OPENING OF THE NEW ROAD—DIFFICULTIES VANISH—A
NEW ERA.
There was no more waiting for work at the locomotive factory in
Newcastle. Orders immediately arrived from the directors to build eight
large engines for the new road, and all the workshops were astir with
busy life. The victorious little "Rocket" was put on the road, and
sensibly helped to finish it. Neither faith, nor men, nor means were now
wanting, and the labour in every part went heartily on.
In June a meeting of the directors was held in Manchester, when the
"Rocket" made a trip from Liverpool to that city with a freight and
passenger train, running through in two hours. Chat Moss never quivered.
And the directors, I dare say, would have been very glad to forget their
disconsolate meeting on the edge of it, when they nearly voted
themselves beaten by the bog, only Stephenson would not let them.
On the 15th of September 1830, there was to be a public opening of the
road, and preparations were made at each end, and all along the way, for
the grand event. The occasion awakened a deep and universal interest. It
was justly regarded as a national event, to be celebrated with becoming
honours. The Duke of Wellington, then Prime Minister, was present; also
Sir Robert Peel, and Mr. Huskisson, whose stirring words had revived the
drooping spirits of the directors after their defeat in Parliament, and
whose influence had served to get their Bill successfully through at
last. No one, perhaps, had watched the progress of the enterprise with
deeper interest than Mr. Huskisson, or rejoiced more in the vanquishing
of one difficulty after another to its final finishing. Great numbers
came from far and near, who, assembling by the slow mode of travel of
those days, took time accordingly.
Carriages lined the roads and lanes; the river was crowded with boats;
and soldiers and constables had their hands full to keep the people from
the track.
[Illustration: OPENING THE LINE.]
The new locomotives, eight in number, having been carefully tested,
steamed proudly up. The "Northumbrian," driven by George Stephenson,
took the lead. Next the "Phœnix," under Robert's charge. The "North
Star," by a brother of George. The "Rocket," and the rest, with their
trains, followed. Six hundred persons were in this procession, flying at
the rate of twenty-five miles an hour! Oh the wonder and admiration
which the spectacle excited! These noble steam-horses, panting,
prancing, snorting, puffing, blowing, shooting through tunnels, dashing
across bridges, coursing high embankments, and racing over the fields
and far away! England and the world never saw before a sight like that.
But the joy and the triumph of the occasion were destined to be damped
by a sad disaster. At Parkenside, seventeen miles from Liverpool, the
"Northumbrian," which carried the Duke and his party, was drawn up on
one track, in order to allow the other trains to pass in review before
them on the other. Mr. Huskisson had alighted, and, standing outside,
was talking with the Duke, when a hurried cry of "Get in! get in!" went
up from the bystanders. For on came the "Rocket," steaming at full
speed. Mr. Huskisson, startled and confused, attempted to regain the
carriage an instant too late: he was struck down, and the "Rocket" went
over him.
"I have met my death!" exclaimed the unfortunate man; which, alas!
proved but too true, for he died that evening.
A sad confusion prevailed. The wounded gentleman was lifted into the
carriage, and the "Northumbrian" took him over the track home, a
distance of fifteen miles, in about twenty minutes. So swiftly and
easily done! The use rather than the abuse of the new power made the
strongest impression.
The mournful accident threw a cloud over the occasion. The Duke wished
to stop the celebration, and immediately return to Liverpool. Mr.
Huskisson's friends joined with him in the wish. Others felt that
Manchester should not be disappointed in witnessing the arrival of the
trains, and that the accident might become magnified and misrepresented,
and thus operate mischievously upon public sentiment in relation to
railroads; the party therefore consented to proceed to their journey's
end, but were unwilling to mingle in any of the rejoicings common to
such occasions.
But the railroad needed no such demonstrations to publish or to prove
its worth. It had within itself more substantial proof. Time was saved;
labour was saved; money was saved. Coal, cotton, and every article of
merchandise useful to men, could be carried cheaper, could be had
cheaper than ever before; and, what was better, had in quantities
sufficient to satisfy the industry and necessities of men. And with
cheapness were combined comfort and safety. The first eighteen months,
700,000 persons were carried over the road, and not an accident
happened!
