IT was Monday morning, and the sun was brighter and the weather more mild than in weeks before.
The children gazed eagerly toward the shore and thought what fun it would be to have a long run on that smooth, sandy beach, or to hunt for nuts in those great woods. They were so tired of being on the ship.
Just then Mistress Brewster came upon the deck. She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked off across the water. “What a good place to do our washing!” she said, as she gazed at the shore. “Not one proper washing day have we had since we sailed.”
It did not take long to get tubs, pails, and everything ready. John Alden and John Howland loaded the things into the boat and rowed the merry party to the shore.
But Mistress Brewster did not forget the children, who looked longingly at the boat as it pulled away. When it came back for its next load, she said kindly, “Come, boys. You shall have your run on the beach. We need your quick feet and strong arms to bring brushwood for our fires. And the girls must come too. They can help spread the clothes upon the bushes to dry.”
It seemed so good to be on the ground again. As soon as the boat touched the sand the children sprang ashore and raced each other up and down the beach.
The first washing day in New England
“Let’s hunt for nuts under those trees!” cried Love Brewster, and away the boys bounded toward the woods. John Alden shouldered his gun and went with them, for it was not safe for them to go into the forest alone.
In the edge of the woods stood a tall, straight tree. The long scales which curled from its shaggy bark told John Alden it was a hickory tree. Under the tree was a thick carpet of yellow-brown leaves. Under that carpet there must be plenty of sweet nuts.
The boys dragged their feet through the deep leaves, or tossed them aside with their hands. Yes, there lay the white nuts, thousands and thousands of them. The frost had opened their tough, brown coats, but the tree had covered them with a blanket of leaves.
While the boys were gone, the men drove two forked stakes into the hard sand. Across the top of these stakes they placed a long pole from which to hang the great kettles.
Soon the fire was snapping and crackling under the kettles. The flames leaped higher and higher as the children piled dry leaves and branches upon them. Then the water began to simmer and sing.
All the morning the women rubbed and boiled, or rinsed and wrung the clothes. The men were kept busy carrying water and firewood.
By noon the tubs were empty, and as Mary Chilton spread the last little dress to dry, she saw the boat pull away from the “Mayflower.”
“Here comes Priscilla with our dinner!” she cried.
Priscilla was a wonderful cook. Sometimes there was but little to cook, but Priscilla could always make something dainty and good from the plainest food.
To-day she had made a great kettle of soup, with vegetables and the broth of the wild birds. How good it smelled as it heated over the fire!
“Here comes Priscilla with our dinner”
Long before night the clean, fresh clothes were dry and folded away in the tubs and kettles. Then the tired but happy Pilgrims rowed back to the “Mayflower.”
—
A WILD LAND
THE next day some of the Pilgrims sailed along the shore for several miles, still looking for a deep, safe harbor and a stream of clear water.
At last they noticed a little brook, and turned their boat toward the shore. Leaving four men to guard the boat, the others struck into the forest. Not a sound did they hear but the rustling of dry leaves as they walked through them, or the moaning of the wind in the tree tops. The November woods seemed very bare and lonely.
When they had gone a mile or two, they saw a large deer drinking at a brook. They stood still and watched him, but the deer had heard their step. He raised his beautiful head and listened a moment, then bounded swiftly into the forest.
But William Bradford was not watching the deer. His sharp eyes had seen something moving on the hilltop not far away. As he gazed he saw, first the head and shoulders, and then the whole body of a man appear over the brow of the hill. Then came another, and another. Could it be John Alden and the others had left the boat and come after them? Surely they would not disobey the captain, for Miles Standish had told them not to leave the boat lest the natives take it.
But now he could see their dark faces, and their long, black hair and eagle feathers.
“Look!” he whispered, “Indians! Indians!”
“Perhaps that means work for ‘Gideon,’ ” thought Captain Standish, as he seized his sword.
“Put away your sword, Captain,” said Governor Carver, gently. “We want to make friends of these people if we can. Perhaps they can tell us of some town or settlement. At least we may be able to buy some food from them.”
So the Pilgrims waited quietly in the shadows of the forest until the Indians came near. Down the hill they came, their quick eyes looking for the print of a deer in the soft earth.
When they reached the foot of the hill they saw tracks which had been made by no animal of the forest. Neither had they been made by an Indian’s moccasin. There seemed to be hundreds of these tracks. What could it mean? They stood close together and peered eagerly into the forest.
Then the Pilgrims stopped from behind the trees, and came toward them. John Carver, the governor, held out to them some strings of bright beads, but the Indians would have none of them.
For a moment they gazed at the white men in terror. Then, without stopping to fit an arrow to their bow strings, they fled.
Where had they gone? Had the earth opened and taken in her frightened children? Only an Indian knows how to disappear so quickly.
“Ugh!” they said, when they were safe away. “Ugh! Palefaces have come!”
The Pilgrims followed the Indians for ten miles, but they did not come within sight of the natives again all that day, though they often saw the print of their feet.
“They saw tracks which had been made by no animal of the forest”
Sometimes these footprints showed where the Indians had climbed a hill to watch the white men.
When night came, the men found a sheltered place to camp until morning. They built a fire, and while two watched, the others slept.
In the morning they marched on again, going farther south. They saw fields where corn had been raised, but not an Indian, or a house of any kind. No doubt the Indians saw them very often, and knew just where they were all the time.
A little later in the day the Pilgrims came to some strange looking houses. They were round and low, with a small opening for a door; a hole in the top served for a chimney.
The men went from one house to another but could find no one. They knelt down and crawled into the wigwams, but there the fires had burned out many days before.
“They knelt down and crawled into the wigwams”
In the wigwams they found earthen pots and dishes, wooden bowls, and beautiful baskets made of grasses and trimmed with shells. Now they could see that the framework of the wigwam was made of long willow branches with both ends stuck into the ground. Over the frame the Indians had fastened large mats of woven reeds, which kept out the cold and rain. From the inside the wigwam looked like a great open umbrella.
“What is this?” cried one of the men, as he came upon a little mound of earth near the Indian village.
“Perhaps it is an Indian grave,” replied another.
“No, it is too wide and round for that. We will open it and see what is buried here.”
So they dug away the earth and found a large basket. It was round and narrow at the top, and was covered with large leaves. After a good deal of trouble the basket was raised from the hole and opened. It was filled to the brim with corn, some white, some red, and some of a bluish color.
This was Indian corn. It did not grow in England or Holland then, and the Pilgrims had never seen grain like it before. It tasted very good, and the Pilgrims were much in need of food. The provisions which they had brought from England were almost gone.
So finally they decided to take back to the “Mayflower” as much corn as they could carry, and pay the Indians for it when they could.
Soon they had dug up about ten bushels of corn. Then they went to the shore and built a fire as a signal for the boat to come for them and take them back to the “Mayflower.”
ON and on the ship sailed. How wide the water seemed.
Some days were full of sunshine: then the little children could play upon the deck. They loved to watch the sunset across the wide ocean. Then the sky was bright with purple and gold. Each wave caught the colors from the clouds until the whole world seemed aglow.
They loved to watch the stars come out in the evening. At first only two or three of the biggest, bravest ones peeped forth, to see if the sun had gone. Then a few others looked timidly out. Yes, the sun was really gone, and his glory of red and gold was quickly following him.
Then troops of little stars burst from their hiding places. They twinkled merrily at the little Pilgrims, as if to say, “See we are going with you to your new home. We went with you to Holland; we will go with you to America. Do not be lonely.”
But it grew colder, for the winter was drawing near. Many days the deck was too cold and icy to play upon. Then the children must stay in the dark, crowded cabin.
Poor little Pilgrims! Many were ill, and all wished the long voyage ended. There were but few games they could play in the little cabin, and they had no toys or story books. How they longed for the green fields and shady woods!
Then Priscilla told them stories of the sunny land where she once lived. Did only pleasant things happen in that wonderful country? If there were any unhappy times there, Priscilla never spoke of them. The stories she told were such merry tales they brought sunshine into the gloomiest little faces.
Even tired mothers, who were too far away to hear the story, would smile as they looked into Priscilla’s laughing eyes. “What a comfort that child is,” they often said.
Then Mary Chilton, who had grown to be a large girl now, played games with them. John Alden whittled out a wonderful puzzle for them, and every one tried to make the voyage pleasant.
But nine weeks is a long time to be shut up on a boat, and be tossed about by the rough waves. The little ones were so tired, it seemed to them they could not stand it any longer.
Then what do you think happened away out there on the ocean? Two dear little baby boys were born. Oh, how happy the children were! They forgot to be tired then.
You may be sure those babies never lacked nurses. It was such fun to hold them and sing to them softly until they closed their eyes and went to sleep.
Of course, every one wanted to help name the babies. Each thought of the very best name he knew, but it was hard to suit all.
Giles Hopkins wished to name his baby brother Jan, after a friend in Holland, but that name did not suit his parents at all. They did not want to give their baby a Dutch name.
“Those babies never lacked nurses”
Mistress Hopkins thought he should be named Stephen for his father.
“No,” said Master Hopkins, “if he were given my name he would be called ‘little Stephen’ until he grew to be a man. I believe no child was ever born here before. I wish he might have a name no other has ever had.”
What could it be? Some spoke of “Mayflower,” but others thought that a better name for a little girl.
A week passed and still the baby was not named. “This will never do,” said his mother. “Constance, you have not said what you would like to name your little brother.”
Constance said she had been thinking “Ocean” would be a good name for this baby.
“Ocean!—Ocean!” whispered the mother to herself. It was certainly a very suitable name, but it had a queer sound. Surely no other child had ever borne that name.
When Elder Brewster heard about the new name he said, “I know of a word in another language which means ocean. It is Oceanus. Perhaps you would like that name better.”
“Oceanus!” That seems like a queer name for a child, but the pilgrims often gave their children names which seem strange to us. This did not sound so strange to them. They thought “Oceanus Hopkins” a very good name for the baby, and so it was decided.
Then came the other wee baby. He too must have a suitable name. What should it be?
After many names had been considered, Mary Allerton said she thought “Wandering” would be a good name for the baby, because the Pilgrims were wandering in search of a home.
Mistress White did not quite like “Wandering” for a name, but she asked Elder Brewster if he did not know another word which meant the same thing.
And so this baby was named “Peregrine.” Peregrine White and Oceanus Hopkins! “Those are very large names for such very tiny babies,” thought little Love Brewster.
—
LAND
IT was now nine weeks since the Pilgrims sailed from England. No one had thought the voyage would be so long. The captain felt sure they must be coming near land, but he could not tell just where they were.
Many times a day, a sailor climbed high up on the mast to look for land. Still there was nothing to be seen but the wide sea,—not an island, nor even a ship.
At daybreak one cold November morning, a glad shout rang through the ship. “Land! Land!”
Yes, there lay the land—that new land which was to be their home and ours.
There were no rocky cliffs like those of England. Before them rose tall, green pine trees, and great oaks still wearing their dress of reddish brown.
Not a town or a single house could they see. No smoke rose from the forest to tell them where a village lay hidden. Not a sound was heard but the whistling of the cold wind through the ropes and masts, and the lapping of the water about the boat.
“This is not the sunny southland we had hoped to find,” said their governor, John Carver. “The storms have driven us too far north for that.”
“No, this is not the sunny southland, but land of any sort is a joyful sight after our long voyage,” replied Elder Brewster. “Let us not forget to thank God, who has brought us safe to this new land.”
