CHAPTER VII.
GRAPPLING WITH DIFFICULTIES—THE BOG—A PUZZLE—THE PRIZE OFFER.
The real work was now to be done. Hopes and fears had yet to beverified.
At the first meeting of the directors, a man to put the enterprisethrough was to be chosen. Who? The Rennies were anxious to get theappointment. They naturally expected it. They had made the survey, andtheir name had had weight in getting the Act of Parliament. But theycould not superintend the details of the work. They had otherenterprises on foot.
Stephenson, no doubt, was _the_ man. The directors felt him to be so. Noone could long be with him without feeling his power. Besides, what hehad done had been ably done. At the risk of offending the Rennies andtheir friends, they chose him, and the result proved the wisdom of theirchoice.
On receiving the appointment, he immediately moved to Liverpool, and thework began in good earnest. It was a stupendous undertaking for thosedays. Chat Moss had to be filled in, sixty-three bridges built,excavations made, tunnels cut, and all the practical details carriedout, with very little past experience to profit by. Neither was the kindof labour well understood, nor was there that division of labour betweencontractors and engineers which relieves one man of too heavy aresponsibility. In fact, tools and men had to be made; and Stephensonhad to make both!
The great quagmire was first grappled with. "No man in his senses wouldundertake to make a road over Chat Moss," opposers said in Parliament;"that were to undertake the impossible." Stephenson, however, meant totry. Formidable it certainly was. Cattle ploughing on farms borderingthe bog, where it ran underneath the tilled land, had to wear flat-soledboots 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 bedrained and filled in with sand and gravel. The drainage tasked theiringenuity to the utmost, and almost baffled the workmen. After that wasin some degree accomplished, waggon-load after waggon-load of earth wasthrown on for weeks and weeks: but it only sank into the mire anddisappeared—not an inch of solid footing seemed gained; and on theywent, filling and filling, without apparently having made the leastimpression on the Moss,—the greedy bog only cried out for more.
CHAT MOSS.]
Stephenson's men began to have their doubts. The opposition might havejudged more correctly after all. They asked him what he thought. "Goahead!" 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. Afterwaiting and waiting in vain for signs of progress, they called a meetingon 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 doneeverything else. Stephenson lost not a whit of his courage. "Go ahead!"was his counsel. He never for a moment doubted of final success. Andconsidering the great outlay already made, they wisely gave in to him.
Monstrous stories were afloat of the terrible accidents taking placethere. Every now and then the stage drivers brought into Manchester theastonishing news of men, horses, carts, and Stephenson himself submergedand sunk for ever in the insatiable quagmire! Time corrected one only topublish another. Newsmongers were kept in a state of delightfulexcitement, and tea-table gossip was spiced to suit the most credulousand marvel-loving taste, until the Moss was conquered, as conquered itwas acknowledged to be, when, six months after the directors had met tovote to leave it to its original unproductiveness, they were driven overit on a smooth and secure rail to Manchester!
Another tough job was tunnelling Liverpool—excavating a mile and a thirdof road through solid rock. Night and day the boring, blasting, andhewing were kept in vigorous execution. Sometimes the miners weredeluged with water, sometimes they were in danger of being overwhelmedby heavy falls of wet sand from overhead. Once, when Stephenson was gonefrom town, a mass of loose earth came tumbling on the heads of theworkmen, frightening them, if nothing more. On his return they were in amost refractory state, complaining of the dangers, and stoutly refusingto go back to work. Wasting no time on words, Stephenson shouldered apick-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 thework went bravely and steadily on.
Besides laying out all the work, Stephenson had to make the tools. Allthe waggons, trucks, carriages, switches, crosses, signals, were plannedand manufactured under his superintendence, besides meeting andproviding for a thousand exigencies constantly occurring in a newenterprise 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 alwaysforthcoming. If the works lagged in consequence of it, the hopes of thedirectors fell; so that Stephenson's energies were taxed to the utmostduring the four years of the work; and he showed, what observation andhistory both teach us, that efficient men are men of _detail_ as well asmen of great plans.
Remember this, boys—for we sometimes despise little particulars and theday of small things—that the secret of effective doing lies not only inmaking wise plans, but in filling up the minutest parts with promptnessand 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 thetoil of daily drudgery. If you undertake to become rich, you must notdespise the small gains and little economies by which a fortune is made.If you would obtain a noble Christian manhood, you must not neglecthourly self-restraint, watchfulness, and prayer, or the daily exerciseof those humbler virtues and godly industries which make the woof ofcharacter.
Stephenson strikingly illustrated the practical force of this principle.The minutest detail of every plan in this new enterprise was thought outand carried on by himself, or under his direct supervision. Both insummer and winter he rose early. Before breakfast you might find him ona morning round, visiting the extensive workshops where the machines andtools were made; or perhaps Bobby is brought to the door, and mounted onthis his favourite horse, he is off fifteen miles to inspect theprogress of a viaduct—a ride long enough to whet the appetite for atempting breakfast, one would think. But nothing tempts him from hisfrugal habits: he eats "crowdie"—and that made by himself—which isnothing more or less than oatmeal hasty-pudding and milk. Again he isoff, inspecting the labours of his men all along the line from point topoint, pushing the works here, advising there, and inspiring everywhere.Bobby is a living witness that one beast, at least, is not to be scaredby a locomotive. He can face the snorting monster without so much as ashy step, or a prick of the ears. _He_ afraid! not Bobby.
