Chapter VIII: Part 8

Ingenuity, mechanical short-cuts, new devices for doing old work, were what beset his mind. He was not interested in doing the simple routine service of a telegrapher, he wanted to see what improvements on it he could make. Often this keenness for new ideas led him into trouble with his employers; occasionally it was of real service. At one time an ice-jam had broken the cable-line between Port Huron, in Michigan, and Sarnia, over the Canadian line. The river there was a mile and a half wide. The officers were wondering how they could get their messages across when they saw Edison jump upon a locomotive standing in the train-yard. He seized the valve that controlled the whistle. He opened and closed it so that the locomotive’s whistles resembled the dots and dashes of the telegraph code. He called Sarnia again and again. “Do you hear this? Do you get this?” he sent by the whistle. Four and five times he sent the message, and finally the whistle of a locomotive across the river answered him. In that way communication was again established.

A little later, when Edison was employed as operator in the railroad office at Indianapolis, he practiced receiving newspaper reports in his spare hours at night. He and a friend named Parmley would take the place of the regular man, who was glad to have them do it. “I would sit down,” said Edison, “for ten minutes, and ‘take’ as much as I could from the instrument, carrying the rest in my head. Then while I wrote out, Parmley would serve his turn at ‘taking,’ and so on. This worked well until they put a new man on at the Cincinnati end. He was one of the quickest despatchers in the business, and we soon found it was hopeless for us to try to keep up with him. Then it was that I worked out my first invention, and necessity was certainly the mother of it.

“I got two old Morse registers and arranged them in such a way that by running a strip of paper through them the dots and dashes were recorded on it by the first instrument as fast as they were delivered from the Cincinnati end, and were transmitted to us through the other instrument at any desired rate of speed. They would come in on one instrument at the rate of forty words a minute, and would be ground out of our instrument at the rate of twenty-five. Then weren’t we proud! Our copy used to be so clean and beautiful that we hung it up on exhibition; and our manager used to come and gaze at it silently with a puzzled expression. He could not understand it, neither could any of the other operators; for we used to hide my impromptu automatic recorder when our toil was over. But the crash came when there was a big night’s work--a presidential vote, I think it was--and copy kept pouring in at the top rate of speed until we fell an hour and a half or two hours behind. The newspapers sent in frantic complaints, an investigation was made, and our little scheme was discovered. We couldn’t use it any more.”

His fortunes rose and fell, for, although he was now becoming a very expert operator, taking messages with greater and greater speed, he would continue to stray into new fields of experiment. When he started to work in the Western Union office in Memphis, which was soon after the end of the Civil War, he found that all messages that were sent from New Orleans to New York had to be received at Memphis, sent on from there to Louisville, taken again, and so forwarded by half a dozen relays to New York. Many errors might creep in by such a system. To cure this he devised an automatic repeater, which could be attached to the line at Memphis, and would of its own accord send the message on. In this way the signals could go directly from New Orleans to New York. The device worked, and was highly praised in the local newspapers. But it happened that the manager of the office had a relative who was just completing a similar instrument, and Edison had forestalled him. Consequently he found himself discharged. He got a railroad pass as far as Decatur, and walked a hundred and fifty miles from there to Nashville. So by alternate riding and walking he finally reached Louisville. A little later he was offered a place in the Boston office.

He had plenty of nerve, and was not at all put out at the amusement of the other men when he walked into the Boston office, clad in an old and shapeless linen duster. “Here I am,” he announced to the superintendent. “And who are you?” he was asked. “Tom Edison. I was told to report here.”

The superintendent sent him to the operating-room. Shortly after a New York telegrapher, famed for his speed, called up. Every one else was busy, and Edison was told to take his message. He sat down, and for four and a half hours wrote the messages, numbering the pages and throwing them on the floor for the office boy to gather up. As time went on the messages came with such lightning speed that the whole force gathered about to see the new man work. They had never seen such quickness. At the end of the last message came the words, “Who the devil are you?” “Tom Edison,” the operator ticked back. “You are the first man in the country,” wired the man in New York, “that could ever take me at my fastest, and the only one who could ever sit at the other end of my wire for more than two hours and a half. I’m proud to know you.”

This story may be legendary, but it is known to be a fact that Edison was at this time the fastest operator in the employ of the Western Union, and that he could take the messages sent him with a careless ease which amounted almost to indifference. He had also cultivated an unusually clear handwriting, which was of great help in writing out the messages.

