finish it, young man,” to
which the young man in despair replied, “I cannot finish it.” West,
no doubt observing that patience has its limits, patted him on the
shoulder, and good-humouredly said: “Well, I have tried you long
enough; but you have learned more by this drawing than you would have
done in double the time by a dozen half finished beginnings.” He went
on to explain the importance of careful attention to the most minute
details, and to impress on him the value of thorough work as the secret
of success and fame, declaring that it was not numerous drawings but
the character of one that made a thorough painter. The picture in
question received much praise at the Royal Academy.
Encouraged by these results, Morse next painted a picture of the
_Judgment of Jupiter in the case of Apollo, Marpessa, and Idas_, which
was intended to compete for the gold medal and fifty-guinea prize
offered by the Royal Academy in 1814. But an untoward event frustrated
this design. When he left America it was with the intention of being
away only three years. It was now his fourth year of absence; and
his circumstances were so pressing and his means so scanty that he
left England at once, offering the picture to the Royal Academy for
exhibition through West. The Royal Academy, however, refused to admit
it because the artist did not present it personally. West, who had
urged Morse to remain in England, and who was then President of the
Academy, afterwards wrote to him that if he had remained he had no
doubt that the picture would have taken the prize.
If these early efforts did not replenish the artist’s purse, they
probably enriched his mind. Fénelon says that “the mind of a great
painter teems with the thoughts and sentiments of the heroes he is to
represent; he is carried back to the ages in which they lived, and
is present to the circumstances they were placed in; but, with this
fervid enthusiasm, he possesses also a judgment that restrains and
regulates it: so that his whole work, however bold and animated, is
perfectly consonant to propriety and truth.” While therefore Morse
was zealously prosecuting an art which he was destined eventually to
abandon for a new and untrodden avenue to fame and fortune, his early
labours, by their reflex action, may have tended to mould those moral
and intellectual qualities which were needed to carry him through
the trials of after years, and which in the end won for him “heroic
honours.”
Returning to America in the autumn of 1815 full of hope in his success
as an artist, he opened rooms in Boston where he exhibited his
_Judgment of Jupiter_ and other pictures; but though many visitors
came to view it and the people of the town treated him in a hospitable
manner, no one made an offer for the great picture,--a disappointment
which he keenly felt. Pressure of circumstances thus led him to return
to his first essay--portrait painting, which he practised with some
success in New England in 1817. Next year he went to Charlestown where
his uncle Dr. Finley resided, and where he soon obtained lucrative
employment. On October 1st, 1818, he married Lucretia P. Walker, of
Concord, New Hampshire, who was described as the beauty of the town. He
resided in Charlestown four years. During these years his reputation
as a painter continued to rise, but it did not enrich him. In 1821-2
he was engaged in painting a celebrated picture of the House of
Representatives at Washington. It measured eight feet by nine feet,
and contained eighty portraits. Though showing much artistic merit, it
was not a pecuniary success. The first purchaser of it was an English
gentleman. In 1825 the New York Corporation gave him an order to paint
a portrait of General Lafayette, that “veteran of liberty,” whom
Lamartine afterwards painted in words as “tall in stature, noble, pale,
cold in aspect with a reserved look, which appeared to veil mysterious
thoughts; with few gestures, restrained and caressing; a weak voice
without accent, more accustomed to confidential whisperings than
oratorical explosions; with a sober, studied, and elegant elocution
wherein memory was more conspicuous than inspiration; he was neither
a statesman, nor a soldier, nor an orator, but an historical figure,
without warmth, without colour, without life, but not without prestige;
detached from the midst of a picture of another age, and reappearing in
a new one.” The acquaintance of Morse with this remarkable man ripened
into friendship. This full-length portrait, for which he was to be paid
liberally, filled him with joyful anticipations, but scarcely had he
begun the work when he received news of his wife’s death. This was a
crushing blow to him; and although the portrait satisfied the General,
the artist declared that it was finished under such unfavourable
circumstances that it was not a just specimen of his work. In 1826 he
organised in New York the National Academy of the Arts of Design--an
association of artists which proved a lasting success, and of which he
was elected president in 1827. At the New York Athenæum he delivered
the first course of lectures in America on the fine arts.
While thus assiduously pursuing his favourite vocation, his mind was by
no means so absorbed in it as to exclude all other subjects. He even
tried other avenues to fortune. In 1817 he, along with his brother,
Sidney, took out patents for three machines which they had invented for
the pumping of water, and upon which they had bestowed much labour in
the expectation of reaping a profitable return. They did not, however,
succeed. Undeterred by disappointment, he next invented in 1823 a
machine for carving marble, of which he formed high hopes which again
were doomed to disappointment. Both as a mechanical inventor and as an
artist the coveted prize of fortune seemed to elude his grasp.
CHAPTER II.
“A man may turn whither he pleases, and undertake anything
whatsoever, but he will always return to the path which
nature has once prescribed for him.”--GOETHE.
“It is well that the beaten ways of the world get trodden into mud:
we are thus forced to seek new paths and pick out new lines of
life.” Of this saying the life of Professor Morse affords a striking
illustration, and we are now approaching the time when observation
should be taken of the circumstances that led to his leaving the beaten
track in which he had hitherto been endeavouring to attain distinction
and fortune. In 1822 he took a residence near that of his old college
friend, Professor Benjamin Silliman, whose lectures he had attended
in 1808-10, and with whom he had since continued on very friendly
terms. Being now neighbours, they were in the habit of communicating
to each other the latest news in science and art. Professor Morse was
often in the laboratory of Professor Silliman, and there witnessed
the latest experiments in electrical science. Professor Silliman has
stated that at that time he possessed Dr. Robert Hare’s “splendid
galvanic calorimeter,” by means of which he exhibited many interesting
and beautiful results. Another friend was Professor James F. Dana,
with whom he was also on intimate terms. Professor Dana was accustomed
to visit Morse’s room, and to give him accounts of his experiments
in electricity, which at that time was his favourite theme. In the
winter of 1826-7 Professor Morse attended a course of lectures on
electro-magnetism given by Professor Dana in the New York University.
In these lectures not only were the latest discoveries in science
described, but experiments were performed with apparatus constructed
for the purpose. Among other things Professor Dana stated that “a
spiral placed round a piece of soft iron bent into the form of a
horseshoe renders it strongly and powerfully magnetic when an electric
charge is passing through it.” This experiment he illustrated; and when
in after years the early knowledge of Professor Morse in reference to
electricity was challenged, he was able to produce the apparatus then
used and to describe the experiments of Professor Dana, who died in
1827.
But just as the interest in his old study was thus revived, he
came within sight of the position he had long coveted. He was now
a successful artist. In New York he had many eminent friends and
wealthy patrons. Work was abundant, and prices were increasing. All
that appeared to him necessary to his continued success was greater
proficiency in his art. In order to gain this, he resolved to visit
Italy--the land of painters; and on his announcing his intention to
do so, a score of influential friends gave him commissions to paint
pictures for them there. He accordingly left New York in November,
1829, and proceeded first to England, where he visited his old friend
Leslie, now in the sunshine of prosperity, and several other men
eminent in art and literature. He then went to Paris, and arrived in
Rome in the latter part of February, 1830. After spending a year and a
half in Italy, enjoying her art treasures, he returned to Paris, where
he renewed his acquaintance with General Lafayette, and exerted himself
on behalf of the poor Poles, whose sufferings were then attracting
attention. But his chief work in Paris was a painting of the interior
of the Louvre, wherein he copied the most remarkable paintings on the
walls. In the autumn of 1832 he returned to America, and his voyage
back was the turning point in his career, He sailed from Havre for New
York on October 1, 1832; and it was during that voyage on board the
_Sully_ that he conceived the idea of a recording telegraph.
Among the passengers was Dr. Charles T. Jackson, who was previously
a stranger to Morse, but who afterwards claimed some share in the
credit of the invention--a claim which Professor Morse repeatedly and
emphatically repudiated. In his account of its origin, Professor Morse
said:--“I have a distinct recollection of the manner, the place, and
the moment when the thought of making an electric wire the means of
communicating intelligence first came into my mind and was uttered.
It was at the table in the cabin, just after we had completed the
usual repast at mid-day. Dr. Jackson was on one side of the table
and I upon the other. We were conversing on the recent scientific
discoveries in electro-magnetism and the experiments of Ampère with the
electro-magnet. Dr. Jackson was describing the length of wire in the
coil of a magnet, and the question was asked by one of the passengers
whether the electricity was not retarded by the length of the wire.
Dr. Jackson replied in the negative, stating that electricity passed
simultaneously over any known length of wire, and alluded to the
experiment by which Franklin made many miles in circuit to ascertain
the velocity of electricity, but could observe no difference of time
between the touch at one extremity and the spark at the other. I then
remarked that this being so, if the presence of electricity could be
made visible in any desired part of the circuit, I saw no reason why
intelligence might not be transmitted instantaneously by electricity.
Dr. Jackson gave his assent that it was possible. The conversation was
not diverted by a remark of mine from the details of the experiments
Dr. Jackson was describing for the purpose of obtaining a spark from
a magnet, nor was this thought of the telegraph again mentioned till
I introduced the subject the next day. While Dr. Jackson’s mind was
during the voyage more occupied with other branches of science, of
geology, and anatomy, the thought which I had conceived took firm
possession of my mind, and occupied the wakeful hours of the night; for
I used to report to Dr. Jackson and the other passengers my progress,
and to ask questions in regard to the best mode of ascertaining
the presence of electricity. I had devised a system of signs and
constructed a species of type (which I drew out in my sketch-book) by
which to regulate the passage of electricity; but I had not settled the
best mode of causing the electricity to mark. Several methods suggested
themselves to me, such as causing a puncture to be made in paper by
the passage of a spark between two disconnected parts, which I soon
discarded as impracticable. I asked Dr. Jackson if there was not some
mode of decomposition which could be turned to account. Dr. Jackson
suggested an experiment which we agreed should be tried together as
soon as possible after landing, but which we never made.” He preserved
the pocket-book containing his first crude plan of an alphabet of
signs, which became the basis of the Morse alphabet. So absorbed did
he become in his designs of the various parts of the scheme that sleep
forsook him, and it was after a few days brooding over it that he
exhibited and explained his designs to his companions. As the voyage
came to a close he said to the Captain: “Well, if you hear of the
telegraph one of these days as the wonder of the world, remember that
the discovery was made on board the good ship _Sully_”--a remark which
Captain Pell never forgot.
On landing at New York in November, 1832, after a voyage which lasted
six weeks, he was met by his two brothers, Richard and Sidney. On the
way to the house of Richard C. Morse, who was editor of the _New York
Observer_, he told both his brothers that during the voyage he had
conceived an important invention, which, he declared, would astonish
the world, and of the success of which he was perfectly sanguine. He
told them that he had invented a means of communicating intelligence
by electricity, whereby a message could be written down in a permanent
manner at a distance from the sender. He also took from his pocket the
sketch-book in which he had drawn the kind of characters he intended to
make his recording apparatus mark on paper, and he likewise showed them
drawings of portions of his electro-magnetic machinery. His brothers
were so impressed with his earnestness of purpose that they allowed him
the use of an upper room in a house in New York, where he worked, and
cooked, and slept. He has stated himself that scarcely a day had passed
after his return before he commenced the construction of his invention
from the plans and drawings made on board the ship. At that time he
thought it necessary to embody the signs to be recorded or printed in a
kind of type, which were to regulate the requisite opening and closing
of the circuit in order to mark or imprint the points or signs upon a
strip of paper at the desired intervals of time. Hence a mould of brass
was made and a quantity of type cast before the close of the year 1832.
The rest of the machinery, except a single cup battery, a few yards of
wire, and a train of wheels of a wooden clock, which he adapted to the
service of unrolling the strip of paper, “I was compelled,” he says,
“from the necessities of my profession, to leave in the condition of
drawings till I found a more permanent resting place. From November,
1832, till the summer of 1835, I had to change my residence three
times, and was wholly without the pecuniary means for putting together
and embodying the various parts of my invention in one whole.” In 1835
his prospects became more auspicious. He was appointed professor of
the literature of the Arts of Design in New York University, and thus
obtained a more commodious and more permanent residence. He says that
when he took possession of his new home in the new building of New
York City University in July, 1835, he lost not a day in collecting
the parts of his apparatus and putting into practical form the first
rude instrument intended to demonstrate the working of his invention.
“I was favoured with a little leisure from the unfinished condition of
the university building, which impeded the access of visitors to my
apartments for my usual professional duties. With the aid of a single
cup battery, I ascertained as early as 1834, previous to my removal to
the university, that no visible effect was produced upon numerous salts
which I submitted to trial by putting them in simple contact with the
wire charged with electricity. I succeeded, however, in 1836 in marking
by chemical decomposition when the electricity was passed through the
moistened paper or cloth, but the process was attended with so many
inconveniences that it was laid aside for the moment, not abandoned,
that I might give my attention more directly to an electro-magnetic
mode of recording.” In accounting for the slowness in completing his
instrument and the rudeness of the one first constructed, he says:
“The electro-magnet was not an instrument found for sale in the
shops, as it is to-day; insulated wire was nowhere to be obtained
except in small quantities, as bonnet wire of iron bound round with
cotton thread. Copper wire, which was not in use for that purpose,
was sold in the shops by the pound or yard at high prices and also in
very limited quantities. To form my electro-magnet, I was under the
necessity of procuring from the blacksmith a small rod of iron bent
in a horseshoe form; of purchasing a few yards of copper wire, and of
winding upon it by hand its cotton thread insulation before I could
construct the rude helices of a magnet. I had already purchased a cheap
wooden clock, and adapted the train of wheels to the rate of movement
required for the ribbon of paper.... At the time of the construction
of my first instrument I had not conceived the idea of the present key
manipulator dependent on the skill of the operator, but I presumed that
the accuracy of imprinting signs could only be secured by mechanical
arrangements and by automatic process. Hence the first conception on
board the ship of embodying the signs in type mathematically divided
into points and spaces. Hence also the construction of the type
mould, and the casting of the first type in 1832.” With the imperfect
apparatus thus brought together, he was able to satisfy himself that
the paper ribbon could be moved at a regular speed, while the requisite
motion of a lever that moved a pencil made a succession of marks on the
paper.
Yet though he was confident that his invention had in it the elements
of success, he wanted to do with it what Benjamin West repeatedly
told him to do with his picture of Hercules--“finish it”--before
exhibiting it. He was conscious that it was in too rude a form to be
seen by the public; and he has himself recorded that his means were
too limited to admit of his constructing such a finished instrument
as would insure success if he ventured to invite public attention to
it. He was still painting for his living; and in order to economise
both his means and his time he continued to work, eat, and sleep in
the same room. He purchased his provisions in small quantities, and
in order to conceal his poverty he generally went for his food in
the evening as well as cooked it for himself. During the year 1837
his prospects began to brighten. In the early part of that year he
succeeded in solving the problem of working his apparatus at a greater
distance than he expected a single current to be effective. He says
that “between 1835, when the first instrument was completed, and 1837
I had devised a means of providing against a foreshadowed exigency
when the conductors were extended, not to a few hundred feet in length
in a room, but to stations many miles distant. I was not ignorant
of the possibility that the electro-magnet might be so enfeebled,
when charged from a great distance, as to be inoperative for direct
printing. This possibility was a subject of much thought and anxiety
long previous to the year 1836. I had before then conceived and drawn
a plan for obviating it; but the plan was so simple that it scarcely
needed a drawing to illustrate it; a few words sufficed to make it
comprehended. If the magnet, say at twenty miles distant, became so
enfeebled as to be unable to print directly, it yet might have power
sufficient to close and open another circuit of twenty miles further,
and so on till it reached the required station. This plan was often
spoken of to my friends previous to the year 1836, but early in
January, 1836, after showing the original instrument in operation to
my friend and colleague, Professor Gale, I imparted to him this plan
of a relay battery and magnet to resolve his doubts regarding the
practicability of my producing magnetic power sufficient to write
at a distance.” In like manner Professor Gale says: “From April to
September, 1837, Professor Morse and myself were engaged together in
the work of preparing magnets, winding wire, constructing batteries,
&c., in the university for an experiment on a larger but still very
limited scale in the little leisure which we each had to spare. We were
both at that time much cramped for funds. The labours of Professor
Morse at this period were mostly directed to modifications of his
instrument for marking, contriving the best modes of marking, varying
the pencil or pen, using plumbago and ink, and varying also the form
of paper from a slip to a sheet. In the latter part of August, 1837,
the operation of the instruments was shown to numerous visitors at
the university. It was early a question between Professor Morse and
myself what was the limit of the magnetic power to move a lever. I
expressed a doubt whether the lever could be moved by this power at
a distance of twenty miles; and my settled conviction was that it
could not be done with sufficient force to mark characters on paper
at a hundred miles distant. To this Professor Morse was accustomed
to reply, ‘If I can succeed in working a magnet ten miles, I can go
round the globe.’ He often said to me: ‘It matters not how delicate
the movement may be, if I can obtain it at all, it is all I want.’ He
always expressed his confidence of success in propagating magnetic
power through any distance of electric conductors which circumstances
might render desirable. This plan was often explained to me. Suppose,
said Professor Morse, that in experimenting on twenty miles of wire, we
should find the power of magnetism so feeble that it will move a lever
with certainty but a hairs breadth; that might be insufficient, it may
be, to write or print, yet it would be sufficient to close and break
another or second circuit twenty miles further on, and a second circuit
could be made in the same manner to break and close a third circuit
twenty miles further, and so on round the globe. This general statement
of the means to be resorted to was shown to me more in detail early in
the spring of the year 1837.” The plan as explained to Professor Gale
was that the current on reaching the end of one conducting wire, round
which wire was wound so as to form that end into an electro-magnet,
could attract to it an armature (or movable hand) of a contiguous wire,
and the hand thus moved being connected with a fresh battery, it both
continued the circuit and replenished the current. After a few weeks of
trial the use of metal blocks or types to regulate the recording marks
was abandoned, and although the construction of the handle, called the
manipulator, for regulating the transmission at intervals of sufficient
electricity to produce the marks, was a later improvement, he ever
afterwards declared that his first rude instrument had the leading
features that characterised the more perfect apparatus of later years;
or to use his own appropriate words, “It lisped its first accents and
automatically recorded them in New York. It was a feeble child indeed,
ungainly in its dress, stammering in its speech. But the maladies of
its unfledged infancy were mainly the results of its parents struggles
against poverty.”