It was too near winter to sail farther south. Near by the Pilgrims must find the best place to make their home. So the little ship sailed into the quiet bay and dropped anchor. Perhaps it, too, was glad the long voyage was ended.
The water in the bay was so shallow that the ship could not reach the shore. So the men quickly lowered the small boat the “Mayflower” carried. Then Miles Standish, William Bradford, John Alden, and several of the others climbed down the rope ladder into their boat and rowed away. They carried their guns and axes, and had an empty keg which they hoped to fill with fresh water. That which they brought from England was almost gone, and all were thirsty for a drink of cold, fresh water.
The sun had gone under a cloud, and the wind was wild and cold. The icy water dashed over the hands of the men as they rowed. When they reached the shore, they pulled the boat upon the sand that it might not drift away.
“I think two or three would better stay near the boat while the others go into the forest,” said Captain Standish. “We should be in a sad plight if natives were to steal our boat while we are all gone.”
So John Alden and William Bradford stayed near the boat. Floating on the shallow water, or flying through the air, were hundreds of wild fowl. The Pilgrims had not tasted fresh meat since they left England. What a treat some of these wild birds would be!
The two men knelt behind their boat and kept very still. After a while the birds came near to the boat. Bang! Bang! flashed the guns, and bang!—bang!—bang! rang the echo.
Away flew the birds, but John ran along the shore, and waded into the water, picking up the ducks they had killed. “We will have a supper fit for a king, to-night,” said John to himself, as he carried the birds back to the boat.
Then they built a fire of dry branches, to warm their stiffened fingers and dry their clothes. When the wood was all ablaze they piled green pine branches upon the fire. There was a sharp, crackling sound, and a cloud of black smoke arose.
“If the men get lost in the forest they will see this smoke and know which way to go,” thought Bradford, as he piled on the sweet-smelling pine.
Then they cut some dry wood to carry back to the “Mayflower,” for the fuel was all gone, and the cabin was very cold. In the bottom of the boat was a pile of clams which the men had dug from the sand.
It was almost night when Captain Standish and his men came out of the forest. They carried some rabbits, and their keg was full of fresh water which they had found not far from the shore.
All day they had not seen a house or a person. When they reached the top of the hill, one man took a glass and climbed a tall pine tree. He was surprised to see that the ocean lay on both sides of the forest. The land seemed like a long arm stretched into the sea.
This was not a good place to make their home. The harbor was too shallow and there were no rivers or large brooks where they could always get fresh water. The little ponds they had found would dry up in the summer.
The next day was the Sabbath. They would spend it quietly on the ship, and on Monday perhaps they could look farther.
FOUR days of good wind and fair weather brought the “Speedwell” to England. There the Pilgrims found about forty friends who wished to go with them to America. They had hired a little ship called the “Mayflower,” which now lay in the harbor ready to sail. It, too, was loaded with provisions for the long journey and the cold winter.
The “Speedwell” was a smaller vessel than the “Mayflower,” so some of the Pilgrims from Holland joined their friends on the larger boat. Then the two ships sailed out of the harbor into the blue sea.
The Pilgrims watched the shores of their native land grow faint and fainter. Would they ever see dear old England again? Surely none expected to see it so soon as they did.
They were hardly out of sight of land when the “Speedwell” began to leak. They could see no hole, but slowly the water rose in the bottom of the boat. It crept around the boxes and barrels stored there. “The hole must be behind this pile of boxes,” said the captain.
While some of the men pumped the water out of the ship, others quickly moved the great boxes away.
Yes, there was a little stream of water running down from a hole in the side of the ship. This was soon mended, but still the water slowly rose in the boat. The men at the pumps worked harder than ever, but the water came in as fast as they could pump it out.
More holes were found and mended, but still the ship leaked. There was nothing to do but go back to land as soon as possible. Those on the “Mayflower” did not wish to go on without their friends, so both ships returned to England.
When the “Speedwell” reached shore, the ship builders came to look at it.
“It carries too heavy a mast for so small a ship,” said one.
“The hull is worn out,” said another. “See, it needs new boards, and fresh tar, and fresh paint. It will take weeks to repair this ship and make it safe for so long a voyage.”
What could the Pilgrims do? The fine weather was passing. They would hardly reach America now before the heavy storms of winter came. It was quite plain they could not wait until the “Speedwell” was repaired.
The “Mayflower” could not hold all who wished to go to America, yet the Pilgrims could not hire another ship. The passengers on the “Speedwell” were a long way from home. It seemed hard for them to return to Holland.
So some of those who lived in England offered to give up their places in the “Mayflower” and return to their homes.
“Next summer there will be other ships sailing to America from England, and it may be a long time before another will go from Holland,” they said.
—
THE VOYAGE OF THE “MAYFLOWER”
WHEN the provisions and the boxes of other goods had been moved from the “Speedwell” to the larger boat, the “Mayflower” started once more. Now she carried a hundred passengers besides her sailors.
We should think the “Mayflower” a very small boat in which to cross the ocean. The cabin was badly crowded, and there was only one small deck.
At that time no one had thought of making a boat go by steam. The “Mayflower” had large white sails, and when the wind was good she sped over the water like a great sea bird.
But sometimes there was no wind, and the little vessel lay still upon the quiet water. Sometimes the sky grew black with storm clouds and the fierce winds swept down upon the ship. Then the sailors quickly bound the sails close to the masts, but still the vessel was often driven far out of her course. No wonder it took so long to cross the ocean in those days.
In one of these great storms a young man almost lost his life. For many days the passengers had been kept in the cabin by the weather. The deck was wet and slippery. The rough winds swept across it; the waves washed over it. It was not safe for any of the passengers there.
But John Howland did not like to stay quietly in the crowded cabin. So he climbed the narrow stairs and stepped out upon the slippery deck.
How wild and terrible the storm was! The waves were almost as high as the masts! Sometimes the “Mayflower” rode high upon the tops of the waves. At other times it was quite hidden between them.
John saw a great wave about to break over the ship. He tried to reach the cabin door, but he was too late. With a crash like thunder, the wave struck the ship and swept away one of the masts. John seized the railing with both hands, but the wave was stronger than he. It flung him into the sea.
“Help! Oh, help!” he cried. “Help!”
But his voice could not be heard above the storm. He fought with the waves and tried to swim, but it was of no use. The water closed over his head. Who could help him now?
Over the side of the ship hung some ropes dragged down by the falling mast. John saw one of these long ropes trailing through the water. The rope was close at hand, and he reached out and grasped it.
Hand over hand, he pulled himself toward the ship. His strength was fast going. Would no one come to his rescue?
Some sailors on the “Mayflower” saw John struggling for his life. “Hold on, John!” they shouted, as they pulled in the rope.
John did hold on, though his hands were stiff with cold, and the waves beat him back from the ship. Slowly he was lifted from the water, and strong arms reached down to help him. At last he lay upon the deck, faint but safe.
Let us turn from what Edison has done to what Edison is. It is worth while to know “the man behind the guns.” Who and what is the personal Edison?
Certainly there must be tremendous force in a personality which has been one of the most potent factors in bringing into existence new industries now capitalized at tens of billions of dollars, earning annually sums running into billions, and giving employment to an army of more than two million people.
It must not be thought that there is any intention to give entire credit to Edison for the present magnificent proportions of these industries. The labors of many other inventors and the confidence of capitalists and investors have added greatly to their growth. But Edison is the father of some of these arts and industries, and as to some of the others it was the magic of his touch that helped make them practicable.
How then does Edison differ from most other men? Is it that he combines with a vigorous body a mind capable of clear and logical thinking, and an imagination of unusual activity? No, for there are others of equal bodily and mental vigor who have not accomplished a tithe of his achievements.
We must answer then, first, that his whole life is concentrated upon his work. When he conceives a broad idea of a new invention he gives no thought to the limitations of time, or man, or effort. Having his body and mind in complete subjection through iron nerves, he settles down to experiment with ceaseless, tireless, unwavering patience, never swerving to the right or left nor losing sight of his purpose. Years may come and go, but nothing short of success is accepted.
A good example of this can be found in the development of the nickel pocket for the storage battery, an element the size of a short lead-pencil. More than five years were spent in experiments costing upward of a million dollars to perfect it. Day after day was spent on this investigation, tens of thousands of tubes and an endless variety of chemicals were made, but at the end of five years Edison was as much interested in these small tubes as when the work was first begun.
So far as work is concerned, all times are alike to Edison, whether it be day or night. He carries no watch, and, indeed, has but little use for watches or clocks except as they may be useful in connection with an experiment in which time is a factor. The one idea in mind is to go on with the work incessantly, always pushing steadily onward toward the purpose in view, with a relentless disregard of effort or the passage of time.
THOMAS ALVA EDISON—1911
A second and very marked characteristic of Edison’s personality is an intense and courageous hopefulness and self-confidence, into which no thought of failure can enter. The doubts and fears of others have absolutely no weight with him. Discouragements and disappointments find no abiding place in his mind. Indeed, he has the happy faculty of beginning the day as open-minded as a child, yesterday’s discouragements and disappointment discarded, or, at any rate, remembered only as useful knowledge gained and serving to point out the fact that he had been temporarily following the wrong road.
Difficulties seem to have a fascination for him. To advance along smooth paths, meeting no obstacles or hardships, has no charm for Edison. To wrestle with difficulties, to meet obstructions, to attempt the impossible—these are the things that appear to give him a high form of intellectual pleasure. He meets them with the keen delight of a strong man battling with the waves and opposing them in sheer enjoyment.
Another marked characteristic of Edison is the fact that his happiness is not bound up in the making of money. While he appreciates a good balance at his banker’s, the keenness of his pleasure is in overcoming difficulties rather than the mere piling up of a bank account. Had his nature been otherwise, it is doubtful if his life would have been filled with the great achievements that it has been our pleasure to record.
In a life filled with tremendous purpose and brilliant achievement there must be expected more or less of troubles and loss. Edison’s life has been no exception, but, with the true philosophy that might be expected of such a nature, he remarked recently: “Spilled milk doesn’t interest me. I have spilled lots of it, and, while I have always felt it for a few days, it is quickly forgotten, and I turn again to the future.”
Edison to-day has a fine physique, and, being free from serious ailments, enjoys a vigorous old age. His hair has whitened, but it is still abundant, and though he uses glasses for reading, his gray-blue eyes are as keen and bright and deeply lustrous as ever, with the direct, searching look in them that they have ever worn.
Edison in his ‘eighties still has a fine physique, weighs over one hundred and sixty-five pounds, and has varied little as to weight in the last forty years. He is very abstemious, hardly ever touching alcohol and caring little for meat. In fact, the chief article of his diet is warm milk, which he finds satisfactory for his need.
He believes that people eat too much, and governs himself accordingly. His meals are simple, small in quantity, and take but little of his time at table. If he finds himself varying in weight he will eat a little more or a little less in order to keep his weight constant.
As to clothes, Edison is simplicity itself. Indeed, it is one of the subjects in which he takes no interest. He says: “I get a suit that fits me, then I compel the tailors to use that as a jig, or pattern, or blueprint, to make others by. For many years a suit was used as a measurement; once or twice they took fresh measurements, but these didn’t fit, and they had to go back. I eat to keep my weight constant, hence I never need changed measurements.”
This will explain why a certain tailor had made Edison’s clothes for twenty years and had never seen him.
In 1873 Mr. Edison was married to Miss Mary Stilwell, who died in 1884, leaving three children—Thomas Alva, William Leslie, and Marion Estelle.
