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L.C. Hall, “Telegraph Talk and Talkers”, McClure’s Magazine, December 1901:

In its written form telegraphese , or "Morse," as it is called in the vernacular, is rarely seen. Yet as a vehicle of expression it is, to the initiated, as harmonious, subtle, and fascinating as the language of music itself.

Nothing could be simpler than its alphabet of dots and dashes. Yet it has come to pass that out of the manner of rendering this simple code has been evolved a means of communicating thought and feeling rivaling in flexibility and scope the human voice.

Some of this article's content is well known, like the fact that individual identity is communicated through a telegrapher's characteristic "hand".

But some of Hall's claims seem more like the Morse code equivalent of fish stories or war stories.

The idea of regional "accents" does seem plausible, though the section "A Rebel Betrayed by his Southern Accent" is ambiguous as to whether the intruder isrecognized as a southerner or as an individual:

A telegrapher's Morse, then, is as distinctive as his face, his tones, or his handwriting; and as difficult to counterfeit as his voice or writing. Of this individual quality of telegraphese, the old war telegraphers tell many stories. A Confederate, for example, encounters on the march a line of wire which he suspects is being used by the enemy. He taps the wire, "cuts in" his instruments, and listens. His surmise is correct; he "grounds off" one or the other end, and, trying to disguise his style of "sending," makes inquiries calculated to develop important information. But the Southern accent is recognized in his Morse by the distant manipulator, who, indeed, may have been a co-worker in the days "before the war." So the intruder gets only a good-humored chaffing. "The trick won't work, Jim ," says the Federal operator. "Let's shake for old times' sake, and then you 'git' out of this ."

Less plausible are the stories about inferring a sender's physical appearance, including clothing and accessories:

Some years ago  in a Southern office, I was assigned to a "circuit " which had its terminus at the national capital . My fellow operator at the other end of the wire used the letters "C G " for his wire-signature. C G's Morse was so clear, even, and rhythmic, his dots and dashes so perfectly timed and accurately spaced, that I immediately conceived a cordial liking for him. In a short time this liking, to which he heartily responded, ripened into a strong and sincere attachment. My friend's distinct though delicate wire-touch made working with him exceedingly restful. Indeed, every day for months I "received" from him without perceptible fatigue, or the necessity of " breaking." Almost from the beginning of our acquaintanceship I fancied that I should know him at sight if I chanced to meet him. I pictured him a tall, frail man, with the refined and patient manner of one who has suffered much, his features delicately molded, his eyes of the kind that kindle quickly when lighted by a smile, and his mouth ready to apply the torch whenever his sense of humor prompted. I fancied that I should know his dress — the old-fashioned collar; the small white tie; the thin, rather long, black sack coat.

Some months after our first meeting by wire, I was called to Washington, and while there I visited the big operating-room of the main office, in order to greet the many friends of other days. As I made my way about, I kept a sharp lookout for my old wire-friend . I did not ask to have him pointed out, because I wished to see if it were possible to identify him by my mental photograph. Presently I spied him, just as I had pictured him. I stood beside him for a moment ; then, touching his shoulder, I held out my hand.

"How do you do , C G ? I am very glad to see you and to have the pleasure of shaking your hand ."

Though he was a much older man than I, there was no lack of respect in my words, for it is not uncommon for one telegrapher to address another by his "sign."

C G rose with a quiet dignity, and taking my hand looked down at me over his glasses, his eyes beaming .

"It's H, is it not? I am very glad to meet you, my son!" And then we fell to chatting, face to face, as we had so often done by wire.

And I'm at least as skeptical of Hall's gender stereotypes:

A woman's Morse is as feminine as her voice or her handwriting. I have often put to the test my ability to distinguish between the Morse of a man and that of a woman, and only once have I been deceived.

On this same Washington "circuit" I one day encountered a sender at the other end, a stranger, who for hours "roasted " me as I seldom had been in my telegraphic experience. The dots and dashes poured from the sounder in a bewildering torrent , and I had the hardest kind of work to keep up in copying . With all its fearful swiftness the Morse was clean-clipped and musical, though it had a harsh, staccato ring which indicated a lack of sentiment and feeling in the transmitter. From this , and from a certain dash and swagger, I gathered, before the day was out, a pretty distinct impression of the personality of the transmitter. I conceived him to be of a well-kept, aggressively clean appearance, with a shining red complexion and close- cropped hair; one, in brief, whose whole manner and make-up bespoke the self-satisfied sport. That he wore a diamond in his loudly striped shirt- front I considered extremely likely, and that he carried a tooth-pick between his lips was morally certain.

Next day I took occasion to make some inquiries of my fellow-operator at Washington.

"Oh, you mean T Y, " he said, laughing . "Yes , for a girl , she is a fly sender."

It was mortifying to find that I had mistaken the sex of the sender, but I was consoled when I met the young woman. The high coloring was there, and the self-satisfied air; so also were the masculine tie, the man's vest, and the striped shirt-front. Nor were the diamond pin and the toothpick wanting. When she introduced herself by her sign, called me "Culley," and said I was a "crack-a-jack receiver," I was convinced that it was nature, and not I, that had made the mistake as to her sex.

(I'm not sure what "Culley" means here — some kind of generic name like "Jim" or "Johnnie"?)

There are lots of other interesting things in Hall's article, and some of them are even believable…

I got this article from Google Books' edition of McClure's Volume 18.

A number of other volumes of McClure's Magazine are available at the Online Books Page, Hathi Trust, Google Books, etc.

 

December 15, 2024 @ 9:25 am · Filed by Mark Liberman under Psychology of language, Sociolinguistics

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