Here let us pause and see him as others saw him. Let us see how some
of his own friends viewed his labours as an artist and inventor
during those times of adversity which the gods are said to view with
complacency. One of his pupils, Mr. Daniel Huntington, who afterwards
became President of the Academy of Fine Arts, says: “The studio of
Professor Morse was indeed a laboratory. Vigorous, life-like portraits,
poetic and historic groups, occasionally grew upon his easel; but
there were many hours--yes, days--when, absorbed in study among
galvanic batteries and mysterious lines of wire, he seemed to us like
an alchemist of the middle ages in search of the philosopher’s stone.
I can never forget the occasion when he called his pupils together to
witness one of the first, if not the first, successful experiment with
the electric telegraph. It was in the winter of 1835-6. I can see now
that rude instrument constructed with an old stretching frame, a wooden
clock, a home-made battery, and the wire stretched many times round
the walls of the studio. With eager interest we gathered about it, as
our master explained its operation, while with a click, click, click,
the pencil, by a succession of dots and lines, recorded the messages
in cipher. The idea was born, but we had little faith. To us it seemed
a dream of enthusiasm. We grieved to see the sketch upon the canvas
untouched.” In like manner, Mr. William Cullen Bryant, who had become
acquainted with Morse some years before the telegraph entered his mind,
says: “He was then an artist, devoted to a profession in which he might
have attained high rank had he not, fortunately for his country and the
world, left it for a pursuit in which he has risen to more peculiar
eminence. Even then in the art of painting, his tendency to mechanical
invention was conspicuous. His mind, as I remember, was strongly
impelled to analyse the processes of his art--to give to them a certain
scientific precision, to reduce them to fixed rules, to refer effects
to clearly defined causes, so as to put it in the power of an artist to
produce them at pleasure and with certainty, instead of blindly groping
for them, and in the end owing them to some happy accident or some
instinctive effort of which he could give no account. The mind of Morse
was an organising mind. He showed this in a remarkable manner when he
brought together the artists of New York, then a little band mostly of
young men whose profession was far from being honoured as it now is,
reconciled the disagreements which he found existing among them, and
founded an association to be managed solely by themselves--the Academy
of the Arts of Design, which has since grown to such noble dimensions,
and which has given to the artists a consideration in the community
far higher than that before conceded to them.... It was not till 1835
that Morse found means to demonstrate to the public the practicability
of his invention by the telegraph constructed on an economical scale
and set up at the New York University. The public, however, still
seemed indifferent. There was none of the loud applause, none of that
enthusiastic reception which it now seems natural should attend the
birth of so brilliant a discovery. I confess I was not without my
share in the general misgiving, and although the processes employed
were exceedingly curious and highly creditable to the inventor, I had
my fears that the new telegraph might prove little more than a most
ingenious scientific pastime easily getting out of order in consequence
of the delicacy of its construction, not capable of being used to
advantage for great distances, and for short ones only suitable for
messages in their most abbreviated form. The inventor, however, saw
further than we all, and I think never lost courage. Yet I remember
that some three or four years after this, he said to me with some
disappointment, ‘Wheatstone in England and Steinheil in Bavaria, who
have their electric telegraphs, are afforded the means of bringing
forward their methods, while to my invention of earlier date than
theirs my country seems to show no favour.’”
An incident which began in 1835 and extended into 1836 throws some
light on the character and sympathies of the disappointed inventor.
In August of the latter year he published a little book entitled:
_The Proscribed German Student: being a Sketch of some interesting
Incidents in the Life and melancholy Death of the late Lewis Clausing;
to which is added a treatise on the Jesuits: the posthumous work of
Lewis Clausing_. In the Introduction, Professor Morse stated that in
the autumn of 1835 a stranger and foreigner came to his house and
introduced himself to him, apologising for his interruption, and
asking whether he was the author of a work on Foreign Conspiracy.[9]
On Professor Morse replying in the affirmative, Clausing asked him
as a favour to peruse a manuscript with a view to recommending it to
a publisher. Asked why he had selected Morse to pass an opinion on
the book, Clausing replied that in his own country, Heidelberg, he
had incurred the enmity of the Jesuits because he did not raise his
cap when the procession of the Host was passing in the street. In
consequence of that offence an ecclesiastic left the procession and
struck off his cap in a passionate manner. Clausing afterwards went to
the ecclesiastic’s house, and shot him in the face, but not fatally.
After being in prison awaiting sentence for eleven months, he escaped
in 1833, and since then the Jesuits had pursued him wherever he went,
in France, Brussels, and London, and now in America. Having in the
West met with Morse’s work on Foreign Conspiracies against the United
States, he found out the author, “for,” he said “if there is a man in
the world who I can be sure is not a Jesuit, it is the writer who signs
himself Brutus.”
Professor Morse gives an interesting and sympathetic account of the
way he treated this poor young man, who called on him one evening at
the New York University, but not finding him at home, wrote a letter
to him in which he construed the most ordinary circumstances into
plots, and concluded by saying that he saw daily more and more that
nothing was so dangerous as to be an honest man among rogues; yet he
never had done and never would do anything of which he could have the
remotest reason to be ashamed. The letter ended “with true admiration
for your noble character.” The young man, an accomplished scholar, aged
twenty-five years, afterwards shot himself with a pistol while walking
on a public promenade. His work on the Jesuits displayed great research
and a considerable acquaintance with the literature and literary
characters of his day. Professor Morse said of him that “he conversed
in English fluently, with less foreign accent than was usually met with
in foreigners of twenty years residence in the country, and he wrote a
clear, fair, and neat hand. In his manners he was retiring and modest,
and in his address he had that peculiar courtesy which belongs to
well-educated Germans. He had a fine countenance, a steady expression,
with a remarkable dark eye, which fixed itself steadily upon yours
without winking, yet without severity; it was mild, and, in the last
interviews with me, melancholy. He seemed particularly sensitive to
kindness, and when, in the last interview, I urged him freely to
call upon me at all times and unburden his bosom of its troubles,
and endeavoured to cheer him by sympathy, he wept like a child.” The
treatise on the Jesuits, which Professor Morse published immediately
after the death of its author, filled nearly 200 small pages, and it
was preceded by an account of its author’s career from the pen of the
Professor; who thus showed that at the most trying period of his life,
when absorbed himself in secret cares and beset by chilling poverty, he
could freely spend his time and money in promoting the last wishes of a
poor foreigner.
In 1837 circumstances occurred which hastened his preparations for the
public display of his telegraph. In February of that year the House
of Representatives resolved to instruct the Secretary to the Treasury
to report next session upon the propriety of establishing a system
of telegraphs in the United States. A copy of the circular making
inquiries on the subject was sent to Professor Morse, who in reply gave
a detailed estimate of the cost of his telegraph and a history of its
invention. In April of the same year it was announced in the newspapers
that a wonderful telegraph had been invented by two Frenchmen; and
Professor Morse and his friends took alarm lest the invention of his
electro-magnetic telegraph had become known and appropriated by other
hands. It turned out afterwards that the announcement in question
referred to a visual telegraph and was of no importance, but it had the
useful effect of rousing Professor Morse to more energetic steps for
the purpose of bringing his invention creditably before the public.
He also consented to a public announcement of the existence of his
invention in the _New York Observer_, and from April to September,
1837, he and Professor Gale were busy preparing magnets, winding wire,
and constructing batteries, with the view of making public experiments
on a larger scale.
No sooner had news of the successful operation of his telegraph, as
exhibited privately to his friends, begun to spread about than a fresh
source of perplexity arose from an unexpected quarter. Dr. Jackson,
a chemist and geologist of Boston, now came forward and publicly
claimed to be a joint inventor of the telegraph, alleging that he had
suggested it to Professor Morse on board the _Sully_ in 1832. He said
that during the voyage he had “the pleasure of becoming acquainted
with S.F.B. Morse, a distinguished American artist, who is very
ingenious in mechanical inventions. I was enthusiastically describing
the various wonderful properties of electricity and electro-magnetism
before Professor Morse, Mr. Rivers, Mr. Fisher, and others at the table
after dinner while the company were listeners, and, as it appeared
to me, were somewhat incredulous, for they knew little or nothing on
the subject. I mentioned among many other things that I had seen the
electric spark pass instantaneously, without any appreciable loss of
time, four hundred times round the great lecture room at the Sorbonne.
This evidently surprised the company, and I then asked if they had not
read of Dr. Franklin’s experiments in which he had caused electricity
to go a journey of twenty miles by means of a wire stretched up the
Thames, the water being a portion of the circuit. The answer was from
Professor Morse that he had not read it. After a short discussion as to
the instantaneous nature of the passage, one of the party, Mr. Rivers
or Mr. Fisher, said it would be well if we could send news in the same
rapid manner; to which Professor Morse replied, ‘Why cannot we?’ I then
proceeded to inform Professor Morse in reply to his questions, how it
might be done. First, I observed that electricity might be made visible
in any part of a circuit by dividing the wire, when a spark would be
seen at the intersection. Secondly, that it could be made to perforate
paper, if interposed between the disconnected wires. Thirdly, that
saline compounds might be decomposed so as to produce colours on paper.
The second and third projects were finally adopted for future trial,
since they could be made to furnish permanent records.... I observed
that it would be easy to devise a method of reading the markings. Here
the conversation changed for a while, and was resumed by Professor
Morse next day after breakfast. Professor Morse then questioned me
again on every point of the invention, and said he had been thinking
much about it. With pencil in hand, he proposed a method of deciphering
the markings, the dots and marks being made regularly. This was a
subject of discussion, and we both took part in it, but I acknowledge
that Professor Morse did most in planning the numeration of the marks.”
It is evident that even if the accuracy of the above version of the
conversations was unquestionable, the information which Dr. Jackson
professed to give to Professor Morse was substantially the same that
Morse had learned previously.
To the claim thus set up by Dr. Jackson Professor Morse gave an instant
and categorical denial. He said: “The discovery belongs to me, and it
must of necessity belong exclusively to one. If by an experiment which
we proposed to try together, we had mutually fixed upon a successful
mode of conveying intelligence, then might we with some propriety
be termed mutual or joint inventors; but as we have neither tried
any experiment together, nor has the one proposed to be tried by Dr.
Jackson been adopted by me, I cannot see how we can be called mutual
inventors. Dr. Jackson is not aware perhaps that the mode I have
carried into effect, after many and various experiments, with the
assistance of my colleague, Professor Gale, was never mentioned either
by him or to him. The plan of marking by my peculiar type, and the use
which I make of the electro-magnet, were entirely original with me.
All the machinery has been elaborated without a hint from Dr. Jackson
of any kind in the remotest degree. I am the sole inventor. It is to
Professor Gale that I am most of all indebted for substantial and
effective aid in many of my experiments; but he prefers no claim of
any kind.” Dr. Jackson, on the 17th of September, 1837, admitted that
the telegraph he had suggested would require twenty-four wires for
conductors. Professor Morse replied that his telegraph was adapted to
the use of one wire, or a single circuit, a method which Dr. Jackson
had declared to be impracticable. Dr. Jackson admitted that among those
who heard his conversations with Professor Morse was William Pell, the
Captain of the _Sully_, who on being asked to give his version of the
matter wrote to the Professor as follows:--“I am happy to say I have
a distinct remembrance of your suggesting as a thought newly occurred
to you the possibility of a telegraphic communication being effected
by electric wires. As the passage progressed and your idea developed
itself, it became frequently a subject of conversation. Difficulty
after difficulty was suggested as obstacles to its operation, which
your ingenuity still laboured to remove till your invention, passing
from its first crude state through different grades of improvement,
was in seeming matured to an available instrument.” In a subsequent
letter Captain Pell said it was a matter of great astonishment to him
that a fellow-passenger on the _Sully_ from Havre in October, 1832,
should attempt to contest with Professor Morse the claim of having
been the inventor of the electric telegraph; the impression rested on
his mind with the freshness and force of conviction that Professor
Morse alone was the originator of the invention. Other witnesses who
were on board the _Sully_ gave equally emphatic testimony in support
of his originality. When the question of originality was afterwards
investigated in a court of law, Mr. Justice Woodbury, after examining
all the authorities on the subject, stated that from 1832 forward
Professor Morse was entitled to the high credit of making attempts to
construct a practical machine for popular and commercial use, which
would communicate at a distance by electro-magnetism, and would record
quickly and cheaply what was communicated, and that among sixty-two
competitors to the discovery of the electric telegraph up to 1838,
Professor Morse alone in 1837 seemed to have reached the most perfect
result desirable for public and practical use.
While rival claims were being made to the invention of the telegraph,
Professor Morse succeeded in securing protection by patent in his own
country. He had filed his caveat in the United States on October 6,
1837, and six months afterwards applied for a patent, which he obtained
in 1840. Just before taking proceedings to obtain patent rights, some
friends of the right sort came to his assistance. In September, 1837,
he showed his apparatus and explained his designs to Professor Torrey,
Mr. Alfred Vail, and others; and their approbation had a stimulating
effect. Mr. Alfred Vail and his brother, after making a thorough
examination of it, became so enthusiastic about its success that they
offered to supply the impecunious inventor with the means requisite
to try experiments on a larger scale. This ready assistance when he
was in need he never ceased to praise. Many years after his telegraph
was in universal use, and when he was being crowned with the highest
honours of his life, he stated that the inventor must seek and employ
the skilled mechanician in his workshop to put his invention into a
practical form, and for this purpose some pecuniary means are required
as well as mechanical skill. Both these he received from Messrs. Vail.
These gentlemen came to the help of “the unclothed infant, and with
their funds and mechanical skill put it into a condition creditable to
appear before the nation.” For this valuable assistance Professor Morse
assigned to Mr. Vail one fourth share in the patent; and they continued
to work together with the greatest good will. The first really good
Morse instrument was made by Mr. Vail, assisted by his father and
brother, and their first experiment was made with three miles of
copper wire placed round a room of Vail’s factory at the Speedwell
ironworks, Morristown, New Jersey, on January 6, 1838. Encouraged
by its success, the inventor and his partners invited a number of
prominent citizens to witness the performances of the telegraph in
the Geological Cabinet of the University in Washington Square, New
York, on January 24, 1838; and so much interest was excited by its
achievements on that occasion that a fortnight later the Committee
of Sciences and Arts of the Franklin Institute inspected it. As an
authoritative and permanent record of its stage of development at that
time their report is instructive. They stated that “the instrument was
exhibited to them in the Hall of the Institute, and every opportunity
given by Mr. Morse and his associate, Mr. Alfred Vail, to examine it
carefully and to judge of its operation. The instrument may be briefly
described as follows: (1) There is a galvanic battery of sixty pairs
of plates, set in action by a solution of sulphate of copper. (2) The
poles of this battery can be connected at pleasure with a circuit of
copper wire, which in the experiments we witnessed was ten miles in
length. The greater part of the wire was wound round two cylinders,
and the coils insulated from one another by being covered with cotton
thread. (3) In the middle of this circuit of wire,--that is, at what
was considered virtually a distance of five miles from the battery,
was the _register_. In this there is an electro-magnet, made of a bar
of soft iron bent in the form of a horseshoe, and surrounded by coils
of the wire which forms the circuit. The _keeper_ of this magnet is at
the short arm of a bent lever, at the end of the longer arm of which is
a fountain-pen. When the keeper is drawn against the magnet, the pen
comes in contact with a roll of paper wound round a cylinder, and makes
a mark with ink upon this paper. While the telegraph is in operation,
the cylinder which carries the paper is made to revolve slowly upon
its axis, by an apparatus like the kitchen jack, and is at the same
time moved forward, so that the pen if constantly in contact with the
paper would describe a spiral or helix upon its surface. (4) Near
the battery, at one of the stations, there is an interruption in the
circuit, the ends of the separated wire entering into two cups, near
to each other, containing mercury. Now if a small piece of bent wire
be introduced, with an end in each cup, the circuit will be completed,
the electro-magnet at the other station will be set in action, the
keeper will be drawn against it, and the pen will make a mark upon the
revolving paper. On the other hand, when the bent wire is removed from
the cups, the circuit will be interrupted, the electro-magnet will
instantly cease to act, the keeper will, by its weight, recede a small
distance from the magnet, the other end of the lever will rise and lift
the pen from the paper, and the marking will cease. (5) The successive
connections and interruptions of the circuit are executed by means
of an ingenious contrivance for depressing the arch of copper wire
into the cups of mercury, and raising it out of them. This apparatus
could not be described intelligibly without a figure; but its action
was simple and very satisfactory. (6) Two systems of signals were
exhibited, one representing numbers, the other letters. The numbers
consist of nothing more than dots made on the paper, with suitable
spaces intervening. Thus ... .. ..... would represent 325, and may
either indicate this number itself, or a word in a dictionary, prepared
for the purpose, to which the number is attached. The alphabetical
signals are made up of combinations of dots and of lines of different
lengths. There are several subsidiary parts of this telegraph which
the Committee have not thought it necessary to mention particularly.