As soon as he was settled at the Boston office he opened a small workshop, where he might try to complete some of the many devices he had in mind. He took out his first patent in 1868, when he was twenty-one years old, and it was obtained for what he called an electrical vote recorder. This was intended for use in Congress and the State Legislatures, and to take the place of the slow process of calling the roll on any vote. It was worked somewhat on the plan of the hotel indicator. The voter, sitting at his desk, would press one button if he wanted to vote “aye,” and another if he wanted to vote “no.” His vote was then recorded on a dial by the Speaker’s desk, and as soon as each member had pressed one or the other button the total votes on each side could be known. The machine worked perfectly, and Edison took it to Washington in high hopes of having it adopted by Congress. The chairman to whom he was referred examined it carefully. Then he said, “Young man, it works all right and couldn’t be better. With an instrument like that it would be difficult to monkey with the vote if you wanted to. But it won’t do. In fact, it’s the last thing on earth that we want here. Filibustering and delay in the counting of the votes are often the only means we have of defeating bad legislation. So, though I admire your genius and the spirit which prompted you to invent so excellent a machine, we shan’t require it here. Take the thing away.”

“Of course I was very sorry,” said Edison, in speaking of this interview later, “for I had banked on that machine bringing me in money. But it was a lesson to me. There and then I made a vow that I would never invent anything which was not wanted, or which was not necessary to the community at large. And so far I believe I have kept that vow.”

It was very evident there was a keen-witted man at work in the Boston office. The operators there had been much annoyed by an army of cockroaches that used to march across the table where they put their lunches and make a raid on the sandwiches and pies. One day Edison appeared with some tin-foil and four or five yards of fine wire. He unrolled the tin-foil, and, cutting two narrow strips from the long sheet, he stretched them around the table, keeping them near together, but not touching, and fastening them with small tacks. Then he connected the ribbons of foil with two batteries.

The leaders of the cockroach army arrived. The advance guard got his fore-creepers over the first ribbon safely, but as soon as they touched the parallel ribbon over he fell. In a very short time the invading army had met its Waterloo, and the lunches were safe from any further attack.

At another time the tin dipper that hung by the tank of drinking-water temporarily disappeared. When it was returned Edison put up a sign, reading, “Please return this dipper.” He also connected the nail on which the dipper hung with a wire attached to an electric battery. After that the dipper stayed in its place under penalty of a wrenched arm for moving it without first disconnecting the battery.

Edison had now determined to become an inventor, and as soon as he was able gave up his position in the Boston telegraph office, where his routine work took too much of his time, and went to New York to look for other opportunities. It happened that one day soon after his arrival he was walking through Wall Street and was attracted to the office of the Law Gold Indicator. The indicators or stock-tickers of this company were a new device, and were distributed through most of the large brokerage houses of the city. On the morning when Edison casually looked in, the machines had stopped work, no one could find out what was the matter, and the brokers were much disturbed. Edison watched Mr. Law and his workmen searching for the trouble. Then he said that he thought he could fix the machines. Mr. Law told him to try. He removed a loose contact spring that had fallen between the wheels, and immediately the tickers began to work again. The other workmen looked foolish, and Mr. Law asked the newcomer to step into his private office. At the end of the interview the owner had offered Edison the position of manager at a salary of three hundred dollars a month, and Edison had accepted.

He determined to improve this stock-indicator, and set to work at once. Soon he had evolved a number of important additions. The president of the company sent for him and asked how much he would take for these improvements. The inventor said that he would leave that to the president. Forty thousand dollars was named and accepted. Edison opened a bank account, and gave more time to working in his own laboratory. He had got well started up the rungs of the ladder he planned to climb.

His work lay along the lines of the telegraph, and he was anxious to win the support of the Western Union for his new ideas. His chance came when there was a breakdown of the lines between New York and Albany. He went to the Western Union president, who had already heard of him, and said, “If I locate this trouble within two or three hours, will you take up my inventions and give them honest consideration?” The president answered, “I’ll consider your inventions if you get us out of this fix within two days.” Edison rushed forthwith to the main office. There he called up Pittsburg and asked for their best operator. When he had him he told him to call up the best man at Albany, and get him to telegraph down the line to New York as far as he could, and report back to him. Inside of an hour he received the message, “I can telegraph all right down to within two miles of Poughkeepsie, and there is trouble with the wire there.” Edison went back to the president and told him that if he would send a repair train to Poughkeepsie they would find a break two miles the other side of the city and could have it repaired that afternoon. They followed his directions, and communication was restored before night. After that the Western Union officials gave the most careful consideration to every new invention that Edison brought them.

As soon as he had money in bank Edison carried out a plan he had long had in mind. He gave up his workshop in New York and opened a factory and experimenting shop in Newark, New Jersey, where he would have plenty of room for himself and his assistants. He began by manufacturing his improved “stock-tickers,” and he met with very considerable success. But he felt that manufacturing was not his forte. He said of this venture later, “I was a poor manufacturer, because I could not let well enough alone. My first impulse upon taking any apparatus into my hand, from an egg-beater to an electric motor, is to seek a way of improving it. Therefore, as soon as I have finished a machine I am anxious to take it apart again in order to make an experiment. That is a costly mania for a manufacturer.”

