THE FIRST TRANS-CONTINENTAL ACROSS THE UNITED STATES
“There were difficulties from end to end: from high and steep
mountains; from snows; from deserts where there was a scarcity
of water, and from gorges and flats where there was an excess;
difficulties from cold and heat; from a scarcity of timber and from
obstructions of rock; difficulties in keeping a large force on a long
line; from Indians; and from want of labour.”
This was the terse story related to the United States Congress by
Collis P. Huntington, one of the moving spirits of what, at that time,
was a tremendous undertaking--the construction of the first railway
across North America whereby the Atlantic was linked with the Pacific
by a bond of steel. But that concise statement concealed one of the
most romantic stories in the history of railway engineering: of grim
battles every hour either against the hostile forces of nature or of
mankind.
It was in 1863 that the first sod was turned in the construction of
the first line which was destined to bring San Francisco within 120
hours’ journey of New York, and which changed completely the whole
stream of traffic flowing round one-half of the northern hemisphere.
But for some years before the spade was driven into the earth to signal
the commencement of this enterprise, the idea had been contemplated
and discussed in a more or less academic manner. It was such a vast
scheme, the commercial possibilities of success appeared so slender
that the most daring financiers of that day shrank from fathering it.
Capitalists concluded that they might just as well pour their money
down a well as to sink it in such a project as this.
The public, however, regarded the idea from a totally different
standpoint. East wanted to shake hands with the west over the mighty
mountains and vast plains. To pass from New York to San Francisco, or
in the reverse direction, in those days was a perilous journey. One
either had to make a protracted and dangerous voyage down one side
of the American continent, round Cape Horn, and pass up the opposite
coast-line for some 10,000 miles; to brave the peril of traversing the
fever-ridden Central American Isthmus; or to embark upon an overland
journey of some 3,000 miles through country where long stretches of
parched, waterless desert gave way to lofty, snow-capped mountains,
with the Indians in open warfare.
When California seethed in the famous Gold Rush, and adventurers
flocked to this magnetic hub from all parts of the world, the
absence of a connecting link was experienced to an acute degree. The
gold-fever-stricken pioneers had to gain their objective as best they
could, and with the best means of locomotion they could afford. In a
single year 100,000 gold-seekers trailed across the continent.
The traffic produced by the discovery of gold set Collis P. Huntington
thinking. Here was a heavy volume of traffic slipping through the
fingers. Why should it not be handled by a railway? This was his
argument, and as he was a dreamer of commercial conquest, though not in
an idle manner, he decided to remedy the deficiency. Looking into the
future, he saw that a line not only would meet the immediate demands
born of the gold rush, but that it would develop into a great highway
between Europe and the East, as well as the Antipodes. He discussed
the idea with kindred spirits, Leland Stanford and Thomas C. Durant,
and they became enthused with the project. But the question was how to
obtain the money requisite for construction? To appeal to the public
was useless, and no assistance could be anticipated from the financial
world. So they approached the Government, and their endeavours proved
so successful that the country decided to subsidise the undertaking.
When the Government’s sympathy had been secured in a practical manner,
the next step was to discover an engineer who could superintend the
survey and conduct constructional operations. The country did not
possess many Stephensons, and the work in contemplation was of such
an unprecedented character that no ordinary engineer would prove
equal to the task. Happily, however, there was in San Francisco
a railway engineering genius whose ability was being wasted for
lack of opportunity. This man was Theodore D. Judah. He was a born
engineer, and his skill in railway engineering had achieved a peculiar
distinction up and down the Pacific coast. This work was his sole
hobby, and the greater the difficulties to be overcome, the more
enthusiastically and determinedly he threw himself into the task.
His efforts in this direction were so strenuous that he was regarded
generally as a crank, and his great dreams of railway conquest provided
a continual source of amusement. He was always diving into the
mountains, reconnoitring the passes with a view to their suitability
for carrying the steel highway, and openly admitting that his greatest
ambition in life was to be given the chance to lift the metals over the
gaunt Sierras frowning upon the Pacific coast, and to drop them on to
the plains rolling eastwards from the opposite slopes.