But were not people frightened by the smoke, cinders, fire, and noise of
the engines, as the opposition in Parliament had declared they would be?
No, no. It was not long before everybody wanted land near the track; and
land, therefore, near the road rapidly rose in value. The farmers who
had driven the surveyors from their fields, now complained of being left
on one side; and those who had farms near the station to rent, rented
them at a much higher rate than ever before. Barren lots became suddenly
profitable, and even Chat Moss was turned into productive acres!
In 1692, an old writer states, "There is an admirable commodiousness
both for men and women of the better rank to travel from London, the
like of which has not been known in the world; and that is, by
stage-coaches, wherein one may be transferred to any place, sheltered
from foul weather, with a velocity and speed equal to the fastest posts
in foreign countries; for the stage-coaches called 'Flying-coaches' make
forty or fifty miles a day."
An English paper, bearing the date of January 1775, has this
advertisement: "HEREFORD MACHINE, in a day and a half, twice a week,
continues flying from the Swan in Hereford, Monday and Thursday, to
London."
In the Scriptures we find Isaiah, with prophetic eye, looking over the
centuries to these later times and penning down: "Every valley shall be
exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low; and the crooked
shall be made straight, and the rough places plain;" and "swift
passengers" are seen executing the world's affairs—no meagre description
of the great means of intercourse in our day, the railway and the
telegraph. The prophet saw in it a clearing of the way for the coming
kingdom of the Redeemer, which is some time to spread over the whole
earth as "the waters cover the sea." Men make good tools and instruments
for themselves. They forget they are perfecting them for God also, who
is using them, and who will use them, to make known the precious gospel
of his Son, "peace on earth, and good-will to men."
What powerful preachers for the Sabbath are the railway and the
telegraph, doing away with all necessity and every excuse for Sabbath
travelling as they do! Long journeys and the most urgent business can be
done between Sabbath and Sabbath, giving a rest-day to the nation. And
this view of them is deserving of more and more regard.
The institution of the Sabbath was founded with the human race. It was
meant to be the rest-day of the entire world. It was set up as a
blessing: "The Lord blessed the Sabbath-day, and hallowed it." The
bodies of man and beast need it. The muscles, bones, nerves, sinews, and
brain cannot endure the strain of constant and uninterrupted work. It is
the day for making up the waste of the animal frame caused by continual
labour and excitement. Night rest is not enough. The God of Nature and
of the Sabbath has fitted the one to the other.
When the knowledge of God had faded out of the earth, and he had chosen
a people to restore and preserve it, besides a code of national laws
particularly for them, he enacted from Sinai a code of moral laws for
man. Among them was the rest-law of the Sabbath. It is the fourth
commandment of the Decalogue, taught in all our Sabbath schools,
pulpits, and homes: "Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep it holy: in it
thou shalt do no work," man nor beast. Further, God promises a great
reward to those who call "the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord,
honourable; not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure,
nor speaking thine own words, but delighting thyself in the Lord;"
showing not only the rest-use of the Sabbath, but its soul-use, as a day
of special intercourse with God.
"The Sabbath was made for man," says Jesus Christ; and the _Christian_
Sabbath has incorporated into it the finishing of the great plan of our
redemption, when Christ,
"Who endured the cross and grave,
Sinners to redeem and save,"
arose from the dead, according to the Scriptures. Thus it is
appropriately called "the Lord's day;" the day when our worldly business
is to be set aside, and when Christ presses his claims upon the hearts
and consciences of men. It is a break in the hurrying whirl of this
life's interests, to consider the solemn issues of eternity, and that
atoning love which is mighty to save all who by repentance and faith
accept its terms of mercy.
