GRAPPLING WITH DIFFICULTIES—THE BOG—A
PUZZLE—THE PRIZE OFFER.
The real work was now to be done. Hopes and fears had yet to be
verified.
At the first meeting of the directors, a man to put the enterprise
through was to be chosen. Who? The Rennies were anxious to get the
appointment. They naturally expected it. They had made the survey, and
their name had had weight in getting the Act of Parliament. But they
could not superintend the details of the work. They had other
enterprises on foot.
Stephenson, no doubt, was _the_ man. The directors felt him to be so. No
one could long be with him without feeling his power. Besides, what he
had done had been ably done. At the risk of offending the Rennies and
their friends, they chose him, and the result proved the wisdom of their
choice.
On receiving the appointment, he immediately moved to Liverpool, and the
work began in good earnest. It was a stupendous undertaking for those
days. Chat Moss had to be filled in, sixty-three bridges built,
excavations made, tunnels cut, and all the practical details carried
out, with very little past experience to profit by. Neither was the kind
of labour well understood, nor was there that division of labour between
contractors and engineers which relieves one man of too heavy a
responsibility. In fact, tools and men had to be made; and Stephenson
had to make both!
The great quagmire was first grappled with. "No man in his senses would
undertake to make a road over Chat Moss," opposers said in Parliament;
"that were to undertake the impossible." Stephenson, however, meant to
try. Formidable it certainly was. Cattle ploughing on farms bordering
the bog, where it ran underneath the tilled land, had to wear flat-soled
boots in order to keep their hoofs from sinking down into the soft soil.
The proposed route ran four miles across it, and the way had to be
drained and filled in with sand and gravel. The drainage tasked their
ingenuity to the utmost, and almost baffled the workmen. After that was
in some degree accomplished, waggon-load after waggon-load of earth was
thrown on for weeks and weeks: but it only sank into the mire and
disappeared—not an inch of solid footing seemed gained; and on they
went, filling and filling, without apparently having made the least
impression on the Moss,—the greedy bog only cried out for more.
[Illustration: CHAT MOSS.]
Stephenson's men began to have their doubts. The opposition might have
judged more correctly after all. They asked him what he thought. "Go
ahead!" was his answer. By-and-by the directors began to have _their_
fears. It looked to them like a very unpromising job. So it was. After
waiting and waiting in vain for signs of progress, they called a meeting
on the edge of the Moss, to see if it were not best to give up. The bog,
they were afraid, might swallow up all their funds, as it had done
everything else. Stephenson lost not a whit of his courage. "Go ahead!"
was his counsel. He never for a moment doubted of final success. And
considering the great outlay already made, they wisely gave in to him.
Monstrous stories were afloat of the terrible accidents taking place
there. Every now and then the stage drivers brought into Manchester the
astonishing news of men, horses, carts, and Stephenson himself submerged
and sunk for ever in the insatiable quagmire! Time corrected one only to
publish another. Newsmongers were kept in a state of delightful
excitement, and tea-table gossip was spiced to suit the most credulous
and marvel-loving taste, until the Moss was conquered, as conquered it
was acknowledged to be, when, six months after the directors had met to
vote to leave it to its original unproductiveness, they were driven over
it on a smooth and secure rail to Manchester!
Another tough job was tunnelling Liverpool—excavating a mile and a third
of road through solid rock. Night and day the boring, blasting, and
hewing were kept in vigorous execution. Sometimes the miners were
deluged with water, sometimes they were in danger of being overwhelmed
by heavy falls of wet sand from overhead. Once, when Stephenson was gone
from town, a mass of loose earth came tumbling on the heads of the
workmen, frightening them, if nothing more. On his return they were in a
most refractory state, complaining of the dangers, and stoutly refusing
to go back to work. Wasting no time on words, Stephenson shouldered a
pick-axe, and called for recruits to follow. Into the tunnel he marched,
and the whole gang after him. Nothing more was heard of fears, and the
work went bravely and steadily on.