In his Newark shop Edison now turned his attention to improvements on the telegraph. His first important invention was the duplex, by which two messages could be sent over the same wire in opposite directions at the same time without any confusion or obstruction to each other. This doubled the capacity of the single wire. Later he decided to carry this system farther, and perfected the quadruplex device. By this two messages could be sent simultaneously in each direction, and two sending and two receiving operators were employed at each end of a single wire. The principle involved was that of working with two electric currents that differ from each other in strength or nature, and which only affect receiving instruments specially adapted to take such currents, and no others. This invention changed a hundred thousand miles of wire into four hundred thousand, and saved the Western Union untold millions of dollars which would otherwise have had to be expended for new wires and repairs to the old ones.

Along somewhat similar lines Edison perfected an automatic telegraph, an harmonic multiplex telegraph, and an autographic telegraph. The harmonic multiplex used tuning-forks to separate the several different messages sent at the same time, and the autographic telegraph allowed of the transmission of an exact reproduction of a message written by the sender in one place and received in another. And in addition to all these leading inventions he was continually improving on the main system, and his improvements were rapidly bought and taken over by the Western Union Company.

In almost as many diverse ways Edison improved upon the telephone. He had left his factory in Newark in charge of a capable superintendent, and moved his own laboratories to Menlo Park, a quiet place about twenty-five miles from Newark. His striking discoveries soon earned for him the nickname of “The Wizard of Menlo Park.” Here he experimented with the new apparatus known as the telephone. He said of his own connection with it, “When I struck the telephone business the Bell people had no transmitter, but were talking into the magneto receiver. You never heard such a noise and buzzing as there was in that old machine! I went to work and monkeyed around, and finally struck the notion of the lampblack button. The Western Union Telegraph Company thought this was a first-rate scheme, and bought the thing out, but afterward they consolidated, and I quit the telephone business.” As a matter of fact Edison has done a great deal of other work besides inventing his carbon transmitter in the telephone field, and the Patent Office is well stocked with applications he has sent them for receivers and transmitters of different designs.

Edison has himself told of the main incidents in his perfection of the electric light. In the _Electrical Review_ he said, “In 1878 I went down to see Professor Barker, at Philadelphia, and he showed me an arc lamp--the first I had seen. Then a little later I saw another--I think it was one of Brush’s make--and the whole outfit, engine, dynamo, and one or two lamps, was traveling around the country with a circus. At that time Wallace and Moses G. Farmer had succeeded in getting ten or fifteen lamps to burn together in a series, which was considered a very wonderful thing. It happened that at the time I was more or less at leisure, because I had just finished working on the carbon-button telephone, and this electric-light idea took possession of me. It was easy to see what the thing needed: it wanted to be subdivided. The light was too bright and too big. What we wished for was little lights, and a distribution of them to people’s houses in a manner similar to gas. Grovernor P. Lowry thought that perhaps I could succeed in solving the problem, and he raised a little money and formed the Edison Electric Light Company. The way we worked was that I got a certain sum of money a week and employed a certain number of men, and we went ahead to see what we could do.

“We soon saw that the subdivision never could be accomplished unless each light was independent of every other. Now it was plain enough that they could not burn in series. Hence they must burn in multiple arc. It was with this conviction that I started. I was fired with the idea of the incandescent lamp as opposed to the arc lamp, so I went to work and got some very fine platinum wire drawn. Experiment with this, however, resulted in failure, and then we tried mixing in with the platinum about ten per cent. of iridium, but we could not force that high enough without melting it. After that came a lot of experimenting--covering the wire with oxide of cerium and a number of other things.

“Then I got a great idea. I took a cylinder of zirconia and wound about a hundred feet of the fine platinum wire on it coated with magnesia from the syrupy acetate. What I was after was getting a high-resistance lamp, and I made one that way that worked up to forty ohms. But the oxide developed the phenomena now familiar to electricians, and the lamp short-circuited itself. After that we went fishing around and trying all sorts of shapes and things to make a filament that would stand. We tried silicon and boron, and a lot of things that I have forgotten now. The funny part of it was that I never thought in those days that a carbon filament would answer, because a fine hair of carbon was so sensitive to oxidation. Finally, I thought I would try it because we had got very high vacua and good conditions for it.