Among these is the use of a second electro-magnet at the register,
to give warning by the ringing of a bell, and to set in motion the
apparatus for turning the cylinder. The operation of the telegraph
as exhibited to us was very satisfactory. The power given to the
magnet at the register, through a length of wire of ten miles, was
abundantly sufficient for the movements required to mark the signals.
The communication of this power was instantaneous. The time required
to make the signals was as short, at least, as that necessary in the
ordinary telegraphs. It appears to the Committee therefore that the
possibility of using telegraphs upon this plan in actual practice is
not to be doubted, though difficulties may be anticipated which could
not be tested by the trials made with the model. One of these relates
to the insulation and protection of the wires, which are to pass over
many miles of distance to form the circuits between the stations. Mr.
Morse has proposed several plans,--the last being to cover the wires
with cotton thread, then varnish them thickly with gum-elastic, and
inclose the whole in leaden tubes. Doubts have been raised as to the
distance to which the electricity of an ordinary battery can be made
efficient; but the Committee think that no serious difficulty is to be
anticipated as to this point. The experiment with the wire wound in
a coil may not indeed be deemed conclusive; but one of the members
of the Committee assisted in an experiment in which a magnet was very
sensibly affected by a battery of a single pair through an insulated
wire of two miles and three quarters in length, of which the folds
were four inches apart; and when a battery of ten pairs was used water
was freely decomposed. An experiment is said to have been made with
success on the Birmingham and Manchester railroad through a circuit
of thirty miles in length. It may be proper to state that the idea of
using electro-magnetism for telegraphic purposes has presented itself
to several different individuals, and that it may be difficult to
settle among them the question of originality. The celebrated Gauss has
a telegraph of this kind in actual operation for communicating signals
between the University at Göttingen and the magnetic observatory in
the vicinity. Mr. Wheatstone of London has also been for some time
engaged in experiments on an electro-magnetic telegraph. But the plan
of Professor Morse is, so far as the Committee are informed, entirely
different from any of those devised by other individuals, all of which
act by giving different directions to magnetic needles, and would
therefore require several circuits of wires between all the stations.”
A month later the Committee of Commerce drew up their report to
Congress. They stated that, among the suggestions that had been
submitted, the electro-magnetic telegraph of Professor Morse was
pre-eminently interesting and wonderful; and that in addition to being
examined and confidently recommended by the Select Committee of the
Franklin Institute, it had been exhibited to the President of the
United States, to several heads of departments, members of Congress,
and a vast number of scientific and practical men from all parts of the
Union. All concurred, without a dissenting doubt, in admiration of the
ingenious and scientific character of the invention, and appeared to be
convinced as to “its great and incalculable practical importance and
usefulness to the country and ultimately to the world.” The Committee
also stated that Professor Morse concurred in saying that it would be
presumptuous to calculate or hold out promises as to what its whole
capacity for usefulness might be in either a political, commercial,
or social point of view if the electrical power on which its action
depended proved inefficient over long distances; but it was obvious,
they thought, that the influence of the invention among the people of
such a widely extended country, would, in the event of its success,
amount to “a revolution unsurpassed in moral grandeur by any discovery
that has been made in the arts and sciences from the most distant
period to which authentic history extends to the present day.” Such was
the language applied to the first experimental working of the telegraph
over ten miles of wire; nor did the Committee’s first impressions end
there. Our familiarity with the telegraph has divested it of novelty,
but it suggested to them thoughts which are still impressive and
beautiful. They said that, “with the means of almost instantaneous
communication between the most distant points of the country and
simultaneously between any given number of intermediate points, which
this invention contemplates, space for all purposes of information
will be completely annihilated between the States of the Union. The
citizens will be invested with and will reduce to daily and familiar
use an approach to the high attribute of ubiquity in a degree that the
human mind till recently had hardly dared to contemplate seriously as
belonging to human agency, from an instinctive feeling of religious
reverence and reserve of a power of such awful grandeur.” The Committee
concluded by recommending Congress to grant 30,000 dollars for the
making of an experiment on a much larger scale, say 100 miles.
To Professor Morse, who had toiled at the invention now and then for
fully five years amid many discouragements, everything now looked
encouraging. “I see nothing now,” he said, “but an unclouded prospect,
for which let us pay to Him who shows it to us the homage of grateful
and obedient hearts, with most earnest prayers for grace to use
prosperity aright.”
The next step thought necessary to insure the wide success anticipated
was the taking out of foreign patents; and for that purpose the
sanguine inventor and Mr. F. O. J. Smith, who had become a warm friend
of his, paid a visit to Europe. Mr. Smith was a member of the House of
Representatives, and as Chairman of the House Committee of Commerce, he
had in April, 1838, recommended Congress to grant 30,000 dollars for
the purpose of testing the telegraph over many miles. In after years
Professor Morse gave him “the credit of a just appreciation of the new
invention and of the zealous advocacy of an experimental essay, as well
as of inditing an admirably written report in its favour which was
signed by every member of the Committee, when in 1838 the telegraph
appeared in Washington a suppliant for the means to administer its
power.” This friend now accompanied the inventor to England, where
they applied for a patent. In England Messrs. Wheatstone and Cooke had
already obtained a patent for their needle telegraph; but as the Morse
telegraph was essentially different from theirs, he unhesitatingly
paid the usual fees and went through the preliminary formalities. To
his dismay, however, he found his application objected to before the
Attorney-General, whose sanction was requisite, on the ground that
his telegraph was not new. The arguments were heard on the 12th of
July, 1838, when Morse produced his instrument in order to show the
Attorney-General how different it was from the English telegraph; but
the Attorney-General held that it was unnecessary to examine it,
because the London _Mechanics’ Magazine_ for the previous February
had published an article from _Silliman’s_ (American) _Journal_ for
October, 1837, giving a description of the invention. This publication
was considered a valid reason for refusing a patent. Another hearing
was obtained, but it only confirmed the previous decision. While in
London on this business Morse was a spectator of the coronation of
Queen Victoria in Westminster Abbey.
In France a better reception was accorded to the inventor, who not only
got a patent without difficulty, but was loaded with compliments. Arago
brought his telegraph before the French Institute, where the greatest
men of the time, such as Humboldt and Guy Lussac, were profuse in
their admiration of it. But to make the patent valid in France it was
necessary that it should be worked there within two years; and this it
was found impossible to do. An agreement was made with the St. Germain
Railway Company to erect a line of telegraph upon their railroad, but
the Government having refused their permission, the project was dropped.
Though his visit to Paris was not attended with the results he desired,
an incident occurred which rendered it memorable and linked his name
with another discovery, which probably encouraged him to persevere
with his own. The American Consul introduced him to M. Daguerre,
who, in conjunction with M. Niepce, had just discovered the art of
photography, then known as “the new art.” The discovery of Daguerre
was causing a great sensation, but his method was kept a secret. The
two inventors agreed to show their inventions to each other, but
Professor Morse undertook not to disclose the art of photography just
then. Negotiations were going on between M. Daguerre and the French
Government with reference to the publication of the process, and the
result was that Daguerre agreed to disclose it in consideration of
the Government paying him a pension of 250_l._ a year and Niepce
166_l._ a year for life. M. Arago took a leading part in guaranteeing
the genuineness of the discovery. As soon as a bill conferring the
pensions passed the French Chambers, “the new art” was to be made
public, and M. Daguerre in January promised to send Professor Morse
a copy of his description as soon as published. It was not till
September that this took place, but Professor Morse, who had returned
to New York in April, 1839, was the first in America to receive a
copy of Daguerre’s own account of his discovery illustrated with six
diagrams. From these drawings Professor Morse was able to construct
the first photographic apparatus used in the United States; and the
first photograph taken with it was a view of the tower of the Church
of the Messiah on Broadway, as seen from a back-window of New York
University. The process was no sooner published than improvements were
made in it; and among the earliest improvers in America were Professor
Morse and Dr. J. W. Draper, professor of Chemistry in New York
University. Experiments which they made in a studio erected on the roof
of the University resulted in the publication next year of a paper by
Professor Draper, _On the Process of Daguerreotype, and its Application
to taking Portraits from the Life_. This was the announcement of a
great improvement. By the process of Daguerre the time of taking a
photograph at Paris varied from three to thirty minutes, and the human
face could only be photographed with the eyes shut. By Professor
Draper’s improvements portraits could be taken with the eyes open,
and instead of an average of fifteen minutes, it could be done in one
minute or less. Professor Draper stated that in portraits taken by his
process “the eye appears beautifully; the iris with sharpness, and the
white dot of light upon it with such strength and so much reality and
life as to surprise those who have never before seen it. Many are
persuaded that the pencil of the painter has been secretly employed to
give this finishing touch.” For six months Professor Morse acted as a
photographer, and was thus enabled to repay the “great expenses” he had
incurred in improving the process. He then abandoned photography for
telegraphy.
It thus appears that Professor Morse was the first lecturer on art in
America, the first sculptor from America who received foreign honours,
the first photographer in America, and the first inventor of the
recording telegraph.
The work now set before him was the introduction of the telegraph, and
to accomplish this work other five years were necessary. They were
five years of poverty and disappointment, occasionally brightened by
transient gleams of success. The petition to Congress for money to make
an experiment with it on a large scale had been thrown aside among the
unfinished business of the session, and it was not till 1842 that the
matter was again brought forward. At the close of 1841 the despairing
inventor said: “I have not a cent in the world. I am crushed for want
of means, and means of so trivial a character, too, that they who know
how to ask (which I do not) could obtain in a few hours. One year
more has gone for want of means. I have now ascertained that, however
unpromising were the times last session, if I could only have gone to
Washington, I could have got some aid to enable me to insure success at
the next session. As it is, although everything is favourable, although
I have no competition and no opposition--on the contrary although
every member of Congress, so far as I can learn, is favourable--yet I
fear all will fail because I am too poor to risk the trifling expenses
which my journey and residence in Washington will occasion me. I will
not run in debt if I lose the whole matter; so unless I have the means
from some source I shall be compelled, however reluctantly, to leave
it. Nothing but the consciousness that I have an invention which is to
mark an era in human civilisation, and which is to contribute to the
happiness of millions, would have sustained me through so many and such
lengthened trials of patience in proof of it.” He even said to one of
his art pupils that he was so destitute of money that he would be dead
next week from starvation; and on the pupil giving him ten dollars and
taking him to dinner, Morse said that was the first meal he had had for
twenty-four hours.
This appears to have been the darkest hour before the dawn; for in
the midst of his gloom and poverty he determined to make one more
experiment. He insulated a wire two miles long with hempen threads
saturated with pitch tar and surrounded with india-rubber; and this,
which he called the first submarine cable ever made, was laid in New
York harbour between Castle Garden and Governor’s Island on October
18, 1842. The wire was wound round a reel and placed in a boat; and in
the bright moonshine the Professor unwound and paid out the wire while
another man rowed the boat. Several signals passed through the wire;
but before he had an opportunity of exhibiting its operation to those
whom he wanted to convince, the wire was dragged up by the anchor of
another boat and part of it carried off by the sailors. But it was
not destroyed till he had satisfied himself that despatches could be
transmitted through it. He renewed the experiment two months afterwards
in the canal at Washington with complete success; and in after years he
ever spoke of these experiments, especially the first, as the birthtime
of submarine telegraphy. He received the gold medal of the American
Institute for this success.
Encouraged by the success of this experiment, he wrote a letter on
December 6, 1842, to the Hon. C. G. Ferris, a member of the House
Committee of Commerce, giving a minute account of his invention, and
asking that an appeal might be made through the Committee to Congress
for a grant to erect an experimental line of telegraph. Mr. Ferris at
once took up the subject, and a bill was drawn up appropriating 30,000
dollars for that purpose; but ere it came before Congress the inventor
was able to announce another discovery that strengthened his faith
in the marvellous power of the telegraph. In a letter dated January
17, 1843, he said: “Professor Fisher and myself made an important
discovery just before we left New York, namely, that several currents
of electricity will pass upon the same wire without interference either
in the same direction or in opposite directions. The discovery I have
at once reduced to practice. The wire for the two circuits which I use
for my two instruments in the Capitol is composed of three instead of
four threads.”
Five weeks after that announcement Mr. John Kennedy moved in Congress
to proceed with the bill making the grant for an experimental line.
Professor Morse was present in the gallery listening to a debate
which, though not very auspicious, was not devoid of humour. An
abridged report of the proceedings on the 27th of February, 1843,
states that on the motion of Mr. Kennedy, of Maryland, the Committee
took up the bill to authorise a series of experiments to be made in
order to test the merits of Morse’s Electro-Magnetic Telegraph--a bill
appropriating 30,000 dollars, to be expended under the direction of the
Postmaster-General. Mr. Cave Johnson said that, as the present Congress
had done much to encourage science, he did not wish to see the science
of mesmerism neglected and overlooked. He therefore proposed that
one-half the appropriation should be given to Mr. Pisk (a gentleman at
that time lecturing in Washington on mesmerism) to enable him to carry
on experiments as well as Professor Morse. Mr. Houston thought that
Millerism should also be included in the benefits of the appropriation.
Mr. Stanly had no objection to the appropriation for mesmeric
experiments, provided Mr. Cave Johnson would be the subject (Laughter.)
Mr. Cave Johnson retorted that he would have no objection provided Mr.
Stanly was the operator. (Much laughter.) Several gentlemen having
called for the reading of the amendment, the Clerk read thus: “Provided
that one half of the said sum shall be appropriated for trying mesmeric
experiments, under the direction of the Secretary of the Treasury.”
Mr. Mason, rising to order, contended that the amendment was not
_bonâ fide_, and that such a proposal was calculated to injure the
character of the House. He appealed to the Chair to rule it out of
order; but the Chairman, declining to judge of the motives of members
in offering amendments, would not undertake to pronounce it not
_bonâ fide_. He said objections might be raised to it on the ground
that it was not sufficiently analogous in its character to the bill
under consideration, but in his opinion it would require a scientific
analysis to determine how far the magnetism of mesmerism was analogous
to that to be employed in telegraphs. (Laughter.) The amendment was
rejected, and in the end the bill was carried by a majority of six
votes--89 to 83. Professor Morse was accustomed afterwards to remark
that a “change of three votes would have consigned the invention to
oblivion.” “I was told at the time,” he also said, “by many personal
friends in the House, that the bill finally passed more out of
deference to my personal standing than from any just appreciation of
the importance of the invention, a compliment which, however gratifying
to personal pride, was fully set off by perceiving the low estimate of
the result of my labours. Other motions disparaging the invention were
made, such as proposing to appropriate part of the sum to telegraph to
the moon, but the majority of Congress did not concur in this attempt
to defeat the measure by ridicule.” In the Senate, however, it was
not honoured even by ridicule. It was allowed to lie untouched till
the last night of the session. Here also the Professor was an eager
but despairing spectator of the fate of his project. He sat listening
all day--to him a day of gloom and anxiety, unrelieved by a single
ray of hope. The session had to close at midnight, and at ten o’clock
one of the senators advised him to go home, as it was useless staying
longer--the prospect was hopeless. Morse thought so too, and with a
heavy heart left for his hotel, where after paying his bill, he found
that on his return to New York he would have thirty-seven and a half
cents in his pocket.
With this capital, he must again return to his brush and easel, and
work for fresh means to enable him to appeal to Congress at a more
convenient season. Such were the reflections that perturbed his mind,
as, overcome with fatigue, he retired to rest. Little did he dream
that night that he was to be an historic illustration of Shakespeare’s
remark that “our little life is rounded with a sleep.” Rising at a late
hour next morning, he was informed when at breakfast that a lady had
called to see him, and upon his entering the parlour, he was met by
Miss Annie Ellsworth, daughter of the Commissioner of Patents. With a
radiant smile she said, “I have come to congratulate you, Mr. Morse,”
who was advancing to shake hands with her, all unconscious that she was
a messenger of glad tidings. “To congratulate me,” said the care-worn
inventor, “for what?” “Why, upon the passage of your bill, to be sure,”
she replied. “Surely you must be mistaken,” said the Professor, who
probably thought the announcement too good to be true; “I left at a
late hour and its fate seemed inevitable.” “Indeed I’m not,” was the
reply; “father remained till the close of the session; and your bill
was the very last that was passed. I begged permission to convey the
news to you, and I am so glad I am the first to tell you. It was
passed without any discussion.” As the Commissioner of Patents was a
friend who had taken a warm interest in the fate of the telegraph, the
Professor accepted this assurance, and warmly pressing the lady’s hand,
expressed unfeigned delight at the news. In the course of some further
conversation, he said that as a reward for being the first bearer of
the glad tidings, she should be invited to send the first message over
the first line of telegraph. The promise was accepted.
