ROBERT'S RETURN--A CURIOUS ENCOUNTER--THE PRIZE ENGINE.
One step forward; yes, a great one too, Stephenson thought. His
beloved locomotive was to have a chance of being properly introduced
to the great English public; and he felt that it only needed to be
known to be valued. The building of it was a matter of no small
moment, and he wanted above all things a tried and skilful hand to
superintend and put into its construction every conceivable
improvement. It must be the best engine yet built.
Where should he find the right man? No one would answer like his son
Robert, and Robert he determined to send for. Robert, you remember,
went to South America three years before. There he had regained his
health, and on receiving his father's letter made immediate
preparations to return to England.
On his way, at a poor little comfortless inn, in a poor little
comfortless seaport on the gulf of Darien, where he was waiting to
take ship, he met two strangers, one evidently an Englishman, who by
his appearance looked as if the world had gone hard with him. A
fellow-feeling drew the young man towards his poor countryman, and on
inquiry, who should it prove to be, but the old Cornwall tin-miner,
Captain Trevethick, whose first steam-carriage awoke so much curiosity
in London nearly a quarter of a century before.
He had sown his idea to the winds. Others had caught it up, cherished
it, pondered over it, examined it, dissected it, improved it, embodied
it, and by patient study and persistent endeavour had reduced it to a
practical force. And Robert Stephenson was now on his way to
inaugurate it as one of the great commercial values of the kingdom and
of the world. The poor inventor, what had he done meanwhile? While
others worked had he slept? Oh, no! He had tried an easier and shorter
road to fame and fortune. You remember he left his "dragon," as some
people called his locomotive, in London, quite careless what became of
it, and went scheming and speculating in other things. Several years
after, in a shop window, it attracted the attention of a French
gentleman passing by. He was from Peru, and had just come to England
to get a steam-engine for pumping water from some gold-diggings in the
new world. Delighted with the model, he bought it for twenty guineas.
Taking it with him to Lima, an engine was built on the plan of it,
which worked admirably. The gentleman was then sent back to England to
hunt up and bring out the inventor himself. The captain was found, and
came forth from his obscurity into sudden notice and demand. The
gentleman engaged him to make five pumping-engines according to his
model, which he did, and shipped them to Lima, the captain himself
soon following.
At Lima he was received with great honours, and a public rejoicing. A
guard of honour was appointed to wait on him; and in view of the
wealth he was supposed to be able to engineer from their mines, a
massive silver statue of him, as the benefactor of Peru, began to be
talked of.
Of course poor Trevethick thought his fortune made, and no doubt
looked back with pity on his humble English life. Friends at home
spread the news of his successes, and when they stated that the
smallest estimate of his yearly income amounted to one hundred
thousand pounds, no wonder he was pronounced a success! Tardier steps
to fortune seemed tedious; and many of his old associates perhaps
sighed over the wholesome toil of a slower-paced prosperity.
Years passed on, and the poor captain next turns up at Cartagena,
penniless and pitiable. In crossing the country he had lost
everything. Fording rivers, penetrating forests, and fighting wild
beasts, had left him little else than a desire to reach England again;
and Robert Stephenson gave him fifty pounds to help him home. Sudden
fortunes are apt as suddenly to vanish; while those accumulated by the
careful husbandry of economy, industry, and foresight reward without
waste. So character is stronger than reputation. For one is built on
what we are, the other on what we seem to be; and, like a shadow,
reputation may be longer or shorter, or only a distorted outline of
character. One holds out, because it is real; the other often
disappears, because it is but shadow.
Robert reached home in December, 1827, right heartily welcomed, we may
well believe, by his father, who was thankful to halve the burden of
responsibility with such a son. To build the prize locomotive was
_his_ work.
Stephenson had long been a partner in a locomotive factory at
Newcastle, which had hitherto proved a losing concern to the owners.
There was little or no market for their article, and they struggled
on, year after year, waiting for better times. Nobody saw better times
but Stephenson. He saw them ahead, shooting through the gloomy clouds
of indifference and prejudice. And now, he calculated, it was very
near. So he sent Robert to Newcastle to take charge of the works
there, and construct an engine that would make good all his words.
