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Title: The Rocket: The Story of the Stephensons, Father and Son

Author: Helen C. Knight

Release date: October 3, 2015 [eBook #50119]
                Most recently updated: October 22, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROCKET: THE STORY OF THE STEPHENSONS, FATHER AND SON ***

[Illustration: A LOCOMOTIVE AND TENDER.]




                              THE ROCKET.

                     THE STORY OF THE STEPHENSONS,

                            Father and Son.

                                   BY

                            _H. C. KNIGHT_,

                AUTHOR OF "NO GAINS WITHOUT PAINS," ETC.


                       WITH TWENTY-SIX ENGRAVINGS


                                London:
                  T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
                        EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.

                                  1897




                                Preface.


A brief book for the boys. God gives you work to do in the world. He
gives you honourable work. There is much done that is mean and
dishonourable. Depend upon it, _that_ is not His. In the beginning of
your work, character grows _out_ of it; as you go on, your character
goes _into_ it. Therefore the Bible declares that "God, without respect
of persons, judgeth according to every man's work." We judge in the same
way. This little book will show you how much the practice of the
virtues, the humbler virtues, has to do with making good work.

But keep ever in mind that these virtues, however useful and important
for your work in this world, have no _saving_ power in them—they form no
plea for the favour of God; the key which unlocks the door of Heaven is
not found among them. Like the young man in the Gospel, you may have the
loveliness of every natural virtue, and yet be lost.

As sinners in the sight of God, you need the atoning blood of the
Redeemer; you need repentance and faith in that blood. Make Jesus
Christ, therefore, the corner-stone of your character; on _that
foundation build_ your character. Cultivate the graces of the Gospel.
Baptize the virtues with your Saviour's love. A noble Christian manhood
can only be attained by the slow and steady endeavours of a heart fixed
on God, and a hand diligent and delighting in the work He has given it
to do.




                               Contents.


         I. LIFE AMONG THE COAL PITS,                              9

        II. MENDING AND MAKING—LITTLE BOB,                        19

       III. WHO BEGAN RAILROADS?—"PUFFING BILLY,"                 30

        IV. TWO CITIES THAT WANTED TO GET NEAR EACH
            OTHER—A NEW FRIEND,                                   38

         V. HUNTING UP HIS OWN WORK—AN ENTERPRISING
            QUAKER—WHAT WAS THE RESULT?                           46

        VI. THE TWO CITIES TRYING AGAIN—BUGBEARS,                 58

       VII. GRAPPLING WITH DIFFICULTIES—THE BOG—A
            PUZZLE—THE PRIZE OFFER,                               72

      VIII. ROBERT'S RETURN—A CURIOUS ENCOUNTER—THE
            PRIZE ENGINE,                                         86

        IX. OPENING OF THE NEW ROAD—DIFFICULTIES
            VANISH—A NEW ERA,                                    102

         X. THE STEPHENSON CENTENARY—HONOUR TO WHOM
            HONOUR IS DUE,                                       121




                         List of Illustrations.


   LOCOMOTIVE AND TENDER,                             _Frontispiece_

   EARLY WORK,                                                    10

   A SAFETY LAMP,                                                 11

   BIRTHPLACE OF GEORGE STEPHENSON,                               12

   AT SCHOOL,                                                     17

   MENDING THE CLOCK,                                             21

   THE SUN-DIAL,                                                  29

   GEORGE STEPHENSON'S FIRST ENGINE,                              35

   "PUFFING BILLY,"                                               36

   THE VISIT TO "PUFFING BILLY,"                                  44

   THE TWO STRANGERS,                                             50

   A TALK ABOUT RAILWAYS,                                         54

   SURVEYING AT NIGHT,                                            63

   CHAT MOSS,                                                     74

   GOOD SERVICE,                                                  81

   A CURIOUS ENCOUNTER,                                           87

   SECTION OF THE FIRST BOILER IN USE,                            92

   SECTION OF A TUBULAR BOILER,                                   93

   THE FAILURE,                                                   95

   TUBES OF A MODERN ENGINE,                                      96

   THE "ROCKET,"                                                  97

   OPENING THE LINE,                                             104

   WHOLESOME REPROOF,                                            115

   LATER DAYS OF GEORGE STEPHENSON,                              116

   VICTORIA BRIDGE, MONTREAL,                                    118




[Illustration]




                              THE ROCKET.




