226 A SAGA OF THE SEAS 
year before the old inventor’s death, a statue of him was un- 
veiled in Central Park. It had been paid for partly by dollar 
subscriptions from telegraph operators in the United States 
and Canada. The unveiling had been planned for Morse’s 
eightieth birthday but was delayed several weeks. Very few 
statues are erected to men still alive, so that the occasion was 
unusual. Morse was invited to attend but declined from 
modesty. ‘The speech of William Cullen Bryant, presenting 
the statue to the city, was somewhat exaggerated. He said in 
part: “Every telegraph station is a memorial. . . . Every 
telegraph wire strung from post to post, as it hums in the 
wind, murmurs his eulogy. Every sheaf of wires laid down in 
the deep sea, occupying the bottom of soundless abysses to 
which human sight has never penetrated, is a testimonial to 
his greatness. . . . The whole world itself has become his 
monument.’ 
That evening a stirring ceremony was conducted in the 
Academy of Music. A table on the stage held the original 
instrument used on the first line, from Washington to Balti- 
more. This was connected with telegraph lines extending to 
distant cities. At nine o’clock it was announced that all lines 
were clear for the farewell message of the inventor to his chil- 
dren—thousands of operators waiting everywhere. An at- 
tractive girl operator sent the message, to which Morse him- 
self added his own name by manipulating the key in the dots 
and dashes of the Morse code. 
As the white-whiskered old man was escorted to the table, 
tremendous applause burst forth. When he had clicked out 
the letters of his name, the crowd arose and cheered deafen- 
ingly. Morse was almost overcome and buried his head in his 
hands. 
Then came the answers from telegraph stations all over the 
world—New Orleans, Quebec, San Francisco, Halifax, Ha- 
vana, Bombay, Hongkong, and Singapore. It was a convinc- 
ing demonstration of man’s triumph over nature. In Morse’s 