Besides laying out all the work, Stephenson had to make the tools. All
the waggons, trucks, carriages, switches, crosses, signals, were planned
and manufactured under his superintendence, besides meeting and
providing for a thousand exigencies constantly occurring in a new
enterprise like this, giving full scope to all the sagacity, invention,
and good-humour which naturally belonged to him.
The expenses of the road were heavy, and money was not always
forthcoming. If the works lagged in consequence of it, the hopes of the
directors fell; so that Stephenson's energies were taxed to the utmost
during the four years of the work; and he showed, what observation and
history both teach us, that efficient men are men of _detail_ as well as
men of great plans.
Remember this, boys—for we sometimes despise little particulars and the
day of small things—that the secret of effective doing lies not only in
making wise plans, but in filling up the minutest parts with promptness
and fidelity. There must be detail, to achieve any great and good work.
If you would possess the fruits of learning, you must get them by the
toil of daily drudgery. If you undertake to become rich, you must not
despise the small gains and little economies by which a fortune is made.
If you would obtain a noble Christian manhood, you must not neglect
hourly self-restraint, watchfulness, and prayer, or the daily exercise
of those humbler virtues and godly industries which make the woof of
character.
Stephenson strikingly illustrated the practical force of this principle.
The minutest detail of every plan in this new enterprise was thought out
and carried on by himself, or under his direct supervision. Both in
summer and winter he rose early. Before breakfast you might find him on
a morning round, visiting the extensive workshops where the machines and
tools were made; or perhaps Bobby is brought to the door, and mounted on
this his favourite horse, he is off fifteen miles to inspect the
progress of a viaduct—a ride long enough to whet the appetite for a
tempting breakfast, one would think. But nothing tempts him from his
frugal habits: he eats "crowdie"—and that made by himself—which is
nothing more or less than oatmeal hasty-pudding and milk. Again he is
off, inspecting the labours of his men all along the line from point to
point, pushing the works here, advising there, and inspiring everywhere.
Bobby is a living witness that one beast, at least, is not to be scared
by a locomotive. He can face the snorting monster without so much as a
shy step, or a prick of the ears. _He_ afraid! not Bobby.
Returning home, pay-rolls are to be examined, perhaps, when every item
of expense must be accounted for; or drawings are to be made, or
directions given, or letters written.
Several young men were received into his family to be trained for
engineers. A second wife—frugal, gentle, and friendly—superintended his
household. Their evenings were passed in study and conversation,
brightened by the genial humour of the remarkable man whose genius drew
them together, and whose good-tempered pleasantries relieved the heavier
tasks of mind and body. The compendium of all his instruction was,—Learn
for yourselves, think for yourselves, master principles, persevere, be
industrious, and there is no fear for you. It is an indication of the
value of these instructions, that every young man trained under him rose
to eminent usefulness. "Ah," he sometimes said, on relating a bit of his
own early history, "you don't know what work is in these days." And yet
work is work all the world over.
In spite of the best Stephenson could do, the directors, looking at
their unproductive capital, and not fully comprehending all the
difficulties to be overcome, sometimes urged greater despatch.
"Now, George," said Friend Cropper one day, "thou must get on with the
railway; thou must really have it opened by the first of January next."
"Consider the heavy nature of the works, sir," rejoined George, "and how
much we have been delayed by want of money, to say nothing of the bad
weather. The thing is impossible."
"Impossible!" cried Cropper. "I wish I could get Napoleon to thee; he
would tell thee there is no such word as 'impossible.'"
"Tush!" exclaimed George, "don't tell me about Napoleon. Give me men,
money, and material, and I'll do what Napoleon couldn't do—drive a
railroad over Chat Moss."
He might have retorted more significantly by asking the directors what
_they_ meant to do; for Liverpool was tunnelled and Chat Moss railed
before they could agree what kind of power to put on it. There were some
who insisted upon using horse-power; but the majority thought that was
out of the question. Meeting after meeting was held, debate followed
debate, and the whole body became more and more puzzled as the road
itself neared completion.
Some kind of machine; but _what_?—ah, that was the question. You would
naturally have thought, "A locomotive, of course." But no; since
Parliament opposition raged against it, steam had lost ground in the
public estimation, and it was very slow in getting back to favour.