Mr. Edison was married again in 1886 to Miss Mina Miller, daughter of Mr. Lewis Miller, a distinguished pioneer inventor and manufacturer in the field of agricultural machinery, and equally entitled to fame as the father of the “Chautauqua idea,” and the founder with Bishop Vincent of the original Chautauqua, which now has so many replicas all over the country. By this marriage there are three children—Charles, Madeline, and Theodore.
For over twenty years Edison’s happy and perfect domestic life has been spent at Glenmont, a beautiful property in Llewellyn Park, on the Orange Mountain, New Jersey. Here, amid the comforts of a beautifully appointed home, in which may be seen the many decorations and medals awarded to him, together with the numerous souvenirs sent to him by foreign potentates and others, Edison spends the hours that he is away from the laboratory. They are far from being idle hours, for it is here that he may pursue his reading free from interruption.
His hours of sleep are few, not more than six in the twenty-four, and not as much as that when working nights at the laboratory. In a recent conversation a friend expressed surprise that he could stand the constant strain, to which Edison replied that he stood it easily, because he was interested in everything. He further said: “I don’t live with the past; I am living for to-day and to-morrow. I am interested in every department of science, art, and manufacture. I read all the time on astronomy, chemistry, biology, physics, music, metaphysics, mechanics, and other branches—political economy, electricity, and, in fact, all things that are making for progress in the world. I get all the proceedings of the scientific societies, the principal scientific and trade journals, and read them. I also read some theatrical and sporting papers and a lot of similar publications, for I like to know what is going on. In this way I keep up to date, and live in a great, moving world of my own, and, what’s more, I enjoy every minute of it.”
In conversation Edison is direct, courteous, ready to discuss a topic with anybody worth talking to, and, in spite of his deafness, an excellent listener. No one ever goes away from him in doubt as to what he thinks or means, but, with characteristic modesty, he is ever shy and diffident to a degree if the talk turns on himself rather than on his work.
He is a normal, fun-loving, typical American, ever ready to listen to a new story, with a smile all the while, and a hearty, boyish laugh at the end. He has a keen sense of humor, which manifests itself in witty repartee and in various ways.
In his association with his staff of experimenters the “old man,” as he is affectionately called, is considerate and patient, although always insisting on absolute accuracy and exactness in carrying out his ideas. He makes liberal allowance for errors arising through human weakness of one kind or another, but a stupid mistake or an inexcusable oversight on the part of an assistant will call forth a storm of contemptuous expression that is calculated to make the offender feel cheap. The incident, however, is quickly a thing of the past, as a general rule.
If there is anything in heredity, Edison has many years of vigor and activity yet before him. What the future may have in store in the way of further achievement cannot be foreshadowed, for he is still a mighty thinker and a prodigy of industry and hard work.
XXVI
EDISON’S NEW PHONOGRAPH
As related in a preceding chapter of this work, the first commercial phonograph was of the wax cylinder type. Celluloid afterwards superceded wax as a material for the cylinder record, because of its indestructibility. Edison’s work on the disc phonograph and record, invented by him in 1878, is related in the following pages.
From the time of his conception of the phonograph in 1877 to the present day Edison has had a deep conviction that people want good music in their homes. That this is not a conviction founded upon commercialism may be appreciated on reading his own words: “Of all the various forms of entertainment in the home, I know of nothing that compares with music. It is safe and sane, appeals to all finer emotions, and tends to bind family influences with a wholesomeness that links old and young together. If you will consider for a moment how universally the old ‘heart songs’ are loved in the homes, you will realize what a deep hold music has in the affections of the people. It is a safety-valve in the home.”
Throughout the years that followed the advent of the earlier type of phonograph with the cylindrical wax records Edison never lost sight of his determination to make it a more perfect instrument, for, of all the children of his brain, the phonograph seems to be the one he loves most. He is the most severe critic of his own work and is never content with less than the best obtainable.
Thus it came about that, some thirteen years ago, having reached the apex of his dissatisfaction with what he thought were the shortcomings of the phonograph and records of that time, he began work on a long-cherished plan of refining the machine and the records so that he could reproduce music, vocal and instrumental, with all its original beauty of tone and sweetness—in fact, a true “re-creation.” As the world knows, he has succeeded.
With his characteristic vigor and earnestness Edison plunged into this campaign, fully realizing the immense difficulties of the task he had undertaken. In order to accomplish the desired end he must, in the first place, devise entirely new types of recorder and reproducer which would have essentially different characteristics from any then in existence. In addition to this, an entirely new material must be found and adapted for the surface of the records, a material pliable, indestructible, and, above all, so exceedingly smooth that there should be no rasping, scratching sounds to mar the beauty of the music.
In planning this campaign Edison had decided to return to the disc type of machine and record, which he had invented away back in 1878, and which he now took up again, as it would afford him the greatest scope for his latest efforts.
While simultaneously carrying on a formidable line of experiments to produce the desired material for the records he labored patiently through the days and away into the nights for many months in evolving the new recorder and reproducer, pausing only to snatch a few hours of sleep, which sometimes would be taken at home and at other times on a bench or cot in the laboratory. After some thousands of experiments, extending over a period of more than ten months and conducted with the never-wearying patience so characteristic of him, he perfected his recorder and the diamond-point reproducer which gave him the results for which he strove so many years. This was on the eve of his departure for Europe in August, 1911.
When Edison thinks he has perfected any device his next step is to find out its weakness by trying his best to destroy it. Illustrative of this there may be quoted two instances of severe tests in connection with his alkaline storage battery. After completing it he rigged up a device by means of which a set of batteries were subjected to a series of 1,700,000 severe bumps in the effort to destroy them. When this failed, they were mounted on a heavy electric car, which was propelled with terrific force a number of times against a heavy stone wall, only to show that they were proof against injury by any such means.
His new phonograph reproducer was not exempted from this policy of attempted destruction, and before leaving for Europe he gave instructions for a grilling test, which was, of course, carried out faithfully, but the diamond point was found to be uninjured after playing records more than four thousand times. With such results he deemed it a safe proposition.
On his return from Europe in October, 1911, Edison resumed his attack on the evolution of the new indestructible disc record with a smooth surface, the main principles of which had been determined upon before his departure. In addition, there arose the problem of manufacturing such records in great quantities. The difficulties that confronted him completely baffle description. The whole battle was carried on with the aid of powerful microscopes, which even at their best would fail to reveal the obscure cause of temporary discomfiture. Differences in material, dirt, dust, temperature, water, chemical action, thumb marks, breath marks, cloth and brush marks, and a host of major and minor incidentals, were patiently and painstakingly investigated with a thoroughness that is almost beyond belief to the layman.
Day and night the work was carried on incessantly. During the height of the investigation, toward the close of this five-year campaign, Edison and a few of his faithful experimenters—facetiously called “The Insomnia Squad”—stayed steadily at the works for a period of over five weeks—eating, drinking, working, and sleeping (occasionally) there. During that time Edison went home only four or five times, and then merely to change his clothing. He and the men slept for short periods in the works or in the library, on benches and tables, resuming their labors immediately on waking up. Edison had arranged for an abundant supply of good substantial food which they themselves cooked, hence the inner man was well cared for. The wives of the men came around at intervals with changes of clothing for their husbands. This intense application to work left no time for shaving, with the result that all hands might well have been taken for a gang of traditional pirates from their unkempt appearance.
They were all happy, however, and, strange to say, all increased in weight, although a contrary result might naturally have been expected. The intense work has never ceased, but there has been no similar protracted siege since, as the main principles were practically settled at that time. The foregoing instance has been merely mentioned to illustrate the fierce vigor with which Edison works when he is seeking to complete one of his inventions. He has been, and still is, prosecuting his labors with the same energy to bring about the utmost perfection that is possible.
He has not confined his work to the refinement of the merely mechanical parts, such as the instrument and the records, but during the last ten years he has devoted an immense amount of time to music itself. Becoming convinced that the public desired really beautiful music, he set himself to a thorough study of the subject, not only of compositions, but also of the human voice, its powers and limitations, and of different effects of various styles of orchestration. He determined to hear for himself music of all kinds, and with this object in view hired a number of sight-reading players and singers to render musical selections by the hour.
“THE INSOMNIA SQUAD”—Copyright by Thomas A. Edison
In the past ten years he has heard upward of twenty-five thousand compositions of a wide range, from grand opera to ragtime. As he hears them he indicates his opinions, which range from “beautiful” to “punk,” according to his idea of availability for the phonograph. An elaborate card system preserves these indications for further application in selecting music for the phonograph.
It might seem dogmatic to have the reproduction of musical compositions depend upon his opinion, but it must be said that he is not entirely committed to such drastic measures if there is a real demand for some musical selection which does not seem to merit his good opinion. His decision as to a composition is not based on a merely personal whim or fad, but upon his opinion of it from the standpoint of an inventor. He has said to the writer more than once: “There is invention in music just as much as in the arts. Composers such as Verdi, Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti were inventors. They did not copy, nor did some of the other great composers. But the rank and file of musicians are not inventors; they have copied the ideas of the others, consciously or unconsciously. If you will sit down for a few hours and have a lot of miscellaneous compositions played you will be convinced of it.”
Edison has had no musical training, as the term is generally understood, and the writer must confess that before hearing the above expression he failed to comprehend the true basis of the inventor’s opinions of the various compositions played or sung for him. On several occasions he therefore arranged (unknown to Edison) to have one or more compositions played or sung again after a lapse of some weeks, to see whether or not there would be any similarity of opinion to that first indicated. In every case Edison’s judgment was practically, and in some cases precisely, the same as before, thus proving that the opinion first given was not merely a whim, but was based upon some definite line of thought in the inventor’s brain.
His excursion into the musical realm has also included the personal hearing of many singers so as to determine their fitness for making phonograph records. This proved to be a wonderfully interesting field of investigation, and he has given a great deal of time to it, listening critically to each voice, good, bad, or indifferent, and patiently writing out his criticism in each case. Not only has he heard a large number of singers who have visited the laboratory for the purpose, but he also had a representative scouring Europe for voices several years ago. This man visited the principal cities and towns of Europe and took phonograph records of the voices of the operatic and other prominent singers in each place and shipped them over to Edison, who listened to each one and recorded his opinion in a series of note-books kept for the purpose. He has in the laboratory at Orange nearly two thousand voice records of this kind. All this is done with the object of securing the really best voices in the world. Probably this is the most unique “voice library” in existence.
He is very deaf, but has a wonderfully acute inner ear, which, being protected by his deafness from the ordinary sounds of life, will catch minute imperfections that are imperceptible to the person of ordinary hearing. In listening to a voice he uses a peculiarly shaped horn which is held close to the ear, and such is the acuteness of his hearing that he at once distinguishes minute changes of register, extra waves, tremolo, non-periodic vibrations, and other minor defects that detract from the true beauty of vocal sounds. In addition, he can immediately recognize the number of overtones and rate of tremolo, which may afterward be verified by a microscopic examination of a record of the same voice.
Edison contends that the phonograph will give the “acid test” of a voice, for it will record nothing more and nothing less than what is in the voice itself, and the record is unchangeable. In his judgment, operatic voices are not necessarily the most perfect ones, for, as he says: “the vocal cords of opera singers are always at the straining-point. They usually sing on roomy stages in large theaters with a large orchestra in front of them, and their voices must go out above all these instruments so as to be heard to the farthest limits of the house. Consequently, they are always doing their utmost and their vocal cords become adapted to heavy work only. People often wonder why their favorite operatic singers do not charm them as much in concert or through the phonograph as they did at the opera, but do not stop to think of the difference between the opera-house and the concert-hall or parlor. I don’t mean to say a word of detraction in regard to operatic singers, for I have a great admiration for their wonderful art and for many of their voices, and a great number of them have now recognized the value of special effort to acquire the distinct art and technique of singing for the phonograph (which is a parlor instrument), and have made some really beautiful records.”