He next sought permission to construct his telegraph on the railroad
from Baltimore to Washington. Even this simple matter was not settled
without some opposition. Happily Professor Morse secured the support
of Mr. Latrobe, who was then engineer to the Baltimore and Ohio
railway, and who has given an interesting account of his connection
with the project. He says that while “calling on Mr. Louis McLane, the
president, on some professional matter, I was asked in the course of
conversation whether I knew anything about an electric telegraph which
the inventor, who had obtained an appropriation from Congress, wanted
to lay down on the Washington branch of the road. He said he expected
Mr. Morse, the inventor, to call on him, when he would introduce me to
him, and would be glad if I took an opportunity to go over the subject
with him, and afterwards let him (Mr. McLane) know what I thought
about it. While we were yet speaking Mr. Morse made his appearance,
and when Mr. McLane introduced me he referred to the fact that, as I
had been educated at West Point, I might the more readily understand
the scientific bearing of Mr. Morse’s invention. The president’s
office being no place for prolonged conversation, it was agreed that
Mr. Morse should take tea at my dwelling, when we would go over the
whole subject. We met accordingly, and it was late in the night before
we parted. Mr. Morse went over the history of his invention from the
beginning with an interest and enthusiasm that had survived the
wearying toil of an application to Congress, and, with the aid of
diagrams drawn on the instant, made me master of the matter, and wrote
for me the telegraphic alphabet which is still in use all over the
world. Not a small part of what Mr. Morse said on this occasion had
reference to the future of his invention, its influence on communities
and individuals, and I remember regarding as the wild speculations
of an active imagination what he prophesied in this connection, and
which I have lived to see more than realised. Nor was his conversation
confined to his invention. A distinguished artist, an educated
gentleman, an observant traveller, it was delightful to hear him talk,
and at this day I recall few more pleasant evenings than the only one I
passed in his company.
“Of course my first visit the next morning was to Mr. McLane to make
my report. By this time I had become almost as enthusiastic as Mr.
Morse himself, and repeated what had passed between us. I soon saw that
Mr. McLane was becoming as eager for the construction of the line to
Washington as Mr. Morse could desire. He entered warmly into the spirit
of the thing, and laughed heartily, if not incredulously, when I told
him that although he had been Minister to England, Secretary of State,
and Secretary of the Treasury, his name would be forgotten, while that
of Morse would never cease to be remembered with praise and gratitude.
We then considered the question as to the right of the company to
permit the line to be laid in the bed of the road--the plan of
construction at that time being to bury in a trench some eight or ten
inches deep a half-inch leaden tube containing the wrapped wire that
was to form the electric circuit. About this there was, in my opinion,
no doubt.” The President accordingly brought the subject before the
monthly meeting of the directors held in April, 1843. Just as the
meeting was about to adjourn, he said he had almost overlooked an
application which he had received from Professor Morse for permission
to lay his telegraph line on the railroad from Baltimore to Washington,
and which their chief engineer recommended as worthy of encouragement.
A resolution was moved and seconded, giving “such facilities as may be
requisite to give the invention a proper trial,” provided it could be
done without injury to the road or embarrassment to the company. The
President pointed out that the company reserved the right of requiring
the removal of the telegraph at any time, and the resolution appeared
for a moment to command assent; but one of the older directors then
rose and stated that, notwithstanding all the precautions suggested,
he could not as a conscientious man vote for the resolution without
some further examination. He knew that this idea of Mr. Morse, though
it appeared plausible to theorists, dreamers, and men of science,
was regarded by all practical people as destined to certain failure,
and must consequently result in loss and possible ruin to Mr. Morse.
He felt conscientious scruples in giving a vote which would tempt a
visionary enthusiast to ruin himself. However, Mr. John P. Kennedy now,
as in Congress, came to the rescue of Mr. Morse, and the resolution was
adopted.
The experimental line from Baltimore to Washington was at once
commenced, and Professor Morse was appointed superintendent of the work
with a salary of 2,500 dollars. Different accounts have been given of
the progress of the work; but for authenticity and importance his own
account, given in a letter to the Secretary of the Treasury, is still
of historic interest. On August 10, 1843, he said, with reference to
his experiments with the prepared wire in one continuous line of 160
miles, that they were attended with perfect success. “I had prepared a
galvanic battery of 300 pairs in order to have ample power at command,
but, to my great gratification, I found that 100 pairs were sufficient
to produce all the effects I desired through the whole distance of
160 miles. It may be well to observe that the 160 miles of wire are
to be divided into four lengths, of forty miles each, forming a
fourfold cord from Washington to Baltimore. Two wires form a circuit;
the electricity, therefore, in producing its effect at Washington
from Baltimore, passes from Baltimore to Washington and back again to
Baltimore, of course travelling eighty miles to produce its result.
One hundred and sixty miles, therefore, give me an actual distance of
eighty miles, double the distance from Washington to Baltimore. The
result then of my experiments is, that a battery of only 100 pairs at
Washington will operate a telegraph on my plan eighty miles distant
with certainty, and without requiring any intermediate station! Some
careful experiments on the decomposing power at various distances were
made, from which the law of propulsion has been deduced, verifying
the results of Ohm and those which I made in the summer of 1842. THE
PRACTICAL INFERENCE FROM THIS LAW IS THAT A TELEGRAPHIC COMMUNICATION
ON THE ELECTRO-MAGNETIC PLAN MAY, WITH CERTAINTY, BE ESTABLISHED ACROSS
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN! STARTLING AS THIS MAY NOW SEEM, I AM CONFIDENT THE
TIME WILL COME WHEN THIS PROJECT WILL BE REALISED. The wire is now in
its last process of preparation for enclosing in the lead tube, which
will be commenced on Tuesday the 15th of August.” It thus appears that
he had no sooner begun the construction of the first land line in
America than he had conceived the greatest submarine achievement in
telegraphy. This was the first authoritative proposal of an Atlantic
telegraph.
The idea of enclosing insulated wires in pipes was taken from the
accounts published in America of Wheatstone’s first telegraph in
England; but this method when tried proved unsuccessful, and was at
once abandoned, the wires being henceforth placed on poles. About a
year was occupied in completing the first practical line; and then
Professor Morse sent for Miss Ellsworth, and asked her to supply the
first message. This she did, giving the memorable words: “What hath God
wrought!” The Professor himself worked the transmitter, which was in
the chamber of the United States Supreme Court at Washington; the date
was the 24th of May, 1844; and the message was received at Baltimore in
the signs which were henceforth to be known as the Morse Alphabet, as
follows:
.-- .... .- - .... .- - ....
W H A T H A T H
--. . . -.. .-- . .. . .
G O D W R O
..- --. .... -
U G H T
An incident soon occurred which brought the telegraph into notoriety.
Three days after the transmission of the first message the National
Democratic Convention, then sitting in Baltimore, nominated James K.
Polk as president; and as vice-president Silas Wright, who was at
that time in the Senate at Washington. Mr. Vail sent the news of the
nomination by telegraph from Baltimore to Professor Morse, and he
communicated it to Mr. Wright, who immediately declined the nomination.
The rapidity with which the messages had passed between Baltimore and
Washington surprised the Convention, who are said to have been so
incredulous on the subject that they sent a Committee to Washington to
confer with Mr. Wright, and adjourned till the desired confirmation
was received. The incident caused a sensation. The telegraph became
the latest “wonder.” Professor Morse’s long winter of despondency and
anxious struggle seemed now to be made glorious summer. The hill of
difficulty appeared to have been surmounted. His invention answered
expectations, and the experimental line worked well. Now his buoyancy
seemed to rise to poetic flights; for in March, 1845, he wrote that
while travelling on the Rhine some years previously he saw on a sundial
at Worms the motto _Horas non numero nisi serenas_; the beauty of its
sentiment appeared to him to be so well sustained in the euphony of its
syllables that he placed it in his note-book, and he now ventured to
expand it into the following stanzas which he dedicated “To my young
friend A----, sincerely praying that the dial of her life may ever show
unclouded hours.”
TO MISS A. G. E.
THE SUNDIAL.
_Horas non numero nisi serenas._
I note not the hours except they be bright.
The sun when it shines in a clear, cloudless sky
Marks the time of my disc in figures of light.
If clouds gather o’er me, unheeded they fly,
I note not the hours except they be bright.
So when I review all the scenes that have passed
Between me and thee, be they dark, be they light,
I forget what was dark, the light I hold fast,
I note not the hours except they be bright.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] In 1834 Professor Morse wrote a series of papers which
were afterwards published as a volume with the title
_Foreign Conspiracy against the Liberties of the
United States_.
CHAPTER III.
“For a man to do benefit from such means as he may have and
may cause, is the most glorious of labours.”--SOPHOCLES.
The practical working of the telegraph being now demonstrated,
Professor Morse may be said to have forsaken his first vocation. He
afterwards assured his artist friends that his leaving their ranks
cost him many a pang, and that he did not leave them till he saw them
well established and entering upon a career of prosperity. He also
pointed out that in the records of art there were conspicuous examples
of men forsaking art to enter upon a career of invention. The American
Fulton, whose scientific studies led to the introduction of steam
navigation was a painter, and “it may not be generally known that the
important invention of the percussion cap was due to the scientific
recreations of the English painter Shaw.” In like manner Daguerre,
who in France discovered the art of photography, was an artist; and
just when Professor Morse was prosecuting his art studies with the
greatest zeal and hope, it was stated that in early life painting was
the favourite amusement of Sir Humphry Davy, who was diverted from art
to chemistry by the results of some experiments instituted for the
purpose of preparing colours. To such examples has now to be added the
inventor of the recording telegraph. Professor Morse always claimed for
himself the credit of being the inventor of the first telegraph, by
which, however, he meant a telegraph in the strict definition of the
word--a means of recording intelligence at a distance. From that point
of view he contended that the invention of Wheatstone and Cooke was a
semaphore, which merely indicated letters on a dial by the movement of
needles; and that while the invention of a telegraph was one thing,
its practical introduction was quite another thing--the time of the
invention was one thing and the time of its practical introduction
another. “In 1832,” he said, in reply to a challenge from W. F. Cooke,
“I had the idea of producing an automatic record at a distance by means
of electricity, the idea of a true telegraph; and this original idea
was immediately followed by the invention of the means for carrying
it into effect. This was the new idea of 1832 now realised in the
Morse telegraph system, and the Chief Justice of the United States, in
delivering the judgment of the supreme court, said there was full and
clear evidence that when Morse was returning from Europe in 1832 he
was deeply engaged upon this subject during the voyage, and that the
process and means were so far developed and arranged in his own mind
that he was confident of its ultimate success.” The inventor admitted
that 1844 was the date of the practical introduction of the invention
of 1832; and he did not claim exclusive credit for the invention. He
himself stated that it rarely, if ever, happened that any invention
was so independent of all others that a single individual could justly
appropriate to himself the entire credit of all its parts. “It is
only,” he said, “when the nature of an invention is properly understood
that the justice of the ascription of honour to the individual
inventor is perceived. Invention is emphatically combination, an
assembling or putting together of things known, whether discoveries
or other inventions, to produce a new effect, to create a new art.”
If that definition appears to be especially adapted to suit his own
circumstances, it is worthy of remark that similar definitions were
given by Aristotle and Bacon.
Professor Morse always felt sure that if he had only an opportunity
of demonstrating the operation of his telegraph, its utility would be
self-evident. Sad experience had taught him that it was not an easy
task to convince a money-making people of the value of a mere work of
art,--“a thing of beauty;” but how different, he thought, would be
the case with the electric telegraph, which he believed capable of
uniting, by “the pulse of speech,” the New World with the Old, which
seemed destined to annihilate space, and to extend to peoples far
apart one of the greatest gifts bestowed by the Creator upon persons
near each other--an instantaneous intercharge of thought. Had he not
solved the problem which the ancient Hebrew propounded as a sublime
impossibility: “Canst thou send lightnings that they may go, and say
unto thee, Here we are?” Yea, more,--he had made the element which
Franklin had proved to be akin to lightning not only the messenger but
the recorder of human speech. But even this was not enough to command
success. Difficulty and disappointment were still before him. In the
great tragedy of Æschylus illustrating the struggle of mind against
circumstances and the ingratitude of mankind to inventors, Prometheus
is represented as conferring a great blessing upon mortals by causing
blind hopes to dwell among them, and thus stopping them from ever
looking forward to their fate. But higher aspirations impelled Morse
onward in his beneficent career. Have ye never observed, said Saurin,
that people of the finest and most enlarged geniuses have often the
least success of any people in the world? “This may appear at first
sight very unaccountable, but a little attention will explain the
mystery. A narrow, contracted mind usually concentrates itself in
one single object: it wholly employs itself in forming projects of
happiness proportioned to its own capacity, and as its capacity is
extremely shallow, it easily meets with the means of executing them.
But this is not the case with a man of superior genius, whose fruitful
fancy forms notions of happiness grand and sublime. He invents noble
plans, involuntarily gives himself up to his own chimeras, and derives
a pleasure from these ingenious shadows, which for a few moments
compensate for the want of substance; but when his reverie is over, he
finds real beings inferior to ideal ones, and thus his genius serves
to make him miserable. A man is much to be pitied when the penetration
of his mind and the fruitfulness of his invention furnish him with
ideas of a delighted community attached by a faithful and delicate
appreciation. Recall to him this world, above which his imagination
had just now raised him; consider him among men whose knowledge and
friendship are merely superficial, and you will be convinced that
the art of inventing is often the art of self-tormenting.” Need we
wonder, then, that after the utility of Morse’s telegraph was fully
demonstrated, he experienced unexpected difficulty as to its adoption.
His first idea was to attach it to the Post Office Department. “My
earliest desires,” he said, “were that the Government should possess
the control of such a power as I could not but foresee was inherent in
the telegraph. Vast as its pecuniary value loomed up in the minds of
some, in the contemplation of its future I was neither dazzled with its
visions of untold wealth, nor tempted to make an extortionate demand
upon the Government for its possession. Not merely all my own property
had been expended on the invention, but large sums had been advanced by
my associates, and these were items that entered into the calculations
of any offer of sale.” In September, 1837, he suggested in a letter to
the Secretary that it would be a useful auxiliary to the Post Office,
and the Secretary supported the suggestion in a letter to the Speaker
of the House on December 6, 1837. Two months later the importunate
inventor repeated his proposal to the Chairman of the House Committee
of Commerce. Again, in 1842, the Hon. C. G. Ferris, writing from
the Committee of Commerce, remarked that the prospects of profit to
individual enterprise were so inviting that “it is a matter of serious
consideration whether the Government should not on this account alone
seize the present opportunity of securing to itself the regulation of a
system which, if monopolised by a private company, might be used to the
serious injury of the Post Office Department.”
When negotiating with the Government in reference to the grant for the
experimental line, Professor Morse undertook that, before entering into
any arrangement for disposing of his patent rights to any individual
or company, he would offer it to the Government for such a just and
reasonable compensation as might be mutually agreed upon. Accordingly,
after the construction of the experimental line and the successful
demonstration of its working, he offered the whole of his rights to
the Government for 100,000 dollars. The only notice the Government
took of this offer was to request from the Postmaster-General a report
on the subject. The Postmaster-General in 1845 happened to be Mr.
Cave Johnson, who in Congress ridiculed and opposed the telegraph
bill, and who now had under his control the experimental line from
Washington to Baltimore. The reply he gave to Professor Morse’s offer
was that he was not yet satisfied that under any rate of postage the
revenue of the telegraph could be made equal to the expenditure. One
half of the time for which his patent granted protection had now
expired, and it was therefore necessary to use every means to make it
a commercial success. This Professor Morse did, but being unwilling
to “shut the door” against the Government, he inserted a proviso in
every contract he made for the use of the telegraph, that if the
Government concluded arrangements for the purchase of it by the 4th of
March, 1847, the contract should cease. Nevertheless the Government
allowed the opportunity to go unheeded, and the Professor complained
not only of the disappointment thus occasioned, but of the prejudice
it created against him. Companies had been formed for constructing
lines from Baltimore to New York and from New York to Buffalo, and the
promoters at the outset were hopeful that the revenue would at least
equal the expenditure; but the conduct of the Government for a time
seemed to cast a blight upon their prospects. In after years Professor
Morse declared that but for the indomitable energy and faith of the
friends who then supported him by their influence and money, his
telegraph might have been abandoned as too expensive to be practicable.
Conspicuous among his supporters was Mr. Amos Kendall, who had formerly
been Postmaster-General, and who was the prime mover in forming
joint-stock companies to construct and work the telegraph. On April
1st, 1845, the line from Washington to Baltimore was opened for public
business, the charge being a cent (or a halfpenny) for every four
characters. The first line constructed after the experimental one was
that of the Magnetic Telegraph Company from Philadelphia to Norristown,
Pa., a length of 14 miles, which was opened in November, 1845; it was
continued to Fort Lee in the January following, and completed from
Philadelphia to Baltimore on June 5, 1846.
