'Puffing Billy' And The Prize 'Rocket' Part 5

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 it up as a bad job. The bog, they were afraid, might swallow up all their funds, as it had 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 drivers of the coaches 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 ma.s.s 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 pickaxe, 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 on.

Besides laying out all the work, Stephenson had to make his tools. All their 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 n.o.ble Christian manhood, you must not neglect hourly self-restraint, watchfulness, and prayer, or the daily exercise of those humbler virtues and G.o.dly industries which make the woof of character.

Stephenson strikingly ill.u.s.trated 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 their 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 appet.i.te 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 p.r.i.c.k of the ears. _He_ afraid? not "Bobby."

Returning home, bills 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 pa.s.sed 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 instructions 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, 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 parliamentary 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 parliamentary 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 upon their verdict its fate was sealed.

One staunch 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 n.o.body 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 p.r.o.nounce 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 means; 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 highways of the world."

Could the directors accept a 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 r.e.t.a.r.ding and damaging and stopping the whole line--a phase of the matter which did not fail to make an impression. The directors were moved. Friend 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 of _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; n.o.body 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 answered, it is to be hoped he was relieved from 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 its verdict upon the proper working of railways until time and talent gave them better means of judging.

CHAPTER VIII.

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 pa.s.sing 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 ma.s.sive 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 p.r.o.nounced a success! Tardier steps to fortune seemed tedious; and many of his old a.s.sociates perhaps sighed over the wholesome toil of a slower-paced prosperity.

Years pa.s.sed 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 acc.u.mulated 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. n.o.body 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 quant.i.ty 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 mult.i.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, opened at one end to the fire, through which the heat pa.s.ses 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.