                               CHAPTER I.

                       LIFE AMONG THE COAL PITS.


What useful little fellow is this, carrying his father's dinner to him
at the coal-pit? He takes care, also, of his little brothers and
sisters, keeping them clear of the coal-waggons, which run to and fro
before the cottage door. Then he is seen tending a neighbour's cows.
Now, he is moulding mud engines, putting in hemlock sticks for
blow-pipes; besides cutting many a good caper, and uttering all sorts of
drolleries for the benefit of other little boys, who like himself swarm
round, too poor to go to school, if school there were—but schools there
were none.

The boys called him "Geordie Steve."

A lad is wanted to shut the coal-yard gates after work is over. Geordie
offers his services and gets the post, earning by it twopence a day. A
neighbour hires him to hoe turnips at fourpence. He is thankful to earn
a bit, for his parents are poor, and every little helps. He sees work
ahead, however, more to his taste. What? He longs to be big enough to go
and work at the coal-pits with his father. For the home of this little
fellow, as you already perceive, is in a coal region. It is in the coal
district of Newcastle, in the north-eastern part of England.

[Illustration: EARLY WORK.]

I suppose you never visited a colliery? Coal is found in beds and veins
under ground. Deep holes are made, down which the miners go and dig it
out; it is hoisted out by means of steam-engines. These holes are called
shafts. The pit-men have two enemies to encounter down in the
coal-pits—water, and a kind of gas which explodes on touching the flame
of a candle. The water has to be pumped out; and miners are now provided
with a lamp, called a safety-lamp, which is covered with a fine wire
gauze to keep the gas away from the flame.

[Illustration: SAFETY LAMP.]

The coal is brought up from the pit in baskets, loaded on waggons
running on tram-roads, and sent to the sheds. Tram-roads were a sort of
wooden railway. A colliery is a busy and odd-looking spot.

Geordie's family lived in one room—father, mother, four boys, and two
girls. Snug quarters, one would think; but the working-men of England at
that time had smaller wages and poorer homes than they now have—for
Geordie was born in 1781, in the little village of Wylam, seven miles
from Newcastle, and his full name is George Stephenson.

[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF GEORGE STEPHENSON.]

James, an elder brother, is "picker;" and by-and-by George is old enough
to be a picker too, going with his father and brother to their daily
tasks, like a man. To clear the coal of stones and dross is their
business. There are a number of pits around, and each one has a
name,—"Dolly Pit," "Water-run Pit," and so on.

I do not know how long he was picker, but we next find him driving a
gin-horse, at a pit two miles off, across the fields. Away he goes in
the early morning, gladdened all along by many bird songs. George and
the birds are fast friends. He knows where their nests are in the
hedgerows, and watches over them with fatherly affection. At home he has
tame birds, whose pretty, knowing ways are the wonder of the
neighbourhood. For many years a tame blackbird was as much one of the
family as George himself, coming and going at pleasure, and roosting at
night over his head. Sometimes it spent the summer in the woods, but was
sure to come back with cold weather, to share his care and crumbs
through the winter.

George, too, had a famous breed of rabbits; and as for his dog, it was
one of the most accomplished and faithful creatures in the district. In
fact, the boy had an insight into dumb-brute nature, as we shall find he
had into other things, that gave him power over it—a power which he
never abused, but used kindly and well.

George next rose to be assistant fireman with his father, at a shilling
a day. He was fourteen, but so small of his age that he used to hide
when the inspector came round, lest he should be thought too small for
his wages. If small in body, he was large in heart, intent in all things
to _do his best_. And this made his work so well done, that it could not
escape the notice of his employers. When he went to the office on
Saturday night to receive his wages, double pay was given him—twelve
instead of six shillings! George could scarcely believe in his good
luck. When he found it was really no mistake, he took the money and
rushed out of the office, exclaiming, "I am now a made man for life!"

George rapidly shot ahead of his father, a kind old man, who always
stayed fireman, while his boy climbed one round after another up the
ladder of promotion. At seventeen we find him plugman. What duty is
that? A plugman has charge of a pumping-engine, and when the water in
the pit is below the suction-holes, he goes down the shaft and plugs the
tube, in order to make the pump more easily draw. The post required more
skill and knowledge of machinery than any he had filled before, and he
proved himself equal to it.

