Summary

In this industrial-age fairy tale, the Earth King needed messengers and advertised for ones who were "fleeter than horses, swifter than men." The four Winds answered the call, and the Earth King put them to the test. The Winds became reckless and careless while playing a game, and as a result, they destroyed a fishing village. Then the birds came and they were careful but they were not discrete and divulged private messages. Then electricity became the messenger but needed the king to build paths for them.

This fable makes the case that the discovery electric communication is only possible through the support of a political entity—like the King. This differs from the wind and the birds which, while useful for carrying some messages, have quite a degree of their own autonomy. But in order for electrons to carry a message, they require a massive state-supported infrastructure — a point at the heart of Langdon Winner's famous text on the politics of artifacts. §

The Winds, the Birds,
& the Telegraph Wires

Long, long ago, a hundred times as long as any one can remember, the Great Earth King became so very, very busy about a great many things that there were several things that he could not do. So he sat himself down and rested his great head upon his hand, and thought, and thought, and thought until he decided that he must have some assistance. He would advertise for some messengers! So he seized a great brush, as big as a church steeple, dipped it into the red and golden sunset light, and wrote in big letters high on the sky, that every one far and near could read:

WANTED! MESSENGERS! FLEETER THAN HORSES, SWIFTER THAN MEN, TO CARRY MY MESSAGES, A MILLION TIMES TEN.

and he signed it simply, “The Earth King.” Then he went into his rainbow house and laid himself down to sleep on his rainbow bed.

He had scarcely fallen asleep when there came a rustle, rustle, rustle at the rainbow window, and a rattle, rattle, rattle at the rainbow door. He sprang quickly from his great bed.

“Who be ye?” he asked.

“We be messengers,” came the reply, “come to serve the King.”

Then the King opened the door. There before him stood four of the strangest creatures that he had ever seen. They were so light that they could stand on nothing; they had great wide wings; they had pale faces and gleaming eyes; and they had light garments that floated and flapped and fluttered in the breeze.

“What are your names?” asked the King.

“We are the Winds,” answered the mightiest of the four, “East Wind, West Wind, South Wind, North Wind,” pointing to each in turn, himself last. “We have come—

Fleeter than horses, swifter than men, To carry your messages, a million times ten.”

Then the King spoke to them in deep and solemn tone: “The task is a great one. The King’s business is grave and important. My messengers must be swift and faithful. Are ye able?”

Then the four winds piously crossed their breasts with their wings and whispered, “Try us and see, try us and see, try us and see.”

So the King tried them.

“Down by the sea,” said the King, “far over the mountains, many hours away, there lives a fisher folk that I love. Every day the men of the village go forth in their little boats to fish, and every evening they come home with their catch. But of late thick and heavy clouds have hung about them. They have not dared go forth lest they should not reach home again, and their families begin to be in want. Go to them to-day. Drive away the fog and clouds that the people may be happy again. Quick! away!”

Then the four winds lifted their swift, beautiful wings and were gone. Faster and faster they flew till none could tell how fast they flew. Over the meadows they went and over the mountains. Each tried to outwing the others until it became a fierce and careless game. So blind and careless were they in their sport that they did not notice how they whirled the sand, and broke the trees, and tossed the water. Swiftly through the fishing village they tore, hurling its poor houses to the ground and crashing, dashing, slashing, smashing the waves upon the fallen wrecks and the frightened and suffering folk.

Not until they were weary with their furious sport did they remember the errand on which the King had sent them. They retraced their steps as quickly as they could, but alas! to their shame and grief, the village lay in ruins and the people wept for their loss.

Then the Earth King was very sad and angry. He brought the shameful winds before his court. “False and faithless winds,” he said, in stern and awful voice, “ye did not do my errand; ye were traitors to your trust; great shall be your punishment. Nevermore shall ye be my messengers, evermore shall ye be my slaves. Away from my sight!”

Then the faithless winds departed from before the face of the King, and in shame and sorrow went moaning among the caves and the rocks by the seaside, and sighing among the lonely pine trees in the wilderness, and even to this day you may hear the echoes of their moans and sighs.

The Earth King was sorrowful, but not discouraged. Again he seized the great paint brush, as big as a church steeple, dipped it into the red and golden sunset light, and wrote in big letters high on the sky that every one far and near could read:

WANTED! MESSENGERS! FLEETER THAN HORSES, SWIFTER THAN MEN, TO CARRY MY MESSAGES, A MILLION TIMES TEN.

Then he went into his rainbow house and laid himself down on his rainbow bed. He scarcely had taken forty winks when he heard a rat-tat-tatting on the rainbow window and a rap-rap-rapping on the rainbow door. Quickly he leaped from his great bed.

“Who be ye?” he asked.

“We be messengers,” came a gentle voice through the keyhole, “come to serve the King.”

Then he opened the door, and there before him flitted and twittered a company of the most curious little people that he ever had set eyes upon. They had each a pair of beady eyes, a little pointed nose, a set of little scratchy toes, and the softest kind of a coat, fitting as snug as ever the tailor could make it.

“What are your names?” asked the King.

“We are the birds, and our names are many. We saw the King’s sign in the sky and have come—

Fleeter than horses, swifter than men, To carry your messages, a million times ten.”

Then the King, remembering the Winds, addressed them in very deep and solemn tones: “The task is a great one. The King’s business is exceeding grave and important. My messengers must be swift and faithful, must remember my commands and keep my secrets. Are ye able?”

