(1781-1848)
[Illustration: Steam engine.]
Far in the north of England, near the Scottish border, by the shore
of the German Ocean, is the county of brown and barren hills called
Northumberland, and its principal city, Newcastle, famous for its
coal. There is another Newcastle near the centre of England, so this
one is often distinguished by the name "Newcastle-on-Tyne"--Tyne
being the blackest and dirtiest of all rivers.
A few miles from Newcastle, up the Tyne, is the little mining
village of Wylam, where, a hundred years ago, lived Robert
Stephenson and his wife Mabel. There was no style about Wylam, and
few evidences of wealth or culture. The houses straggled about near
the outlets of the coal-mines, and everything was as uninviting as
it well could be. Stephenson's house, or rather "shanty," had but
one room, and that had an earthen floor. Robert and Mabel were about
as ill-furnished as their house; for neither could read, they had
not a book nor a print, and neither knew much more of the world than
could be seen, as they stood on the bank of the Tyne and looked
about on the neighboring hills and down toward Newcastle. In 1892 I
rode down the valley of the Tyne, past Wylam, through Newcastle, and
over the high bridge that our fireman's grandson, Robert, built in
later days. Few valleys are less attractive, and few seem less
likely to be the birthplace of epoch-making men.
Robert Stephenson, the father of our hero, was a fireman, earning
two shillings a day. He was sober and industrious, but as would be
expected, he never "got on." He was a good story-teller, and
transmitted to his children healthy bodies and clear heads. George
was the second of six children, and he was born June 9, 1781, during
our war for independence. His boyhood was uneventful enough. When
the weather was cold he was cooped up in their narrow home; he was
out of doors whenever the weather would permit. He played in the
street, ran errands, carried his father's dinner, and herded cows,
as soon as he was big enough, for four cents per day. At fourteen he
was assistant-fireman, earning twenty-five cents a day, and at
seventeen he was "plugman." He was thus in contact with much that
had been achieved in the way of building engines and transporting
materials on cars. But I must describe the engines then in use, and
explain what it was to be a "plugman."
The coal-mines were so deep that, in spite of the valleys, they
could be drained only by pumps, and it was often more difficult to
keep the water out than it was to lift the coal out. The
steam-engine was then in a very incomplete condition, and both
pumping-and lifting-engines were crude and clumsy affairs. To be
sure Watt, the mathematical instrument-maker, had invented the
double-acting steam-engine, but few had been manufactured, and those
in common use were "atmospheric" engines, known as "Newcomen's"
engines. A pumping-engine had a long, vertical cylinder, with
arrangements for admitting steam at the top. The weight of the
piston, piston-rod, and pump-rod, which ran down a shaft to the
lowest point in the mine, being balanced by a counter-weight on a
sort of well-sweep, the steam, admitted by hand, forced the piston
to the bottom of the cylinder. The steam was then shut off, and a
spray of water was turned on within the cylinder. This water
condensed the steam and reduced the pressure within to almost
nothing, so that the air pressure on the exterior face of the piston
(which amounted to over a ton for every square foot of surface)
drove the piston to the top of the cylinder, and lifted the full
length of the stroke a large quantity of water.
It is evident that the office of engineer was not an easy one. It
was all he could do to take care of the steam end of the pump;
another man was needed to look after the lower end, where the
pump-valve worked in another vertical cylinder. The water entered
this cylinder through holes in the sides, some higher, some lower,
according to the stage of water in the mine. The pumps did not run
continuously, but they lowered the water to the bottom as often as
it was necessary. As the level of the water in the mine fell, it was
necessary to plug the upper holes in the pump cylinder; the man who
watched the lower end and plugged those holes was known as the
"plugman." It is difficult to conceive of a less inspiring
occupation than that to which George Stephenson was promoted at the
age of seventeen. Alone in the dark, chilled by the damp air, and
wet by the black water, he was forced, by lack of other occupation,
to note every mechanical detail of the machinery, and to study
methods of improving it.
At the age of eighteen he heard of some wonderful engines made by
Watt & Boulton, at their new factory, and was told that the engines
were fully described and illustrated in books. So he determined to
learn to read. He was encouraged in this resolve by stories that a
French soldier, by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte, was sweeping
everything before him on the continent of Europe, and that he was
planning the subjugation of Great Britain. Information about
Napoleon could be gained from printed newspapers if one could only
read.