“Well, we sent out and bought some cotton thread, carbonized it, and made the first filament. We had already managed to get pretty high vacua, and we thought, maybe, the filament would be stable. We built the lamp and turned on the current. It lit up, and in the first few breathless minutes we measured its resistance quickly and found it was 275 ohms--all we wanted. Then we sat down and looked at that lamp. We wanted to see how long it would burn. The problem was solved--if the filament would last. The day was--let me see--October 21, 1879. We sat and looked, and the lamp continued to burn, and the longer it burned the more fascinated we were. None of us could go to bed, and there was no sleep for any of us for forty hours. We sat and just watched it with anxiety growing into elation. It lasted about forty-five hours, and then I said, If it will burn that number of hours now, I know I can make it burn a hundred.’ We saw that carbon was what we wanted, and the next question was what kind of carbon. I began to try various things, and finally I carbonized a strip of bamboo from a Japanese fan, and saw that I was on the right track. But we had a rare hunt finding the real thing. I sent a schoolmaster to Sumatra and another fellow up the Amazon, while William H. Moore, one of my associates, went to Japan and got what we wanted there. We made a contract with an old Jap to supply us with the proper fibre, and that man went to work and cultivated and cross-fertilized bamboo until he got exactly the quality we required.”

This is the inventor’s own statement, but it gives a very meagre notion of the many months’ experimenting in his workshop while he hunted for a suitable filament for his electric light.

As he said, after he had first seen the Brush light, and studied it, he decided that the main problem was one of distribution, and thereupon considered whether he should use the incandescent or the voltaic arc in the system he was planning. At last he decided in favor of the incandescent light.

Then began the long months of testing platinum wire. He wanted to find some way of preventing this hardest of all metals from melting when the full force of the electric current was turned into it. He worked out several devices to keep the platinum from fusing, an automatic lever to regulate the electric current when the platinum was near the melting-point, and a diaphragm with the same object; but all of them had to be discarded. Although he was still searching for the right clue he seems to have had no doubt of his final success. He said at this time, “There is no difficulty about dividing up the current and using small quantities at different points. The trouble is in finding a candle that will give a pleasant light, not too intense, which can be turned off and on as easily as gas. Such a candle cannot be made from carbon points, which waste away, and must be regulated constantly while they do last. Some composition must be discovered which will be luminous when charged with electricity and that will not wear away. Platinum wire gives a good light when a certain quantity of electricity is passed through it. If the current is made too strong, however, the wire will melt. I want to get something better.”

It was generally known that Edison was working along this line. An English paper, commenting on the matter, said, “The weak point of the lamp is this, that in order to be luminous, platinum must be heated almost to the point of melting. With a slight increase in the current, the lamp melts in the twinkling of an eye, and in practice the regulator is found to short-circuit the current too late to prevent the damage. It is this difficulty which must be overcome. Can it be done?”

After long study Edison concluded that pure platinum was not suited to successful electric lighting. Then he incorporated with it another material of a non-conducting nature, with the result that when the electric current was turned on one material became incandescent and the other luminous. This gave a clear, but not a permanent, light. He tried many different combinations, and experimented month after month, but none of his trials produced the result he wanted, and at last he concluded that he was on the wrong track, and that neither platinum nor any other metal would give the right light.

There is something very dramatic about his real discovery. He was sitting in his laboratory one evening, when his right hand happened to touch a small pile of lampblack and tar that his assistants had been using in working on a telephone transmitter. He picked up a little of it, and began to roll it between his finger and thumb. He was thinking of other things, and he rolled the mixture absent-mindedly for some time, until he had formed a thin thread that looked something like a piece of wire. Glancing at it, he fell to wondering how it would serve as a filament for his light. It was carbon, and might be able to stand a stronger current than platinum. He rolled some more of the mixture, and decided to try it.

His experiments had already resulted in the production of an almost absolute vacuum, only one-millionth part of an atmosphere being left in the tube. Such a vacuum had never been obtained before. With his assistant, Charles Bachelor, he put a thread of the lampblack and tar in a bulb, exhausted the air, and turned on the current. There was an intense glow of light; but it did not last, the carbon soon burned out. Therefore he started to study the reason why the carbon had failed to withstand the electric current. His conclusion was that it was impossible to get the air out of the lampblack. Besides that the thread became so brittle that the slightest shock to the lamp broke it. But he felt certain now that a carbon filament, made of something other than tar and lampblack, was what he wanted.

He next sent a boy to buy a reel of cotton, and told his assistants he was going to see what a carbonized thread would do. They looked doubtful, but began the experiment. A short piece of the thread was bent in the form of a hairpin, laid in a nickel mould and securely clamped, and then put in a muffle furnace, where it was kept for five hours. Then it was taken out and allowed to cool. The mould was opened and the carbonized thread removed. It instantly broke. Another thread was put through the same process. As soon as it was taken from the mould it broke. Then a battle began that lasted for two days and two nights, the object of which was to get a carbonized thread that would not break. Edison wanted that thread because it contained no air, and might stand a greater current than the lampblack. Finally they took from the mould an unbroken thread, but as they tried to fasten it to the conducting wire it broke into pieces. Only on the night of the third day of their work, in all which time they had taken no rest, did they get a thread safely into the lamp, exhaust the air, and turn on the current. A clear, soft light resulted, and they knew that they had solved the problem of the incandescent light.