On one occasion he resigned his position upon a new railway line that
was being built around San Francisco, and, unaccompanied, forced
his way through the rocky barrier, making a mental note of the
configuration of the country as he proceeded in case of something
turning up, laboured across Nevada’s dreary wastes of alkali, skirted
Salt Lake, and at last gained the Missouri. As a result of his frequent
peregrinations among the mountains, his eye became trained expertly in
spying out the suitability of the country for the iron road, and he
became known under the sobriquet of “The Railway Pathfinder.” It was a
picturesque nickname, but it was one which described his personality to
the full. That his wanderings were not in vain is proved by the fact
that nearly every pass through the mountains which he stated to be
adapted to carry a railway has been pressed into this service since, in
order to gain the Pacific coast.
Indeed the pioneer trans-continental railway owes its birth to
Judah. For years he had advocated the project, and emphasised its
practicability. When Huntington and his colleagues were ready to
commence operations they sent for Judah, convinced that he was the very
man for whom they were searching, to plot the path for the line and
to take command of the forces in the field. The Railway Pathfinder,
realising that the ambition of his life was within reach at last,
hurried eastwards. There was a short consultation which sufficed to
prove to the promoters that Judah was the man to carry the enterprise
to success, and there and then he was placed in supreme control of
the construction. The difficulties among the mountains were what the
promoters feared the most, but the pathfinder regarded them so lightly
that their apprehensions vanished. He had spent so many months among
their silent fastnesses that he knew the range through and through. His
plans were daring and feasible, his reasoning lucid, and his enthusiasm
infectious. In order that the directing hand in the field might not be
trammelled or harassed by business or administration details, a special
emissary was deputed to attend to these secondary but vital essentials,
so that Judah might be able to concentrate his energies and ability
entirely to plotting and pushing the line forwards.
[Illustration: THE MASSIVE BRIDGE OF THE UNION PACIFIC RAILWAY OVER THE
MISSOURI RIVER AT COUNCIL BLUFFS, FROM WHICH POINT THE FIRST RAILWAY
ACROSS THE UNITED STATES WAS COMMENCED]
According to the arrangement with the Government, the railway was to
commence from the eastern bank of the Missouri River at Council Bluffs.
The selection of the eastern bank as the starting-point involved the
erection of a huge bridge as the first step in the undertaking. Such
an idea appears somewhat curious at first sight, as one would have
thought, naturally, that the western bank would have been selected as
the obvious eastern terminal. But the Government recognised one point.
The railways were spreading their tentacles slowly but surely from the
Atlantic coast towards the Missouri River. When they gained its
banks a break in the through rail communication would develop, as the
eastern railways were in their infancy, and far too poor to undertake
the construction of an expensive bridge across this wide waterway to
link up with the line stretching to San Francisco.
[Illustration: THE TIMBER TRESTLE ACROSS SALT LAKE, BY MEANS OF WHICH
THE UNION PACIFIC SAVES 57 MILES
There are 12 miles of woodwork, for which 2,824,700 lineal feet of
timber was required. The track is 19 feet above the water.]
Construction was commenced from both ends of the line. San Francisco
was the Pacific terminal, but as the Golden Gate was connected already
with Sacramento, the capital some miles inland, the latter place was
the point to which the constructional forces were dispatched. The
arm driven eastwards from the Pacific was known as the Union Pacific
railway, while that forced westwards from Council Bluffs was designated
as the Central Pacific. The two arms were to meet about half-way across
the continent.
Judah hurried to California and was soon in the turmoil of his task.
The great difficulty on this section was in regard to the supply of the
constructional material. Everything had to be sent round by water via
the most southerly point of the continent, and as this was a voyage
occupying several weeks, extreme care had to be observed to send
forward supplies in a steady, constant stream, so that no delays might
arise from lack of material. But storms raged, while the negotiation
of Cape Horn is a difficult feat at the best of times. The boats were
caught in the terrible embrace of wind and wave, and, upon emerging
from the conflict, struggled, battered and torn, into the nearest port
for repairs. Despite these heavy drawbacks, which no human foresight
could determine or avoid, practically no dearth of supplies ever
was experienced at the railhead among the mountains. In fact, Judah
prosecuted his task so vigorously that before many months had passed
the first railway conquest of the Sierras, considered invulnerable for
so long, was announced far and wide.