Once fairly started, the telegraph in America made such rapid strides
as soon eclipsed its progress in those countries in which it had an
earlier start. Within half a dozen years about thirty Companies were
formed to carry on the work of telegraphic extension, and to reap the
profits of an invention which the Government could not be induced to
accept. Sir Robert Inglis, in his address as President of the British
Association meeting at Oxford in June, 1847, stated that he had just
received a report presented to the Legislative Council and Assembly
of New Brunswick relating to a project for constructing a railway and
a line of telegraph from Halifax to Quebec, with reference to which
he said: “Distance is time, and when by steam, whether on water or
on land, personal communication is facilitated, and when orders are
conveyed from one extremity of the Empire to another almost like a
flash of lightning, the facility of governing a large State becomes
almost equal to the facility of governing the smallest. I remember
reading many years ago in the _Scotsman_ an ingenious and able article
showing how England could be governed as easily as Attica under
Pericles; and I believe the same conclusion was deduced by William
Cobbett from the same illustration. The system is daily extending. It
was, however, in the United States of America that it was first adopted
on a great scale, by Professor Morse in 1844; and it is there that it
is now already developed most extensively. Lines for above 1,300 miles
are in action, and connect those States with Her Majesty’s Canadian
provinces; and it is in a course of development so rapid that, in the
words of the Report of Mr. Wilkinson to Sir W. E. Colebrooke, the
Governor of New Brunswick, no schedule of telegraphic lines can now
be relied upon for a month in succession, as hundreds of miles may be
added in that space of time. So easy of attainment does such a result
appear to be, and so lively is the interest felt in its accomplishment,
that it is scarcely doubtful that the whole of the populous parts of
the United States will, within two or three years, be covered with a
network like a spider’s web, suspending its principal threads upon
important points, along the sea board of the Atlantic on one side,
and upon similar points along the Lake Frontier on the other. I am
indebted to the same Report for another fact, which I think of equal
interest: The confidence in the efficiency of telegraphic communication
has now become so established, that the most important commercial
transactions daily transpire, by its means, between correspondents
several hundred miles apart. Ocular evidence of this was afforded
by a communication a few minutes old between a merchant in Toronto
and his correspondent in New York, distant about 632 miles. When the
_Hibernia_ steamer arrived in Boston in January, 1847, with the news
of the scarcity in Great Britain, Ireland, and other parts of Europe,
and with heavy orders for agricultural produce, the farmers in the
interior of the State of New York--informed of the state of things
by the Magnetic Telegraph--were thronging the streets of Albany with
innumerable team-loads of grain almost as quickly after the arrival of
the steamer at Boston as the news of that arrival could ordinarily have
reached them. I may add that, irrespectively of all its advantages to
the general community, the system appears to give already a fair return
of interest to the individuals or companies who have invested their
capital in its application. I cannot refer to the extent of the lines
of the electric telegraph in America without an increased feeling of
regret that in England this great discovery has been so inadequately
adopted. So far at least as the capital is concerned, the two greatest
of our railway companies have not, I believe, yet carried the electric
telegraph further from London than to Watford and Slough.”
About the same time Professor Morse stated that, as the result of
improvements in his telegraph, the President’s entire message on the
subject of the war with Mexico was transmitted with perfect accuracy
at the rate of ninety-nine letters per minute. His skilful operators
in Washington and Baltimore printed these characters at the rate of
98, 101, 111, and one of them actually printed 117 letters per minute.
It was pointed out that as an expert penman seldom writes legibly more
than 100 letters per minute, the Morse telegraph then about equalled
the most expeditious mode of recording thought.
Between 1844 and 1855 the telegraph was used for another purpose
which was regarded in the world of science as of great importance.
In 1839 Professor Morse, while in Paris, suggested to Arago that the
telegraph might be used for determining the difference of longitude
between places with an accuracy previously unattainable. The first
experiment for the determination of longitude was made in 1844 at
Baltimore, and fully realised the expectation of Professor Morse. The
Battle Monument Square, Baltimore, was found to be 1 m. 34 sec. ·868
east of the capital at Washington, a difference of three quarters of
a second from the former results recorded in the American Almanac.
This may appear a trifling matter to unscientific readers, but a short
explanation will show its importance. The latitude of any place--its
distance from the equator north or south--can be accurately determined
by astronomical observation; but its longitude, or distance east or
west of any particular place agreed upon as a meridional standard, such
as Greenwich, was often determined with difficulty. It is well known
that in the diurnal rotation of the earth every portion of its surface
is turned towards the sun once in twenty-four hours, and that noon
occurs at places east of Greenwich earlier than at Greenwich, and later
at places west of Greenwich. The difference between the local time
at any particular place and Greenwich time is the longitude of that
place from Greenwich; but much difficulty was formerly experienced in
ascertaining the exact time at both places at the instant adopted for
comparison. At sea it was formerly determined by elaborate observations
of the position of the moon among the stars; and latterly both on
land and sea it was generally done by carrying a good chronometer
from the one place to the other, the difference between the local
time and the Greenwich time recorded by the chronometer giving the
longitude. But the exactness of this method depended upon the accuracy
of the chronometer, and the rapidity with which it could be carried
from one place to the other. But now by means of the telegraph, when
the wire is kept clear for the purpose, the time at one place can be
instantaneously transmitted to another place; and if the local time at
each place is correct, the difference gives the longitude.
It is worthy of remark that just about a century before the invention
of the Morse telegraph the marine chronometer was invented by John
Harrison, an ingenious cabinet maker, expressly for the purpose of
determining longitude at sea; and he was induced to do so by the
British Government offering a reward of 20,000_l._ 15,000_l._ or
10,000_l._ for a discovery which might prove successful in determining
longitude at sea. Now Morse, without any offer of reward, invented his
telegraph, and not only suggested its use for determining longitude
on land, but himself directed the first experiment between Washington
and Baltimore to prove its practicability for that purpose. In 1847 it
was announced that the relative longitudes of New York, Philadelphia,
and Washington had been determined by means of the telegraph, and
it was added that two important facts, before known theoretically,
were then practically demonstrated, that a clock in New York could be
compared with another at a distance of 200 miles quite as accurately
as two clocks in adjoining rooms, and that “the time required for the
electric fluid to travel from New York to Washington and back again, a
distance of 450 miles, is so small a fraction of a second that it is
inappreciable to the most practised observer.” So well was this method
appreciated that Lieutenant Maury, of the United States Navy, stated
in 1849, that as the electric telegraph then extended through all the
States of the Union, except perhaps Arkansas, Texas, and one other
frontier, “a splendid field is presented for doing the world a service
by connecting, for difference of longitude through means of magnetic
telegraph and clock, all the principal points of this country with the
Observatory at Washington. In anticipation of such extension of the
wires, I ordered an instrument for the purpose, and it has recently
arrived. It is intended to determine _latitude_ also--so that by its
means and this clock I hope, during the year, to know pretty accurately
the geographical position of Montreal, Boston, Chicago, St. Louis, New
Orleans, &c., and their difference of longitude from Washington, quite
as correctly as the difference between Greenwich and Paris has been
established by the usual method and after many years of observation.”
The telegraphic method was first tried in England in May, 1853, when
the Astronomer Royal ascertained the difference of longitude between
the observatories of Greenwich and Cambridge. On the Continent
Professor Encke in the same year determined the difference of longitude
between Berlin and Frankfort-on-the-Main; and the difference between
Greenwich and Paris was determined in 1854.
In 1853, eight years after the opening of the first line of telegraph
in America, there were 25,000 miles of wire erected at a cost of
1,000,000_l._, and it was reported that in working these lines there
were consumed 720 tons of zinc, worth 12,000_l._, over 1,000,000 lbs.
of nitric acid, worth 24,000_l._, and 6,000_l._ worth of mercury in
a year. The most distant points then connected by telegraph were the
cities of Halifax (Nova Scotia) and Quebec with New Orleans, a length
of 2,000 miles. The distance by telegraph between New York and New
Orleans was 3,000 miles, and messages from the one town to the other
were delivered in an hour. A report published in 1853, stated that
by the aid of the telegraph the vast republic of America, 3,000 miles
long by 3,000 broad, could be as easily managed and governed as a
single city, and that “a long experience in America,” with some dozen
different lines of telegraph, established the fact that the velocity
of the electric current was about 15,400 miles per second. The time
occupied in transmission between Boston and Bangor having been exactly
measured, it was found to be the sixteen-thousandth part of a second,
the velocity of the current being at the rate of 16,000 miles per
second, or about 600 miles per second more than the average of other
experiments in that country.
In 1886 it was computed that on the telegraph lines of the United
States 30,000 Morse sounders were in daily use, and that the total
consumption of copper in the local batteries amounted to about 750,000
lbs. per annum, which cost 6,300_l._, together with 100,000 lbs. of
zinc which cost 1,200_l._
[Illustration: FIG. 1]
[Illustration: FIG. 2]
A short description of the Morse apparatus in its improved form may
be conveniently given here. The illustration shows the transmitting
key in its simplest shape. It is evident that by merely depressing the
handle till the upper lever comes in contact with the lower bar of
metal at the point A, a current of electricity will flow through the
point of contact from the battery wire to the telegraph wire. In order
to break the contact or circuit, the operator has simply to desist from
depressing the handle of the upper lever, which is instantly raised
from contact by the action of the spring at the other end. The operator
can thus make and break the circuit at pleasure, and according to
the frequency and duration of the act of depressing the handle will
be the number and length of the signs produced at the far end of the
telegraph wire. A long and strong depression of the handle would allow
the passage of sufficient electricity to make a long sign; and if the
operator next made two short depressions, giving two short signs, the
three together, thus -- - -, would mean D. If the receiving instrument
called the Sounder were in use, instead of the Recorder, long and short
sounds would be produced in proportion to the quantity of electricity
transmitted, instead of long and short ink marks. The Sounder is a
simpler instrument than the Recorder, and is in more general use.
The chief part of its operation is effected by means of the relay or
local battery. A simple illustration shows its essential parts. When a
current of electricity from the transmitter comes along the telegraph
wire, it enters the electro-magnet E M, which forms the central part
of the apparatus, and which, being thus electrified, attracts to
itself the armature C, just above it. In this way the moveable lever,
B C D, is drawn down till its point, D, touches the point of the
lower screw, L, which is saturated with electricity from the local
battery. Immediately the end of the lever, D, touches the point of the
lower screw, L, electricity flows from the latter into the former,
the quantity of electricity being proportionate to the length of the
contact, or, to use a more technical term, to the time that the local
circuit is thus complete; but the instant the current sent along the
telegraph wire ceases, the electro-magnet, E M, becomes powerless, the
end of the moveable lever, D, is drawn, by the spring S, away from the
lower screw, L, and strikes against the higher screw, H, thus making a
clicking sound, the loudness and duration of which are proportionate to
the current of electricity originally sent; but at the same time the
original current, especially on long lines, would be quite inadequate
to affect the lever with the strength that it acquires from the local
battery during its momentary contact with the lower screw, L. The loud
and feeble sounds combined with long and short intervals between them
represent letters of the alphabet, but it requires a practised ear
to interpret them. In the Recorder, the arrival of a current in the
electro-magnet and the consequent lowering of the lever brings an ink
siphon in contact with a moving strip of paper and thus produces a
dash; and when the current ceases the lever is raised, thus withdrawing
the ink siphon from the paper; so that the dash produced is long or
short in proportion to the current sent along the telegraph wire.
Such is the simple but ingenious apparatus which, by its universal use,
has made the name of Morse known throughout the civilised world. Its
invention, however, was not the only telegraphic achievement with which
he was connected. Mention has already been made of his first attempt
at submarine telegraphy; and in later years he actively promoted the
carrying out of the greatest enterprise of that description.
In 1853 it was stated, in certain American and English newspapers, that
a recent discovery had been made in telegraphing which might work as
great a revolution in the world of letters and commerce as had already
been effected by the original application of electricity or magnetism
to the purposes of telegraphic communication. It was generally assumed
till then that there was a limit to the force of electric currents,
and that they could not be made strong enough to be sent across the
Atlantic. Under that impression it had been proposed to construct a
submarine telegraph between Great Britain and the United States by a
circuitous route across the various straits and channels lying between
the intermediate islands of the North Atlantic Ocean, commencing at
the north of Scotland, proceeding by the Shetland and Faroe Islands
to Iceland, a distance of 300 miles, next landing on the shores of
Greenland and going across land to Davis Strait, after crossing which
it would reach the mainland of Labrador. In 1852 it was announced that
“the vast enterprise” of connecting the Old and New Worlds by this
route had been commenced by sinking the first line in Transatlantic
waters between Cape Lormentine, New Brunswick, and Carlton Head on
Prince Edward Island; and next year it was pompously announced as a new
discovery that the electric current might be sent to “any conceivable
distance,” and the newspapers, in publishing the announcement, said
it could not any longer be doubted that the ocean telegraph would be
realised, and that “a line of wires will encircle the whole earth,
bringing all parts of it into instantaneous communication with each
other. It is impossible for any human foresight to estimate or predict
even the results of such a communication, and we trust that the
Governments of the United States and Great Britain will take up the
matter of an oceanic line on a scale commensurate with its importance,
providing such a number of distinct wires enclosed in one cable as will
supply the necessities of commerce and intercourse between Europe and
America.”
Early in 1854 Mr. Cyrus Field took an active interest in the project
for laying a cable in mid ocean between America and Europe; and one of
the first things he did was to send for Professor Morse and to consult
him as to the practicability of telegraphing such a long distance.
The Professor called on Mr. Field and entered into a full exposition
of the subject, assuring him that the project was practicable. Next
year the New York, Newfoundland, and London Telegraph Company was
formed, and they obtained from the Government of Newfoundland an act of
incorporation, a guarantee of interest on 50,000_l._ of the company’s
bonds, and a grant of fifty square miles of land on the island of
Newfoundland. The Governments of Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia,
Canada, and the State of Maine, as well as those of Great Britain and
the United States, also made substantial grants. In 1855 an attempt
was made to connect St. John’s with the mainland, but this was not
successfully accomplished till 1856, and the line was then continued
across the island to Trinity Bay, the American terminus of the Atlantic
telegraph. In 1856 Mr. Field visited England for the purpose of
enlisting English capitalists in the enterprise, and his mission was so
successful that in 1857 the Atlantic Telegraph Company was formed. It
acquired all the rights and privileges of the New York, Newfoundland,
and London Company; and within a month raised a capital of 350,000_l._
The British Government offered to the company the use of the war vessel
_Agamemnon_ for the purpose of laying a cable, while the United States
Government in like manner offered their newest and finest vessel--the
_Niagara_--which was 715 feet long and 56 feet wide. The main question
at issue was whether electric signals could be transmitted through a
cable 2,300 miles in length. At the close of 1856 Professor Morse, who
was then regarded as the greatest authority on the subject, calculated
that ten words could be transmitted in a minute. In a report which
he furnished to the company he explained that gutta-percha covered
submarine wires did not transmit in the same way as simple insulated
conductors, that they had to be charged like a Leyden jar before they
could transmit at all, and that the velocity of transmission was
consequently much slower than in ordinary conductors. In the Leyden
jar--a glass vessel covered with tinfoil both inside and outside--the
electricity, entering at the neck, charges the interior metallic
coating, and at the same time induces or generates electricity in the
outside coating, the electricity on the one side being positive, and on
the other side negative. In a submarine cable the electricity charged
into the wire behaves in a manner similar to that in a Leyden jar; in
the one case the gutta-percha is the insulator; in the other case it
is the glass jar. Professor Morse pointed out that as the opposite
electricities attracted each other in the wire of a cable, the current
was thus retarded in its rate of motion. This inductive retardation
was dreaded in a long cable; but Professor Morse suggested that the
velocity of the transmission of signals along insulated submerged wires
could be enormously increased, from the rate of one signal in two
seconds to eight in one second, by making each alternate signal with a
current of different quality, positive following negative, and negative
following positive.
In April, 1857, the _Niagara_ came to England, where the first
Atlantic cable was being manufactured. Professor Morse came too; and
the day after he disembarked at Gravesend he entered fully into the
prospects and capabilities of the cable. He was fond of assuring
English inquirers as to the desire in America for a cable, that it was
the ambition of the people of the United States to know what was done
in England before it took place; as an event happening in London at
noon would, if the cable were laid, be published in New York on the
morning of the same day. But he had more solid reasons than that to
give in support of the undertaking. He stated that he was anxious to
see the cable in active operation under the ocean because he had a firm
conviction that then the chances of conflict and of misunderstanding
between Englishmen and Americans must be diminished in an incalculable
degree. He felt sure that it would be used for no hostile purpose, and
that when New York would become a suburb of London, and Washington the
western half of Westminster, an American war would be about as likely a
thing as Camberwell organising an attack upon Camden Town, or Peckham
making a raid upon Pimlico. All wars, he said, arise in ignorance and
misunderstanding of the real objects and interests of the race by
which they are waged: to increase the facilities for an interchange
of ideas, for the opening out of commercial relations, and for the
development of intelligence, must be to diminish the need of appeals
from reason to force; and a small cable laid quietly at the bottom of
the Atlantic at a cost of 350,000_l._ would do more for the maintenance
of international peace and for the furtherance of national prosperity
than an expenditure of 10,000,000_l._ a year on each side of the
Atlantic in the construction and commissioning of such armed Leviathans
as would carry and pioneer the electrical rope to its resting-place.