Each bird laid his little scratchy toes on his little pointed nose and vowed that he would remember the King’s commands and keep the King’s secrets.

“Then,” said the King, “make ready. Far to the north dwells a people that I love. For many a month they have lived amid ice and snow and the bitter frosts. Now they sigh for warmer days, and I have heard them. I am planning a delightful surprise for them. I am going to carry spring to them. Go, find the warm sunshine and the soft south wind and bid them come at once to the King’s court, that I may take them and the spring days to my suffering and discouraged people. Then return with all speed to the King, and remember —do not betray my secret.”

The bird-messengers hastened away as fast as ever their wings could carry them. They summoned the warm sunshine and the soft south wind and bade them make haste to the Earth King. They, of course, turned back as they were commanded, but before they reached home again, each one of them was seized with a strange, restless, uneasy feeling right in the middle of his feathers. It must have been the secret trying to get out. One by one they stole past the King’s house under cover of the night and made their way to the north country. And when the morning came, there they were, sitting on the fence posts and in the apple trees, just bursting with the happy secret of the King.

Then the robin pipped, and the bluebird blew; The sparrow chipped, and the swallow, too: “We know something,—we won’t tell,— Somebody’s coming,—you know well. This is his name (’twixt you and me), S-P-R-I-N-G.”

The people were very happy when they heard what the birds said, and with much excitement began to get ready for the springtime.

Now, of course, the King knew nothing about all this, and was very happy in thinking of the surprise that he was to give the people. He took the warm sunshine and the soft south wind for companions, and made his way in all haste to the land of ice and snow. As he arrived, with his delightful secret, as he thought, hidden in his heart, he was amazed to find an old woman sitting in her doorway knitting.

“Why are you sitting here?” he asked. “Why are you not within, warming your feet by the fire?”

“Why, don’t you know?” she said, “spring is coming!”

“Spring?” he asked, almost roughly; “how do you know?”

“Oh,” said she with a smile, trying not to look at a robin that turned his back behind the picket fence, hoping that if the King saw him he might think he was an English sparrow, “a little bird told me.”

The King walked up the street, looking gloomy enough, and soon came across a gardener with his rake, uncovering the crocuses and the daffodils.

“Why do you do this, my good man? Surely your flowers will freeze. You had much better be covering them up.”

“Oh, no,” he said, straightening his bent back, “spring is coming.”

“Spring,” said the King; “how do you know?”

“Oh,” said the gardener, with a grin, and a twinkle in his left eye, as he caught sight of a bluebird peeking half-scared around the limb of a near-by apple tree, “a little bird told me.”

Then the disgraceful story all came out: that

The robin pipped, and the bluebird blew; The sparrow chipped, and the swallow, too: “We know something,—we won’t tell,— Somebody’s coming,—you know well. This is his name (’twixt you and me), S-P-R-I-N-G.”

My! but wasn’t the Earth King disgusted! And weren’t the bird-messengers ashamed to come when he sternly called them! Each laid his little pointed nose on his little scratchy toes, and dropped his eyes and uttered never a word.

“Silly birds,” he said in scornful voice. “You vowed to keep my secrets. You have broken your vow. You obeyed my commands and called the south wind and the sunshine; so I cannot be too harsh with you. But you cannot keep my secrets, so I cannot keep you as my messengers. Now and then I may use you as my servants. Adieu!”

Then the birds flew sadly away as quietly and quickly as ever they could, and set to work building their nests in holes in the trees and holes in the ground and in out-of-the-way places, making such a chattering meantime that neither they, nor any one else, could hear themselves think.

By this time the Earth King was nearly discouraged. He did not know what in the world to do. He rested his elbow on his knee and his great head in his hand and thought and wondered. Then once again he rose and took the great brush and wrote the same big words on the sky. And for very weariness he lay down on a great bank of clouds and soon was sound asleep. As he slept, the cloud grew bigger and bigger and blacker and blacker, and the thunder came nearer and nearer until, all at once, CRASH-CRASH—the cloud seemed torn to pieces and the King leaped to his feet half-scared to death, even if he was a King. There before him, darting this way and that way, and up and down, and across-ways, was a swarm of little red-hot creatures that hissed and buzzed and cracked like the Fourth of July.

“Who are you?” he asked in half-fright as he rubbed his eyes, “and what do you want?”

“Messengers, messengers, messengers,” whispered they all at once, “and we have come to serve the King.”

“What are your names?”

“We are the Lightning Spirits; sometimes men call us Electricity—

The swiftest creatures that are known to men, To carry your messages, a million times ten.”

Of course the winds were very jealous when they heard of it, and they determined to get revenge by stealing the messages from the spirits. They dashed against the wires day after day, trying to break them and get the secrets, but all to no purpose. All they could hear was MUM-MUM-MUM-M-M; and the harder they blew, the louder they heard it.

The birds had all along been sorry that they had given away the great secret, and had been hoping that the King would give them another chance. They were much too gentle to do as the winds did. But they were very curious to find out what the King’s messages were. So day after day they went to the wires and sat upon them and snuggled down as close to them as they could get and listened hard, putting now the right ear down and now the left—but all they could ever hear was MUM-MUM-MUM-M-M-M-M.

And they seem never to have got over that habit! If you want to find out for yourself the truth of this tale, you go some day when the wind is blowing against the wires and the birds are sitting upon them, snuggled close, and put your ear to a telegraph pole and all you will hear is MUM-MUM-MUM-M-M-M.