HUNTING UP HIS OWN WORK--AN ENTERPRISING QUAKER--WHAT WAS THE RESULT?
It appears strange to us that so simple a thing as the laying of a
rail or the making of a tunnel seems to be, should have taken years of
thought and experiment to do it. Nothing looks easier to have done
than the straight smooth track of a railway, such as we now see in
use; and yet it was only arrived at by slow steps through two hundred
years.
In pondering upon the powers of "Puffing Billy," George Stephenson saw
that the efficiency of locomotives must, in a great measure, depend
upon what kind of roads they had to run upon. Many were sanguine that
steam-carriages would some day come into use on common roads. After a
long series of experiments George Stephenson said, "No, the thing
wouldn't pay." For a rough surface seriously impairs the power of a
locomotive; sand scattered upon the rails is sufficient to slacken and
even stop an engine. The least possible friction is desirable, and
this is found on the smooth rail.
Could they ever be laid up hill, or on "ascending gradients," as the
scientific term is? No; as nearly level as possible, Stephenson's
experiments showed, was the best economy of power. Then how to get rid
of the jolts and jars and breakages of the rails as they were then
laid? He studied and experimented upon both chairs and sleepers, and
finally embodied all his improvements in the colliery railway.
"Puffing Billy" was in every respect a most remarkable piece of
machinery, and its constructor one of the most sagacious and
persistent of men; but how was the public, ever slow in discovering
true merit, or accepting real benefits, to discover and appreciate
them? Neither influence, education, nor patronage had Stephenson to
command mind and means, or to drive his engine through prejudice,
indifference, and opposition to profit and success.
But what he could not do other men could do and did do. Yes, there
were already men of property and standing ready to listen to a new
idea. While he worked they talked. As yet unknown to each other, but
each by himself clearing the track for a grand junction.
One of these wide-awake men was Mr. Edward Pease, a rich "Friend," of
Darlington, who, his friends said, "could look a hundred miles ahead."
He needed a quicker and easier transit for his coal from the
collieries north of Darlington to Stockton, where they were shipped;
and Mr. Pease began to agitate, in his mind, for a railroad. A company
for this purpose was formed chiefly of his own friends, whom he fairly
talked into it. Scarcely twenty shares were taken by the merchants and
shipowners of Stockton, whose eyes were not yet open to the advantage
it would by-and-by be to them. A survey of the proposed road was made,
when to the indifference of the many was added the opposition of the
few. A duke was afraid for his foxes. Shareholders in the turnpikes
declared it would ruin their stock. Timid men said it was a new thing,
and it was best to let new things alone. The world would never improve
much under _such_ counsel. Mr. Pease was hampered on all sides.
Nobody convinced him that his first plan was not the right one; but
what can a man do in any public enterprise without supporters? So he
reluctantly was obliged to give up his railroad, and ask parliament
for liberty to build a tramroad--horse-power instead of steam-power;
he seemingly could do no better, and even this was obtained only after
long delay and at considerable cost.
Among the thousands who carelessly read in the newspapers the passage
through parliament of the Stockton and Darlington Act, there was one
humble man whose eye kindled as he read it. In his bosom it awakened a
profound interest. He went to bed and got up brooding over it. He was
hungry to have a hand in it; until at last, yearning with an
irrepressible desire to do his own work in the world, he felt he must
go forth to seek it.
One night a couple of strangers knocked at the door of Mr. Edward
Pease's house in Darlington, and introduced themselves as two
Killingworth colliers. One of them handed the master of the mansion a
letter of introduction from a gentleman of Newcastle, recommending him
as a man who might prove useful in carrying out his contemplated road.
To support the application a friend accompanied him.
The man was George Stephenson, and his friend was Nicholas Wood. It
did not take long for Edward Pease to see that Stephenson was
precisely the man he wanted.
"A railway, and not a tramroad," said Stephenson, when the subject was
fairly and fully opened.
"A horse railway?" asked Mr. Pease.
"A locomotive engine is worth fifty horses," exclaimed Stephenson; and
once on the track, he launched out boldly in its behalf.
"Come over to Killingworth, and see my 'Puffing Billy,'" said George;
"seeing is believing." And Mr. Pease, as you may suppose, was quite
anxious to see a machine that would outride the fleetest horse. Yet he
did not need "Puffing Billy" to convince him that its constructor knew
what he was advocating, and could make good his pledges. The good
Quaker's courage rapidly rose. He took a new start, and the
consequence was that all other plans and men were thrown aside, and
Stephenson was engaged to put the road through much in his own way.
The first thing to be done was to make an accurate survey of the
proposed route. Taking Robert with him, who had just come from
college, and entered as heartily into the enterprise as his father,
with two other tried men, they began work in good earnest. From
daylight till night the surveyors were on duty. One of the men going
to Darlington to sleep one night, four miles off.
"Now, you must not _start_ from Darlington at daybreak," said
Stephenson, "but be here, ready to begin work, at daybreak." He and
Robert used to make their home at the farm-houses along the way, where
his good-humour and friendliness made him a great favourite. The
children loved him dearly; the dogs wagged their approving tails at
his approach; the birds had a delighted listener to their morning
songs; and every dumb creature had a kind glance from his friendly
eye.
But George was not satisfied until Mr. Pease came to Killingworth to
see "Puffing Billy," and become convinced of its economical habits by
an examination of the colliery accounts. He promised, therefore, to
follow George thither, bringing with him a large capitalist; and over
they went in the summer of 1822.
Inquiring for George Stephenson, they were directed to the cottage
with a stone dial over the door. George drove his locomotive up,
hoisted in the gentlemen, harnessed on a heavy load, and away they
went. George no doubt showed "Billy" off to the best advantage.
