66 A SAGA OF THE SEAS 
gether, it is bringing nations nearer together. And I augur the 
best results to humanity from this. The more intercourse 
nations have with each other, other things being equal, the 
greater the tendency to establish between them peace and 
good-will, and just as they are brought together will they con- 
tribute to advance the day of universal brotherhood. .. . 
“That which is spoken at twelve o’clock in London will be 
known by us at eight o’clock in the morning here, according 
to our time. . . . It is no longer in her own bosom that 
France can keep her secrets. It is no longer in her own race 
that Russia can keep her thoughts and plans. It is no longer 
in the glorious old British Islands that their commercial in- 
telligence can be confined. It is wafted round and round the 
globe. In less than an hour, whenever this system shall be 
completed, the world will be enlightened quicker than by the 
sun; quicker than by the meteor’s flash. What is known in 
one place will be known in all places; the globe will have but 
one ear, and that ear will be everywhere.” 
The foregoing speech sounds strange to modern ears. The 
splendid advantages that Beecher foresaw in the use of ocean 
cables have become so common that today they are taken for 
granted. It is difficult now to realize a world in which news 
from Europe arrived three weeks old. Readers of twentieth- 
century newspapers have little comprehension what the Eu- 
ropean news letters looked like a century ago, when short 
summaries about wars, kings, and finances seemed like stale 
readings in history. 
One of the congratulatory letters that Field appreciated 
most came from the secretary of the Atlantic ‘Telegraph Com- 
pany, George Saward of London. This said in part: “‘At last 
the great work is done. . . . I congratulate you upon this 
happy termination to the fearful anxiety, the continuous and 
oppressive labor, and the never-ceasing, sleepless energy which 
the successful accomplishment of this vast and noble enterprise 
has entailed on you. . . . If the contemplation of future fame 