The writer was one day discussing with Edison the temperament of singers generally and the good opinion that each one usually has of his or her own voice irrespective of any artistic use he or she could make of it. He said: “I don’t see what they have to be conceited about. The Almighty has given them a little piece of meat in their throats that differs slightly from the corresponding piece of meat in somebody else’s throat. They can take no credit for that, but if they use their brains to interpret and perfect the use of what has been given them, they have accomplished something. What I want is voices that will stand the test of the phonograph and give permanent pleasure to people, irrespective of stage environment, or the press agent, or pleasing personality.”
This chapter could be extended to a great length in setting forth the results of Edison’s deep study of music which he undertook solely for the purpose of bringing his latest achievement up to the high standard which he set for it so many years ago, but enough has been said to indicate the immense amount of work he has done and the trend of his ideas. That he has been able, amid the round of his multitudinous duties and work, which occupy his time and attention from sixteen to eighteen hours a day, to delve into the subject so profoundly and to evolve ideas that are confessedly awakening the musical world is sufficient to indicate that in spite of his years and herculean labors in the past he has not lost any of the vim or pertinacity that have so distinguished him in days gone by.
THAT spring brought very busy days to the Pilgrims in Leiden. Those who were going to America had many things to prepare, and those who stayed behind were glad to help them get ready.
They must have plenty of cloth made, for there would be no time to weave more until their new homes were built. It would be cold winter by that time and they must have warm jackets, and dresses, and cloaks.
So hum-m-m-m! hum-m-m-m! went the spinning wheels from morning till night. And click! clack! click! clack! went the big looms, as the flying shuttle wove the gray yarn into cloth.
Preparing for the journey
Far into the night the tired women stitched with busy fingers. In those days all the sewing must be done by hand, and it took much time and much patient labor to make a garment.
There was plenty of work for the children as well as for their elders. Even tiny hands could hold the skein while mother wound the yarn into a ball. And you should have seen the dozens of thick, warm mittens and stockings that were knit by little hands that summer.
The Pilgrims could not take any cows with them, so in every cottage there were small tubs being packed with sweet, yellow butter to be taken to the new homes across the sea.
It would take them many weeks to cross the ocean, and much food would be needed for the journey. They could not raise more grain until the next summer, so they must take enough to last them all winter.
With the money the Pilgrims had given him, Elder Brewster had bought a small ship in Holland. It was called the “Speedwell,” and it now waited for them at Delfshaven, about twenty-four miles away.
If you had been in Leiden one morning late in July, you might have seen the Pilgrims loading the canal boats which would carry them to Delfshaven. Almost before it was light that morning the men began to carry things upon the boats. Their kind Dutch neighbors worked as busily as they, helping to carry the heavy boxes of ship bread, salted meats, or dried fruits.
There were barrels and barrels of meal, and other barrels holding grain for seed. There were great sacks of beans, dried peas, and vegetables, but at last the boats were loaded.
The Pilgrims had many friends in England who they thought would like to go to America with them. So Elder Brewster had gone to England to see them, and to arrange for a ship to carry them all across the sea.
He was gone several weeks, and when he returned he found the Pilgrims ready for the journey. Each family could take only a few of the most needful things. There would not be room on the ship for all their goods, so they would take only such things as they could not make.
The beautiful china plates and cups which they had bought in Holland must be left, for they would be easily broken. Their old pewter dishes would last much longer, and they would look very well when they were scoured bright with sand.
They would take their silver spoons and the steel knives they had brought from England. The old brass candlesticks, the spinning wheels, and the great copper kettles must have a place in the boat.
—
FAREWELL TO HOLLAND
WHEN all was ready, they bade their Dutch friends good-bye. How kind these people had been to them during the years they had lived in Holland. They had done all they could to make the Pilgrims happy and comfortable in their city. And when they were preparing to go away, many yellow balls of cheese, little tubs of butter, and webs of white linen came from these good Hollanders.
John Robinson and all the members of his church went to Delfshaven with those who were to sail on the “Speedwell.”
As the canal boats moved slowly away, the Pilgrims looked for the last time upon their little cottages. They had lived twelve long years in Holland, and it seemed like a dear home to them. Most of the children had never known any other home.
Groups of Hollanders stood at their doors to wave farewell to the Pilgrims as they passed. Five or six little boys with bare legs and clumsy wooden shoes, ran along beside the canal boats, calling in Dutch to their friends.
But now the boys had shouted a last “good-bye;” the city with its great mills and shops, its quaint houses and pretty gardens lay behind them. They were coming to the beautiful city gate with its round towers and pointed spires.
Mary Chilton and Faith and Patience Brewster stood together looking at the great gate. “Do you remember the first time we passed through this gate, Mary?” asked Patience. “That was eleven years ago and you were a very little girl then.”
“Yes, indeed, I remember it,” answered Mary. “I was six years old. I can remember our home in England and the ship in which we came to Holland. Can you, Fear?”
“I do not remember much about England,” answered Fear, who was the youngest of the three, “but I remember our home in Amsterdam. I wonder where Jan and Katrina are this summer. Their boat was in Leiden all winter.”
And so the girls talked of anything except their long parting. They could not speak of that. The tears were so close to Fear’s eyes she was afraid to wink lest they run over.
This was a beautiful summer day. Holland meadows had never looked brighter. There were gay little summerhouses perched on stilts by the side of the lake. Some stood in the water and a little boat tied to the steps of one showed how its owner had reached it. There he sat smoking his long pipe and watching his little son, who sat on the doorstep and fished.
Everywhere were the windmills, the dikes, and the canals that had seemed so strange to them at first. Now all these things seemed like old friends to the Pilgrims and made them sad to say good-bye to Holland.
Late in the evening they reached Delfshaven, where the “Speedwell” was waiting for them. All night the sailors worked, loading the goods from the canal boats into the ship, and making ready for an early start in the morning.
Then came the hardest parting. The tears would start. Even strong men wept as they looked into each other’s faces and thought that perhaps they might never see these friends again.
There on the ocean shore these brave men and women knelt down and prayed to the God they loved. They prayed that He would be with those who stayed as well as with those who sailed away. Their pastor’s voice broke many times as he spoke to God of his friends.
After this prayer, the Pilgrims went silently and sadly on board the “Speedwell” and sailed away to England. They waved to the dear ones on the shore and stood watching them as long as they could be seen.
WHEN they first came to Holland, everything seemed strange to the English children. The gay-colored houses with their floors of blue tile, their queer little fireplaces, and their steep roofs, were very different from the homes they had left in England.
They had never seen wooden shoes such as the Dutch children wore. The dikes to keep out the sea, the giant windmills, and the canals all seemed odd.
Strangest of all was the language. They thought they could never learn it.
But after they had lived in Holland a few years these things did not seem so strange. The little English children began to like the Dutch dress and ways. They liked the canal streets, the whirling windmills, and the Dutch cottages.
They liked the pretty, bright dresses and gold cap-buttons which the Dutch girls wore, and wished to dress like them. They sometimes coaxed their mothers to wear pretty lace caps and fine earrings such as their neighbors wore.
“It is not right for you to care so much about pretty clothes,” said their parents. “Plain caps and dresses are more suitable for Pilgrims.”
These children soon learned the language of Holland, and liked it almost as well as their native one. Indeed, some of them liked it better, and often spoke Dutch at home instead of English.
It was now eleven years since the Pilgrims had come to Holland. In this time many babies had been born in their new homes. When these little ones began to talk, their parents taught them to speak English, but when they were old enough to play out of doors, they heard Dutch all about them, and when they went to school they heard nothing but that language. Soon the little ones were speaking better Dutch than English.
This was a real sorrow to the Pilgrim fathers and mothers, who did not want their children to become Hollanders. They wished them to remember the English language and English ways. They feared that in a few years no one could tell their children from those of the Hollanders.
The Pilgrims often talked about their old homes in England. Many of them were not so well and strong since they worked in the mills. Worst of all, many of their children had to work there while they were still young. Their rosy cheeks were growing pale, and their backs bent.
The Pilgrims longed for little farms of their own where they and their sons could work in the open air as they had done in England, but they were too poor to buy farms in Holland.
“We hear much about the new land across the sea,” said John Robinson, their pastor. “A good many Englishmen have gone there and made comfortable homes for themselves. They say it is a great, beautiful country where there is land enough for all.”
“I am told the ground there is very rich, and the crops never fail for want of rain or sunshine,” said John Carver.
“If we were in America we could make homes such as we had in England. We could have our own church, and bring up our children to love and serve God,” said Elder Brewster.
“Can we go so far away?” they thought. Between America and Holland the sea is very wide.
The Pilgrims thought of the pleasant homes and the dear friends they would leave in Holland. They thought how long it would be before they could have as good schools as those in Leiden.
They thought of the long voyage, and of the hardships of life in the new land. There was not a city, nor a town, nor even a house in the place where they would go. There were no mills where they could buy timber for their cottages. They would have to cut down the trees to make their own lumber.
“The Indians live in the forests. They are said to be very savage and cruel,” said Master Allerton.
“We would treat them like brothers and perhaps they would be our friends,” answered the pastor.
Whenever the Pilgrims met they talked about going to America. They talked about the broad fields they would own, and the cozy homes they would build.
“Above all,” they said, “we shall be free. We will build our own church and worship God as we think right. Our children will be healthier, happier, and better than in this large city.”
And so the Pilgrims decided to go to America. But they could not all go at once. There would be no houses for them to live in at first, and many were too old, or too weak, to bear the hardships of starting the new home.
It was decided that if the greater number of the Pilgrims went to America, John Robinson would go with them. If fewer went, Elder Brewster would go with them and be their pastor. It was soon learned that most of them could not leave Leiden until later, so Elder Brewster and about eighty of his friends planned to go that summer.
Only those who were well and strong were to go in the first ship. Many families would have to be separated for a year or more.
Elder Brewster’s family was large, and he could not take them all at first. Love and his little brother were too young to be left. Mistress Brewster could not be contented an hour if the wide sea lay between her and her little boys.
Jonathan Brewster was a young man now, and was working in Leiden. Patience and Fear had grown to be large girls, and could spin and weave, sew and cook almost as well as Mistress Brewster herself.
So it was arranged that Jonathan would go on with his work in Leiden, with his sisters to keep house for him. They all hoped to be able to join the others in America in a year or two.
—
THE SWORD OF MILES STANDISH
AMONG those who went to John Robinson’s church was Captain Miles Standish. He was an Englishman, but he had lived many years in Holland, where he went to help the Dutch fight for their freedom.
Once while he was fighting in Holland, some soldiers went to the house of an old man who made swords and armor. They took some of the armor and were threatening to harm the old man and his daughter.
Captain Standish saw them, and shouted, “You cowards! To steal from a poor old man! Cowards! Give back everything you have taken.” And the rude soldiers obeyed.
Then to the trembling old man he said, “No harm shall come to you, so do not be afraid. Your life is safe, and your daughter, too, is free from danger. Go back to your shop in peace.”
The old man could not thank him then; his heart was too full. But that night Miles Standish heard a knock at his door. When he looked out, he saw the old sword maker standing in the darkness. He had something carefully wrapped in his cloak.