It was a critical moment, but he had no fears of the result. Robert
often came to Liverpool to consult with his father, and long and
interesting discussions took place between father and son concerning
the best modes of increasing and perfecting the powers of the
mechanism. One thing wanted was greater speed; and this could only be
gained by increasing the quantity and the quality of the steam. For
this effect a greater heating surface was necessary, and mechanics had
long been experimenting to find the best and most economical boiler
for high-pressure engines.
Young James, son of Mr. James, who, when the new Liverpool and
Manchester route was talked of, was the first to discover and
acknowledge George Stephenson's genius, made the model of an improved
boiler, which he showed to the Stephensons. Perhaps he was one of the
boys who went to Killingworth with his father to see the wonders of
"Puffing Billy," and whose terrors at the snorting monster were only
smoothed by a pleasant and harmless ride on his back. Whether this
gave him a taste for steam-engines we do not know. At any rate, he
introduces himself to our notice now, with a patented model of an
improved boiler in his hand, which Stephenson thinks it may be worth
his while to make trial of. "Try it," exclaimed the young inventor,
"try it, and there will be no limit to your speed. Think of thirty
miles an hour!"
"Don't speak of thirty miles an hour," rejoined Stephenson; "I should
not dare talk about such a thing aloud." For I suppose he could hardly
forget how parliamentary committees had branded him as a fool and a
madman for broaching such beliefs.
The improved boiler was what is called a multitubular boiler. You do
not understand that, I suppose. An iron boiler is cast, six feet long,
and three feet and a third in diameter. It is to be filled half full
of water. Through this lower half there run twenty-five copper tubes,
each about three inches in diameter, opened at one end to the fire,
through which the heat passes to the chimney at the other end. You see
this would present a great deal of heating surface to the water,
causing it to boil and steam off with great rapidity. The invention
was not a sudden growth, as no inventions are. Fire-tubes serving this
use started in several fertile minds about the same time, and several
persons claimed the honour of the invention; but it was Stephenson's
practical mind which put it into good working order, and made it
available; for he told Robert to try it in his new locomotive.
He did. The tubes were of copper, manufactured by a Newcastle
coppersmith, and carefully inserted into the ends of the boiler by
screws. Water was put into the boiler, and in order to be sure there
was no leaking, a pressure was put on the water; when lo, the water
squirted out at every screw, and the factory floor was deluged. Poor
Robert was in despair. He sat down and wrote his father that the whole
thing was a failure.
A failure indeed! Back came a letter by the next post telling him to
"go ahead and try again!" The letter, moreover, suggested a remedy for
the disaster--fastening the tubes into the boiler by fitting them
snugly into holes bored for the purpose, and soldering up the edges.
And it proved to be precisely what Robert himself had thought of,
after the first bitter wave of disappointment had subsided. So he took
heart and went to work again. Success crowned his efforts. A heavy
pressure was put on the water, and not a drop oozed out. The boiler
was quite water-tight.
This is precisely the kind of boiler now in use: some have fifty
tubes; the largest engines one hundred and fifty.
Various other improvements were incorporated into the new engine,
which, as you do not probably understand much about machinery, will
not particularly interest you.
At last the new engine was finished. It weighed only four tons and a
quarter, little less than two tons under the weight required by the
directors. The tender, shaped like a waggon, carried wood in one end
and water in the other.
It was forthwith put on the Killingworth track, fired up, and started
off. Robert must have watched its operations with intense anxiety.
Nothing could have met his expectations like the new boiler. It in
fact outdid his highest hopes. The steam made rapidly, and in, what
seemed to him then, marvellous quantities. Away went a letter to
Liverpool that very evening.
"The 'Rocket' is all right and ready," wrote the young man joyfully.
That was the engine's name, "Rocket," on account of its speed perhaps.
"Puffing Billy" was quite cast into a shade.
It was shortly shipped to Liverpool in time for the grand trial.
The trial, rapidly approaching, elicited a great and general interest.
The public mind was astir. The day fixed was the first of October.