We find it was on the observance or desecration of the Sabbath that the
prosperity of the Hebrew nation hung. "You bring wrath upon the nation,"
cried Nehemiah to the Sabbath-breaking traders. "This very profanation
has been the cause of our disasters in times past." For Sabbath
profanation leads to forgetfulness of God; and God left out, what
becomes of man? Ruin stares him in the face. "The ungodly shall not
prosper." What becomes of a nation? Ruin! They shall be left to their
own doings. The French nation blotted out the Sabbath, and showed what
it was _to be left of God_.
When an African prince sent an embassy to Queen Victoria with costly
presents, and asked her to tell him in return the secret of England's
greatness and England's glory, presenting him with a copy of the Bible,
the Queen replied, "Tell your prince that _this_ is the secret of
England's greatness."
For all our institutions, all our civil and religious interests, we need
the morality of the Bible, the conscience and the self-restraint which
the Bible enjoins; and for this purpose we must vigorously support the
institutions of the Bible. Foremost in the foreground is the Sabbath. It
has come down to us through the ages, the great commemoration-day of a
finished creation and a completed atonement, summoning men to call on
the name of the Lord, and bless and praise his holy name.
On its observance the highest moral education of the people depends.
Every railroad corporation is bound to be a Sabbath-keeping corporation.
It _makes time enough_ to do its work. The _nature_ of its work demands
responsible men. An immense amount of property is in its hands,
requiring officers of scrupulous integrity to manage its interests. The
gross receipts of eight railways terminating in London are over £200,000
a week.
It has the life and limbs of thousands upon thousands intrusted to its
charge, at the mercy of its employés, engineers, firemen, brakemen,
switchmen, the recklessness or unfaithfulness of any of whom may bring
sudden death to scores, and plunge a nation into mourning. These men, to
be _kept_ the right men, need the Sabbath. To be honest, responsible,
vigilant, true, God-fearing men, fit for their posts of duty, they _must
have_ the Sabbath.
Many roads are Sabbath-keeping. Some of those which do run on that day
are poorly paid. Carrying the mail helps them out. They run, perhaps,
for that purpose. But is it _necessary_ to keep up Sabbath violation on
our great routes in order to forward the mail? Does not the Saturday
telegraph do away with that necessity? Every important item of business
can be put through on the wires in time.
The side of the Sabbath is the side of God.
* * * * *
What became of George Stephenson and his son Robert? the boys will have
the curiosity to ask.
George and Robert Stephenson took their rank among the great men of
England—that class of great men who contribute to the true prosperity of
the world, by giving it better tools to do its labour with. A good tool
is a great civilizer. The more perfect the instrument, the better the
work. The more perfect the instrument, the greater the number of persons
benefited; for the sagacity necessary to invention and discovery, and
the intelligence required to mature them, are large-hearted and
broad-minded. They work for the many, not for the few.
The history of railways in England it is not my object to give you, and
that enters largely into the remaining period of George Stephenson's
life; you will find it fully detailed in Smiles's Life of him. He became
rich and famous, yet he always preserved the simple habits and tastes of
his early days. Though asked to dine at the richly-spread tables of
lords and baronets, no dish suited his taste better than his frugal
oat-meal "crowdie," and no cook served it better than himself. Kings and
queens thought it a privilege to talk with him. Liverpool erected a
statue of him. The King of Belgium knighted him. But he cared little for
honours. When somebody, wishing to dedicate a book to him, asked what
his "ornamental initials" were, "I have to state," replied he, "that I
have no flourishes to my name, either before or after. I think it will
be as well if you merely say, 'George Stephenson.'"
Young men beginning life often called upon him for advice and
assistance. He hated show and foppery, and a weakness in that direction
often got reproof. One day one came flourishing a gold-headed cane. "Put
by that stick, my man," said Stephenson, "and I will talk with you."
"You will, sir, I hope, excuse me," he said on another occasion to a
very gaily dressed youth; "I am plain-spoken, and am sorry to see a
clever young man like you disfigured by that fine-patterned waistcoat
and all these chains and fang-dangs. If I, sir, had bothered my head
with these things when I was of your age, I would not have been where I
now am."