In reporting these words of Professor Morse the directors of the
Atlantic Telegraph Company said the shareholders would not be
unwilling to receive his “opinion and assurance upon that point as the
first instalment of their interest.” Equally complimentary was the
appreciation they expressed of his opinion as to the feasibility of the
undertaking. In 1856 when it was determined to make experiments on long
lengths of telegraph wires for the purpose of proving that intelligence
could be transmitted for long distances, it was proposed to provide
the requisite length of cable by joining together the underground
lines of the English and Irish Magnetic Telegraph Company, extending
from London to Dublin _viâ_ Dumfries. These lines were 600 miles long,
and were capable of forming a continuous length of 5,000 miles. The
directors stated that every possible precaution was taken in this trial
to guard against accidental causes of error by the introduction of
test instruments at each available point of junction, and “to crown
the whole, the veteran electrician, Professor Morse, of the United
States, was present at the operations and witnessed the result.” On
the night of October 2nd, “the conclave of experimenters” met at the
office of the Magnetic Telegraph Company in Old Broad Street, London,
and made their experiments on a circuit of subterranean or submarine
wires which was considered to present the nearest approach to the
working of a real and continuous submarine cable. The arrangements were
considered perfectly satisfactory, and the result was described as an
unquestionable triumph. By means of one of Morse’s ordinary receiving
instruments signals were distinctly telegraphed through 2,000 miles
of wire at the rate of 210, 241, and on one occasion 270 per minute.
Elated at the realisation of his anticipations, Professor Morse wrote
to Mr. Cyrus Field, stating that “there could be no question that, with
a cable containing a single conducting wire, of a size not exceeding
that through which we worked, and with equal insulation, it would be
easy to telegraph from Ireland to Newfoundland at a speed of at least
from eight to ten words per minute. Take it at ten words in a minute,
and allowing ten words for name and address, we can safely calculate
upon the transmission of a twenty-word message in three minutes--twenty
such messages in an hour, 480 in the twenty-four hours, or 14,400 words
per day. Such are the capabilities of a single wire cable fairly and
moderately computed. It is, however, evident to me that by improvements
in the arrangement of the signals themselves, aided by the adoption of
a code or system constructed upon the principles of the best nautical
code, we may at least double the speed in the transmission of our
messages. In one word, the doubts are solved; the difficulties are
overcome; success is within our reach; and the great feat of the
century must shortly be accomplished.” The rate of transmission through
the Atlantic cable was eventually from ten to twenty words a minute,
but great improvements had to be made before the higher speed was
attained.
In July, 1857, the _Niagara_ went to Birkenhead to take on board one
half of the cable which had been manufactured there, and having shipped
her peculiar freight she proceeded to Queenstown, where she was joined
by the _Agamemnon_, which had shipped the other half of the cable in
the Thames. Off Queenstown the two halves of the cable in the ships
were united so as to form a circuit of 2,500 miles. When charged with
electricity it was found that a current flowed through the cable.
Indeed, a distinct message was telegraphed through it, but the rate
of transmitting signals was slow. One current occupied a second and
three-quarters in passing through; but when it was found that three
successive signals could be transmitted in two seconds, the prospect
was considered satisfactory. The tests being so far successful, it was
at first intended that the two vessels should proceed to mid ocean,
whence, having joined together the two halves of the cable, each vessel
could proceed towards the opposite shores. At the last hour, however,
it was deemed more prudent to start paying out from the Irish coast.
Accordingly, on August 4th, 1857, the two cable ships, each attended
by three smaller vessels, left Queenstown, and arrived in Valencia Bay
on the following day. After some inaugural ceremonies, the telegraph
squadron started to pay out the cable on August 7th. Professor Morse
was on board the _Niagara_, which began the work of paying out. On
the morning of the fourth day (August 11th) the cable parted, and the
335 miles paid out appeared to be lost at the bottom of the ocean. In
a letter describing the accident, Professor Morse said that at the
time it occurred “there was a moderately heavy sea, which caused the
ship’s stern to rise several feet and to fall to the same degree;
when the stern fell, the cable under its immense strain went down into
the water easily and quickly, but when the stern was lifted by the
irresistible power of the succeeding wave the force exerted upon the
cable under such circumstances would have parted a cable of four times
the strength. Hence it is no wonder that our cable, subjected to such
a tremendous and unnatural strain, should snap like a pack-thread. It
did snap, and in an instant the whole course and plan of our future
proceedings were necessarily changed. How many visions of wealth, of
fame, and of pleasure were dependent for their realisation on the
integrity of that little nerve thread, spinning out like a spider’s web
from the stern of our noble ship and (in view of the mighty force of
steam and waves and winds and mechanism brought to bear upon it) quite
as frail. Yet with all its frailties, nothing could exceed the beauty
of its quiet passage to its ocean bed from the moment we had joined it
to the shore end till the fatal mistake of not easing the breaks which
caused the breaking of it asunder. The effect on shipboard was very
striking. It parted just before daylight. All hands rushed to the deck,
but there was no confusion; the telegraph machinery had stopped; the
men gathered in mournful groups, and their tones were sad and voices
as low as if a death had occurred on board. I believe there was not a
man in the ship who did not feel really as melancholy as if a comrade
had been lost overboard.” On the vessels returning to Plymouth the
chief electricians connected with the enterprise, Mr. W. Whitehouse,
Professor Morse, and Professor William Thomson, issued a report
certifying that “every experiment which we have made upon the cable,
every test to which we have subjected it, both for its insulating
and conducting power, has uniformly resulted in demonstrating the
perfect fitness of the cable for its office. The treble covering
of gutta-percha so entirely provides for the remote possibility of
an accidental flaw occurring in the first or second coat, that all
risk of defective insulation is avoided.” The directors determined to
renew the attempt during a more favourable period of 1858 with certain
improvements in the paying out machinery and with a greater length of
cable. During the winter the whole of the cable was stored at Keyham
Docks (Plymouth); and the British and American Governments having again
granted the use of the same vessels, it was reshipped in the spring.
The vessels first proceeded, in the last days of May, to the Bay of
Biscay, where experiments were made for three days in splicing and
paying out the cable, and both the mechanical and electrical tests were
reported as very promising. The squadron returned to Plymouth, whence
they sailed again on June 10th, 1858. While proceeding to mid ocean,
where they were to join the two halves and then commence paying out,
they encountered a fearful gale, and when they reached the trysting
place three attempts to lay the cable proved unsuccessful. In the first
attempt the cable parted after two miles and forty fathoms were paid
out, in the second attempt forty-two miles and 300 fathoms, and in the
third attempt 145 miles and 930 fathoms were paid out. The vessels then
returned to Queenstown to replenish their coal supplies. They started
again on July 12th, and having joined the cable ends together on the
29th, in mid ocean, the _Niagara_ landed at Trinity Bay, Newfoundland,
on August 5th. The _Agamemnon_ had likewise reached Valencia, all
well. It was found that through the cable thus laid from shore to
shore electric signals passed at the same rate as in the tests made
in England; messages were transmitted for nearly a month, after which
defects in insulation gradually increased. After transmitting 366
messages it ceased “to speak” on October 20th, 1858. In the latter and
successful expedition Professor Morse took no active part. By that
time the work which he had taken a foremost part in initiating had
fallen into younger and more energetic hands, while his attention was
diverted to the honours and rewards which ought to crown a well-spent
life, and which are more congenial to a man in his sixty-seventh year
than the carrying out of an enterprise that he had pronounced feasible
sixteen years previously. He lived to see it made a permanent success a
quarter of a century after he had first suggested it.
CHAPTER IV.
“He that has improved the virtue or advanced the happiness
of one fellow-creature, he that has ascertained a single
moral proposition, or added one useful experiment
to natural knowledge, may be contented with his own
performance, and, with respect to mortals like himself,
may demand, like Augustus, to be dismissed at his
departure with applause.”--DR. JOHNSON.
The fate of inventors has been one of the enigmas of history. Lord
Bacon has praised the justness of antiquity in awarding divine honours
to inventors whose benefits might extend to the whole human race,
while only heroic honours were awarded to statesmen who benefited only
particular places. But even in antiquity the honours paid to inventors
were generally posthumous. Horace wrote that
“Though living virtue we despise;
When dead, we praise it to the skies.”
And a later Roman writer endeavoured to explain this anomalous
treatment by stating that “we envy the living by whose merit we think
ourselves overwhelmed, but we venerate departed merit because we are
edified by it.” Human nature has not changed much since the Augustan
age; but in nothing perhaps has public feeling in our own time
undergone such a revolution as in respect to inventors. Some may think
that this change can be accounted for by the greatness of the benefits
which inventors have wrought in our day. But there have been great
inventors before now. “If one looks back,” says Mr. J. L. Ricardo, “to
the times when the most important inventions were produced, it appears
they were all made without even a patent, so far as we can discover.
For instance, arithmetic, writing, and all the first great inventions,
to which we are so habituated that we scarce think they have been
invented any more than the flowers or trees, yet were mighty inventions
in their time. Paper was invented in the year 1200, oil painting in
the year 1297, glass in 1310, printing in 1430, and gunpowder in 1450.
All these inventions, or very many of them, were made by men without
artificial stimulus, often at the peril of their lives, when their
reward was not a monopoly, but perhaps the stake or the gibbet.” It may
be observed, however, that most of these “great inventions” might more
accurately be described as the result of the discovery of natural laws,
and hence they were generally ascribed to alchemy or sorcery; whereas
in our day the inventions that have been most beneficial have been of
a mechanical description. There is scarcely a machine now in use that
is not an invention of modern times; and while many of the discoveries,
called inventions, of former ages were made accidentally, who would
ever think of saying that the complicated machinery in use nowadays
was invented by accident? Obviously it has been the result of labour,
skill, and knowledge; and its effect is to save labour and supersede
skill. It is probably the greater effort required in the production of
modern machinery, and its obvious utility when in operation, that have
secured for inventors an honourable place in public estimation, as well
as more adequate remuneration for their services. At all events such
was the case with the Morse telegraph.
Not that its success was unalloyed with detraction. After its
utility was fully established, one company after another contested
its originality or the validity of his patent rights, which had
consequently to be protected by costly law suits. The first of these
took place at Louisville, Kentucky, in August, 1848. The owners of the
Morse system arranged to construct a line from that town to Nashville,
Tennessee; and Henry O’Reilly, supported by a company, constructed a
rival line, and called it the People’s Line, which they at first tried
to work by a piece of electrical apparatus that was only a modification
of the Morse system, the principle of which they contended they were
justified in using on the ground that it did not originate with Morse.
After a patent trial of the case, the court granted an injunction
against the O’Reilly Company, and sustained the validity of the Morse
patent. The Supreme Court of the United States, on appeal, confirmed
this decision in January, 1854. The court held it as established by
evidence that “early in the spring of 1837 Morse invented his plan for
combining two or more electric or galvanic circuits, with independent
batteries, for the purpose of overcoming the diminished force of
electro-magnetism in long circuits, that there is reasonable ground
for believing that he had so far completed his invention that the
whole process, combination, powers, and machinery were arranged in his
mind, and that the delay in bringing it out arose from want of means.”
The court also held that “neither the inquiries Morse made nor the
information or advice he received from men of science, in the course
of his researches, impair his right to the character of an inventor.
No invention can possibly be made, consisting of a combination of
different elements of power, without a thorough knowledge of the
properties of each of them, and the mode in which they operate upon
each other. A very high degree of scientific knowledge and the nicest
skill in the mechanic arts are combined in the electro-magnetic
telegraph and were necessary to bring it into successful operation. It
is the high praise of Professor Morse that he has been able by a new
combination of known powers, of which electro-magnetism is one, to
discover a method by which intelligible marks or signs may be printed
at a distance.” Such were the sort of compliments that the Supreme
Court bestowed upon Professor Morse, while they amply vindicated the
validity of his patents.
Another case was heard at Philadelphia in September, 1851. It was
an action brought by the Magnetic Telegraph Company, who used the
Morse patent, against Henry J. Rogers and others who worked a line of
telegraph from Washington to New York on the system of Alexander Bain.
This ingenious but unlucky invention, which Mr. Bain made in 1846, was
represented as capable of transmitting from 1,000 to 2,000 letters a
minute. By means of a machine, holes were stamped in a long strip of
paper, and each hole or group of holes represented a particular letter.
The paper was coiled on a wooden roller, from which it passed to a
metal roller; the mechanism was so arranged that two metallic points
underneath the paper passed through the holes as they moved along, and
thus touching the metal of the roller, imparted sufficient electricity
to make a signal at the distant end of the wire; but when the points
only touched the paper no electricity passed. This rapid alternation
was made to indicate signals. In the recipient apparatus, which marked
the signals at the distant end of the connecting wire, the strip of
paper used was first soaked in dilute sulphuric acid, and then in a
solution of prussiate of potash; two metallic points pressed on that
paper, and when electricity passed through these points, it discoloured
the chemically prepared paper and left a number of dark spots on it;
but when no electricity passed no spots were produced. In America it
was alleged that those who used this apparatus violated Morse’s patent
by forming their alphabet and figures (though using chemicals instead
of ink) in the same way that Morse did--by dots and lines, although
the same dots and lines did not in both systems represent the same
letter or figure. The claim of Professor Morse as the inventor of the
principle of the dot and dash alphabet was consequently disputed by
the defendants. But the judges held that there was no one person whose
invention had been spoken of by witnesses or referred to in any book as
involving the principle of Morse’s discovery but must yield precedence
to him, and that neither Steinheil, nor Cooke and Wheatstone, nor Davy,
nor Dyer, nor Henry had, when the Morse invention was consummated early
in the spring of 1837, made a recording telegraph of any sort. In this
case the evidence filled over a thousand printed pages; and in other
trials the evidence filled many hundreds of pages.
Only in one case did a rival inventor establish valid claims to
originality. This was Mr. Royal E. House, the inventor of the printing
telegraph, which was described in 1851, when it came into use, as one
of the wonders of the age. He invented a machine which, when a message
was transmitted by electric currents over a single wire, printed the
words in Roman letters that any person could read. For that invention
House applied for a patent in 1846, but was refused it on the ground
that his specification in some points clashed with that of Morse. It
was not till towards the end of 1848 that he got a patent which dated
from April, 1846. He was a self-taught man, who was confined to his
dwelling-house with an affection of the eyes during most of the six
years that he had been engaged in constructing his instrument. The
sending apparatus for despatching messages resembled a pianette, in
which each key represented a letter of the alphabet, and the sender had
simply to press down the key representing any desired letter, and the
receiving apparatus at the other end of the telegraph wire printed that
letter on a strip of paper. The electric current moved a wheel around
the edge of which were the letters of the alphabet in type properly
inked; and when the particular letter desired came round to the point
nearest the paper tape, the letter was by self-acting mechanism pressed
against it, causing the letter to be printed on the tape. It was
stated that 160 letters could be transmitted and printed in that way
in a minute. The first line of telegraph worked by the House apparatus
was completed in August, 1850, by the Boston and New York Telegraph
Company. Proceedings were at once taken against that company by the
owner of the Morse patent, of which the House apparatus was alleged to
be an infringement. Judge Woodbury, after hearing much evidence and
argument, came to the conclusion that the two methods of telegraphing
differed as much as writing differed from printing. He said the Morse
apparatus was less complicated and more easily comprehended; it could
be readily understood by most mechanics and men of science; while
the House machine was so much more difficult to comprehend in its
operations that it required days, if not weeks, to master it. At the
same time he declared that House had given “letters to lightning,” as
well as “lightning to letters.” While he admitted that the principle
of the House telegraph was not new, although now ingeniously applied
and worked by a new power, he gave Morse every credit for originality
in his invention, and decided in the end that the one was not an
infringement of the other.
The Morse alphabet, the originality of which was practically
undisputed, has not only been found universally useful for telegraphic
purposes, but has been successfully used for signalling intelligence
where no electric telegraph was available. Its characters have been
exhibited from lighthouses in long and short flashes of electric light
to tell the lonely mariner in the darkness of night the name of the
coast he was passing; while in lands where the electric telegraph is
unknown it has enabled a revival of the old semaphore system to be
worked with great advantages. When the British squadron entered Burmah
in the end of 1885, communication was kept up between the different
portions of the forces by means of the heliostat and heliograph,
sun-signalling instruments, which displayed to distant stations dots
or dashes of light forming the Morse alphabet. In the heliograph the
signalling was effected by altering the angle of the mirror which
reflected the light; while in the heliostat the requisite flash was
transmitted by opening temporarily a shutter, which when shut obscured
the light. The Morse alphabet thus enables distant stations to speak by
means of light as well as electricity.
At the time when the laying of the Atlantic cable was absorbing
public attention, Professor Morse was enjoying the fruits of his
previous labours. Rewards and honours were freely bestowed on him.
During his long and often disheartening struggle with adversity, he
was not without honour in his own and in other countries. In 1835 he
was elected a corresponding member of the Historical Institute of
France; in 1837 he was elected a member of the Royal Academy of Fine
Arts of Belgium; in 1839 he received the great silver medal of the
Paris Academy of Industry for his invention of the telegraph; in 1841
he was made a corresponding member of the Washington Institute for
the Promotion of Science; in 1842 he was awarded the gold medal of
the American Institute for his experiments demonstrating submarine
telegraphy; in 1845 he was made a corresponding member of the
Archæological Society of Belgium; in 1847 he was made an honorary
Doctor of Laws of Yale College; in 1849 he was elected a fellow of the
American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Boston, and so on.