How was it accomplished? The pathfinder followed the easiest path open
to him. Distances between points might have been shortened, but time
was money. The builders had urged this emphatically upon Judah, so that
opportunity to indulge in stupendous engineering feats was denied
him. Yet the very conditions which were imposed enabled the pathfinder
to display some master-strokes of genius unconsciously. So long as
a natural path for the metals was available, he followed it. If his
advance were disputed by an obstacle he either removed or ran round it.
The hump was levelled and the depression was filled. The rivers were
followed so far as practicable along their puzzling meanderings. He
lifted the track several thousand feet towards the clouds to gain the
railway summit of the range, and then dropped over the other side. In
one place among the snow-clad peaks he had to hew a narrow shelf out of
the solid rocky mass to wind round the huge shoulder of a mountain. The
wall of rock sheered up on one side to a dizzy height; on the other way
it dropped for over a thousand feet into the river surging below.
The San Francisco division teemed with complex and highly troublesome
perplexities, but one and all arose from the resistance of Nature.
Yet they were slight in comparison with those which the engineers
experienced as they pushed forwards from the Missouri River. Here it
was the hostility of man which harassed them. The Indians, driven from
the eastern States by the march of civilisation, resisted its further
approach into their domain. Fierce opposition was anticipated, but
the results proved far more serious than the most gloomy forebodings.
At every turn the savages swept down upon the little band toiling in
the solitude of the wilderness, and these organised onslaughts became
fiercer and fiercer as the base of operations was left farther and
farther to the rear. For every spike that was driven, clinching a rail
to its wooden cushion beneath, an arrow sped from an Indian bow, to
be answered by the sharp crack of a rifle from the railway building
forces. History does not record how many navvies fell victims to the
noiseless weapon of the savages, or how many Indians entered the
Happy Hunting Ground by way of a bullet. Yet the total of lives would
outnumber the spikes driven to secure the metals for the 1,800 miles
between the Missouri River and the Golden Horn.
A conclave with the Red Men was urgent before the engineers stirred
from the bank of the Missouri. Council Bluffs is a famous spot in
the history of the New World, because here the Indians were wont for
centuries to meet to settle tribal disputes. It was here that Collis P.
Huntington and his colleagues met the Red Men to discuss the terms and
treaty for the acquisition of the necessary land to found the city of
Omaha.
At that day the nearest point to which the railway had advanced towards
the river from the east was Des Moines. The first locomotive required
for constructional purposes upon the Central Pacific, and which weighed
some 60 tons, had to be hauled across country on the deck of a trolley
by teams of horses. When the trans-continental railway was taken in
hand, however, the eastern railways were pushed forward with great
speed to reach Council Bluffs, in order to carry the thousands of tons
of supplies of every description requisite for building purposes.
The scarcity of one commodity was felt severely. In this country one
may travel for miles and not see a single tree. This hit the railway
hard. Every baulk of timber, whether it was required for a fire, a
shack, or a sleeper, had to be brought over enormous distances. By
the time a sleeper was laid it often cost as much as $2.50, or ten
shillings!
The route between east and west is popularly known as the “Overland
Route.” How it received this name is a little story in itself. Among
those who arrived at San Francisco in the glorious days of ’47 to
make money out of the gold-rush was a Dutchman, whose topsy-turvy
English was characteristic of a foreigner possessing only an imperfect
acquaintance with our tongue. He opened a saloon, which became a most
popular resort. Whenever a stranger entered the rendezvous, Boniface’s
curiosity was aroused. The new arrival was asked inevitably by which of
the three routes he had gained the Golden Gate. “Did you come the Horn
around, the Isthmus across, or the land over?” the Dutchman inquired.