Locomotives, or "travelling engines," as they were called, were hid in a
cloud of doubts,—and more than ever since the Parliament debates. "They
were dangerous, they were frightful, they could never go fast
enough,—their utmost speed would not be ten miles an hour." Some of the
most distinguished engineers would give no opinion of them at all. They
had none. It was certainly hard to patronize them in spite of their
indifference, and possibly their sneers. Certainly, if the poor
locomotive depended on their verdict, its fate was sealed.
[Illustration: GOOD SERVICE.]
One stanch friend remained. Stephenson stood faithfully by "Puffing
Billy," puffing away in his far-off Northumberland home. He never
flinched advocating its principles, and urged the directors to try one
on the road. They at last ordered one to be built,—one that would be of
service to the company, and no great nuisance to the public. It was
built, and excellent service it did, drawing marl from the cuttings and
excavations to fill up the bogs and hollows. Nevertheless, it settled
nothing, and convinced nobody not already convinced.
Meanwhile the directors were deluged with projects, plans, and advice
for running their road. Scheme upon scheme was let loose upon them;—some
engines to go by water-power, some by gas, some by cog-wheels. All the
engineering science in the kingdom was ready to engineer for them in its
own way; but who among all could pronounce the best way, and upon the
whole decide which was the right motive power?
A deputation was despatched to Darlington and Stockton to inspect the
fixed and locomotive engines employed on that road; but the deputation
came back differing so among themselves, that the directors were more
puzzled than ever. Two professional engineers of high reputation were
then sent, who, on their return, reported in favour of _fixed
engines_—for safety, speed, economy, and convenience, fixed engines by
all odds; reiterating again and again all the frightful stories of
danger and annoyance charged upon steam. They proposed dividing the road
into nineteen stages, of a mile and a half in length, and having
twenty-one stationary engines at different points to push and draw the
trains along. The plan was carefully matured.
Poor Stephenson! how did he feel? "Well," he said, with the calm
earnestness of a man of faith, "one thing I know, that before many years
railroads will become the great highways of the world."
Could the directors accept the project without consulting him? Again
they met. What had he to say concerning it? Fight it he did. He dwelt
upon its complicated nature, the liability of the ropes and tackling to
get out of order, the failure of one engine retarding and damaging and
stopping the whole line; a phase of the matter which did not fail to
make an impression. The directors were moved. The rich Quaker, Cropper,
however, headed the stationary-engine party, and insisted upon adopting
it. "But," answered the others, "ought we to make such an outlay of
money without first giving the locomotive a fair trial?" And Stephenson
pleaded powerfully, as you may suppose, in its behalf. "Try it, try it,"
he urged; "for speed and safety there is nothing like it." And the words
of a man with strong faith are strong words. "Besides," he said, "the
locomotive is capable of great improvements. It is young yet; its
capacities have never been thoroughly tested. When proper inducements
are held out, a superior article will be offered to the public."
Never were directors in a greater strait. There was no withstanding
Stephenson, for he knew what he was talking about. All the rest were
schemers. At last one of the directors said, "Wait; let us offer a prize
for a new locomotive, built to answer certain conditions, and see what
sort of engine we can get."
That was fair. It was right his engine should be properly tested. All
agreed; and in a few days proposals were issued for the building of one.
There were eight conditions, two of which were that if the engine were
of six tons weight, it should be able to draw twenty tons, at a speed as
high as _ten_ miles an hour. The prize was five hundred pounds.
The offer excited a great deal of attention, and many people made
themselves merry at its expense. The conditions were absurd, they said;
nobody but a set of fools would have made them: it had already been
proved impossible to make a locomotive-engine go at ten miles an hour.
And one gentleman in his heat even went so far as to say that if it ever
_were_ done, he would undertake to eat a stewed engine-wheel for his
breakfast! As that condition was fully answered, it is to be hoped that
he was generously relieved from his rash promise and his indigestible
dish.
More candid minds turned with interest to the development of this new
force struggling into notice. Stephenson felt how much depended on the
issue; and the public generally concluded to suspend their verdict upon
the proper working of railways, until time and talent gave them better
means of judging.