But where should he learn? There was no public school in Wylam; none
of our hero's companions went to school; none of the people he
associated with could read or write. However, he found a teacher in
a young man by the name of Robert Cowens, of whom he took three
lessons per week in the evening. He earned money for books and
instruction by mending shoes and repairing clocks. He was handy with
tools, and quick at seeing the relations of things. As soon as he
could read and write he learned to cipher, taking a slateful of
"sums," set by his teacher, to his work in the morning, to be "done"
during odd moments while watching his pump or engine, for he was
soon advanced to the care of the steam end of the machine.
While young Stephenson, now grown a man, is thus busy with his
primer, his copy-book, and "four rules," let us reflect upon the
uncanny circumstances of his early life. He had no luxuries, few
real comforts. The people around him lived half the time underground
in mines that were dark, damp, and dangerous--in constant war with
water and a poisonous, explosive, natural gas, known as "fire-damp."
Above ground there was little that was attractive or educative. The
young men had their games, at which George was fairly successful,
for he was strong and active. The ale-house stood near by, and it
absorbed most of the spare time and scant earnings of the miners;
but it is said that young Stephenson avoided the saloon, and was
never known to leave his work for a drink of liquor. On off days he
took his engine to pieces, examined its parts and the functions of
each, and remedied small defects and devised improvements. Naturally
clear-headed and ingenious, every circumstance tended to develop his
executive powers. He soon was known in the Tyne valley as a good
engine-doctor.
An incident, when he was about twenty years of age, did much to
shape his career. He heard that a neighboring mine had been flooded
on account of the inability of the engine to pump fast enough. No
engineer could make the engine efficient. One Sunday he went down
and looked at it. After a thorough examination he said he could make
it work in a week's time if he could have authority to make changes
as he saw fit. Authority was given him. In four days the engine was
repaired and set to work. In spite of jeers from old engine-men, who
were jealous of a mere boy, the pump worked well and the mine was
soon dry. George's reputation was made, and he soon received
appointment as engineer at a large mine at Killingworth, an
important place near by.
Meanwhile Stephenson added exact instrumental drawing to his three
R's. He found, as every artisan finds, that exact drawing is
necessary not only to the study of existing mechanical devices, but
particularly to the successful design of new parts. The successful
inventor generally invents at his drawing-board.
When twenty-one years of age Stephenson married Fanny Henderson, a
respectable country girl living at Ballast Hill. He brought the
bride home behind him on a pillion, a wedding journey of fifteen
miles. Robert Stephenson, who became his father's partner, and one
of the first of England's civil engineers, was born in 1803. In
1812, when Stephenson was thirty-one years old, he was made
engine-wright of a large colliery at Killingworth, at a salary of
$500. The position was one of profit and fine opportunity. All the
engines and machinery were in his hands, and all the repair-and
construction-shops were available for such new designs as he saw fit
to make. He at once set about making his first locomotive.
Locomotives and railroads of certain sorts and fashions were already
in existence, but they were rough and clumsy affairs.
The rails were at first angle-irons, then flat bars of wrought iron,
then cast-iron bars. In 1800 Benjamin Outram used stones for
sleepers, and improved rails--hence "tramways." Over these tramways
cars were drawn by horses, or by ropes from stationary engines.
Murduck made a locomotive in 1784, and by 1812 several types of
engines were used for hauling coal-cars. Stephenson saw one of
Blenkinsop's engines. Gear-wheels connected the crank-shaft with the
axles, and the driving-wheels were geared with the track, while of
course, the coal-cars ran on different rails.
This Blenkinsop's engine was a fearful machine. All the teeth
rattled, and as there were no springs and the road was very uneven,
the shocks were heavy and frequent, even though its speed was only
four miles an hour.
Stephenson's first engine, "My Lord," in honor of his patron, Lord
Ravensworth, was finished in 1814. Some experiments on the friction
of smooth wheels on iron rails led him to omit the teeth on the
drivers, though everyone laughed at him, declaring that the engine
would not run an "up grade," much less draw a load. His faith,
however, resisted all arguments; it was based on experiments and
careful calculations. Stephenson _knew_ that his engine would run up
hill and draw a load, and it did so triumphantly.