Engineers, mechanics, and scientific men, far and near, flocked to
Liverpool. The ground where the exhibition was to take place was a
level piece of railroad two miles long, a little out of the city. Each
engine was to make twenty trips at a rate of speed not under ten miles
an hour, and three competent men were appointed as judges.
Four engines were entered on the list, "THE NOVELTY," "SANS-PAREIL,"
"THE ROCKET," "PERSEVERANCE."
Several others were built for the occasion in different parts of the
kingdom, or rather projected and begun, but were not finished in time.
In order to afford ample opportunity for their owners to get them in
good working order, the directors postponed the trial to October 6th.
The day arrived, and a glance at the country round showed that an
unusual occasion was drawing people together. Multitudes from the
neighbouring towns assembled on the grounds at an early hour. The road
was lined with carriages, and a high staging afforded the ladies an
opportunity of witnessing the novel race.
The "Novelty" and "Sans-pereil," though first on the list, were not
ready at the hour appointed. What engine was? The "Rocket."
Stephenson, next on the roll, was called for by the judges, and
promptly the little "Rocket" fired up at the call. It performed six
trips in about fifty-three minutes.
The "Novelty" then proclaimed itself ready. It was a light, trim
engine, of little more than three tons weight, carrying its wood and
water with it. It took no load, and ran across the course sometimes at
the rate of twenty-five miles an hour. The "Sans-pareil" also came
out.
The "Perseverance," not able to go faster than five or six miles an
hour, withdrew from the contest. As the day was now far spent, further
exhibition was put off till the morrow.
What exciting discussion must have taken place among rival competitors
and their friends! What a scrutiny of the merits and demerits, the
virtues and defects, of opposing engines!
Before the appointed hour the next day the bellows of the "Novelty"
gave out, and as this was one of its merits--a bellows to increase the
draft of the air-blast--its builders were forced to retire from the
list.
Soon after a defect was discovered in the boiler of the "Sans-pareil."
Mr. Hackworth begged for time to mend it; as there was no time, none
could be granted, and he, too, withdrew his claims.
The "Rocket" alone stood its ground. The "Rocket," therefore, was
called for. Stephenson attached to it a carriage large enough to hold
a party of thirty, and drove his locomotive along the line at the rate
of twenty-five and thirty miles an hour, to the amazement and delight
of every one present.
The next morning it was ordered to be in readiness to answer the
various specifications of the offer. It snorted and panted, and
steamed over the race-ground in proud trim, drawing about thirteen
tons weight. In twenty trips, backward and forward, its greatest speed
was twenty-nine miles an hour, three times greater than Nicholas Wood,
one of the judges, declared to be possible. Its average rate was
fifteen miles, five miles beyond the rate specified for the prize. The
performance appeared astonishing. Spectators were filled with wonder.
The poor directors began to see fair weather; doubts were solved,
disputes settled; the "Rocket" had cleared the track for them. There
could no longer be any question how to run the road. George Cropper,
who had steadily countenanced stationary engines, lifted up his hands,
exclaiming, "Stephenson has at last delivered himself!"
The two other locomotives, however, were allowed to reappear on the
stage; but both broke down, and the "Rocket" remained victor to the
last. It had performed, and more than performed, all it promised,
fulfilled all the conditions of the directors' offer, and was
accordingly declared to have nobly earned the prize, five hundred
pounds.
But the money was little compared to the profound satisfaction which
the Stephensons felt at this public acknowledgment of the worth of
their life-long labours. George's veracity, skill, and intelligence
had all been doubted, denied, and derided by men of all classes. Even
old friends turned against him, and thought his mind was crazed by
"one idea." He had to struggle on alone; faithful to his convictions,
patiently biding his time, yet earnestly pleading his cause on every
suitable occasion. He had a blessing for the world, and he knew when
it felt its want of it, it would have it. That time had come. The
directors flocked around him with flattering congratulations. All
shyness and coolness vanished. Friends were no longer few. The shares
of the company immediately rose ten per cent. Men and means were at
his disposal. George Stephenson was a happy man.
The "Rocket" had blown stationary engines to the winds. And steam that
day, on the land as well as the water, took its place as one of the
grand moving powers of the world.