Indeed, he loves his engine as he loves his birds. It is a pet with him.
He keeps it in prime order. He takes it to pieces, and cleans it, and
studies it; pries into the whys and wherefores, and is never satisfied
until he understands every spring and cog of the machinery, and gets the
mastery of it. You never find him idling away his time. In leisure
moments he is at his old kink, moulding clay engines, and putting new
thoughts into them.

He wished to know the history of engines, and how they were thought out
at first. Somebody told him about Watt, the father of steam-power, and
that there were books which would satisfy his curiosity. Books! what
good would books do poor George? He cannot read. Not read? No. He is
eighteen, and hardly knows his letters. Few of the colliers did. They
were generally an ignorant, hard-working, clannish set of men, whose
pay-day was a holiday, when their hard-won earnings were squandered at
cock-fights and in ale-houses.

If one was found who _did_ read, what a centre of light was he! At night
the men and boys gathered around him, when, by the light of his engine
fire, he would give them the news from an old newspaper, or a scrap of
knowledge from some stray magazine, or a wild story from an odd volume;
and on these occasions no one listened with more profound attention than
George.

Oh! it was so wonderful to read, he thought. It was to open the gates
into great fields of knowledge. Read he must. The desire grew upon him
stronger and stronger. In the neighbouring hamlet of Welbottle, old
Robin Cowens taught an evening school.

"I'll go," cried George.

"And I too," echoed Tommy Musgrove, a fellow-workman, quite carried away
by George's enthusiasm.

Now they went to Robin's school three evenings a week. I do not know how
it was with Tommy, but old Robin never had a better scholar than George;
indeed, he soon outlearned his master! His schooling cost him threepence
a week, and, poor as it was, put into his hand the two keys of
knowledge, reading and writing.

These mastered, he longs to use them. Andrew Robertson opens an evening
school nearer than Welbottle, and Andrew proposes to teach arithmetic, a
branch George is anxious to grapple with next. "And he took to figurin'
wonderful," said Master Andrew, speaking of his new scholar, who soon
left his classmates far behind. And no wonder. Every spare moment to
George was more precious than gold dust, and was used accordingly. When
not on duty, he sits by his engine and works out his sums. No beer-shop
ever enticed him to its cups; no cock-fight ever tempted him to be its
spectator. He hated everything low and vulgar.

[Illustration: AT SCHOOL.]

Andrew was proud of his pupil, and when George removed to another pit,
the old schoolmaster shifted his quarters and followed him. His books
did not damage his interest in business. Was the plugman going to stay
plugman? No. Bill Coe, a friend of his advanced to be a brakeman,
offered to show George. The other workmen objected. And one in
particular stopped the working of the engine when George took hold of
it; "for," he cried angrily, "Stephenson can't brake, and is too clumsy
ever to learn."

A brakeman has charge of an engine for raising coal from a pit. The
speed of the ascending coal, brought up in large hazel-wood baskets, is
regulated by a powerful wooden brake, acting on the rim of the
fly-wheel, which must be stopped just when the baskets reach the
settle-board, where they are to be emptied. Brakemen were generally
chosen from experienced engine-men of steady habits; and in spite of the
grumbling of older colliers, envious perhaps at his rise, it was not
long before George learned, and was appointed brakeman at the Dolly Pit.
This was in 1801.




                              CHAPTER II.

                     MENDING AND MAKING—LITTLE BOB.


George was now twenty—sober, faithful, and expert. Finding a little
spare time on his hands, he took to cobbling to increase his gains, and
from this source contrived to save his first guinea. To this greater
diligence he was urged by his love for Fanny Henderson, a fine
sweet-tempered girl, whom he shortly married, and began housekeeping in
the upper room of a small cottage in Wellington, six miles from
Newcastle. Happy were they in each other, and in their simple,
industrious, and frugal habits; and when a little son was born to them,
George, who loved birds, rabbits, and dogs so well, welcomed with all
the tenderness of a father's heart the little Bobby.

Robert he was named, after the old fireman his grandfather.

Accidents, they say, will happen in the best-regulated families. Fanny's
family was not an exception. One day the cottage chimney got on fire,
and the neighbours, with friendly zeal, not only poured water enough
down the chimney to put out a much bigger and more alarming fire, but
enough to deluge the poor little home of the brakeman with soot and
water, making a pitiful sight to the young husband when he reached it.
His eight-day clock, the choicest bit of furniture the young couple had,
was completely smothered by ashes. What was to be done? Sending it to a
clock-maker for repairs was quite out of the question—it would cost too
much.