But the engine lacked steam. The boiler was small, and the fire was
applied only on the exterior of the shell, and the draft was very
poor, for the chimney was of necessity short. Only very low
steam-pressure was possible, and little or no expansion was
practicable. Consequently the exhaust was noisy and forcible.
Stephenson turned it into the chimney and found that it increased
the draft considerably; he at once thought that a steady jet of
steam could be so directed as to make a strong draft even when the
engine was not in motion. Thus the "blast" was invented, which about
doubled the capacity of the machine.
Stephenson's second locomotive, built in 1815, had no noisy gears,
but instead, chain-belts to the driving-axles. It had, however, no
springs, and the shocks were so great that only a low speed was
possible. In 1816 he built locomotives with springs, some of which
were in use for hauling coals for forty years.
Meanwhile Robert was growing into a manly, useful lad. Knowing
something of the value of education, both of the head and of the
hand, his father determined that Robert should have the best of
both. He was sent to Edinburgh for scientific culture, and when at
home his father taught him drawing, mechanical processes, and the
theory of machines as far as he was able--and his ability was
considerable, for George Stephenson was more of a student than many
whose early advantages were far better than his. The broad dual
training given Robert appears to have been fully successful. Even
before he became a man he was of great value to his father. Together
they worked out plans for modifying and improving the locomotive and
the road it was to run upon. He could soon draw and calculate better
than his father, but he never excelled him in the solution of
practical problems which depended upon a knowledge of materials and
the simple laws of physics and mechanics.
Thus far all railroads had been short, leading from mines to piers
for shipping by water. The success of Stephenson's locomotive, the
best working locomotive ever built at that time, led the
proprietors of the Hetton Colliery, a few miles south of the Tyne
valley, to propose a road, some eight miles long, over high hills
and on steep grades. Stephenson planned and superintended the
construction of the road as their engineer. There were several steep
inclines where loaded cars going down drew empty cars up. There were
two heavy stationary engines drawing cars by a rope, and five of
Stephenson's locomotives for the easy grades. Each locomotive drew
seventeen wagons, weighing about sixty-four tons, at the rate of
four miles per hour. This was the best done as yet, and was
considered a great success. It thoroughly established the reputation
of George Stephenson as an engineer. This road was opened in 1822.
Before the Hetton Railway was opened Stephenson was busy on a larger
work. Parliament had given a franchise for a railway in Durham
County, some twenty miles long, through Darlington to Stockton. The
function of the road was to carry coal to a shipping pier, and it
was not at all settled that horses would not be used to draw the
cars. While not much was known about railways, and very little about
locomotives, there was a growing conviction that there was great
economy in the use of tramways and the steam-engine, and the
prospect brightened for building the road.
The charming biographer, Smiles, tells how George Stephenson called
on Mr. Edward Pease, the president of the proposed railway, and
offered his services in building and equipping the road. Mr. Pease
was at once pleased with the man. "There was," said he later, "such
an honest, sensible look about him, and he seemed so modest and
unpretending. He spoke in the strong Northumbrian dialect, and
described himself as 'only the engine-wright at Killingworth.'"
Stephenson urged at once that the road be built for locomotives. Mr.
Pease had never seen a locomotive at work, and had taken it for
granted that horses would be used; but he went up to Killingworth
and rode on the "Blucher" with Stephenson, while it hauled a train
of loaded cars. Seeing was believing, and Mr. Pease was in favor of
both Stephenson and his locomotive.
So Stephenson was made chief engineer. He and his son Robert
surveyed the line, changed the location, avoiding certain territory
where people were hostile to a road of any sort, and built new and
improved locomotives for the line. What we now call good tools were
not to be had, and skilled workmen were not easy to find, but
Stephenson made a great advance in the quality of the workmanship.
The amended Act of Parliament gave the Stockton and Darlington line
the right to carry passengers in cars drawn by locomotives. This was
the first instance of such a grant. Stephenson met Mr. Pease in
1821; the road was opened to the public in 1825. People came in
crowds to see the locomotives and to ride on the _first public
railway_. There had been bitter opposition to the road and a vast
amount of incredulity as to the ability of the locomotives to do
practical work.