“Captain Standish,” he said, “you are a brave, brave soldier. You are more than that; you are a kind and noble man.” Then, holding out the gift he had brought, the man said, “Take this sword and take with it the heart-felt thanks of an old man whose life and whose daughter you have saved.”
Miles Standish could not refuse without giving pain, so he took the man’s gift. It was a fine old sword which had been made in the Far East hundreds of years before Miles Standish was born. On one side were engraved the sun, moon, and stars. On the other side were some words written in an old, old language.
The Captain thanked the man and said, “This sword shall always be my friend. It shall always be ready to help those who are in trouble.” He named the sword “Gideon,” and he sometimes spoke to it as though it were a friend.
But now the war was over, and though it had been ten years since Miles Standish had needed “Gideon,” it always hung at his side.
Captain Standish often talked with the Pilgrims about their plan of going to America. He thought about the natives who lived in the new land, and about the ships from other countries which might try to take their town.
“I will go with you to your new home,” he said. “There may be work for ‘Gideon’ and me.”
A FEW miles away from Amsterdam is the beautiful city of Leiden, with its many water-streets, fine schools, and great woolen and linen mills. For many reasons this city seemed to the Pilgrims a better place than Amsterdam to make their homes.
So one spring morning found a little fleet of canal boats tied up in the street where the Pilgrims all lived. It did not take them long to load their goods upon the boats, for they had very little. They were much poorer than they had been in England, but they were not unhappy.
When all was ready, the square, brown sails were raised and the boats moved slowly down the canal between the rows of houses and trees. At every cross street the bridge must be raised to allow them to pass.
From one little canal into another they sailed, until the city was left behind. Then they passed into the great, broad canal which lay across the country from city to city. It looked like a long, bright ribbon stretched across the green meadows.
It was a trip long to be remembered, this ride through fairyland. Behind them were the shining waters of the sea and the spires of the city they were leaving.
On both sides were rich, green meadows and herds of fine black and white cattle. There were many beautiful ponds and lakes, and pretty little summerhouses gaily painted.
Whichever way the Pilgrims looked they could see the great windmills. Sometimes they stood in groups, looking like a family of giants against the sky. Here and there one stood so close to the canal that the Pilgrims could see the flowers in the windows of the first story, where the miller’s family lived. They could even speak to the miller’s children, who played about the door or helped their father load the bags of meal into his boat.
But these windmills were not all used to grind grain into meal. Some were sawmills; others pumped water out of the low meadows into the canal. The canals flowed between thick stone walls and were high above the fields about them.
Sometimes the Pilgrims passed gardens of gay [brightly colored] flowers. These were tulip farms where thousands of these bright flowers were raised.
There is no flower so dear to the hearts of the Hollanders as the tulip. There was once a time when they seemed to think more of these bright blossoms than of anything else. They sold houses and lands, cattle and horses, to buy a few tulip bulbs. They were more precious than jewels. A thousand dollars was not thought too great a price for the finest plants. We read that one man paid five times that sum for a single bulb.
But when the Pilgrims were in Holland the “tulip craze” had not yet begun. I think the Hollanders enjoyed their beds of common tulips more than they did the few costly blossoms they bought later. If a few of them died then there was no great loss.
As the Pilgrims came nearer the city of Leiden, they saw a strange sight. Close beside a large garden of bright flowers was a field which looked as if it were covered with deep snow. They could see it was not a field of white flowers. What could it be?
When the boats reached this place, the Pilgrims saw long pieces of white linen bleaching in the sun. They had been woven in one of the mills at Leiden.
Late in the afternoon the great stone wall about the city came in sight. Above it rose the roofs of buildings, church spires, and the beautiful bell tower of the statehouse.
As the band of Pilgrims sailed through the water-gates into the city, the chimes in the tower began to ring. To the Pilgrims they seemed to say, “Welcome to Leiden! Welcome to Leiden!”
—–
IN LEIDEN
BEFORE bringing their families to Leiden, the Pilgrim men had all found work in that city. A few of them worked in the printing shops, but most of them went to the great woolen mills.
Here some washed the wool, or combed it ready for the spinning wheels. Some dyed it, some wove it into cloth. Others packed the finished cloth in boxes, or loaded it on ships on the canal.
This work was very different from anything they had done in England. There they had been farmers, working in the fresh air and sunshine on their own fields. At first the work in the mills seemed very hard to them, but they worked early and late, hoping to earn enough to buy little farms sometime.
The Pilgrims had no church of their own when they went to Leiden, but John Robinson, their pastor, had a large house, and they all went there to worship.
There was no reason for secret meetings in Holland. As long as they were honest and well behaved, no one cared how the newcomers worshiped. So every Sunday morning, when the bells in the great church towers rang, the Pilgrims walked to Master Robinson’s house.
Near their pastor’s home was the largest and finest church in Leiden. As they walked to meeting, they met hundreds of good Hollanders in their finest suits and silver buckles, or fullest skirts and prettiest lace caps, going to church.
“In their finest suits . . . or fullest skirts”
Across her forehead nearly every woman wore a beautifully carved band of gold, which ended in large, round buttons above her ears. From these great gold buttons hung long earrings, which almost touched her shoulders.
The little girls dressed much like their mothers except that their headdress was more simple. Sometimes their little wooden shoes were prettily carved with leaves and blossoms.
At first, as they passed, these people looked with wonder at the Pilgrims. Their plain brown or gray dress, their high hats, or simple little caps looked very odd to the Hollanders who were so fond of bright colors and pretty clothes. But soon they felt acquainted with their new neighbors and nodded to them pleasantly when they met.
A number of strangers came to John Robinson’s meeting one morning. Some of these strangers were English people who had not come from Scrooby. Some were from France, where their king had treated them as cruelly as King James had treated the Pilgrims.
Among them were Master and Mistress Mullens, and their two children, Joseph and Priscilla. Joseph was a frail little fellow and very timid. Priscilla was a rosy-cheeked, merry little girl with sunny hair and laughing eyes.
Master Robinson and the other Pilgrims were glad to have these people join them. They made them very welcome. How happy they all were as they sang their songs of praise and listened to their pastor’s voice. No more hiding from the soldiers; no more dark, damp prisons. Those sad days were gone forever.
If one were allowed only two words with which to describe Edison it is doubtful whether a close examination of the entire dictionary would disclose any others more suitable than “experimenter-inventor.” These would express the overruling characteristics of his eventful career.
His life as child, boy, and man has revealed the born investigator with original reasoning powers, unlimited imagination, and daring method. It is not surprising, therefore, that a man of this kind should exhibit a ceaseless, absorbing desire for knowledge, willing to spend his last cent in experimentation to satisfy the cravings of an inquiring mind.
There is nothing of the slap-dash style in Edison’s experiments. While he “tries everything,” it is not merely the mixing of a little of this, some of that, and a few drops of the other, in the hope that something will come of it. On the contrary, his instructions are always clear-cut and direct, and must be followed out systematically, exactly, and minutely, no matter where they lead nor how long the experiment may take.
Unthinking persons have had a notion that some of Edison’s successes have been due to mere dumb fool luck—to fortunate “happenings.” Nothing could be farther from the truth, for, on the contrary, it is owing almost entirely to his comprehensive knowledge, the breadth of his conception, the daring originality of his methods, and minuteness and extent of experiment, combined with patient, unceasing perseverance, that new arts have been created and additions made to others already in existence.
One of the first things Edison does in beginning a new line of investigation is to master the literature of the subject. He wants to know what has been done before. Not that he considers this as final, for he often obtains vastly different results by repeating in his own way the experiments of others.
“Edison can travel along a well-used road and still find virgin soil,” remarked one of his experimenters recently, who had been trying to make a certain compound, but with poor success. Edison tried it in the same way, but made a change in one of the operations and succeeded.
Another of the experimental staff says: “Edison is never hindered by theory, but resorts to actual experiment for proof. For instance, when he conceived the idea of pouring a complete concrete house it was universally held that it would be impossible because the pieces of stone in the mixture would not rise to the level of the pouring-point, but would gravitate to a lower plane in the soft cement. This, however, did not hinder him from making a series of experiments which resulted in an invention that proved conclusively the contrary.”
Having conceived some new idea and read everything obtainable relating to the subject in general, Edison’s fertility of resource and originality come into play. He will write in one of the laboratory note-books a memorandum of the experiments to be tried, and, if necessary, will illustrate by sketches.
This book is then given to one of the large staff of experimenters. Here strenuousness and a prompt carrying on of the work are required. The results of each experiment must be recorded in the notebook, and daily or more frequent reports are expected. Edison does not forget what is going on, but in his daily tours through the laboratory keeps in touch with the work of all the experimenters. His memory is so keen and retentive that he is as fully aware of the progress and details of each of the numerous experiments constantly going on as if he had made them all himself.
The use of laboratory note-books was begun early in the Menlo Park days and has continued ever since. They are plain blank-books, each about eight and a half by six inches, containing about two hundred pages. At the present time there are more than one thousand of these books in the series. On their pages are noted Edison’s ideas, sketches, and memoranda, together with records of countless thousands of experiments made by him or under his direction during more than thirty years.
These two hundred thousand or more pages cover investigations into every department of science, showing the operations of a master mind seeking to surprise Nature into a betrayal of her secrets by asking her the same question in a hundred different ways. The breadth of thought, thoroughness of method, infinite detail, and minuteness of investigation proceeding from the workings of one mind would surpass belief were they not shown by this wonderful collection of note-books.
A remark made by one of the staff, who has been experimenting at the laboratory for over twenty years, is suggestive. He said: “Edison can think of more ways of doing a thing than any man I ever saw or heard of. He tries everything and never lets up, even though failure is apparently staring him in the face. He only stops when he simply can’t go any farther on that particular line. When he decides on any mode of procedure he gives his notes to the experimenter and lets him alone, only stopping in from time to time to look at the operations and receive reports of progress.”
The idea of attributing great successes to “genius” has always been repudiated by Edison, as evidenced by his historic remark that “genius is one per cent, inspiration and ninety-nine per cent, perspiration.” Again, in a conversation many years ago between Edison, Batchelor, and E. H. Johnson, the latter made allusion to Edison’s genius, when Edison replied:
“Stuff! I tell you genius is hard work, stick-to-it-iveness, and common sense.”
“Yes,” said Johnson, “I admit there is all that to it, but there’s still more. Batch and I have those qualifications, but, although we knew quite a lot about telephones, and worked hard, we couldn’t invent a brand-new non-infringing telephone receiver as you did when Gouraud cabled for one. Then, how about the subdivision of the electric light?”
“Electric current,” corrected Edison.
“True,” continued Johnson; “you were the one to make that very distinction. The scientific world had been working hard on subdivision for years, using what appeared to be common sense. Results, worse than nil. Then you come along, and about the first thing you do, after looking the ground over, is to start off in the opposite direction, which subsequently proves to be the only possible way to reach the goal. It seems to me that this is pretty close to the dictionary definition of genius.”
It is said that Edison replied rather incoherently and changed the topic of conversation.