“The land-over” signifying the wagon-trail across the States, so
appealed to the fancy of the railway-builders that they always referred
to the trans-continental as “the land-over route,” which in course of
time became twisted into the more correct designation under which it is
known to this day.
The level character of the country west of the Missouri River lent
itself favourably to rapid construction, as well as easy alignment.
At one place it was found possible to lay the track as straight as an
arrow for 41 miles. The grade grew quickly, and the rails advanced in a
continuous black-grey line across the prairie with striking rapidity,
when the Indians refrained from endeavouring to arrest its progress.
However, the raids of the Red Men became so devastating eventually that
it appeared as if work must be brought to a standstill.
At the critical moment another man appeared on the scene, and his
efforts contributed very materially to the completion of the line. This
was Major Frank J. North, one of the most daring frontiersmen that
those troublous times with the Indians produced in America. He was
Fenimore Cooper’s mythical “Pathfinder” in the flesh, and he came to
be just as greatly feared by the Red Men. When the railway engineers
failed to make headway against the Indians, he offered his services,
which, needless to say, were accepted gladly. From that moment the
protection of the grade became his one object in life, and his capture
became the one absorbing ambition of the Indians. He had roamed the
plains for years, leading a rough-and-ready frontier life, had become
familiarised with the Indians, their habits, customs and ways; could
anticipate their every movement and knew how to counteract their
subterfuges. He was versed thoroughly in their ways of warfare, was a
born fighter, and was possessed of indomitable energy and pluck.
In order to protect the railway-builders he raised four companies of
friendly Pawnee Indians. With these trusty scouts he would creep out
stealthily at night from the constructional camp, make his way with
impunity to the tepees of the Cheyennes or Sioux, and ascertain their
projected operations. Sometimes he would surprise an Indian camp,
and scatter the inmates who were on the warpath to the four winds.
His marauding expeditions became so audacious that the natives were
compelled to withdraw a respectable distance from the grade. He became
so universally detested among the foe that the mention of North’s name
was sufficient to provoke the most dismal howls of execration and
vicious snarls of vengeance.
At times he was absent so many days from the railhead camp that the
engineers wondered gravely whether or not he had met an untimely end.
Then when they were on the point of giving up hope of seeing him again,
he would trot unconcernedly into camp, with his Pawnee shadows, as if
returning from a hunt, but his general appearance and self-satisfied
air told the navvies that he “had been at the Indians again.” He
provoked the hostile Red Men to such an extreme pitch that they turned
out in tremendous force sworn to his capture or death. Four times a
pitched battle was fought, with tremendous losses; four times the
Indians drew off, leaving North flushed with victory. At last the enemy
became so disheartened that it withdrew, retreated for miles from the
line, and there was a sullen interval in the conflict.
North, however, was not to be lulled into a false sense of security.
He divined that some ulterior move was projected. So it proved. The
Indians, instead of concentrating their energies upon the destruction
of the forces at the railhead, decided to attack the long line of
communication at various points, to surprise and destroy the supply
trains. A guerilla war broke out, and this baffled North, for he could
not bring them to a pitched battle.
The Indians clung like limpets to the grade, and woe betide any
stragglers who fell into their hands, for they were cruelly tortured
and put to death. Time after time, as the supply train was puffing
along slowly, the plain on either side suddenly would reveal hordes of
ferocious savages, who had crept through the tall grass unobserved
to within a few feet of the track. The men on the train secured
any shelter possible behind the transported goods, and blazed away
furiously. Brisk skirmishes and opportunities to display marksmanship
occurred nearly every day to relieve the tedium of swinging hammer,
pick-axe and shovel. Major North happened to be attacked in this way
one day, though the enemy were unaware of his presence. But they were
so dismayed at the spirited reception that they received that they
broke and fled, with North in pursuit. He chased them for hours, and
inflicted such losses that the tribe surrendered. A few days later a
large number of the vanquished enlisted under the railway-builder’s
banner, assisted in the building of the grade, and became law-abiding
citizens.