Imagine the excitement of the first ride. The train consisted of 6
cars loaded with coal and other freight; then a short passenger
coach filled with directors and friends; then 21 open cars or
wagons fitted for excursionists; lastly came 6 more cars loaded with
coal--making 38 cars in all!
Mr. Stephenson was proud to be on the locomotive and to run it
himself. It seemed to spectators incredible that the locomotive
could start such a load, but it did start it, and it drew it 8-3/4
miles in 65 minutes, the speed at times reaching 12 miles per hour!
More cars were added at Darlington, and then the train drew on to
Stockton, all cars being crowded with passengers.
The success was complete, and all doubts seemed to vanish. From that
day the traffic over the road continued without interruption. To the
surprise of all, the passenger business became a very important
item, and better cars were quickly in demand.
The road is in use to-day, and I had the pleasure last year of
riding over a part of it. Of course it now looks in all respects
like a modern English road, but I was deeply moved by the thought
that it was there that George Stephenson built his first public
railway and achieved his first public triumph.
Stephenson was not unmindful of the importance of that step. He
said, on that occasion, to some young men, "Now, lads, I will tell
you that I think you will live to see the day (though I may not live
so long), when railways will come to supersede almost all other
methods of conveyance--when mail coaches will go by railway. The
time is coming when it will be cheaper for a working-man to ride
than to go on foot." He lived to see all that himself, and far more.
It is difficult for us to appreciate the popular surprise and
delight at that first railway excursion. We are so accustomed to
splendid engines, luxurious cars, and high speed, that we think
nothing of them; but when all were new--when coaches and carts on
highways were the sole reliance for passengers and freight--it was
astonishing indeed to see a "travelling engine," in charge of two
men, draw a train of forty cars and six hundred people!
Many men would have been satisfied with the result, but Stephenson
was not. He said there was no limit to the speed but the strength of
the machinery and the supply of steam. He saw there was no limit to
the load but the strength and weight of the locomotive, and no limit
to the weight but the strength of the rails and the character of the
road-bed; thus he early saw how progress was to be made.
But Stephenson's greatest triumph was yet to come. The Darlington
road was chiefly for coals, between small towns in a rough northern
county. The vast majority of English people heard nothing, and knew
nothing about it. Consequently when it was proposed to connect the
great commercial city of Liverpool with the great manufacturing city
of Manchester, forty miles away, by a railway, it was taken for
granted that the cars were to be drawn by horses. Nevertheless a
tram-road was opposed, first, by the Duke of Bridgewater, who had a
canal between the two cities; and, secondly, by those who owned the
coaches and the inns. Though proposed in 1821, the opposition was so
great that it was laid over for several years. In 1824 a committee
of interested parties went to Darlington and Killingworth to see
Stephenson's road and locomotives. The Darlington line was not yet
in operation, but the old locomotives were at work at Killingworth.
The committee decided that they must have a double track for cars,
whatever might be the motive power.
Accordingly Stephenson was invited to make surveys and estimates, as
he was said to be a man of great energy and the only man in England
with the necessary experience.
The surveys were made in 1825 with the greatest difficulty, on
account of the opposition of landowners. The surveyors were ordered
off the grounds, threatened with arrest and violence. Stephenson
testified before a Parliamentary Committee that the duke's manager
threatened to have him thrown into the mill-pond if he trespassed.
Stephenson kept on as good terms as he could with the hostiles, and
surveyed their grounds by stealth.
The chief points of difficulty were a tunnel at Liverpool, and a
vast and treacherous morass known as "Chat Moss."
Early in 1825, before the Darlington road was opened, Parliament was
considering the railway bill and Stephenson was called before the
committee as a most important witness. All the opposition was out in
force and every means was used to ridicule the undertaking and
defeat the bill.
The spectacle presented by plain, blunt, unlettered George
Stephenson before the lawyers and members of the House of Commons
was strange and interesting, and no wonder it has become historical.