What he wanted during these years was emolument, and now that had come
to him after long years of patient expectation. Though his patent
was not put in profitable operation till 1846, he received before the
date of its expiration, 1854, a sum of 90,874 dollars, and during the
seven following years, for which it was renewed, over 70,000 dollars.
His fame had now become world-wide, and foreign honours were bestowed
upon him by the chief European sovereigns. In June, 1856, he visited
England, and was delighted to meet once more with several of his old
artist friends: men who had befriended him when in humble circumstances
he showed a special pleasure in meeting now, when he had attained
pre-eminent success in another vocation. From London he proceeded to
Copenhagen, where the King of Denmark, Frederick VII., presented him
with the Cross of a Knight of the Danneborg. He was thence invited to
Russia by the Emperor Alexander II., who sent his carriage to convey
him from the quay on landing to the Imperial Palace, where he was
treated as an honoured guest. Then he went to Berlin, where he again
met the author of the _Cosmos_, Alexander von Humboldt, who entertained
him hospitably, and presented him with a portrait of himself on the
margin of which he had written as an inscription the homage of his high
and affectionate esteem for Mr. S. F. B. Morse, “whose philosophical
and useful labours have rendered his name illustrious in two worlds.”
Returning to London in September, he was next month entertained at a
public banquet in the Albion Tavern on the same day that he received
the announcement that the Emperor Napoleon had made him a Chevalier
of the Legion of Honour. At that banquet Mr. W. F. Cooke stated that
Professor Morse stood alone in America as the originator and carrier
out of a grand conception; but that not content with giving the benefit
of his conception to his own country and Canada, he threatened to go
still further, and, if Englishmen would not do it, to carry telegraphic
communication across the Atlantic. Dr. O’Shaughnessy stated at the
banquet that he had made a journey from India to England in order
to introduce into India the system of telegraphing which had been
perfected by Professor Morse. It was this gentleman who, according to
his own statement, erected in April and May, 1839, “the first long
line of telegraph ever constructed in any country” in the vicinity of
Calcutta. His line was twenty-one miles long, and included 7,000 feet
of river circuit. In after years he was accustomed to state that it was
the experiments performed on that line which removed all reasonable
doubts regarding the practicability of working electric telegraphs
through enormous distances,--“a question then and for three years later
disputed by high authorities, and regarded generally with contemptuous
scepticism.” After the experiments were completed and published, the
line was taken down. It may therefore be said of Dr. O’Shaughnessy that
he was in a double sense the father of Indian telegraphy, and as such
he received the honour of knighthood.
It thus appears that the three men who were the pioneers in
practical telegraphy were Morse in America, Wheatstone in England,
and O’Shaughnessy in India. In after ages it may be a question of
biographical interest whether these three men, whose triumphs took
place in scenes so far apart, ever met together. A similar question has
been asked of another constellation of great men. “It is a remarkable
fact,” says Sir David Brewster, “in the history of astronomy, that
three of its most distinguished professors were contemporaries.
Galileo was the contemporary of Tycho during thirty-seven years and
of Kepler during fifty-nine years of his life. Galileo was born seven
years before Kepler, and survived him nearly the same time. We have
not learned that the intellectual triumvirate of the age enjoyed any
opportunity of mutual congratulation. What a privilege it would have
been to have contrasted the aristocratic dignity of Tycho with the
reckless ease of Kepler, and the manly and impetuous mien of the
Italian sage.” It is possible that three or four centuries hence
similar speculations may be indulged in with respect to the group of
remarkable men who made the electric telegraph a practical success in
different parts of the world. It may therefore be worth while here to
state that there is no record of Professor Wheatstone and Professor
Morse ever having met personally either for mutual congratulation
or recrimination. In several respects they were men of like
qualities--modest, unselfish, persevering, versatile, and ingenious
in everything except extemporaneous public speaking--a similitude
which might perhaps be held to account for the fact that there was
no love lost between them, if it be true, as Saint Pierre contends,
that men are more attached to those qualities that are the complement
of their own than to those that are the counterpart of their own--an
observation that would not apply to the three professors of astronomy.
Anyhow, the absence of Professor Wheatstone from the banquet given to
Professor Morse in London in 1856 was publicly commented on at the time
in the leading English journal, to which a member of the committee
wrote, in reply, that “it was intended to pay all honour to Professor
Wheatstone, but to the regret of every one at the dinner he was unable
to attend: his pre-eminent merits as an electrical engineer were
repeatedly acknowledged during the evening, and always with the warmest
reception by the whole company.” Nevertheless, in the calm perspective
of history posterity will probably regard that opportunity for mutual
congratulation as a privilege that ought not to have been lost.
Professor Morse said in 1856 that it was not in England alone that
he had experienced unwonted kindness, but in every place he had
visited,--in Copenhagen, in St. Petersburgh, in Berlin, throughout
Germany, Belgium, France, he had everywhere received distinguished
marks of regard--and that he was unable to recall a single unpleasant
occurrence to mar the gratifying impression which he carried with him
to his Transatlantic home. The first foreign honour he received as an
acknowledgment of his invention came from the Sultan of Turkey, who
sent him the decoration, set in diamonds, of the Order of Glory, and
this was the first decoration which the Sultan conferred on an American
citizen. Italy bestowed on him the Cross of a Knight of Saints Lazaro
and Mauritio; Prussia the Gold Medal of Scientific Merit in a gold
snuff-box; Spain the Cross of Knight Commander de Numero of the Order
of Isabella; Austria the Gold Medal of Scientific Merit; and Portugal
the Cross of a Knight of the Tower and Sword.
In 1858 he again left New York and went to Paris, where his
fellow-countrymen entertained him at a banquet. A movement was then set
on foot to make him some recompense for the use of his invention in
Europe. At a conference of delegates of ten leading Governments, held
in Paris to consider the subject, Count Walewski said that the honorary
distinctions which several sovereigns had conferred on Professor Morse
had beyond doubt been appreciated by him as valuable marks of high
esteem; but these had been insufficient to supply the place of the
pecuniary compensation which his sacrifices and his labours seemed
destined to procure him, and which were so much the more justly
called for, since electro-magnetic telegraphing,--independently of
the immense services which it renders by the rapidity of transmitting
news and correspondence,--also brings to the Governments that have a
monopoly of it profits in money which are already considerable, and
must continue to increase. With a conviction that there was justice
as well as generosity in acceding to the claim of Mr. Morse, who was
now subject to the infirmities of age, after devoting the whole of his
small fortune to the experiments and voyages necessary to arrive at
the discovery and application of his process, the Emperor’s Government
had solicited the various States, to whose gratitude Professor Morse
had a right, to contribute to the remuneration due to him. It was
agreed that the different Governments should contribute in proportion
to the number of instruments that they had in use; and it was found
that they had altogether 1,284 Morse instruments in operation, of
which France had the highest number, namely 462. On September 1st,
1858, Count Walewski addressed to him the following letter from the
French Ministry of Foreign Affairs:--“I have the honour to announce
with lively satisfaction that a sum of 400,000 francs will be remitted
to you in four annuities, in the name of France, Austria, Belgium,
the Netherlands, Piedmont, Russia, the Holy See, Sweden, Tuscany,
and Turkey, as an honorary gratuity, and as a reward, altogether
personal, of your useful labours. Nothing can better mark than this
collective act of reward the sentiment of public gratitude which your
invention has so justly excited. The Emperor had already given you a
testimonial of his high esteem when he conferred on you, more than a
year ago, the decoration of a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour. You
will find a new mark of it in the initiative which His Majesty wished
that his Government should take on this occasion, and the announcement
I now make to you is a brilliant proof of the eager and sympathetic
response that his proposition has met with from the States I have just
enumerated.”
The latter years of the Professor’s life were mostly spent in
retirement at his country residence--a delightful house, near
Poughkeepsie, on the eastern bank of the Hudson, where he appeared
to possess everything that could promote his comfort or gratify his
taste. It was an Italian villa, called Locust Grove, surrounded by
very picturesque grounds containing deep ravines and lofty forest
trees. Here he cultivated beautiful gardens, and adorned the spot with
all the chasteness of an artist’s taste. Here he was surrounded by a
lively and affectionate family. Here he delighted to entertain his old
friends with accounts of his early struggles and disappointments. Here
he was placed in communication with the busy world of work and thought
by means of the agency which his own genius had created--the Morse
telegraph. But here, amid the repose of Nature, he was not idle. In the
sunshine of fortune and fame he was as sympathetic and kind as when
under the chilly blasts of adversity. He knew well that
“’Tis easy to resign a toilsome place
But not to manage leisure with a grace;
Absence of occupation is not rest,
A mind quite vacant is a mind distress’d.”
Much of his leisure time was spent in assisting struggling inventors
and artists, and in doing works of charity. He purposely devoted
one-tenth of his income to Christian benevolence, and in honour of his
father he gave 10,000 dollars as an endowment for a Morse lectureship
on the relation of the Bible to the sciences. Occasionally he was
drawn from his retirement to receive some tribute of respect from
his fellow-countrymen; for in his own country where no titles or
decorations are conferred, the sunset of his useful life was made
radiant by some exceptional marks of public favour.
On the eve of the last day of 1868 he was entertained at a public
banquet in Delmonico’s, New York, when some of the most eminent men
in the United States paid high tributes to his genius. In the toast
of “Our Guest,” Professor Morse was described as the man of science
who explored the laws of Nature, wrested electricity from her embrace,
and made it a missionary in the cause of human progress. Professor
Morse was as rich in humility as his admirers were in eulogy. He said
that, in tracing the birth and pedigree of the American telegraph,
“American is not the highest term of the series that connects the past
with the present. There is at least one higher term,--the highest of
all,--which cannot and must not be ignored. If not a sparrow falls to
the ground without a definite purpose in the plans of Infinite Wisdom,
can the creation of an instrument so vitally affecting the interests
of the whole human race have an origin less humble than the Father of
every good and perfect gift? I am sure I have the sympathy of such
an assembly as is here gathered together, if in all humility, and in
the sincerity of a grateful heart, I use the words of Inspiration in
ascribing honour and praise to Him to whom first of all and most of all
it is pre-eminently due. ‘Not unto us, not unto us, but to God be all
the glory’--not what hath man, but ‘what hath God wrought?’”
In April, 1870, it was announced in the public press that the telegraph
operators of the United States intended to raise a memorial of the
father of their craft, and from all parts of civilised America
subscriptions for that purpose were sent to the executive committee, of
which Mr. Jas. D. Reid was the chairman. When, six months afterward,
information of the movement was officially communicated to the aged
Professor, he replied:--“I am astonished and deeply impressed with
the evidence of such an unexampled universality of kind and friendly
feeling from those whom I have loved to call _my children_. I know by
early experience some of their trials, and can therefore sympathise
with them; and I should be false to my convictions if to those who have
called me _Father_, I should be recreant in manifesting my grateful
thanks for their expressed sentiments of affection and respect.”
A bronze statue of him on a granite pedestal was erected in the Central
Park, New York, and was unveiled on June 10th, 1871, in the presence of
a vast multitude, by the Governor of Massachusetts, the State in which
the venerable inventor was born eighty years previously.
In the course of a long and eloquent address, Mr. Cullen Bryant
observed that it might be said that “the civilised world is already
full of memorials which speak the merit of our friend and the grandeur
and utility of his invention. Every telegraphic station is such a
memorial; every message sent from one of these stations to another
may be counted among the honours paid to his name. Every telegraphic
wire, strung from post to post, as it hums in the wind murmurs his
eulogy. But we are so constituted that we insist upon seeing the form
of that brow beneath which an active, restless, creative brain devised
the mechanism that was to subdue the most wayward of the elements to
the service of man, and make it his obedient messenger. We require to
see the eye that glittered with a thousand lofty hopes when the great
discovery was made, and the lips that curled with a smile of triumph
when it became certain that the lightning of the clouds would become
tractable to the most delicate touch. We demand to see the hand which
first strung the wire by whose means the slender currents of the
electric fluid were taught the alphabet of every living language--the
hand which pointed them to the spot where they were to inscribe and
leave their messages. All this we have in the statue which has this
day been unveiled to the eager gaze of the public, and in which the
artist has so skilfully and faithfully fulfilled his task as to satisfy
those who are the hardest to please--the most intimate friends of the
original. On behalf of the telegraphic workers of the Continent, who
have so nobly and affectionately provided it, I do now present it
to the authorities of the city of New York for perpetual and loving
care.” In accepting it, Mayor Hall said:--“Our Middle State city loves
to remember how her citizen Franklin modestly passed the portals of
the temple of electrical science; a southern city how her citizen
Whitney developed a cotton empire; a western city how her citizen
McCormick presented to agriculture its greatest boon; adjacent eastern
cities gratefully recall how their citizens Morton and Jackson blessed
humanity, and how Elias Howe lightened the toil of the poor. The genius
of these Americans changed the atmosphere of social life, which now is
not in any aspect the same as it was to the elder generation of this
Union. Their genius blessed food, raiment, and locomotion. But New York
cherishes more proudly and gratefully the thought that the genius of
her citizen Morse put all these inventions into world-wide service, and
is fast bringing together all the peoples who were dispersed at the
Tower of Babel.”
The venerable Professor also delivered a lengthy speech, during which
he said that the subscribers had “chosen to impersonate in my humble
effigy an invention which, cradled upon the ocean, had its birth
in an American ship. It was nursed and cherished not so much from
personal as from patriotic pride. Forecasting its future, even at
its birth, my most powerful stimulus to perseverance through all the
perils and trials of its early days--and they were neither few nor
insignificant--was the thought that it must inevitably be world-wide
in its application, and, moreover, that it would everywhere be hailed
as a grateful American gift to the nations. It is in this aspect of
the present occasion that I look upon your proceeding as intended, not
so much as homage to an individual as to the invention ‘whose lines,’
from America, ‘have gone out through all the earth, and their words
to the end of the world.’... It is but a few days since, that our
veritable antipodes became telegraphically united to us. We can speak
to and receive an answer in a few seconds of time from Hong Kong in
China, where 10 o’clock to-night here is 10 o’clock in the day there,
and it is perhaps a debatable question whether their 10 o’clock is
10 to-day or 10 to-morrow. China and New York are in interlocutory
communication. We know the fact, but can imagination realise it?”
At a public meeting held in the evening in the Academy of Music a
unique incident occurred. At 9 o’clock all the telegraph wires in
America, then measuring over 180,000 miles, with 6,000 stations,
were so connected together as to be in communication with a single
Morse instrument which stood on a table visible to the large audience
present. By means of this instrument the following message was
transmitted to all the stations:--“Greeting and thanks to the telegraph
fraternity throughout the land. Glory to God in the highest, on
earth peace, good will to men.” These words were transmitted by an
expert lady operator, and then Professor Morse stepped forward to the
instrument, and moved the handle so as to transmit the letters S. F. B.
Morse, a proceeding which evoked enthusiastic applause. Mr. W. Orton,
who presided, said: “Thus the Father of the Telegraph bids farewell
to his children.” The Professor afterwards delivered a long address,
recounting the chief events in the early history of his invention.
His continued interest and faith in the telegraph was evinced by a
characteristic letter, which he wrote on December 4th, 1871, to Mr.
Cyrus Field, who was then attending a Telegraphic Convention in Rome.
He said:--“The excitement occasioned by the visit of the Grand Duke
Alexis has but just ceased, and I have been wholly engrossed by the
various duties connected with his presence. I have wished for a few
calm moments to put on paper some thoughts respecting the doings of
the great Telegraphic Convention to which you are a delegate. The
telegraph has now assumed such a marvellous position in human affairs
throughout the world; its influences are so great and important in all
the varied concerns of nations, that its efficient protection from
injury has become a necessity. It is a powerful advocate for universal
peace. Not that of itself it can command a ‘Peace, be still,’ to the
angry waves of human passions, but that by its rapid interchange of
thought and opinion it gives the opportunity of explanations to acts
and to laws which in their ordinary wording often create doubt and
suspicion. Were there no means of quick explanation, it is readily
seen that doubt and suspicion, working on the susceptibilities of the
public mind, would engender misconception, hatred, and strife. How
important, then, that in the intercourse of nations there should be the
ready means at hand for prompt correction and explanation! Could there
not be passed in the great International Convention some resolution to
the effect that in whatever condition, whether of peace or war between
nations, the telegraph should be deemed a sacred thing, to be by common
consent effectually protected, both on land and beneath the waters?
In the interest of human happiness, of that ‘Peace on earth’ which,
in announcing the advent of the Saviour, the angels proclaimed, with
‘good will to men,’ I hope that the Convention will not adjourn without
adopting a resolution asking of the nations their united effective
protection to this great agent of civilisation. The mode and terms of
such resolution may be safely left to the intelligent members of the
honourable and distinguished Convention.” The reading of this letter
in the Convention was hailed with prolonged cheers for the writer of
it, and the letter was ordered to be printed among the records of the
Convention.