This innate modesty, however, does not prevent Edison from recognizing and classifying his own methods of investigation. In a conversation with two old associates a number of years ago he remarked: “It has been said of me that my methods are empirical. That is true only so far as chemistry is concerned. Did you ever realize that practically all industrial chemistry is colloidal in its nature? Hard rubber, celluloid, glass, soap, paper, and lots of others, all have to deal with amorphous substances, as to which comparatively little has been really settled. My methods are similar to those followed by Luther Burbank. He plants an acre, and when this is in bloom he inspects it. He has a sharp eye, and can pick out of thousands a single plant that has promise of what he wants. From this he gets the seed, and uses his skill and knowledge in producing from it a number of new plants which, on development, furnish the means of propagating an improved variety in large quantity. So, when I am after a chemical result that I have in mind I may make hundreds or thousands of experiments out of which there may be one that promises results in the right direction. This I follow up to its legitimate conclusion, discarding the others, and usually get what I am after. There is no doubt about this being empirical; but when it comes to problems of a mechanical nature, I want to tell you that all I’ve ever tackled and solved have been done by hard, logical thinking.” The intense earnestness and emphasis with which this was said were very impressive to the auditors.
If, in following out his ideas, an experiment does not show the results that Edison wants, it is not regarded as a failure, but as something learned. This attitude is illustrated by his reply to Mr. Mallory, who expressed regret that the first nine thousand and odd experiments on the storage battery had been without results. Edison replied, with a smile: “Results! Why, man, I have gotten a lot of results! I have found several thousand things that won’t work.”
Edison’s patient, plodding methods do not always appear on the note-books. For instance, a suggestion in one of them refers to a stringy, putty-like mass being made of a mixture of lampblack and tar. Some years afterward one of the laboratory assistants was told to make some and roll it into filaments. After a time he brought the mass to Edison and said:
“There’s something wrong about this, for it crumbles even after manipulating it with my fingers.”
“How long did you knead it?” asked Edison.
“Oh, more than an hour,” was the reply.
“Well, keep on for a few hours more and it will come out all right,” was the rejoinder. And this proved to be correct.
With the experimenter or employee who exercises thought Edison has unbounded patience, but to the careless, stupid, or lazy person he is a terror for the short time they remain around him. Once, when asked why he had parted with a certain man, he said: “Oh, he was so slow that it would take him half an hour to get out of the field of a microscope.”
Edison’s practical way of testing a man’s fitness for special work is no joke, according to Mr. J. H. Vail, formerly one of the Menlo Park staff. “I wanted a job,” he said, “and was ambitious to take charge of the dynamo-room. Mr. Edison led me to a heap of junk in a corner and said: ‘Put that together and let me know when it is running.’ I didn’t know what it was, but received a liberal education in finding out. It proved to be a dynamo, which I finally succeeded in assembling and running. I got the job.”
A somewhat similar experience is related by Mr. John F. Ott, who, in 1869, applied for work. This is the conversation that took place, led by Edison’s question:
“What do you want?”
“Work.”
“Can you make this machine work?” (exhibiting it and explaining its details).
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, you needn’t pay me if I don’t.”
And thus Mr. Ott went to work and accomplished the results desired. Two weeks afterward Edison put him in charge of the shop. From that day to this, Mr. Ott has remained a member of Mr. Edison’s staff.
Examples without number could be given of Edison’s inexhaustible fund of ideas, but one must suffice by way of example. In the progress of the ore-concentrating work one of the engineers submitted three sketches of a machine for some special work. They were not satisfactory. He remarked that it was too bad there was no other way to do the work. Edison said, “Do you mean to say that these drawings represent the only way to do this work?” The reply was, “I certainly do.” Edison said nothing, but two days afterward brought in his own sketches showing forty-eight other ways of accomplishing the result, and laid them on the engineer’s desk without a word. One of these ideas, with slight changes, was afterward adopted.
This chapter could be continued to great length, but must now be closed in the hope that in the foregoing pages the reader may have caught an adequate glance of Mr. Edison at work.
XXIV
EDISON’S LABORATORY AT ORANGE
If Longfellow’s youth “Who through an Alpine village passed” had been Edison, the word upon his banner would probably not have been “Excelsior” but “Experiment.” This seems to be the watchword of his life, and is well illustrated by a remark made to Mr. Mason, the superintendent of the cement works: “You must experiment all the time; if you don’t the other fellow will, and then he will get ahead of you.”
For some years after closing the little laboratory in his mother’s cellar Edison made a laboratory of any nook or corner and experimented as long as he had a dollar in his pocket. The first place he began to do larger things was in Newark, where he established his first shops.
While life there was very strenuous, he tells of some amusing experiences: “Some of my assistants in those days were very green in the business. One day I got a new man and told him to conduct a certain experiment. He got a quart of ether and started to boil it over a naked flame. Of course it caught fire. The flame was about four feet in diameter and eleven feet high. The fire department came and put a stream through the window. That let all the fumes and chemicals out and overcame the firemen.
“Another time we experimented with a tubful of soapy water and put hydrogen into it to make large bubbles. One of the boys, who was washing bottles in the place, had read in some book that hydrogen was explosive, so he proceeded to blow the tub up. There was about four inches of soap in the bottom of the tub, which was fourteen inches high, and he filled it with soap-bubbles up to the rim. Then he took a bamboo fish-pole, put a piece of lighted paper at the end and touched it off. It blew every window out of the place.”
We have seen that Edison moved to Menlo Park, where he had a very complete laboratory, in which he brought out a large number of important inventions. After a time, however, this establishment was outgrown and lost many of its possibilities, and he began to plan a still greater one which should be the most complete of its kind in the world.
The Orange laboratory, as was originally planned, consisted of a main building two hundred and fifty feet long and three stories in height, together with four other structures, each one hundred by twenty-five feet and only one story in height. All these were substantially built of brick. The main building was divided into five chief divisions—the library, office, machine-shops, experimental and chemical rooms, and stock-rooms. The small buildings were to be used for various purposes.
A high picket fence, with a gate, surrounded these buildings. A keeper was stationed at the gate with instructions to admit no strangers without a pass. On one occasion a new gateman was placed in charge, and, not knowing Edison, refused to admit him until he could get some one to come out and identify him.
The library is a spacious room about forty by thirty-five feet. Around the sides of the room run two tiers of gallery. The main floor and the galleries are divided into alcoves, in which, on the main floor, are many thousands of books. In the galleries are still more books and periodicals of all kinds, also cabinets and shelves containing mineralogical and geological specimens and thousands of samples of ores and minerals from all parts of the world. In a corner of one of the galleries may be seen a large number of magazines relating to electricity, chemistry, engineering, mechanics, building, cement, building materials, drugs, water and gas power, automobiles, railroads, aeronautics, philosophy, hygiene, physics, telegraphy, mining, metallurgy, metals, music, and other subjects; also theatrical weeklies, as well as the proceedings and transactions of various learned and technical societies. All of these form part of Mr. Edison’s current reading. At one end of the main floor of the library, which is handsomely and comfortably furnished, is Mr. Edison’s desk, at which he may usually be seen for a while in the early morning hours or at noon looking over his mail.
The centre of the library is left open for the reception of visitors, and one corner is partitioned off to provide a private office for Mr. Edison’s son, Charles, who is the President and active manager of the various Edison industries. Directly opposite to the entrance-door is a beautiful marble statue representing the supremacy of electric light over gas. This statue was purchased by Mr. Edison at the Paris Exposition in 1889.
A glance at the book-shelves affords a revelation of the subjects in which Edison is interested, for the titles of the volumes include astronomy, botany, chemistry, dynamics, electricity, engineering, forestry, geology, geography, mechanics, mining, medicine, metallurgy, magnetism, philosophy, psychology, physics, steam, steam-engines, telegraphy, telephony, and many others. These are not all of Edison’s books by any means, for he has another big library in his house on the hill.
Turning to pass out of the library, one’s attention is arrested by a cot standing in one of the alcoves near the door. Sometimes during long working hours Mr. Edison will throw himself down for a nap. He has the ability to go to sleep instantly, and, being deaf, noises do not disturb his slumber. The instant he awakes he is in full possession of his faculties and goes “back to the job” without a moment’s hesitation.
Immediately outside the library is the famous stock-room, about which much has been written. Edison planned to have in this stock-room some quantity, great or small, of every known substance not easily perishable, together with the most complete assortment of chemicals and drugs that experience and knowledge could suggest. His theory was, and is, that he does not know in advance what he may want at any moment, and he planned to have anything that could be thought of ready at hand.
Thus, the stock-room is not only a museum, but a sample-room of nature, as well as a supply department. At first glance the collection is bewildering, but when classified is more easily comprehended.
The classification is natural, as, for instance, objects pertaining to various animals, birds, and fishes, such as skins, hides, hair, fur, feathers, wool, quills, down, bristles, teeth, bones, hoofs, horns, tusks, shells; natural products such as woods, barks, roots, leaves, nuts, seeds, gums, grains, flowers, meals, bran; also minerals in great assortment; mineral and vegetable oils, clay, mica, ozokerite, etc. In the line of textiles, cotton and silk threads in great variety, with woven goods of all kinds, from cheese-cloth to silk plush. As for paper, there is everything in white and color, from thinnest tissue up to the heaviest asbestos, even a few newspapers being always on hand. Twines of all sizes, inks, wax, cork, tar, rosin, pitch, asphalt, plumbago, glass in sheets and tubes, and a host of miscellaneous articles are revealed on looking around the shelves, as well as an interminable collection of chemicals including acids, alkalies, salts, reagents, every conceivable essential oil, and all the thinkable extracts. It may be remarked that this collection includes the eighteen hundred or more fluorescent salts made by Edison during his experiments for the best material for a fluoroscope in the early X-ray period. All known metals in form of sheet, rod, and tube, and of great variety in thickness, are here found also, together with a most complete assortment of tools and accessories for machine-shop and laboratory work.
The list above given is not by any means complete. In detail it would stretch out to a rather large catalogue. It is not by any means an idle collection, for a stock clerk is kept busy all the day answering demands upon him.
Beyond the stock-room is a good-sized machine-shop, well equipped, in which the heavier class of models and mechanical devices are made. Attached to these are the engine-room and boiler-room. Above, on the second floor, is another machine-shop, in which is carried on work of greater precision and fineness in the construction of tools and experimental models.
There are many experimental rooms on the second and third floors of the laboratory building. In these the various experimenters are at work carrying out the ideas of Mr. Edison on the great variety of subjects to which he is constantly devoting his attention. One cannot go far in the upper floors without being aware that efforts are being made to improve the phonograph, for the sounds of vocal and instrumental music can be heard from all sides.
On the third floor the visitor may see a number of glass-fronted cabinets containing a multitude of experimental incandescent lamps, and an immense variety of models of phonographs, motors, telegraph and telephone apparatus, and a host of other inventions, upon which Mr. Edison’s energies have at one time or other been bent. Here are also many boxes of historical instruments and models. In fact, this hallway, with its variety of contents, may well be considered a scientific attic.
In the early days of the Orange laboratory some of the upper rooms contained cots for the benefit of the night-workers. In spite of the strenuous nights and days the spirit of fun was frequently in evidence. One instance will serve as an illustration.
One morning about two-thirty the late Charles Batchelor said he was tired and would go to bed. Leaving Edison and the others busily working, he went out and returned quietly in slippered feet, with his night-gown on, the handle of a feather-duster down his back with the feathers waving over his head, and his face marked. With unearthly howls and shrieks, a l’Indien, he pranced about the room, incidentally giving Edison a scare that made him jump up from his work. He saw the joke quickly, however, and joined in the general merriment caused by this prank.
A description of the laboratory building would be incomplete without mention of room Number 12. This is one of Edison’s favorite rooms, where he may frequently be found seated at a plain table in the center of the room deeply intent on one of his numerous problems. It is a plain little room, but seems to exercise a nameless fascination for him.
Passing out of the building, we come to the four smaller buildings, which are known as Numbers One, Two, Three, and Four. The building Number One is called the galvanometer room. Edison originally planned that this should be used for the most delicate and minute electrical measurements. He went to great expense in fitting it up and in providing a large number of costly instruments, but the coming of the trolley near by a few years afterward rendered the room utterly useless for this purpose. It is now used as an experimental room, chiefly for motion-picture experiments.
Building Number Two is quite an important one. As the visitor arrives at the door he is quite conscious that it is a chemical-room. Here a corps of chemists is constantly kept busy in carrying out the various experiments Mr. Edison has given them to perform. This room is also one of his special haunts. He may be seen here very frequently experimenting in person, or seated at a plain little table figuring out some new combination that he has in mind.
A chemical store-room and a pattern-maker’s shop occupy building Number Three, while Number Four, which was formerly used for ore concentrating experiments, is now used as a general stock-room.
We have only attempted to afford the reader a passing glance of this interesting laboratory, which for many years has been the headquarters of Edison and the central source of inspiration for the great industries he has established at Orange. Around it are grouped a number of immense concrete buildings in which the manufacture of phonographs, motion-pictures, and storage batteries is carried on, giving employment to as many as four thousand people during busy times.
Needless to say, the laboratory has many visitors. Celebrities of all kinds and distinguished foreigners are numerous, coming from all parts of the world to see the great inventor and the scene of his activities.
IN a cottage near the Pilgrims lived Mevrow van Ness and her three children. Karl was twelve years old and did not like being called a child. Had he not been “mother’s right-hand man” all these long weeks while his father was away in his fishing boat? And did he not peddle milk every day to earn money for the family?
“The dogs knew where to take the milk almost as well as Karl”
Karl had two trusty dogs, and every morning he harnessed them to a little cart. Into the cart he put three shining kettles filled with milk and a long-handled dipper to measure it. Sometimes there were round, yellow cheeses or butter-like balls of gold to put into the cart, for people were always glad to buy Mevrow’s butter and cheese.
The little Pilgrim boys liked to go with Karl when he peddled milk. They liked to help him harness the dogs, and when the cart was ready, away they would all go over the rough stone street. It was hard to tell which made the most noise, Karl’s wooden shoes, the heavy wheels of the cart, or the clanging of the milk kettles as they bumped together.
The dogs knew where to take the milk almost as well as Karl did. They stood very still while he went to the door. Often as Karl raised his hand to rap, the door opened, for the good housewife had seen him in her looking-glass. Many of the Dutch women had two looking-glasses just outside their windows. In them they could see far up and down the street without leaving their chairs.
There was at least one pair of wooden shoes on nearly every doorstep, for the children of Holland are taught to take off their shoes before they go into the house.
One morning there was a pretty blue pincushion on the door of a house where Karl and Jonathan Brewster left milk. It was made of silk and trimmed with ribbon and lace.
“What a queer place for a pincushion!” exclaimed Jonathan.
“Don’t you know what that means? The storks have brought a baby girl to this house,” answered Karl.
“The storks!” exclaimed Jonathan, in surprise.
“The storks, of course,” answered Karl. “If you are kind to the storks, and never hurt them or say cross things about them, they will bring you all sorts of good luck. Perhaps they will like you well enough to build a nest on your chimney. If you nail a cartwheel across the largest chimney, it will make a better place for a nest.”
“There goes a stork now, with a frog in his mouth. As he flies he looks like a great goose, except for those long legs stretched out behind him,” said Jonathan.
“Oh, he is much larger than a goose, and his bill is three times as long.”
“Are storks as good to eat as geese?” asked Jonathan.
“To eat! Eat a stork!” cried Karl, in horror. “We would not kill a stork for anything. Did I not tell you storks bring good luck?”
“It would be good luck to get such a big bird if it tasted as good as Christmas goose,” replied Jonathan.
“Greedy! it would be the last good luck you would ever have,” answered the little Hollander.
“Pooh!” said Jonathan, “My father says there is no such thing as luck.”
“Just let me tell you what happened to Jacob Pelton,” said Karl. “For two hours he had sat on the dike with his rod and line and had caught only three little fish, so Jacob was very cross.
“Just as he came up to his house with his basket on his arm, down flew one of the storks which lived on his chimney. I suppose the stork had not had good luck with his fishing, either, and his babies and their mother were hungry.
“When the stork saw Jacob’s basket of fish he put in his long bill and helped himself to the largest one there. Oh, how angry Jacob was! Before the stork had time to spread his wings, Jacob struck him with his staff. I am sure he did not mean to kill the bird, but there he lay dead.
“And now listen,” said Karl, in a low voice. “That very week the cows got in and ate up all of his garden. Then little Peter fell off the dike and broke his arm. Not long after that Jacob lost his place in the mill. He has had bad luck ever since he killed that stork.”
“I do not believe the storks had a thing to do with it,” said Jonathan, when the story was ended.
“You just ask anybody in Amsterdam whether storks bring luck,” answered Karl.
“You have a nest of storks on your chimney. What good luck did they ever bring you?” asked Jonathan.
“Oh, we are always lucky,” answered Karl. “Every season father catches a great boat load of fish. We can always sell our milk and vegetables, butter and cheese. We are almost always well, and all last year I stood at the head of my class at school. Yes, the storks have brought us much good luck.”
“I do not believe in storks, anyway,” insisted the little Englishman.
“Hush!” whispered Karl. “You would better not let the storks hear you say that.”
—
WINTER IN HOLLAND
WHEN the days grew shorter and cooler there were no baby storks in their homes on the chimney tops. Those that were little birdlings when the Pilgrims went to Holland had grown large and strong. For weeks their parents had taken them on long flights into the country, that their wings might grow strong for a longer journey.
Still the days grew shorter. The cold north wind blew off the sea. Even the nest on the chimney was no longer comfortable.
The storks knew it was time to fly to their winter home in the far south. So they spread their wings and away they flew in long lines across the sky, hundreds and thousands of them.
Then came a still, cold night, and a day just as cold. There were no little girls knitting on the street that day. Their fingers were hidden in warm red mittens, and they hurried home as fast as their wooden shoes would carry them.
Boys swung their arms to keep warm, and talked of the fun there would be on the ice if it stayed cold until to-morrow. There would be no school, and the stores and mills would be closed, for the first day of skating is a holiday in Holland.
The next morning the Pilgrims were awakened at daybreak by merry shouts on the canal. Bartholomew Allerton ran to the window, but the frost on the panes was so thick he could not see out. He breathed upon the glass and scraped away some of the frost. Down the canal came eight boys in a row, each holding to the jacket of the boy in front of him. They flew past the house like a flash of light.
Bartholomew could hardly wait to eat his breakfast, he was so eager to go out upon the canal. Suppose we put on our skates and go with him.
What a merry place the canal is this morning! Everybody is on skates to-day. Here come three market women from the country. Each has on her shoulders a wooden yoke from which hang baskets of vegetables. There is a man with a yoke, too. He must have milk in those bright cans. I am afraid it will freeze if he has far to go.
Just see Mevrow Vetter! What is she carrying on her back? Oh, it is her baby in a snug little nest made of his mother’s shawl. He puts his arms around her neck and she holds his little hands. He is warm and happy, and he coos and chatters, trying to tell her about the people he sees on the canal. He thinks skating is great fun.
There goes Doctor Fuller, skating to see a sick man at the other end of town. At the rate he goes he will soon be there. And who is this pushing a sled before him as he skates? Bartholomew knows him. That is Peter Houten with his lame sister. She cannot skate, so Peter has fixed her chair on a sled and covered it with warm fur. On the sled is a little foot stove filled with hot coals, so she will not get cold. Her pale cheeks have grown rosy and her eyes shine with pleasure.
Now we have come to the great canal beyond the city. It is much wider than the others. Here are beautiful sleighs drawn by horses, their bells making merry music on the canal.
There is a group of boys on skates, playing the game boys play all the world over. They hit a ball with their clubs and away it flies over the smooth ice. Look out, boys! See these white sails flying down the canal. Whoever saw a sleepy canal boat go so fast! Has it too put on skates?
Whiz! Whir-r-r! It is past. What was it? Lookout! Here comes another! Whir-r! whiz! whir-r-r!
They are ice boats and have runners like a sled. The wind fills their sails and they go faster than a ship on the water, faster than the swiftest horse. They are too dangerous to run on the crowded canals in the city. They must stay on the lakes, or river, or on the great canals outside of the town. Even here they must stay on their own side of the canal and we must stay on ours, or some one will be hurt.
Many an invention has been made as the result of some happy thought or inspiration, but most inventions are made by men working along certain lines, who set out to accomplish a desired result. It is rarely, however, that man starts out deliberately, as Edison did, to invent an entirely new type of such an intricate device as a storage battery, with only a vague starting point.
Previous to Edison’s work the only type of storage battery known was the one in which lead plates and sulphuric acid were employed. He had always realized the value of a storage battery as such, but never believed that the lead-acid type could fulfil all expectations because of its weight and incurable defects.
About the time that he closed the magnetic iron ore concentrating plant (in the beginning of the present century) Edison remarked to Mr. R. H. Beach, then of the General Electric Company: “Beach, I don’t think nature would be so unkind as to withhold the secret of a good storage battery if a real earnest hunt for it is made. I’m going to hunt.” And before starting he determined to avoid lead and sulphuric acid.
Edison is frequently asked what he considers to be the secret of achievement. He always replies, “Hard work, based on hard thinking.” He has consistently lived up to this prescription to the utmost.
Of all his inventions it is doubtful whether any one of them has called forth more original thought, work, perseverance, ingenuity, and monumental patience than the one we are now dealing with. One of his associates who has been through the many years of the storage-battery drudgery with him said: “If Edison’s experiments, investigations, and work on this storage battery were all that he had ever done, I should say that he was not only a notable inventor, but also a great man. It is almost impossible to appreciate the enormous difficulties that have been overcome.”
From a beginning which was made practically in the dark, it was not until he had completed more than ten thousand experiments that he obtained any positive results whatever. Month after month of constant work by day and night had not broken down Edison’s faith in success, and the failure of an experiment simply meant that he had found something else that would not do, thus bringing him nearer the possible goal.
After this immense amount of preliminary work he had obtained promising results in a series of reactions between nickel and iron, and was then all afire to push ahead. He therefore established a chemical plant at Silver Lake, New Jersey, and, gathering around him a corps of mechanics, chemists, machinists, and experimenters, settled down to one of his characteristic struggles for supremacy. To some extent it was a revival of the old Menlo Park days and nights.
The group that took part in these early years of Edison’s arduous labors included his old-time assistant, Fred Ott, together with his chemist, J. W. Aylsworth, as well as E. J. Ross, Jr.; W. E. Holland, and Ralph Arbogast, and a little later W. G. Bee, all of whom grew up with the battery and devoted their energies to its commercial development.
One of these workers, relating the strenuous experiences of these few years, says: “It was hard work and long hours, but still there were some things that made life pleasant. One of them was the supper-hour we enjoyed when we worked nights. Mr. Edison would have supper sent in about midnight, and we all sat down together, including himself. Work was forgotten for the time, and all hands were ready for fun. I have very pleasant recollections of Mr. Edison at these times. He would always relax and help to make a good time, and on some occasions I have seen him fairly overflow with animal spirits, just like a boy let out of school. He was very fond of telling and hearing stories, and always appreciated a joke. After the supper-hour was over, however, he again became the serious, energetic inventor, deeply immersed in the work in hand.”
Another interesting and amusing reminiscence of this period of activity has been told by another of the family of experimenters: “Sometimes when Mr. Edison had been working long hours he would want to have a short sleep. It was one of the funniest things I ever witnessed to see him crawl into an ordinary roll-top desk and curl up and take a nap. If there was a sight that was still more funny, it was to see him turn over on his other side, all the time remaining in the desk. He would use several volumes of Watts’ Dictionary of Chemistry for a pillow, and we fellows used to say that he absorbed the contents during his sleep, judging from the flow of new ideas he had on waking.”
Such incidents as these serve merely to illustrate the lighter moments that relieved the severe and arduous labors of the strenuous five years of the early storage-battery work of Edison and his associates. Difficulties there were a-plenty, but these are what Edison usually thrives on. As another coworker of this period says: “Edison seemed pleased when he used to run up against a serious difficulty. It would seem to stiffen his backbone and make him more prolific of new ideas. For a time I thought I was foolish to imagine such a thing, but I could never get away from the impression that he really appeared happy when he ran up against a serious snag.”
It would be out of the question in a book of this kind to follow Edison’s trail in detail through the innumerable twists and turns of his experimentation on the storage battery, for they would fill a big volume. The reader may imagine how extensive they were from the reply of one of his laboratory assistants, who, when asked how many experiments were made on the storage battery since the year 1900, replied: “Goodness only knows! We used to number our experiments consecutively from one to ten thousand, and when we got up to ten thousand we turned back to one and ran up to ten thousand again, and so on. We ran through several series—I don’t know how many, and have lost track of them now, but it was not far from fifty thousand.”
The mechanical problems in devising this battery were numerous and intricate, but the greatest difficulty that Edison had to overcome was the proper preparation of nickel hydrate for the positive and iron oxide for the negative plate. He found that comparatively little was known by manufacturing chemists about these compounds. Hence it became necessary for him to establish his own chemical works and put them in charge of men specially trained by himself.
After an intense struggle with these problems, lasting over several years, the storage battery was at length completed and put on the market. The public was ready for it and there was a rapid sale.
Continuous tests of the battery were carried on at the laboratory, as well as practical and heavy tests in automobiles, which were kept running constantly over all kinds of roads under Edison’s directions. After these tests had been going on for some time the results showed that occasionally a cell here and there would fall short in capacity.
This did not suit Edison. He was determined to make his storage battery a complete success, and after careful thought decided to shut down until he had overcome the trouble. The customers were satisfied and wanted to buy more batteries, but he was not satisfied and would sell no more until he had made the battery perfect.
He therefore shut down the factory and went to experimenting once more. The old strenuous struggle set in and continued nearly three years before he was satisfied beyond doubt that the battery was right. In the early summer of 1909 Edison once more started to manufacture and sell the batteries, and has since that time continued to supply them as quickly as they are made. At the present writing the factory is running day and night in attempting to keep up with orders.
One of the principal troubles of the earlier cells was a lack of conductivity between the nickel hydrate and the metal tube in which it was contained. Edison had used graphite to obtain this conductivity, but this material proved to be uncertain in some cases. After a long course of study and experiment he solved this problem in a satisfactory manner by using flakes of pure nickel, which he obtained by a most fascinating and ingenious process.
A metallic cylinder is electroplated with alternate layers of copper and nickel, one hundred of each. The combined sheet, which is only as thick as a visiting-card, is stripped off the cylinder and cut into tiny squares of about one-sixteenth of an inch each. These squares are put into a bath which dissolves out the copper. This releases the layers of nickel, so that each of these squares becomes one hundred tiny sheets, or flakes, of pure metallic nickel, so thin and light that when they are dried they will float in the air. These flakes are automatically pressed into the positive tubes with the nickel hydrate in an ingenious machine which had to be specially invented for the purpose.
Not only was this machine specially invented, but it was necessary to invent and design practically all the other machinery that it was necessary to use in manufacturing the battery. Thus, we see that in this, as in many other of Edison’s inventions, it is not only the thing itself that has been invented, but also the special machinery and tools to make it.
The principal use that Edison has had in mind for his storage battery is the transportation of freight and passengers by truck, automobile, and street-car. Although at the time of writing this book the improved battery has been on the market a little over two years, great strides have been made in carrying his ideas into effect.
The number of trucks and automobiles using Edison’s storage battery already run into the thousands, with more orders than can be immediately filled.
XXII
EDISON’S MISCELLANEOUS INVENTIONS
Thus far the history of Edison’s career has fallen naturally into a series of chapters each aiming to describe a group of inventions in the development of some art. This plan has been helpful to the writer and probably useful to the reader.
It happens, however, that the process has left a vast mass of discovery and invention untouched, and it is now proposed to make brief mention of a few of the hundreds of things that have occupied Edison’s attention from time to time.
Beginning with telegraphy, we find that Edison did some work on wireless transmission. He says: “I perfected a system of train telegraphy between stations and trains in motion, whereby messages could be sent from the moving train to the central office; and this was the forerunner of wireless telegraphy. This system was used for a number of years on the Lehigh Valley Railroad on their construction trains. The electric wave passed from a piece of metal on top of the car across the air to the telegraph wires, and then proceeded to the despatcher’s office. In my first experiments with this system I tried it on the Staten Island Railroad and employed an operator named King to do the experimenting. He reported results every day, and received instructions by mail; but for some reason he could send messages all right when the train went in one direction, but could not make it go in the contrary direction. I made suggestions of every kind to get around this phenomenon. Finally I telegraphed King to find out if he had any suggestions himself, and I received a reply that the only way he could propose to get around the difficulty was to put the island on a pivot so it could be turned around. I found the trouble finally, and the practical introduction on the Lehigh Valley road was the result. The system was sold to a very wealthy man, and he would never sell any rights or answer letters. He became a spiritualist subsequently, which probably explains it.”
The earlier experiments with wireless telegraphy were made at Menlo Park during the first days of the electric light, and it was not until 1886 that Edison had time to spare to put the system into actual use. At that time Ezra T. Gilliland and Lucius J. Phelps, who had experimented on the same lines, became associated with him in the work.
Although the space between the train and the pole line was not more than fifty feet, Edison had succeeded at Menlo Park in transmitting messages through the air at a distance of five hundred and eighty feet. Speaking of this and of his other experiments with induction telegraphy by means of kites, he said, recently: “We only transmitted about two and one-half miles through the kites. What has always puzzled me since is that I did not think of using the results of my experiments on ‘etheric force’ that I made in 1875. I have never been able to understand how I came to overlook them. If I had made use of my own work I should have had long-distance wireless telegraphy.”
These experiments of 1875, as recorded in Edison’s famous note-books, show that in that year he detected and studied some then unknown and curious phenomena which made him think he was on the trail of a new force. His representative, Mr. Batchelor, showed these experiments with Edison’s apparatus, including the “dark box,” at the Paris Exposition in 1881. Without knowing it, for he was far in advance of the time, Edison had really entered upon the path of long-distance wireless telegraphy, as was proven later when the magnificent work of Hertz was published.
When Roentgen made the discovery of the X-ray in 1895 Edison took up experimentation with it on a large scale. He made the first fluoroscope, using tungstate of calcium for the screen. In order to find other fluorescent substances he set four men to work and thus collected upward of eight thousand different crystals of various chemical combinations, of which about eighteen hundred would fluoresce to the X-ray. He also invented a new lamp for giving light by means of these fluorescent crystals fused to the inside of the glass. Some of these lamps were made and used for a time, but he gave up the idea when the dangerous nature of the X-ray became known.
It would be possible to go on and describe in brief detail many more of the hundreds of Edison’s miscellaneous inventions, but the limits of our space will not permit more than the mere mention of a few, simply to illustrate the wide range of his ideas and work. For instance:
A dry process of separating placer gold; the rapid disposal of heavy snows in cities.
Experiments on flying machines with an engine operated by explosions of guncotton.
The joint invention, with M. W. Scott Sims, of a dirigible submarine torpedo operated by electricity.
Pyromagnetic generators for generating electricity directly from the combustion of coal.
Pyromagnetic motors operated by alternate heating and cooling.
A magnetic bridge for testing the magnetic qualities of iron.
A “dead-beat” galvanometer without coils or magnetic needle.
The odoroscope, for measuring odors; preserving fruit in vacuo; making plate glass; drawing wire.
Metallurgical processes for treatment of nickel, gold, and copper ores.
From first to last Edison has filed in the United States Patent Office more than fourteen hundred applications for patents. Besides, he filed some one hundred and twenty caveats, embracing not less than fifteen hundred additional inventions. The caveat has now been abolished in patent-office practice, but such a document could formerly be filed by an inventor to obtain a partial protection for a year while completing his invention. As an example of Edison’s fertility and the endless variety of subjects engaging his attention the following list of matters covered by one of his caveats is given. All his caveats are not quite so full of “plums,” but this is certainly a wonder:
Forty-one distinct inventions relating to the phonograph, covering various forms of recorders, arrangement of parts, making of records, shaving tool, adjustments, etc.
Eight forms of electric lamps using infusible earthy oxides and brought to high incandescence in vacuo by high potential current of several thousand volts; same character as impingement of X-rays on object in bulb.
A loud-speaking telephone with quartz cylinder and beam of ultra-violet light.
Four forms of arc-light with special carbons.
A thermostatic motor.
A device for sealing together the inside part and bulb of an incandescent lamp mechanically.
Regulators for dynamos and motors.
Three devices for utilizing vibrations beyond the ultra-violet.
A great variety of methods for coating incandescent lamp filaments with silicon, titanium, chromium, osmium, boron, etc.
Several methods of making porous filaments.
Several methods of making squirted filaments of a variety of materials, of which about thirty are specified.
Seventeen different methods and devices for separating magnetic ores.
A continuously operative primary battery.
A musical instrument operating one of Helmholtz’s artificial larynxes.
A siren worked by explosion of small quantities of oxygen and hydrogen mixed.
Three other sirens made to give vocal sounds or articulate speech.
A device for projecting sound-waves to a distance without spreading, and in a straight line, on the principle of smoke-rings.
A device for continuously indicating on a galvanometer the depths of the ocean.
A method of preventing in a great measure friction of water against the hull of a ship and incidentally preventing fouling by barnacles.
A telephone receiver whereby the vibrations of the diaphragm are considerably amplified.
Two methods of “space” telegraphy at sea.
An improved and extended string telephone.
Devices and method of talking through water for a considerable distance.
An audiphone for deaf people.
Sound-bridge for measuring resistance of tubes and other materials for conveying sound.
A method of testing a magnet to ascertain the existence of flaws in the iron or steel composing the same.
Method of distilling liquids by incandescent conductor immersed in the liquid.
Method of obtaining electricity direct from coal.
An engine operated by steam produced by the hydration and dehydration of metallic salts.
Device and method of telegraphing photographically.
Carbon crucible kept brilliantly incandescent by current in vacuo for obtaining reaction with refractory metals.
Device for examining combinations of odors and their changes by rotation at different speeds.
It must be borne in mind that the above and hundreds of others are not merely ideas put in writing, but represent actual inventions upon which Edison worked and experimented. In many cases the experiments ran into the thousands, requiring months for their performance.
To describe Edison’s mere ideas and suggestions for future work would of itself fill a volume. These are written in his own handwriting in a number of large record-books which he has shown to the writer. Judging from a hasty inspection, there is enough material in these books to occupy the lifetime of several persons.
The immense range of Edison’s mind and activities cannot well be described in cold print, but can only be adequately comprehended by those who have been closely associated with him for a length of time, and who have had opportunity of studying his voluminous records.
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