Edison and Bachelor watched that light for hours. They had turned on a small current at the start, to test the strength of the filament, but as it stood it, they turned on a greater and greater current until the thread was bearing a heat that would have instantly melted the platinum wire. The cotton thread glowed for forty-five hours, and then suddenly went out. The two watchers ended their long vigil, exhausted, but very happy. They knew that they had found the light that was to be the main illumination for the world.

But Edison realized that he had not yet found the ideal filament. The cotton thread had only lasted forty-five hours, and he wanted one that would burn for a hundred hours or longer. He wanted a more homogeneous material than thread, and he began to try carbonizing everything he could lay his hands on, straw, paper, cardboard, splinters of wood. He found that the cardboard stood the current better than the cotton thread, but even that did not burn long enough. Then he happened upon a bamboo fan, tore off the rim, and tried that. It made a filament that gave better results than any of the others.

Now he began his exhaustive study of bamboo. He learned that there were more than twelve hundred known varieties of bamboo. He wanted to find the most homogeneous variety. He sent out a number of men to hunt this bamboo, and it is said that the search cost nearly $100,000. Six thousand specimens of bamboo were carbonized, and he found three kinds of bamboo and one of cane that gave almost the result he wanted. All of these grew in a region near the Amazon, and were hard to get on account of malarial conditions. But at last he discovered the bamboo species that suited him, and he was ready to give his new light to the world.

The world was waiting for it. Scientists and the press reported his invention everywhere. He hung a row of lamps from the trees at Menlo Park, and the thousands who came to see them wondered when they found they could burn day and night for longer than a week. The lamps were small and finely made, they could be lighted or extinguished by simply pressing a button, and the cost of making them was slight. The last doubters surrendered, and admitted that Edison had given the world a new light, and one which was not simply a scientific marvel, but was eminently practical and useful.

But Edison is never satisfied with what he has done in any line; he must try to increase the service each invention gives. Therefore he now conceived the idea of having a central station from which every one might obtain electric light as they had formerly obtained gas. There were gigantic difficulties in the way of such an undertaking. Hardly any one outside of Edison’s own laboratory knew anything about electric lighting, and there were only a few of them who could be trusted to put a carbon filament in an exhausted globe.

He went about this new development in the most methodical way. He got an insurance map of New York City, and studied the business section from Wall to Canal Streets and from Broadway over to the East River. He knew where every elevator shaft and boiler and fire-wall was, and also how much gas each resident used and what he paid for it. This last he learned by hiring men to walk through the district at two o’clock in the afternoon and note how many gas lights were burning, then to make the rounds again at three, and again at four, and so on into the hours of the next morning.

With the field carefully examined he formed the New York Edison Illuminating Company, and had his assistants take charge of factories for making lamps, dynamos, sockets, and the other parts necessary for his lights. It was very difficult to get the land he wanted for his central station, but he finally bought two old buildings on Pearl Street for $150,000. He had little room space and he wanted to get a big output of electricity. So he decided to get a high-speed engine. They were practically unknown then, and when he went to an engine builder and said that he wanted a 150 horse-power engine that would run 700 revolutions per minute he was told it was impossible. But he found a man to build one for him, and set it up in the shop at Menlo Park. The shop was built on a shale hill, and when the engine was started the whole hill shook with the high speed revolutions. After some experimenting and changing they got the power that Edison wanted, and he ordered six more engines like the first.

In the meantime workmen had been busy digging ditches and laying mains through the district that Edison intended to light. The engines were set up in the central station and tried out. Then the troubles began. The engines would not run evenly, one would stop and another go dashing on at a tremendous speed. Edison tried a dozen different plans before he brought anything like order out of that engine chaos. Finally he had some engines built to run at 350 revolutions and give 175 horse-power, and these proved what was required. September 4, 1882, he turned the current on to the mains for the needed light service, and it stayed on with only one short stoppage for eight years.

In this way Edison invented the electric light and evolved the central station that should provide the current wherever it was needed. At the same time he had worked out countless adjuncts to it, the use of the fine copper thread to serve as a fuse wire and prevent short-circuiting, the meter, consisting of a small glass cell, containing a solution in which two plates of zinc are placed, and which shows how much current is supplied, the weighing voltameter, and other instruments for estimating the current, and improvements on the motors and engines. There was no field remotely connected with electric lighting that he did not enter. Yet as soon as the invention was actually before the world business competitors sprang up on every hand. There was more litigation over this than over any other of Edison’s inventions. “I fought for the lamp for fourteen years,” he said, “and when I finally won my rights there were but three years of the allotted seventeen left for my patent to live. Now it has become the property of anybody and everybody.”

Edison had always wanted a model laboratory, one that should be fitted with the most perfect instruments obtainable, and supplied with all the materials he could possibly require in any of his extraordinary experiments. In 1886 he bought a house in Llewellyn Park, New Jersey, and near the house ten acres of land, on which he built the laboratory of his dreams. Here he had a large force of skilled workmen constantly engaged in developing his ideas, and the expenses were paid by the many commercial companies in which he was interested, and which profited by the improvements he was continually making in their machinery.