"I'll try my own hand on it," said George. After righting everything
else, he attacked the clock, took it to pieces, carefully cleaned it,
put it together, set it, and it _ticked_—ticking on as faithfully and
soberly as ever! The astonished neighbours sent him their clocks, and
George became one of the most famous clock doctors thereabouts.

The young man's reputation for business soon won him a situation in
Killingworth—the best and largest colliery in the region. But his
brightened worldly prospects were soon clouded by a dark sorrow—the
death of his young wife, after three happy years of married life. Poor
George felt it deeply, which was perhaps one reason for accepting a
situation in Scotland, hoping in a change of scene to change the
mournful current of his thoughts.

[Illustration: MENDING THE CLOCK.]

Leaving his little boy in kind hands, he set off to the north with his
pack on his back, afoot and alone, for Montrose—a long journey in those
days. Good wages he received, and good friends he no doubt made, for
everybody loved his honest and generous character; yet by the end of the
year he yearned to get back to the friends and scenes of his early days.
It was not home in Scotland; for it is only home where the heart is.
With his savings in his pocket—twenty-eight pounds—back he trudged to
Killingworth; and not before his friendly presence was greatly needed to
comfort his aged parents, plunged in debt and affliction. By a terrible
accident his father had lost his eyesight. No longer able to work, and
receiving little or no help from his other children, who were barely
able to maintain themselves, the old couple had a hard battle with life.
But George is back again; all will be righted. He paid off their debts,
and removed them to comfortable lodgings beside his own. He has father,
mother, and Bobby to look after, and is thankful and happy in doing it.

Those were dark days, however, for the working-men of England. War was
draining the country of men and money. Taxes were high, wages low, bread
scarce, and able-bodied men were liable at any time to be impressed for
the army or naval service. George himself was drawn; and go he must, or
find a substitute. He found one, but it cost all he had to hire him.

Poor George was in straits. His spirits were much damped by the prospect
of things around and before him. All business was in a discouraging
condition. Some of his friends were about to emigrate to America, and he
at one time nearly concluded to join them. It was a sore trial to the
young man. He loved his English home; and bitter tears did he in secret
shed as he visited old haunts—the fields and lanes and scenes of his
boyhood—feeling and fearing that all too soon the wide Atlantic might
roll between him and them. But the necessary funds for such an
enterprise were not forthcoming. George gave it up, therefore, and went
to work for what wages the times would allow. Better times would come.

The thing nearest his heart was to afford his little son an education.
Keenly alive to his own early deficiencies and disadvantages, he
determined to make them up in Robert. Every spare moment was of two-fold
value to him, and all the work he could pick up he cheerfully did.
Besides tinkering old clocks and cobbling old shoes, he took to cutting
out the pitmen's clothes. Never was there such a fit, for George acted
fully up to the principle that everything which was worth doing was
worth doing well.

Busy as were his hands, his mind was no less busy, catching up and using
every scrap of knowledge which came in his way. And it was a perpetual
surprise to his fellow-workmen to see what a knack he had at bettering
things. Everything improved in his hands. There was always progress on
his track.

A new pit was opened at one of the collieries. Streams of water rushed
in, which the most vigorous strokes of the pump could not lower. On the
engine went pumping, pumping, pumping for a year, and the water
continued to flow in, until it was nearly concluded to give up the pit
as a failure. George's curiosity and interest were much excited, and
always, on seeing the men, he asked how matters were coming on.

"Drowned out, drowned out," was the one and the same answer.

Over he went to the poor pit, as often as he could, to see for himself;
and over he turned in his mind again and again the whys and wherefores
of the failure.

"Weel, George," said his friend Kit one day, "what do you mak' o' her?
Do you think you could doctor her?"

"Man," answered George, "in a week's time I could send you to the
bottom."

The regular engineers were in high dudgeon with the forth-putting
brakeman. What right had he to know how to cure an evil that had baffled
them? His words, however, were reported at head-quarters; and the
contractor was not long in hastening over to see if he could make his
words good.

"Well, George," he said, "they tell me you think you can put that engine
to rights."

"Yes, sir," replied the young man modestly; "I think I can."