There was one point which was a tempting prize to the Cheyennes. This
was a depot 372 miles west of Omaha. Its safety was entrusted to
North’s friendly Indians, and they proved too watchful to enable a raid
to be made with success. The Cheyennes were determined to secure its
capture, and, quietly gathering reinforcements, one day made a supreme
attempt to rush it with a thousand men. It was a desperate battle that
ensued, but the defenders, being entrenched, secured the advantage, and
after fighting desperately for several hours were left in possession of
the hundreds of tons of supplies.
These tactics had to be pursued for some 500 miles, but the engineers
in time became wearied at the daily round of working and fighting.
Besides, they were approaching the Rocky Mountains, where the physical
difficulties would be so great as to demand their entire concentration
in order to lift the metals over an obstacle 8000 feet above the sea.
It was realised, also, that the broken slopes would give the Indians
every advantage to prosecute their guerrilla warfare to distinct
advantage. The outlook was so depressing that a halt was called. The
situation was urged upon the Government, and, as a result, General
Grant decided to interview the Indians in person, with a view to
placating them. He made a hazardous and exciting journey along the
railway to the heart of the enemy’s country. There, with pow-wow and
peace-pipe, an honourable treaty was drawn up; the Indians promised to
abandon their opposition, and to permit the railway to go forward.
Another difficulty the builders had to battle against was the scarcity
of labour. The Californian Gold Fields were too magnetising to
cause the men to stay long on the grade. They preferred to woo the
fickle goddess of fortune in a scramble for the yellow metal, to a
steady, daily round of toil at a regular wage. As a last resource
the sheet-anchor of the railway-builder had to be called in--the
Chinaman. The Orientals stuck to the work, and under their efforts
the line progressed with greater speed than had been possible before
their advent. At one time the rails were laid so speedily that the
teams could not bring up supplies fast enough to meet the needs of the
graders and track-layers.
The permanent way was crude. It was a pioneer line in very truth. The
earth was thrown up roughly, the sleepers were dumped on its crown, and
the rails were hastily spiked to their bed. The line was little better
than what one sees hastily improvised for the transportation of spoil
on large engineering works. It writhed and twisted among obstructions
in a fantastic manner, for the engineers, having neither funds nor time
at their disposal, merely ran round or over humps, whichever method
was the quicker. Speed and comfort were negligible considerations.
The line, once communication with the coast was established, could be
overhauled and strengthened later at leisure. Consequently, travelling
was rough, the oscillation was severe, and the danger of derailment
always existent. It was these conditions that prompted a phlegmatic
Englishman, who essayed the journey shortly after the line was opened,
to remark that “the train travelled more smoothly when it was off the
rails!”
Some idea of the speed with which work was prosecuted, the innumerable
drawbacks notwithstanding, may be gathered from the fact that the whole
1,800 miles of line were built and opened to traffic within six years
from the turning of the first spadeful of earth at Sacramento. For the
greater part of this distance the monthly average was 50 miles--truly a
magnificent feat. In order to maintain this high pressure, 25,000 men
and 5000 cattle teams were required, and the total cost of the work was
$115,000,000, or, roughly, £23,000,000.
The dawn of the year 1869 saw the two advancing arms racing towards the
Great Salt Lake. The Central Pacific, upon encountering this inland
sea, debouched to the north and plunged into the broken Promontory
Range. Here, at an altitude of 5000 feet, the two arms met, and, amid
the wild huzzas of over a thousand people, the last gap was closed,
and golden spikes were driven into a sleeper of polished laurel by
Leland Stanford and Thomas Durant, the presidents of the respective
divisions, to admit the passage of a train, waiting close by with steam
up, to pass from the Central to the Union Pacific Railway. The precise
point at which the opposing armies met is indicated by a board standing
beside the track, the inscription on which runs--
LAST SPIKE,
COMPLETING FIRST
TRANS-CONTINENTAL RAILROAD
DRIVEN AT THIS POINT,
MAY 10, 1869.
The occasion was one of great rejoicing, especially among the citizens
of San Francisco. The town went mad with excitement. The festivities
commenced two days before the golden spike was driven, and was
continued for two days afterwards. Literature contributed its quota to
the commemoration of the historic event in the form of a poem from Bret
Harte.