Many volumes might be written to tell of the “Wizard’s” achievements. There has been no inventor who has covered such a field, and each step he takes opens new and fascinating vistas to his ever-inquiring eyes. Electricity is always his main study, and electricity he expects in time will revolutionize modern life by making heat, power, and light practically as cheap as air. But other subjects have concerned him almost as much. He ranges from new processes for making guns to the supplying of ready-made houses built of cement. Everything interests him, every object tempts him to try his hand at improving on it.

The phonograph is his achievement, and the practical development of the kinetoscope. He has built electric locomotives and run them, he has made many discoveries in regard to platinum. His better known patents include developments of the electric lamp, the telephone, storage-batteries, ore-milling machinery, typewriters, electric pens, vocal engines, addressing machines, cast-iron furniture, wire-drawing, methods of preserving fruit, moving-picture machines, compressed-air machines, and the manufacture of plate glass. He took out a patent covering wireless telegraphy in 1891, but other matters were then absorbing his attention, and he was quite willing to yield that field to the brilliant Italian, Marconi. He feels no jealousy for other inventors. He knows how vast the field is, and how many paths constantly beckon him.

It is doubtless true that the great inventors are born and not made, but many of them seem, nevertheless, to have drifted into the work that gave them fame, or to have hit by chance on their compelling idea. It was not so with Edison. He was beyond any doubt born an inventor. With him to see was to ask the question why, and to ask that question was to start his thoughts on the train that was to bring him to the answer.

XV

MARCONI AND THE WIRELESS TELEGRAPH

1874-

At first sight the wireless telegraph seems the most wonderful of all inventions and discoveries, the one that is least easy to understand, and that most nearly approaches that magic which is above all nature’s laws. Even if we do come to understand it it loses nothing of its wonder, and the last impression is very like the first. We can understand how an electric current travels through a wire, even if we cannot understand electricity, but how that current can travel through limitless space and yet reach its destination strains the imagination. Yet wireless telegraphy is not a matter of the imagination, but of exact, demonstrable science.

On December 12, 1901, a quiet, dark-skinned young man sat, about noontime, in a room of the old barracks building on Signal Hill, near St. John’s, Newfoundland. On the table in front of him was a mechanical apparatus, with an ordinary telephone receiver at its side. The window was partly open, and a wire led from the machine on the table through the window to a gigantic kite that a high wind kept flying fully 400 feet above the room. The young man picked up the receiver, and held it to his ear for a long time. His face showed no sign of excitement, though an assistant, standing near him, could barely keep still. Then, suddenly, came the sharp click of the “tapper” as it struck the “coherer.” That meant that something was coming. The young man listened a few minutes, and then handed the receiver to his assistant. “See if you can hear anything, Mr. Kemp,” said he. The other man took the receiver, and a moment later his ear caught the sound of three little clicks, faint, but distinct and unmistakable, the three dots of the letter S in the Morse Code. Those clicks had been sent from Poldhu, on the Cornish coast of England, and they had traveled through air across the Atlantic Ocean without any wire to guide them. That was one of the great moments of history. The young man at the table was Guglielmo Marconi, an Italian.

We know that it is no injustice to a great inventor to say that other men had imagined what he achieved, and had earlier tried to prove their theories. It takes nothing from the glory of that other great Italian, Columbus, to recall that other sailors had planned to cross the sea to the west of Europe and that some had tried it. So James Clerk-Maxwell had proved by mathematics the electro-magnetic theory of light in 1864, and Heinrich Hertz had demonstrated in 1888 by actual experiment that electric waves exist in the free ether, and Edison had for a time worked on the problem of a wireless telegraph. Marconi devised the last link that made the wonder possible, and caught the first click that came across the sea, and to him belong the palms. Judge Townsend, in deciding a suit in a United States court in 1905, declared, “It would seem, therefore, to be a sufficient answer to the attempts to belittle Marconi’s great invention that, with the whole scientific world awakened by the disclosures of Hertz in 1887 to the new and undeveloped possibilities of electric waves, nine years elapsed without a single practical or commercially successful result, and Marconi was the first to describe and the first to achieve the transmission of definite intelligible signals by means of these Hertzian waves.”