"Billy" performed admirably, and the two wondering passengers went
home enthusiastic believers in locomotive power.
A good many things had to be settled by the Darlington project. One
was the width of the gauge, that is, the distance between the rails.
How wide apart should they be? Stephenson said the space between the
cart and waggon wheels of a common road was a good criterion. The
tramroads had been laid down by this gauge--four feet and eight
inches--and he thought it about right for the railway; so this gauge
was adopted.
One thing which hampered Stephenson not a little was a want of the
right sort of workmen--quick-minded, skilful mechanics, who could put
his ideas into the right shape. The labour of originating so much we
can never know. He had nothing to copy from, and nobody's experience
to go by. Happily he proved equal to his task. We can readily imagine
his anxiety as the work progressed. Hope and fear must have in turn
raised and depressed him. Not that he had any doubts in regard to the
final issue of the grand experiment of railroads--they _must_ go.
Dining one day at a small roadside house with Robert and John Dixon,
after walking over the route, then nearly completed, "Lads," he said,
"I think you will live to see the day when railroads will be the great
highway for the king and all his subjects. The time is coming when it
will be cheaper for a working-man to travel on a railway than to walk
on foot. There are big difficulties in the way, I know; but it will
surely come to pass. I can hardly hope to live to see that day, much
as I should like to; for I know how slow all human progress is, and
how hard it is to make men believe in the locomotive, even after our
ten years' success in Killingworth."
While the father roughed it through, Robert's health failed. His close
application to business made sad inroads upon a frame naturally more
delicate than his father's, and an offer to go out and superintend
some mining operations in South America was thankfully accepted, in
the hope that a sea voyage and less exciting labours might restore
him.
Robert shortly sailed; and his father pushed on alone, with that brave
spirit which carried him through many a darker hour.
On the 27th of September the Stockton and Darlington railway was
finished and opened. A great many came to see the new mode of
travelling, which had proved a fruitful subject of talk, far and near,
for many months: some to rejoice; some to see the bubble burst; some
with wonder, not knowing what to think; some with determined
hostility. The opposition was strong--old England against young
England--the counter currents of old and new ideas.
The road ran from Stockton to Darlington, a distance of twelve miles,
and thence to the Etherly collieries; in all thirty-two miles.
Four steam-engines were employed, and two stationary engines, to hoist
the trains over two hills on the route. The locomotives were of
six-horse power, and went at the rate of five or six miles an hour.
Slow as this was, it was regarded with wonder. A "travelling engine"
seemed almost a miracle. One day a race came off between a locomotive
and a coach running on the common highway, and it was regarded as a
great triumph that the former reached Stockton first, leaving the
coach one hundred yards behind.
The road was built for a freight road, to convey lime, coal, and
bricks from the mines and kilns in the interior to the seaboard for
shipment abroad. Carrying passengers was not thought of. Enterprise,
however, in this direction took a new start. A company was soon formed
to run two coaches on the rails between Darlington and Stockton by
horse-power. Each coach accommodated six inside passengers, and from
fifteen to twenty outside; was drawn by one horse, and went at the
rate of nine miles an hour.
"We seated ourselves," said a traveller of those days, "on the top of
the Defence coach, and started from Stockton, highly interested with
the novelty of the scene, and of this new and extraordinary
conveyance. Nothing could be more surprising than the rapidity and
smoothness of the motion." Yet the coach was without springs, and
jerked and jolted over the joints of the rails with a noise like the
clinking of a millhopper.
"Such is the first great attempt to establish the use of railways,"
writes a delighted editor, "for the general purposes of travelling;
and such is its success that the traffic is already great; and,
considering that there was formerly no coach at all on either of the
roads along which the railroad runs, quite wonderful. A trade and
intercourse have arisen out of nothing, and nobody knows how."
Such was their small and imperfect beginning, we should say, now that
railroads, improved and perfected, have fulfilled Stephenson's
prediction, and have become the great highways of the civilized world.
These wonders stirred the enterprise of old Massachusetts. Bunker-hill
monument was then being built, and built of Quincy granite. To make an
easier and cheaper transit to the water, the company built a railway
from the quarries to the wharf, a distance of three miles, whence the
blocks were carried in boats across the harbour to Charlestown. The
rails were made of oak and pine, and the cars ran by horses. This was
the first railroad in the United States.
The example of the monument building committee, and the success of the
Stockton road, put the Boston people on a new track to get into the
country. By the old modes of travel, the Connecticut river valley was
very far off. Intercourse with the interior towns cost time and money.
Going to Boston was a long and expensive journey. Of course there were
not many journeys made, and no more trading than was absolutely
necessary. Cheap and easy travelling was the need: Boston wanted what
the country produced, and the country wanted what Boston merchants had
to sell.
A canal was talked of, and routes surveyed. But nobody was sure it was
the best thing, when English newspapers broached railroads. Ah, there
it was; the best thing! Two advantages it had over a canal. A canal
must only be a skating-ground for boys some months in the year, while
a railway could be run winter and summer. It was also quicker and
pleasanter for passengers. So, as early as 1827, the subject was
stirring the minds of business men, and brought before the notice of
the legislature. It was a horse-railway they were thinking of, and
nothing more. It, however, came to nothing.
The first passenger railway in America, the Baltimore and Ohio, was
opened for fifteen miles, in 1830, with horse-power; and the Mohawk
and Hudson, from Albany to Schenectady, sixteen miles, was run with
horses in 1831. A few months later the steam-horse, with its iron
sinews, drove them off, never to yield the right of way again.