Lightning Man_ The Accursed Life of Samuel F. B. Morse - Kenneth Silverman [198]
Morse was not forgotten. Despite his absence from the expedition, his name was widely invoked as its prophet and originator. Citizens of Poughkeepsie serenaded his house and raised a twenty-foot banner with the motto “Our own Morse forever.” Transparencies featured his likeness, such as the one displayed by a photographic supplies shop on Broadway:
MORSE, FIELD AND HUDSON [Niagara’s captain]—THREE CABLE MATES—HAVE MADE ALL NATIONS The United States.
The Christian evangelical press especially celebrated Morse as their own. As the Western Episcopalian put it, a humble Christian and man of God now held “the highest position ever attained by mortal man uninspired …. Kings and Emperors sink before him.”
In Paris, seventy-five members of the American community hosted a testimonial dinner for Morse: “filled with enthusiastic admiration,” the invitation read, “they desire to give to you some special mark of their exalted appreciation of your personal character, and of the achievements of your genius.” Speakers and guests at the Trois Frères Provençaux turned the rejoicing over the Atlantic cable into a Morse love-feast, engulfing him in adulation and prolonged deafening applause: “every figure of rhetoric was exhausted in his praise,” the New York Times reported; “no man ever received a greater ovation from his fellow-beings.” Morse himself spoke for a half hour or more. “My dream of twenty years is realized,” he said. He paid tribute to Franklin, Oersted, Steinheil, and others whose work had helped him during that time. Joseph Henry and Cyrus Field he left unmentioned, however, beyond observing that “at home there have been those in the past who, from whatever motive, have been disposed to harrass me.”
A week after Morse’s triumphant dinner, the extraordinary indemnity congress met again in Paris. All the governments involved, except the Netherlands, agreed to award him 400,000 francs. The contributors included Austria, Belgium, France, Piedmont, Russia, Sweden, Turkey, Tuscany—and the Vatican, one of the delegates being the nuncio of the Holy See. Their grants varied greatly in amount. France, with 462 Morse instruments in service, would give 144,000 francs; Tuscany, with only 14, would give 4400. England was not represented. The Board of Trade reasoned that since the British government owned no telegraph lines, it had no more reason to reward Morse than to reward any other inventor who had benefited the human race. Besides, if it gave Morse an indemnity, the like might justly be claimed by Wheatstone.
The homage paid him from on high moved Morse deeply. He sent thanks to the French government for its work on his behalf, “at a loss for language,” he said, “adequately to express to them my feelings of profound gratitude.” Promoted by Emperor Napoleon III, and conferred on him by representatives of ten continental countries, the award climaxed his long cultural-nationalist quest to gain European respect for his work as a product of American life. He ranked the indemnity as his grandest distinction, “an act of honor unprecedented in its lofty character, and extent of sympathy … specially conceived and carried into execution under the auspices of the highest dignitaries of the principle nations.”
A month later, Morse and millions of others again shared a memorable experience. This time they marveled at one of the epic letdowns of modern Western history. Signals tapped out over the transatlantic cable had grown gradually weaker, perhaps owing to defective manufacture, damaged