Marconi was born at Villa Griffone, near Bologna, in 1874, so that he was under thirty when he caught that first transatlantic message. He studied at Leghorn under Professor Rosa, and later at the University of Bologna with Professor Righi. He was always absorbed in science, and experimented, holiday after holiday, on his father’s estate. He was precocious to an extraordinary degree, for in 1895, when only twenty-one, he had produced a wireless transmitting apparatus that he patented in Italy. Within a year he had taken out patents in England and in other European countries, and had proposed a wireless telegraph system to the English Post-Office Department. That Department, through Sir William Henry Preece, Engineer-in-Chief of Telegraphs, took up the subject, and reported very favorably on the Marconi System. Marconi himself, at the House of Commons, telegraphed by wireless across the Thames, a distance of 250 yards. In June, 1897, he sent a message nine miles, in July twelve miles, and in 1898 he succeeded in sending one across the English Channel to France, thirty-two miles. In 1901 he covered a space of 3,000 miles.

Let us now see what it was that Marconi had actually done.

Wireless signals are in reality wave motions in the magnetic forces of the earth, or, in other words, disturbances of those forces. They are sent out through this magnetic field, and follow the earth’s curvature, in the same way that tidal waves follow the ocean’s surface. Everywhere about us there is a sea of what science calls the ether, and the ether is constantly in a state of turmoil, because it is the medium through which energy, radiating from the sun, is carried to the earth and other planets. This energy is transmitted through the free ether in waves, which are known as electromagnetic waves. It was this fact that Professor Hertz discovered, and the waves are sometimes called the Hertzian waves. Light is one variety of wave motion, and heat another. The ether must be distinguished from the air, for science means by it a medium which exists everywhere and is to be regarded as permeating all space and all matter. The ether exists in a vacuum, for, although all the air may have been withdrawn, an object placed in a vacuum can still be seen from outside, and hence the wave motions of light are traveling through a space devoid of air.

Professor Hertz proved in 1888 that a spark, or disruptive discharge of electricity, caused electro-magnetic waves to radiate away in all directions through the ether. The waves acted exactly like ripples that radiate from a stone when it strikes the water. These Hertzian waves were found to travel with the same velocity as light, and would circle the world eight times in a second. As soon as the existence of these waves was known many scientists began to consider whether they could not be used for telegraphy. But the problem was a very difficult one. The questions were how to transmit the energy to a distance, and how to make a receiver that should be sensitive enough to be affected by it.

Let us picture a body of still water with a twig floating upon its surface. If a stone is thrown into the water ripples radiate in all directions, these waves becoming weaker as the circles they form become larger, or in other words as they grow more distant from the point where the stone struck the water. When the waves reach the floating twig they will move it, and when they cease the twig will be motionless again. Should there be grasses or rocks protruding up from the water the motion given to the twig by the waves would be lessened, or distorted, or changed in many ways, depending on the intervening object. Whether the waves will actually impart motion to the twig will depend on the force by which these waves were started and upon the lightness of the twig, or its sensitiveness to the ripples as they radiate. If the water were disturbed by some other force than the stone the twig would be moved by that other force, and the observer could not tell from what direction the motion had come, or how it had been caused. Applying this to wireless telegraphy one may say that a device must be used that will send out waves of a certain length, and that the receiver must be constructed so that it will respond only to waves of the length sent by that transmitter.

There must therefore be accurate tuning of the two instruments. Let a weight be fastened at the end of a spiral spring and then be struck. The weight will oscillate at a uniform rate, or so many times a minute. If this be held so that it strikes the water the movement of the spring will create a certain number of waves a minute. If now a second weight, attached to a second spring, be hung down into the water, the waves caused by the first will reach the second, and if the springs be alike the movements or oscillations will correspond. But if the springs were not alike, or if, in other words, the two instruments were not in tune, the wave motions would not be received and copied accurately. Therefore in wireless telegraphy the instrument that is to impart the motion to the electro-magnetic waves that fill the ether must be tuned in accord with the instrument that is to receive the motion of those waves.

The sending of the wireless message requires a source of production of the electro-magnetic waves. This is obtained by what is known as capacity, or in other words, the power that is possessed by any metal surface to retain a charge of electricity, and by inductance, procured when a constantly changing current is sent through a coil of wire. This capacity and inductance must be adjusted to give exactly the same frequency of motion to the waves, or the same oscillations, if the receiver that is tuned to vibrate to those waves is to receive that message accurately. The receiving station must have the means to intercept the waves, and then transform them again into electrical oscillations that shall correspond to those sent out from the transmitting station.

As early as 1844 Samuel F. B. Morse had succeeded in telegraphing without wires under the Susquehanna River, and in 1854 James Bowman Lindsay, a Scotchman, had sent a message a distance of two miles through water without wires. Sir William Henry Preece, by using an induced current, had telegraphed several miles without a connecting wire. But the discoveries made in regard to the Hertzian waves placed the subject on a different footing, and the possibility of an actual usable wireless telegraph was now looked at from a new view-point.

Professor Hertz had used a simple form of apparatus to obtain his free ether waves. A loop of wire, with the ends almost touching each other, had been his receiver, or detector. When he set his generator, or instrument to create the oscillations, in operation, and held the detector near it, he could see very minute electric sparks passing between the ends of the loop of wire. This proved the existence of the electro-magnetic waves.