In crossing the prairie stretches the railway constructional forces
were indebted appreciably for their support to the buffalo, which
roamed the plains in tens of thousands. The slaughter of this animal
was tremendous to provide fresh meat for the camps, and hides for the
clothing of the workmen against the blasts and severe cold of winter.
Their existence was providential, especially when the Indians succeeded
in capturing and destroying the supply trains bringing up provisions.
Water often was a serious problem. For stretches of over a hundred
miles at a time not a drop could be obtained from the parched land, and
specially-built cars had to be pressed into service to transport this
indispensable commodity.
Some idea of the solitude of the country may be gathered from the fact
that during a continuous 600 miles not a single white man or homestead
was seen. Before the line was completed a pony express plied between
Sacramento and Salt Lake City, and the journey under normal conditions
occupied three and a half days. To-day the distance is covered in about
one-third of the time.
In the course of a few years the traffic on the Overland Route assumed
such proportions as to be beyond the capacity of the ill-laid track.
The grades were too heavy and the curves too sharp, while rails and
bridges were too light. Extensive reconstruction was taken in hand.
Banks were abolished, curves were straightened, bridges were rebuilt,
the permanent way was re-ballasted, short sections were cut out here,
or introduced there, to reduce the mileage--in short, the whole line
was rebuilt practically at an expenditure of millions to bring the
great highway up to the model of present-day practice.
One of the most important of these improvement works was that known
as the Lucin Cut-off. This was a daring piece of engineering forced
upon the railway by rival lines, which, possessing easier grades and
a better-alignment, could haul heavier loads at a speed beyond the
capacity of the pioneer road. This adverse factor was experienced very
severely around the north end of Salt Lake, where the line plunges into
the rugged and broken Promontory Range, to overcome which such heavy
grades had to be introduced as to reduce the speed of trains to a crawl
of 12 miles per hour.
At first it appeared impracticable to ease this situation, but the
chief engineer was called in and urged to find a means of extricating
the company from the predicament. After several months’ survey around
this sheet of water he prepared plans which he submitted to his
directors. They were extremely audacious. He suggested the abandonment
of 373 miles of the old line completely, as it was beyond improvement.
In its place he proposed 326 miles of new track, which not only showed
a saving of 57 miles in distance, but gave no ruling grade exceeding
21.12 feet per mile. At one point he was baulked by the configuration
of the country in the Pequop range, where a grade of 74 feet to the
mile was found unavoidable. Moreover, he showed a saving of over
half-a-mile in vertical height, the climb on the westward run being cut
down from 4,550 feet to 1,535 feet, and on the eastward journey from
4,456½ feet to 1,444 feet.
The salient feature of the scheme, however, challenged particular
attention. Instead of running around Salt Lake he advocated a route
across it, giving a line as direct as the bird flies from shore to
shore, supported on earthen embankments where such could be erected,
and in other places upon a timber viaduct. Some idea of what this
scheme represented may be gathered from the construction of a bridge
from Dover to Calais--a project that has been promulgated--for the
distance was about the same.
The engineer was prompted in his belief as to the practicability of the
suggestion from his personal investigations. Popular fancy had clothed
this stretch of salt water in many legends, one of which was that its
depths were unfathomable. This fallacy was scattered to the winds when
soundings were taken, for the water was found to be comparatively
shallow at the point it was contemplated to cross the lake. Collis P.
Huntington hesitated from embarking upon the scheme when it was first
unfolded, partly on account of its estimated cost, but more because of
its unusual character.
However, when E. H. Harriman secured the control of the line, he
entertained no qualms. His engineer said it was feasible, so it must
be done to avoid that laborious haul over the hills to the north. Work
commenced forthwith, and was pursued with great vigour. When the bank
of the lake was gained, the engineer pushed the earthen embankment
as far into the water as he could, so as to reduce the extent of the
trestling. The distance from shore to shore was 27 miles, but as he
took advantage of a peninsula which juts well into the water from the
north bank, four miles of the line were built on dry land.
To commence the embankment from the water’s edge an ingenious expedient
was adopted. Heavy planks loaded with weighty bags of sand were floated
out on the proposed location, and upon this novel permanent way the
temporary rails for the ballast cars were laid, and the spoil dumped
into the lake until the embankment appeared above water-level. Then
the section of floating track was pushed still farther ahead, and the
same cycle of operations repeated until the limit of the earthwork was
gained. As the embankment grew in height the light rails were replaced
by a heavier type, over which rumbled cars carrying 40 tons of ballast
apiece, and which was pitched pell-mell into the water on either side.
The embankment was then left for a while to permit settling to take
place. In time it became as solid as a jetty.
The trestle section proved the most trying, not so much on account
of the technical questions involved, but owing to the difficulty in
obtaining timber. The wood had to be brought hundreds of miles from the
forests of Texas and the north-west. Extensive stretches of trees were
purchased and saw-mills were erected to cut the logs to the desired
dimensions on the spot. Upon arrival at Salt Lake the wood was dumped
into the water, large log booms being formed, so that the material
might become seasoned thoroughly.
Work was delayed considerably by the lack of supplies of timber,
from storms which swept this inland sea, and which at times wrought
considerable damage. At one or two places, although careful soundings
were taken, the lake bed proved fickle. When the pile-drivers were set
to work, banging the massive uprights into the solid earth, progress
would be painfully slow for a time, and then suddenly the pile would
descend with uncanny rapidity. The cause was discovered readily. The
lake bed is covered with a thick crust of salt and soda deposits, the
accumulation of centuries, packed so hard as to give the semblance
of being solid rock when sounded. Yet it was only a shell or crust
covering unstable soil below. Driving the piles broke up this rind, and
then a solid foundation could not be found.
Attempts to remedy this state of affairs were made by pitching rock
into the water to provide a solid floor to support the timber uprights.
This method proved so slow and expensive that the engineer devised
another solution of the difficulty. He ran out a light trestle and
dumped rubble overboard around its foundations until the woodwork was
buried completely, and a solid earthen embankment was produced to carry
the rails.
The actual extent of timber trestling aggregates 12 miles, and this
erection spans the lake practically at its narrowest central part. Some
of the pile-drivers were carried on floating pontoons, while others
were mounted on the track above, the permanent way being pushed forward
as rapidly as the timber work was completed. Owing to the depth of the
water, some of the upright members are as much as 110 feet in length.
They are disposed in rows of five at right angles to the track, and
connected by massive longitudinal members, on which is laid three-inch
planking, superimposed with a layer of ballast. It was while building
the timber work that the greatest depth of water was reached--from 30
to 34 feet.
The trestle was erected with striking rapidity, the record being the
completion of no less than 5,317 feet of track in six working days. Had
it been possible to bring the timber up more quickly, a greater length
of line could have been laid in the time. At rail-level the viaduct
is 16 feet in width, and the track is so smooth and solid that the
“Overland Limited” can hurtle along at full speed without producing the
slightest vibration.
By the time the viaduct was completed, 38,256 piles had been used. This
represented no less than 2,824,700 lineal feet of timber which had been
torn from the forests. If these logs had been placed end to end they
would have formed a continuous line for nearly 535 miles.
So straight did the engineer plot and build the Lucin Cut-off, that
even if he had complied with Euclid’s definition of a straight line,
it would have been necessary only to have deducted 1,708 feet from the
102.91 miles of track which he laid. In addition, he abolished 3,919
degrees of curves. To understand what this means it is only necessary
to remember that each degree represents a segment of the circle. By
dividing the above total by 360, the number of degrees to the circle, a
result of 11.88 circles is obtained. In other words, on the old route
between Lucin and Ogden, the train not only traversed the distance
between the two points, but described nearly 12 circles as well. For
36 miles the track is dead level and for another 30 miles the rise is
so slight that one has to walk half-a-mile to rise his own height. By
the time the task was completed a round £1,000,000, or $5,000,000, had
been expended. It appears a huge outlay to reduce working expenses and
to increase revenue, but it affords a striking illustration of the
boldness of guiding railway spirits in America.