As matters could be no worse, Mr. Dodds was ready to let him try; and
George agreed, on condition that he should choose his own men to help
him. The old hands were highly indignant, but there was no help for it.
So they were ordered off, and George with his gang went on.

The engine was taken to pieces, examined, righted, and put together
again. It was set to work. Did it go? Many a looker-on shook his head
doubtfully, and prophesied in his inmost heart, "_No_ go." It pumped and
pumped. The obstinate water found it had an antagonist that could master
it. In less than two days it disappeared from the pit, and workmen were
sent to the bottom. Who could gainsay George's skill?

Mr. Dodds, of course, was delighted. Over and above his wages he put a
ten-pound note into the young man's hand, and engaged him to superintend
his works for the future.

A profitable job was this.

The fame of this engineering exploit spread far and wide. As an engine
doctor he took the lead, and many a wheezy old thing was brought him to
cure. Envious engineers tried to put him down. But real merit cannot be
put down. It is stern stuff.

George's cottage showed the bent of his tastes. It was like an old
curiosity shop, full of models of engines, complete or in parts, hanging
and standing round; for busy as he had need to be—eking out his means by
engineering, by clocks, and by coats—the construction and improvement of
machinery for the collieries was his hobby.

Likeness of taste drew a young farmer often to the cottage—John
Wigham—who spent most of his evenings in George's society. John had a
smattering of chemistry and philosophy, and a superior knowledge of
mathematics, which made him a desirable companion. George put himself
under his tuition, and again took to "figuring." Tasks set him in the
evening were worked out among the rough toils of the day. And so much
honest purpose did not fail to secure progress. Drawing was another new
line of effort. Sheets of plans and sections gave his rude desk the air
of mind-work somewhere. Thus their winter evenings passed away.

Bobby was growing up in a little thought-world by himself; for he could
not fail to be interested in all that interested his father—that father
always making his son the companion of his studies, and early
introducing him into the curious and cunning power of machinery.

Ah, that was a proud day when little Bob was old enough, and knew
enough, to be sent to the academy at Newcastle. He was thirteen. His
father's means had happily been increased. The old engine-wright of the
colliery having died, George Stephenson was promoted to the post, on the
salary of a hundred pounds a year. This was in 1812.

The new office relieving him from incessant hard work, and the necessity
of earning a shilling by extra labours, he had more time for study and
for verifying his plans of practical improvement; and the consequence
was very considerable improvement in the machinery of the colliery to
which he was attached.

Meanwhile Robert's education went on apace. The boy was hungry for
knowledge, not only for himself, but to satisfy the voracious appetite
of his father, and the no less keen one of John Wigham.

Robert joined a literary and philosophical society at Newcastle, whose
fine library opened a rich storehouse of material. Here the boy spent
most of his time out of school, storing his mind with principles, facts,
and illustrations, to carry home on Saturday afternoon. Books also. The
"Edinburgh Encyclopædia" was at his command. A volume of that at the
cottage unfolded a world of wonders. But the library had some books too
choice to be trusted away. How was Robert to get the gist of these home?
His father had often said that a "good drawing and a well-executed plan
would always explain itself;" and many a time he had placed a rough
sketch of machinery before his son, and told him to describe it. Robert,
therefore, when he could do no better, put his drilling to the test, and
copied diagrams and drew pictures, thus taking many an important and
perhaps rare specimen of machinery and science to Killingworth, for his
father's benefit.

We can well imagine Saturday afternoon was as much a holiday to father
as to son. Robert's coming was hailed with delight. John did not lag far
behind. Some of the neighbours dropped in to listen to discussions which
made the little room a spot of lively interest and earnest toil. A
wide-awake mind allows nothing stagnant around it.

[Illustration: THE SUN-DIAL.]

Among the borrowed books of the day was Ferguson's "Astronomy," which
put father and son to calculating and constructing a sun-dial for the
latitude of Killingworth. It was wrought in stone, and fixed over the
cottage door; and there it is still, with its date, August 11, 1816—a
year or two before Robert left school—a fair specimen of the drift of
his boyish tastes.




                              CHAPTER III.

                 WHO BEGAN RAILROADS?—"PUFFING BILLY."


Familiar as it has become to us, who does not stop to look with interest
at the puffing, snorting, screaming steam-horse? And who does not
rejoice in the iron-rail, which binds together, with its slender
threads, the north and the south, and makes neighbours of the east and
the west?