Wholesome as were his reproofs, his counsel was as reliable, and his
help as timely. From the mine of his own rugged experience he had
gathered truths richer than grains of gold; and he never allowed any
good opportunity to pass without insisting upon the practice of those
homelier and sterner virtues which form the strong woof of character.
When building a road between Birmingham and London, Robert walked twenty
times over the entire route, illustrating the patient assiduity taught
him by his father. No slipshod work could escape their eye. "_Neglect
nothing_," was their motto. As a Killingworth collier he put his brains
and his heart into his work. As a master-builder he put his conscience
into it. All his work was honest, representing the actual character of
the man.
[Illustration: WHOLESOME REPROOF.]
When the rough and tumble of life began to subside, and he became a more
stationary engine, with greater leisure for the enjoyment of his now
ample home, his old love of birds, dogs, horses, and rabbits revived.
There was not a bird's nest upon his grounds that he did not know, and
he often watched the nest-building operations with a builder's interest;
a blade of grass, a bit of bark, a nest of birds, an ant tugging for one
poor grain, were all to his mind revelations of the wonderful mechanism
and creative power of God.
[Illustration: LATER DAYS OF GEORGE STEPHENSON.]
He died in August 1848, in the sixty-seventh year of his age.
Robert proved himself worthy of such a father. They were alike in
character, intimately associated in the great engineering enterprises of
their day, and bound to each other by the fondest affection.
George built roads, Robert bridges to run them over; for railroads have
given birth to the most stupendous and splendid bridges the world ever
saw. The famous Tubular Bridge over the Strait of Menai—connecting
Holyhead with the mainland—and the High Level Bridge at Newcastle, built
by him, are monuments of engineering skill. You often see pictures of
them. The most remarkable work of his genius, however, is on the other
side of the Atlantic Ocean.
It was desirable that the Grand Trunk Railway of Canada, terminating at
Montreal, should be connected with the sea-board; and the road was
accordingly extended from Montreal to Portland, Maine. But the river St.
Lawrence, deep and broad, sweeping down its mighty current the waters
and ice of the great lakes, broke the line and separated the road into
two parts. The river must be spanned. A bridge must be built. It was a
stupendous undertaking, but "Robert Stephenson can do it." Robert
Stephenson did do it. It is thrown from Languire to a point half a mile
below the city, a distance of nearly two miles. It is composed of
twenty-four spans, and has three million feet of solid masonry in it.
The road runs through iron tubes, sixty feet above the river, and the
train is nine minutes going across. There are ten thousand tons of iron
in the tubes. It was six years in building. It is called the Goliath of
bridges; and is named the Victoria Bridge, in honour of Queen Victoria.
[Illustration: VICTORIA BRIDGE, MONTREAL.]
Robert drafted, calculated, estimated, and superintended section after
section of this immense work, and yet never visited the scene of labour!
photographs were sent him of its progress step by step. It was finished
December 1859, and opened with all the festal honours possible in that
season of the year. At the entertainment given there was one
toast—"Robert Stephenson, the greatest engineer the world ever
saw"—followed by no cheers. A deep hush swept over the assembly.
For Robert Stephenson was dead. He died on the 12th of October, two
months before the completion of the work, in the rich prime of a noble
manhood. His death was looked upon as a public calamity; and England,
with a true sense of his worth, laid him side by side with her most
honoured dead. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, with her kings and
queens, her princes and poets, her warriors and statesmen. The funeral
procession was between two and three miles long; thousands lined the
streets, and thousands pressed into the Abbey. Tickets were necessary in
order to get entrance; and one of the most pressing applicants was an
humble working-man, who years before had driven the first
locomotive-engine from Birmingham to London, with Robert Stephenson at
his elbow.
The humble Newcastle collier-boy crowned his life with honourable toil;
and at his death a nation mourned a great man fallen.