In 1890 Professor Eduard Branly found that loose metallic filings became good conductors of electricity when there were electric oscillations at hand. He demonstrated this by placing the filings between metal plugs in a glass tube, and connecting this in circuit with a battery and electric indicator. Professor Oliver Lodge named this device of Branly’s a “coherer,” and when he found that it was more sensitive than the Hertz detector he combined it with the Hertz oscillator. This was in 1894, and the combination of oscillator and coherer actually formed the first real wireless set.

Wireless stations on shore are marked by very tall masts, which support a single wire, or a set of wires, which are known as the _antenna_. The antenna has electrical capacity, and when it is connected with the other apparatus needful to produce the oscillations it disturbs the earth’s magnetic field. For temporary service, as in the case of military operations, the antenna is frequently attached to captive balloons or kites, and so suspended high in air. On ships the antenna is fastened to the masts. The step that led to this addition was taken by Count Popoff in 1895, when he attached a vertical wire to one side of the coherer of the receiver of Professor Lodge, and connected the other side with the ground. He used this to learn the approach of thunder-storms.

With a knowledge of electro-magnetic waves, with a high-power oscillator, and a sensitive coherer, it remained for Marconi to connect an antenna to the transmitter, and thus secure a wide and practicable working field for the sending and receiving of his messages. This he did in 1896, and it was this addition that made the wireless telegraph of real use to men. Improvements in the transmitter and receiver have constantly increased the power of the invention, and have gradually allowed him to employ it over greater and greater distances.

With Marconi’s successful demonstrations of wireless in England its use at once began. The Trinity House installed a station at the East Goodwin Lighthouse, which communicated with shore and proved of the greatest value in preventing shipwrecks. The Marconi Wireless Telegraph Company was organized in 1897, and made agreements to erect coast stations for the Italian, Canadian, and Newfoundland governments, and for Lloyd’s. The great shipping lines established wireless stations on their vessels, and the antenna were soon to be seen on points of vantage along every coast. On December 12, 1901, Marconi in Newfoundland caught the message sent from Cornwall; on January 19, 1903, President Roosevelt sent the first “official” wireless message across the Atlantic to Edward VII, and in October, 1905, a message was sent from England across the mountains, valleys and cities of Europe to the battle-ship _Renown_, stationed at the entrance to the Suez Canal.

The system of operating wireless telegraphy is in some respects similar to that of the ordinary telegraph. The Morse Code is largely used in America, and a modification of it, called the Continental Code, in Europe. When the wireless operator wishes to send a message to another station he “listens in,” as it is called, by connecting his receiving apparatus with the adjacent antenna and the ground. He has the telephone receiver attached to his ears. Next he adjusts his receiving circuits for a number of wave lengths. If he catches no signals in his telephone receiver he understands that no messages are being sent within his area. Then he “throws in” the transmitting apparatus, which automatically disconnects the receiving end. He gives the letters that stand for the station with which he wants to communicate, and adds the letters of his own station. He does this a number of times, to insure the other station picking up the call. Then he “listens in,” and if he receives the clicks that show that the other station has heard him he is ready to establish regular telegraphic communication.

A number of distant stations may be sending messages simultaneously. In that case the operator tunes his instrument, or in other words adjusts his apparatus to suit the wave length of the station with which he wishes to communicate. In this way he “tunes out” the other messages, and receives only the one he wants. If, however, the stations that are sending simultaneously happen to be situated near together, as in the case of several vessels near a shore station, the operator is often unable to do this “tuning out,” and must try to catch the message he wishes by the sound of the “spark” of the transmitting station, if he can in any way distinguish it from the “sparks” of the other messages.

There are several ways of determining when the two circuits are in tune. One is to insert a hot-wire current meter between the antenna and the inductance, which indicates the strength of the oscillatory current that has been established. A maximum reading can then be made by manipulating the flexible connections, and this will show whether the two circuits are in accord. The other method is by using a device that indicates the wave length. This measures the frequency of one circuit, and then the other circuit can be adjusted to give a corresponding wave length. The larger the antenna the longer will be the wave length and the greater the power of the apparatus. It is usual to employ a short wave length for low-power, short-distance equipments, and a long wave length for the high-power, long-distance stations.

Wireless telegraphy has already proved itself of the greatest value on the ocean. It has sent news of storms and wrecks across tossing seas and brought rescue to scores of voyagers. Ships may now keep in constant communication with their offices on shore. The great lines send Marconigrams to each other in mid-ocean, and publish daily papers giving the latest news of the whole world. Greater distances have so far been covered over water than over land, but this branch of the service is being rapidly developed, and it must prove in time of the greatest value across deserts and wild countries, where a regular telegraph service would be impracticable. In such a country as Alaska, where there are constant heavy sleet and snow storms, the wireless should prove invaluable.