The death of his brother Sidney, a few days later, affected him
very much, and it then became evident that his own life was ebbing
away. While in this state he was asked to unveil a bronze statue of
Franklin, which Captain Albert de Groot had presented to the printers
of New York, and which was erected in front of the City Hall. Though
confined to bed when asked to unveil this statue, the Professor said
he would do it if he had to be lifted to the spot; and when he was
introduced to the vast concourse of people present at the ceremony as
“the distinguished inventor and pride of our country,” he stated that
no one had more reason to venerate the name of Franklin than himself,
and expressed a hope that Franklin’s illustrious example of devotion to
the interest of universal humanity might be the seed of further fruit
for the good of the world. Mr. Horace Greeley said that Professor Morse
seemed to have been raised up by Providence to be the continuer of the
great work of which Franklin was the beginner.
His exposure to the keen breeze blowing when he unveiled the Franklin
statue aggravated the neuralgia in his head, from which he suffered
intense pain. He gradually sank, and distracting pain was followed
by stupor. The Rev. Dr. Adams, of the Madison Square Presbyterian
Church, New York, of which the Professor was a member, attended him
in his illness, and afterwards gave the following account of his last
days:--“A short time ago he was occupied with other fellow-citizens
in acts of attention to a distinguished representative of the Royal
House of Russia. At the Holy Communion of this church next ensuing,
an occasion in which for domestic and personal reasons he felt an
extraordinary interest, at the close of the service he approached me
with more than usual warmth and pressure of the hand, and, with a
beaming countenance, said: ‘Oh, this is something better and greater
than standing before princes.’ His piety had the simplicity of
childhood. When his brother Sidney died last Christmas, he began to die
also. Through fear of exciting alarm and giving distress to his own
household, he did not speak so much to them as to some others, of his
expected departure, but he used to say familiarly to some with whom
he was ready to converse upon this subject, ‘I love to be studying
the Guide Book of the country to which I am going; I wish to know
more and more about it.’ A few days before his decease, in the privacy
of his chamber I spoke to him of the great goodness of God to him in
his remarkable life. ‘Yes; so good, so good,’ was the quick response;
‘and the best part of all is yet to come.’ Though spared more than
eighty years, he saw none of the infirmities of age, either of mind or
body. His delicate taste, his love for the beautiful, his fondness for
the fine arts, his sound judgment, his intellectual activities, his
public spirit, his intense interest in all that concerned the welfare
and the decoration of the city, his earnest advocacy of Christian
liberty throughout the world--all continued unimpaired to the last.
With perfect health and the full possession of every faculty, urbane
and courteous to all who knew him, there was no infelicity of temper
or manner such as sometimes befalls extreme age. Surrounded by a
young family, he was their genial friend and companion as well as
head, sympathising in all the simple and innocent pleasures that give
the charms to home. In particular qualities he had many equals and
superiors, but in that rare combination of qualities which, like the
harmony of colours in the finished picture, made him what he was, he
seems to have been unrivalled.”--On the 2nd of April, 1872,
“He passed from sunshine to the sunless land.”
His remains were interred in Greenwood Cemetery three days after his
death. The funeral service was held in Madison Square Presbyterian
Church, and the funeral was attended by representatives of the leading
telegraph companies in New York, of the Academy of Design, of the
Evangelical Alliance, the Chamber of Commerce, the Association for
the Advancement of Science and Art, and other public bodies. In the
House of Representatives a concurrent resolution was passed recording
profound regret at the death of “Professor Morse, whose distinguished
and varied abilities have contributed more than those of any other
person to the development and progress of the practical arts,” and
declaring that his purity of life, his loftiness of scientific aim,
and his resolute faith in truth, rendered it highly proper that the
Representatives and Senators should solemnly testify to his worth and
greatness. Mr. Wood, of New York city, being the only member then in
the House who voted in 1843 for the bill for the experimental telegraph
line, gave a sketch of the measure which enabled Professor Morse to
bring his invention to a practical test. Other admirers paid their
tributes of respect in verses, such as the following:--
“Men of every faith and nation
Honor, love, revere, admire
One who sought not adulation
When he chained the electric fire;
“Who, discouraged and defeated,
Bore it with a patient grace;
By no boastful pride elated,
When he conquered time and space.”
INDEX.
A
Acoustic figures, 117
Alpine adventures of Professor Tyndall, 60
Alps, accidents on, 65
America, electrical discoveries in, 231;
first line of telegraph in, 273;
telegraph in (_see_ Morse _and_ Telegraph);
visit of Professor Tyndall to, 74
Ampère’s electrical discoveries, 91;
proposed telegraph, 134
Aqueous vapour and radiant heat, 44
Arago’s electrical discoveries, 91
Atlantic cable, 193, 276, 292
Automatic telegraph, Wheatstone’s, 199
B
Bain, Alexander, inventions claimed by, 160, 185, 305
Baltimore and Washington telegraph, 273
Batteries described--Volta’s, 88;
Grove’s, 89;
Daniell’s, 128
Beer disease, 53
Bible descriptions of nature, 6
Biographies, use of, xi., xiv.
Blackwall telegraph, 167, 173
Brewster, Sir David’s account of first telegraph, 150;
on vision, 210;
improvement of stereoscope, 212
Bridge, Wheatstone, 164
Bryant, W. Cullen, on Morse and his telegraph, 252, 316
C
Cables, earliest, 187, 269, 292
Calorescence, 47
Carlyle, Thomas, reminiscences of, 99
Celtic genius and science, 7
Channel cable, first, 187, 191
Charges for telegraphing, 181
China, telegraph to, 317
Clark, Latimer, on first English telegraph, 152;
on Wheatstone’s single-needle telegraph, 167;
on Wheatstone’s works, 229
Clock, Wheatstone’s electro-magnetic, 160
Clouds, experiments in producing, 49
Concertina, invention of, 120
Congress, American, and telegraph, 263, 270
Cooke, W. F., account of his first connection with telegraph, 150,
152;
dispute with Wheatstone about telegraph, 134, 138, 146;
efforts to extend telegraph, 173;
formation of Electric Telegraph Company, 183
Cruikshank, George, on first telegraph, 141
Cryptograph, invention of, 219
Crystals, formation of, 96;
magnetic properties of, 24
D
Daniell, Professor, on Wheatstone’s first telegraph, 149
Daniell’s constant battery, 128
Day, Professor J., electrical lectures, 234
Dial telegraphs, Wheatstone’s, 158, 196
Diamagnetism discovered, 23;
investigated by Tyndall and others, 24, 29, 33
Dynamic radiation of heat, 43
Dynamo machine, invention of, 206
E
Earth as return circuit, 171;
rotatory motion, 217
Earth’s magnetic force, 26
Electric currents, measurement of, 93, 163
Electric telegraph. _See_ Telegraph.
Electric Telegraph Company, formation of, 183
Electrical biographies, use of, xi.
Electrical heat and light, 89
Electricians, distribution of, xii., 231
Electricity, production of, 22, 88, 91, 94, 232;
force of, 163;
velocity of, 93
Ellsworth, Miss, connection with Morse telegraph, 272, 277
Enchanted lyre, Wheatstone’s, 111
Evolution, early days of Darwinian theory of, 97
Exploder, Wheatstone’s, 186
Explosion of mines by electricity, 185
F
Faraday’s associations with Professor Tyndall, 26, 30, 102;
electrical and magnetic discoveries, 23;
lecture on scientific theories, 32;
on Wheatstone’s telegraph, 198
Forbes, Professor J. D., on glaciers, 37, 40
Frankland, Dr., associated with Professor Tyndall, 15;
glacier theory by, 45
G
Gale, Professor, assisted Morse with telegraph, 249
Gases, radiation and absorption of heat by, 42;
sounding power of, 58
Gauss and Weber’s telegraph, 136
Germ theory, 51, 98
German scientists, 21, 27
Germany, science in, between 1840 and 1850, 16;
student life in, 17;
telegraph in, 136
Glacier phenomena, 38
H
Harmonium, Wheatstone’s improvements in, 123
Heat, radiant, investigation of, 42, 58
House, R. E., printing telegraph by, 306
I
Induced electricity, discovery of, by Faraday, 22
Inventions, popular accounts of origin of, 167;
Morse’s definition of, 280;
public appreciation of, 281, 302
Irish scientists, 7
J
Jackson, Dr., disputes with Morse origin of telegraph, 244, 256
K
Kaleidophone, 117
L
Light, velocity of, 125
Lightning conductors, 131
Longitude determined by telegraph, 287
M
Magnetic attraction, 28
Magnetic exploder, 186
Magnetisation of light, 93
Magnetism and diamagnetism, 23, 29;
of the earth, 26
Magnetism and electricity, 22, 91
Magnetism, mechanical theory of, 93
Magneto-electric machine, Wheatstone’s, 159
Magnets, interaction of, 91;
lengthened by electricity, 92
Marburg, student life in, 17
Measurement of electric currents, Wheatstone’s plans for, 124, 163
Metals, new, discovered by electric spark analysis, 127
Microphone, first use of word, 119
Morse alphabet, uses of, 307
Morse, Professor S. F. B.:
artist, how he became an, 236;
success as, 243;
why he ceased to be an, 279
Atlantic cable, connection with, 276, 292
birth and education of, 233
Congress’s action towards, 263, 270
death of, 320
difficulties in constructing his telegraph, 246;
in introducing it, 268, 281
electrical studies, 234, 242, 244
first line of telegraph constructed by, 273
funeral of, 321
honours conferred on, 308, 311
Jackson, Dr., controversy with, 244, 256
law-suits to protect patent rights, 303
London visited by, 236, 295
patents, 259, 265;
defence of, 303
pictures painted by, 237
photography, early connection with, 266
proscribed German student’s case, 253
rewards of, 309, 313
statue of, 315
telegraph, distinguishing features of, 279;
first conception of, 244;
first public description of, 260;
labours to improve, 247;
practical working of, 260;
public trial of, 268;
refusal of, by American Government, 283;
spread of, 284;
uses of, 286;
working of, 289
trial of first telegraph line, 277
submarine cable, first, 269, 276, 292
N
Needle telegraph, 143, 167
Niagara visited by Prof. Tyndall, 75
O
Ohm’s work and theory, 140
O’Shaughnessy, Dr., introduction of telegraph in India, 310
P
Palmerston, Lord, on telegraph, 194
Pasteur’s experiments with germs, 52
Photography, invention of, 266;
introduction of, 211, 267
Piz Morteratch, accident upon, 67
Polarised light, Wheatstone’s experiments, 222
Printing telegraph, Wheatstone’s, 161
Proscribed German student, Morse’s account of, 253
Pseudoscope, invention of, 216
Q
Queenswood College, 15
R
Railway mania of 1845, 13
Recording telegraph, Morse’s, 277, 290;
Wheatstone’s, 199
Relay, first accounts of, 141, 249
Resistance measurer, 163
Return circuit, 171
Revolution effected by electricity, ix.
Revolving mirror, uses of, 124
Rheostat, Wheatstone’s, 165
Ricardo, J. L., connection with telegraph, 183
Ronalds’s telegraph, 110
Rosa, Monte, ascent of, 61
Royal Institution, changes at, 84;
lectures by Tyndall at, 30, 38, 87
S
Scientific attainments, recognition of, in England, 35
Scientific discovery, the pursuit of, 79
Sea-water, varying tints of, 56
Semaphore telegraph, 180
Slaty cleavage, 36
Smoke respirator, invention of, 54
Sound, transmission of, 56;
Wheatstone on, 116
Sounder, the Morse, 291
Spectrum analysis of electric spark, 127
Standards, electrical, 164
Steinheil’s telegraph, 136
Stereoscope, invention of, 210;
improvement of, 212;
principle of, 215
Submarine cables, earliest experiments with, 187, 269, 276, 292
T
Tawell, murderer, apprehended by use of telegraph, 178
Telegraph, adoption of, by public, 173, 283
automatic telegraph of Wheatstone, 199
cables, earliest, 189, 269, 292;
illustration of working, 95
charges for, 181
dial, invented by Wheatstone, 158;
improvement of, 196
early forecasts of, 106;
early achievements of, 173, 277, 284
electro-magnetic, Morse’s, 248, 277, 290;
Wheatstone’s, 158
extension of, 173, 181, 284, 292
history of, 134, 144, 153, 173, 244, 260, 282, 292
idea and invention of, 105, 244
longitude ascertained by, 287
Morse’s recording, 244, 260, 280, 290
needle, 143, 167
origin of, 134, 138, 142, 150, 244, 292
pedigree of, 108
recording, 199, 246, 260, 268, 277, 290
relay, 141, 249
sounder, the Morse, 290
Wheatstone’s first needle, 143;
dial, 158;
printing, 161;
recording automatic, 199
Telephone, first, 115
Thermo-electric pile, 129, 205
Thermometers, self-registering, 221
Tyndall, Professor J.:
ancestors of, 3
anecdotes of, 34, 93, 97
birth and education of, 4
daring experiment by, 47
description of, by George Ripley, 72
diamagnetism, explanation of, 24, 29
duty, sense of, 19
endowments for scientific purposes, 80
Faraday, associations with, 26, 30, 102
Germany, student life in, 17, 21
German scientific friends of, 21, 26
investigation of diamagnetism, 24, 29;
germs, 51, 98;
glacier phenomena, 38;
radiant heat, 42, 58;
sea-water tints, 56;
slaty cleavage, 36;
sound, 56
marriage of, 86
Ordnance Survey joined, 9
Pasteur, remarks on, 52
pecuniary assistance declined by, 20, 102
Presidential address to British Association, 81
Professor of Natural Philosophy, appointed, 31
radiant heat, on, 42, 58
railway surveying by, 12
reminiscences of Thomas Carlyle, 99
Royal Institution, at, 30, 85
scientific adviser to Trinity House, 102
scientific examiner at Woolwich, 35
smoke respirator, invention of, 54
teaching at Queenswood College, 15;
elsewhere, 96
travels of, in the Alps, 60;
at Vesuvius, 70;
in America, 71, 74
vindication of scientific education, 35.
working habits, 12
youthful studies, 8, 10, 21
V
Velocity of electricity, 93, 124;
of light, 125
Vesuvius, visited in 1868, 70
Vision, Wheatstone’s elucidations of, 210
Voltaic battery described, 88;
discovered, 110
W
West, Benjamin, associated with Morse, 236
Wheatstone, Professor Charles:
birth of, 111
bridge, 164
cryptograph, 219
death and funeral, 228
deciphering secret document, 220
dispute with W. F. Cooke about telegraph, 134, 138, 146, 153
electricity, first studies in, 123
enchanted lyre of, 111
harmonium improvements, 123
honours conferred on, 166, 226
invention of chronoscope, 162;
concertina, 120;
cryptograph, 219;
dynamo, 206;
electric clock, 160;
enchanted lyre, 111;
kaleidophone, 117;
magnetic exploder, 186;
magneto-electric machine, 159;
polar clock, 223;
pseudoscope, 216;
stereoscope, 210;
telegraph, 134 (_see_ Telegraph);
thermometers, 221
inventions, periodicity of, 223
investigation of algebra, 224;
Chladni figures, 117;
earth’s motion, 217;
mental philosophy, 117;
musical instruments, 120;
polarised light, 222;
sound, 116, 118;
submarine cables, 187;
submarine explosions, 185;
thermo-electric pile, 129, 205;
tone, 224;
vision, 210
investigations, latest and incomplete, 224
lightning conductors, opinions on, 131
magnetic exploder, 186
measurement of force of electric currents, 163
originality of his telegraph, 134, 138, 144
patents of, 142, 154, 160, 167, 196
peculiarities of, 225
Professor of Experimental Physics at King’s College, 123
revolving mirror, 124
speaking machines, improvements in, 117
spectrum analysis of electric light, 127
submarine cables, early experiments with, 187
telegraph, diagram of first, 141;
history of, 144, 153;
origin of, 134, 138, 142, 153
telegraphic instruments, automatic, 199;
dial, 158, 196;
needle, 141, 145, 167;
printing, 161
thermo-electric pile, 129, 205
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LONDON AND BUNGAY.
New Series,
No. 8.
2, WHITE HART STREET,
PATERNOSTER SQUARE,
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WHITTAKER AND CO.’S
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=LIVES OF THE ELECTRICIANS.=
_First Series._
PROFESSORS TYNDALL, WHEATSTONE, AND MORSE.
BY
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Crown 8vo. 6_s._
The first volume of a series of _Lives of the Electricians_. It will
contain popular biographies of Professors Tyndall, Wheatstone, and
Morse, telling incidentally the story of the progress of the electric
telegraph from its origin in 1837 to the present time. Next year will
be the jubilee of the electric telegraph in England.
“THE SPECIALISTS’ SERIES.”
_NEW VOLUME, JUST PUBLISHED_:--
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∵ It has been the aim of the author to present the scientific part of
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_GAS ENGINES. Their Theory and Management._ By WILLIAM
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_List of Contents._
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Transcriber’s Note:
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Those in bold are surrounded by equal signs, =like this=.
Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end
of the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside
down, reversed order, or partially printed letters and punctuation,
were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and
abbreviations were added.
Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation
in the text. These were left unchanged. Jargon, dialect, obsolete and
alternative spellings were left unchanged.
Spelling corrections:
Keithly to Keighley
Leipsic to Leipsig
Alantic to Atlantic
vice-presedent to vice-president
patient to patent
Presidental to Presidential
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