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 needed only 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, so 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, he made immediate preparations to
return to England.
[Illustration: A CURIOUS ENCOUNTER.]
On his way, at a poor little comfortless inn, in a poor little
comfortless sea-port on the Gulf of Darien, where he was waiting to take
ship, he met two strangers, one evidently an Englishman, who by his
shabby 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 Trovethick, whose first steam-carriage had awakened 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 a shorter cut 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 Trovethick 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 get home with. 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 a
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; but 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 mode 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 that 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
soothed 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!"
[Illustration: SECTION OF THE FIRST BOILER IN USE.]
"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 Parliament committees had branded him as a fool and a madman
for broaching such beliefs.
[Illustration: SECTION OF A TUBULAR BOILER.]
The improved boiler was what is called a multi-tubular 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, open 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 leakage, 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 to 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 completely water-tight.
This is precisely the kind of boiler now in use: some have fifty tubes;
the largest engines one hundred and fifty.
[Illustration: THE FAILURE.]
Various other improvements were incorporated into the new engine, which,
as you do not probably understand much about machinery, would 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 offer
of the directors. The tender, shaped like a waggon, carried the fuel in
one end and the 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.
[Illustration: TUBES OF A MODERN ENGINE.]
"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 the shade.
It was shortly afterwards shipped to Liverpool, in good time for the
grand trial.
[Illustration: THE "ROCKET."]
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, from 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," the "SANS-PAREIL,"
the "ROCKET," the "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 till October 6th.
The day arrived, and a glance at the country around showed that an
unusual occasion was drawing people together. Multitudes from the
neighbouring towns assembled on the ground 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-pareil," 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 fuel 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 discussions 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
draught 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, his
request could not be granted, and he too withdrew his claims.
The "Rocket" alone stood its ground. The "Rocket," therefore, was again
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 with the profound satisfaction which
the Stephensons felt at this public acknowledgment of the worth of their
lifelong labours. George's veracity, skill, intelligence, had all been
doubted, denied, 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 on the water, took its place as one of the
grand moving powers of the world.