"Who _began_ railroads?" ask the boys again and again.

The first idea of the modern railroad had its birth at a colliery nearly
two hundred years ago. In order to lighten the labour of the horses, the
colliers laid straight pieces of wood into the road leading from the pit
to the river, where the coal was discharged; and the waggons were found
to run so much easier, that one horse could draw four or five chaldrons.
As wood quickly wore out, and moreover was liable to rot, the next step
was nailing plates of iron on the wooden rails; which gave them for a
time the name of "plate-way roads." A Mr. Outram making still further
improvements, they were called "Outram roads," or, for shortness' sake,
"tram-roads;" and tram-roads came into general use at the English
collieries.

"There's mischief in those tram-roads," said a large canal owner,
foreseeing they would one day drive canal stock quite out of the market.

Improvements thus far had centred on the roads. To convoy heavy loads
easier and faster was the point aimed at. Nobody had yet thought of
self-going trains. Watt, the father of steam-engines, said
steam-carriages might be built. He, however, never tried one, but rather
left the idea to sprout in the brain of an old pupil of his, William
Murdock, who did construct a very small one, running on thin wheels, and
heated by a lamp. It was a curious success in its way, and set other
minds thinking.

One of these was a tin-miner of Cornwall, Captain Trovethick, a friend
of Murdock, who joined a cousin of his in getting a patent for building
a steam-carriage. It was built, and an odd piece of machinery it was. It
ran on four wheels over a common road, looked like a stage-coach, and
delighted both the inventor and his friends.

They determined to exhibit it at London. While on its journey, driving
it one day at the top of its speed, they saw a toll-gate in the
distance. Not being able to check it in time, bump it went against the
gate, which flew open in a trice, leaving the affrighted toll-man, in
answer to their inquiry, "How much to pay?" only able to gasp out,
"No—nothing to pay! Drive off as fast as you can! Nothing to pay!"

It reached London in safety, and was some time on exhibition. Multitudes
flocked to see it, and some called it a fiery dragon.

"Ah," said Sir Humphrey Davy, very much interested in the invention, "I
hope to see the captain's dragons on all the roads of England yet."

But the captain exhibited it only as a curiosity, the unevenness of the
roads rendering it for all practical purposes a failure; and he had
neither pluck nor genius enough to lay or clear a track for it himself.
This was in 1803.

The idea, however, was in England, lodging itself here and there in busy
brains; until, at last, a colliery owner in Newcastle, seeing the great
advantage of having a locomotive on his tram-roads, determined to try
what _he_ could do. Accordingly, he had one built after the Cornish
captain's model. It burst up at starting. Noways baffled, he tried
again. The engine proved a clumsy affair, moved at a snail's pace, often
got off the rails, and at length, voted by the workmen a "perfect
plague," it was taken off. The unsuccessful inventor was called a fool
by his neighbours, and his efforts an apt illustration that "the fool
and his money are soon parted." In spite of failure, Mr. Blackett had
faith that the thing _could_ be done. He built a third, and ran it on
the tram-road that passed by old Bob Stephenson's cottage door. And
George at his colliery, seven miles off, as you may suppose, listened to
every account of it with profound interest. Over he went, as often as he
could, to see "Black Billy," as the locomotive was called—a rough
specimen of machinery at best, doing very little service beyond what a
good horse could do.

George carried "Black Billy" back in his mind to Killingworth, studying
its defects, and laying plans to improve it. I do not know how long he
was in coming to it, but he at length gave it as his opinion that he
could make a better "travelling engine" than that.

Tidings came to Killingworth about this time that the trial of a new
engine was to take place on a certain day at Leeds, and George did not
lose the chance of being present. Though the engine moved no faster than
three miles an hour, its constructer counted it a success. It proved,
however, unsteady and unreliable, and at last blew up, which was the end
of it.

What did George think then? He more than ever wanted to try _his_ hand
at the business. Lord Ravensworth, knowing enough of Stephenson to have
faith in him, hearing of this, advanced means for the enterprise. Good
tools and good workmen were alike wanting; but after much labour,
alteration, and anxiety, in ten months' time the engine was completed
and put on the railway, July 25, 1814.

Although the best yet made, it was awkward and slow. It carried eight
loaded waggons of thirty tons weight at a speed not above four miles an
hour. The want of springs occasioned a vast deal of jolting, which
damaged the machinery, and at the close of a year's trial it was found
about as costly as horse-power.