In the cross-examination, every effort was made to confuse and
discredit the witness, but he bore himself remarkably well. He had
built or superintended half a dozen short railways, and had
constructed sixteen locomotives, and he could speak on the details
of his plans with certainty and confidence. Two things embarrassed
him; the consciousness of awkwardness of manner and speech among men
some of whom were inclined to sneer at his northern dialect and lack
of polish; secondly, the necessity of restraining himself in stating
what his locomotives could do. He fully believed they could draw
long trains at the speed of twenty miles, but he was told by the
friends of the bill that if he made that claim before the committee,
he would be called a madman, and the bill would be killed;
accordingly he promised to hold himself down to ten miles per hour.
The evidence brought in against the bill was remarkable, and to-day
it sounds strange enough. It was urged that the rails would bend
under the locomotive at high speed; that the engine would run off
the track on curves; that if the engine got round the curves the
cars would go off; that the driving-wheels would "spin," if they
went fast, without drawing the train; that the noise and sight of
the train would frighten horses and cattle; that hens would not lay
and cows would cease to give milk along by the road; that the smoke
would poison the air and blast the fields and parks; that the coach
lines would be ruined, horses would no longer be of value, and
coach-makers, harness-makers, inn-keepers and others along the great
roads would have nothing to do, etc., etc. In the face of ignorance,
ridicule, contempt, and self-interest, Stephenson firmly maintained
the safety of a good road, the stability of his engines and cars,
the harmlessness of smoke and noise, and the facility with which
animals became indifferent to trains. He said that at Killingworth
cattle would not stop feeding as the trains went by. As to the
effect of speed, he boldly asserted that at twelve miles per hour
the load on a rail would be no more than at six, and in support of
his position he appealed to skaters who go swiftly over thin ice. As
to the "spinning" of the wheels, he was positive that no such thing
ever had happened or could happen. The enemies of the bill caught at
his suggestion of twelve miles per hour, and so pressed and led him
on that he declared his honest conviction that his trains could run
on such a road as he could make twelve miles per hour. This rashness
alarmed his friends, and they tried in vain to smooth it over by
declaring such speed to be purely "hypothetical."
In spite of all that could be said in its favor, in spite of the
pressing need of better transportation for coal, cotton,
merchandise, and passengers, the bill failed. Such was the
blindness, and ignorance, and prejudice of the House of Commons!
Think of calling George Stephenson "an ignoramus, a fool, a maniac,"
in Parliament, yet such was done.
The friends of the bill were not discouraged; they determined to
apply again the next year; but poor Stephenson was discredited, Mr.
George Rennie, the great bridge engineer, was employed to make a new
survey, and Mr. Stephenson was not called before the committee.
Meanwhile, the Darlington line was opened, and reports of its
success had reached London. It seemed to be admitted that the _road_
was a good thing, but there was great scepticism in regard to the
locomotive. However, the bill passed in the spring of 1826, and the
directors were not long in deciding that the only competent man to
build the road was George Stephenson, and he was elected principal
engineer at a salary of $5,000.
The building of the road seemed to be, and was at the time, a
tremendous undertaking. Bridges, viaducts, tunnels, and above all,
Chat Moss, a yielding bog four miles across and of unknown depth,
all taxed the engineer and the company to the utmost. The road was
finished in 1830. With the exception of bridges and rails it was
very much as it exists to-day.
For a long time the directors were undecided as to the method of
propelling the cars. Nearly every engineer except Stephenson was
opposed to the locomotive, or travelling engine.
It seems incredible that Telford and the two Rennies, road-makers
and bridge-builders, lacked faith in the locomotive, and preferred
stationary engines and long cables. Their main objection to the
locomotive appears to have been based on the fact that the steam
capacity was small, and that it was impracticable to build a
locomotive large enough to furnish all the steam that was needed.
Stephenson insisted that already his locomotives were better than
stationary engines, and yet they could be greatly improved. He said,
"Offer a generous prize for the best locomotive, and inventors and
builders will greatly improve their machines, and we will have a far
better locomotive than now." He said he felt sure he could make a
much better one himself. By that time Stephenson was part owner in
new locomotive works at Newcastle, and Robert was in general charge
there.
The puzzled directors decided to adopt Stephenson's suggestion, and
offered $2,500 as a prize for the best locomotive. The specifications
required: