THE CABLE IS LAID 143 
the round orb rose behind them, banks of cloud hung so 
heavily upon the water, that the moonlight only gleamed 
faintly through the vaporous air, and the fleet seemed like 
the phantom ships of the Ancient Mariner, drifting on 
through fog and mist.”’ It was a weird effect, not uncommon 
on the Grand Banks. 
The British Admiralty had arranged that its ships stationed 
on the Newfoundland coast should welcome the telegraph 
fleet and give help in the unfamiliar waters. ‘The entrance 
to Trinity Bay is notoriously foggy, and even in mid-summer 
there are icebergs about. As a matter of fact, one was sighted 
at this time, rising fifty feet above the water and with un- 
known extent below. Despite the iceberg, the fog, and the 
dangers of an unfamiliar coast, the officials on the telegraph 
fleet were tense with joy and expectancy. They realized that 
a great historical event was being enacted. 
The British ships received the telegraph fleet with cheers. 
At first the fog was too thick for much of a welcome—even 
for safety. Deane wrote: “Here we are now ( 6a. m.), within 
ten miles of Heart’s Content, and we can scarcely see more 
than a ship’s length.” A couple of hours later the fog evapo- 
rated, and there were revealed to the anxious mariners the 
bleak shores of Trinity Bay; also the other ships, the pathway 
of buoys, and a picturesque group of fishing-boats. ‘The fish- 
ermen were astonished to see this enormous steamer in their 
quiet haven. 
On this Friday morning, July 27, 1866, a final message came 
clearly over the cable from Ireland, just before it was cut for 
starting work on the shore end. This message ended with the 
news: ““Treaty of peace signed between Prussia and Austria.” 
A new era in the world’s news service was assured. The crisis 
had been passed successfully. The officers of the telegraph 
fleet went in a body to the little church on shore to give 
thanks. 
Cyrus Field was on land as early as possible, in order to 