Returning home, pay-rolls are to be examined, perhaps, when every itemof expense must be accounted for; or drawings are to be made, ordirections given, or letters written.
Several young men were received into his family to be trained forengineers. A second wife—frugal, gentle, and friendly—superintended hishousehold. Their evenings were passed in study and conversation,brightened by the genial humour of the remarkable man whose genius drewthem together, and whose good-tempered pleasantries relieved the heaviertasks of mind and body. The compendium of all his instruction was,—Learnfor yourselves, think for yourselves, master principles, persevere, beindustrious, and there is no fear for you. It is an indication of thevalue of these instructions, that every young man trained under him roseto eminent usefulness. "Ah," he sometimes said, on relating a bit of hisown early history, "you don't know what work is in these days." And yetwork is work all the world over.
In spite of the best Stephenson could do, the directors, looking attheir unproductive capital, and not fully comprehending all thedifficulties to be overcome, sometimes urged greater despatch.
"Now, George," said Friend Cropper one day, "thou must get on with therailway; thou must really have it opened by the first of January next."
"Consider the heavy nature of the works, sir," rejoined George, "and howmuch we have been delayed by want of money, to
say nothing of the badweather. The thing is impossible."
"Impossible!" cried Cropper. "I wish I could get Napoleon to thee; hewould 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 arailroad 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 railedbefore they could agree what kind of power to put on it. There were somewho insisted upon using horse-power; but the majority thought that wasout of the question. Meeting after meeting was held, debate followeddebate, and the whole body became more and more puzzled as the roaditself neared completion.
Some kind of machine; but _what_?—ah, that was the question. You wouldnaturally have thought, "A locomotive, of course." But no; sinceParliament opposition raged against it, steam had lost ground in thepublic estimation, and it was very slow in getting back to favour.Locomotives, or "travelling engines," as they were called, were hid in acloud of doubts,—and more than ever since the Parliament debates. "Theywere dangerous, they were frightful, they could never go fastenough,—their utmost speed would not be ten miles an hour." Some of themost distinguished engineers would give no opinion of them at all. Theyhad none. It was certainly hard to patronize them in spite of theirindifference, and possibly their sneers. Certainly, if the poorlocomotive depended on their verdict, its fate was sealed.
GOOD SERVICE.]
One stanch friend remained. Stephenson stood faithfully by "PuffingBilly," puffing away in his far-off Northumberland home. He neverflinched advocating its principles, and urged the directors to try oneon the road. They at last ordered one to be built,—one that would be ofservice to the company, and no great nuisance to the public. It wasbuilt, and excellent service it did, drawing marl from the cuttings andexcavations to fill up the bogs and hollows. Nevertheless, it settlednothing, and convinced nobody not already convinced.
Meanwhile the directors were deluged with projects, plans, and advicefor running their road. Scheme upon scheme was let loose upon them;—someengines to go by water-power, some by gas, some by cog-wheels. All theengineering science in the kingdom was ready to engineer for them in itsown way; but who among all could pronounce the best way, and upon thewhole decide which was the right motive power?
A deputation was despatched to Darlington and Stockton to inspect thefixed and locomotive engines employed on that road; but the deputationcame back differing so among themselves, that the directors were morepuzzled than ever. Two professional engineers of high reputation werethen sent, who, on their return, reported in favour of _fixedengines_—for safety, speed, economy, and convenience, fixed engines byall odds; reiterating again and again all the frightful stories ofdanger and annoyance charged upon steam. They proposed dividing the roadinto nineteen stages, of a mile and a half in length, and havingtwenty-one stationary engines at different points to push and draw thetrains along. The plan was carefully matured.
Poor Stephenson! how did he feel? "Well," he said, with the calmearnestness of a man of faith, "one thing I know, that before many yearsrailroads will become the great highways of the world."
Could the directors accept the project without consulting him? Againthey met. What had he to say concerning it? Fight it he did. He dweltupon its complicated nature, the liability of the ropes and tackling toget out of order, the failure of one engine retarding and damaging andstopping the whole line; a phase of the matter which did not fail tomake an impression. The directors were moved. The rich Quaker, Cropper,however, headed the stationary-engine party, and insisted upon adoptingit. "But," answered the others, "ought we to make such an outlay ofmoney without first giving the locomotive a fair trial?" And Stephensonpleaded 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 wordsof a man with strong faith are strong words. "Besides," he said, "thelocomotive is capable of great improvements. It is young yet; itscapacities have never been thoroughly tested. When proper inducementsare held out, a superior article will be offered to the public."
Never were directors in a greater strait. There was no withstandingStephenson, for he knew what he was talking about. All the rest wereschemers. At last one of the directors said, "Wait; let us offer a prizefor a new locomotive, built to answer certain conditions, and see whatsort of engine we can get."
That was fair. It was right his engine should be properly tested. Allagreed; 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 wereof six tons weight, it should be able to draw twenty tons, at a speed ashigh as _ten_ miles an hour. The prize was five hundred pounds.
The offer excited a great deal of attention, and many people madethemselves merry at its expense. The conditions were absurd, they said;nobody but a set of fools would have made them: it had already beenproved 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 hisbreakfast! As that condition was fully answered, it is to be hoped thathe was generously relieved from his rash promise and his indigestibledish.
More candid minds turned with interest to the development of this newforce struggling into notice. Stephenson felt how much depended on theissue; and the public generally concluded to suspend their verdict uponthe proper working of railways, until time and talent gave them bettermeans of judging.
The Rocket: The Story of the Stephensons, Father and Son Page 8