How to increase the power of his engine? that was the puzzling question
which George studied to answer. He wrestled with it day and night, and
at length determined to try again. In due time another was built,
"Puffing Billy," which most persons looked upon as a marvel; but,
shaking their heads, they prophesied it would make a terrible blow-up
some day. "Puffing Billy," however, went to work, and worked steadily
on—a vast advance on all preceding attempts. It attracted little or no
attention outside the narrow circle of the collieries. The great men of
England did not know that, in a far-off nook of the realm, there was
slowly generating a power, under the persistent thought of an humble
working-man, which before many years would revolutionize the trade of
the kingdom, and create a new source of wealth.

[Illustration: GEORGE STEPHENSON'S FIRST ENGINE.]

"Puffing Billy," in fact, humble as its pretensions were, has proved to
have been the type of all locomotives since.

[Illustration: "PUFFING BILLY."]

Had George Stephenson satisfied himself? No. His evenings were chiefly
spent at home with his son Robert, now under him in the colliery,
studying and discussing together how to evoke the hidden power yet pent
up in "Puffing Billy." The son was even more sanguine than his father,
and many an amendment had "Billy" to undergo to satisfy the quick
intellect and practical judgment of the youth.

Mr. Stephenson, delighted with Robert's scientific tastes and skill, and
ever alive to the deficiencies of his own education, was anxious to give
him still further advantages. For this purpose he took him from a
promising post at the colliery, and sent him to the University of
Edinburgh.

Here he enjoyed a six months' course of study; and so well prepared was
he for it by his well-formed habits of application and thinking, that he
gained in six months as much as many a student did in three years.
Certain it was his father felt amply repaid for the draft it made on his
purse, when Robert reappeared at the cottage, in the spring, with a
prize for successful scholarship in mathematics. He was eighteen then.




                              CHAPTER IV.

            TWO CITIES THAT WANTED TO GET NEAR EACH OTHER—A
                              NEW FRIEND.


Manchester, thirty miles north-east of Liverpool, is the great centre of
the cotton trade in England. Its cloths are found in every market of the
world. Cotton coming to Liverpool is sent to the Manchester mills; and
the goods which the mills turn out are returned to Liverpool to be
shipped. The two cities, therefore, are intimately connected by constant
intercourse and mutual interest.

Two water communications existed between them; one by the rivers Mersey
and Irwell, the other by the famous Bridgewater Canal, which did an
immense business at an enormous profit. But the Manchester mills were
fast outgrowing these slow and cumbersome modes of travel. Liverpool
warehouses were piled with bales of cotton waiting to go, and the mills
at Manchester had often to stop because it did not come. Goods also
found as much difficulty in getting back. Merchants and manufacturers
both grumbled. Business was in straits. What was to be done? Carting was
quite out of the question. Canal owners were besought to enlarge their
water-power. No, they would do nothing. They were satisfied with things
as they were. Their dividends were sure.

But want demands supply; need creates resources. Something _must_ be
done to facilitate the transit of goods between the two cities. What?
Build a tram-road, or _rail-road_. Nobody, however, but a very fast man
would risk his good sense by seriously advising a rail-road. Solid men
would certainly shun him. A tram-road was a better understood thing. The
collieries had used small pieces of them for years. A tram-road then.
Business men put their heads together and began earnestly to talk of a
tram-road.

William James, a rich and enterprising man, entered heartily into the
project, and undertook to make surveys for a suitable route. And not
long after a party of surveyors was seen in the fields near Liverpool.
Their instruments and movements excited attention. People eyed them with
anxiety; suspicions were roused; the inhabitants became alarmed. Who
were they, making such mysterious measurements and calculations on other
people's land? A mob gradually gathered, whose angry tones and
threatening gestures warned the surveyors of a storm brewing over their
heads. Wisely considering that flight was better than fight, they took
themselves off, and by-and-by turned up farther on.

The landowners, who might be supposed to have known better, told the
farmers to drive them off; and the farmers, with their "hands," were
only too ready to obey. They stationed themselves at the field gates and
bars with pitch-forks, rakes, shovels, and sticks, and dared the
surveyors to come on. A poor chain-man, not quite so nimble as his
pursuers, made his leap over a fence quickened by a pitch-fork from
behind! Even women and children joined the hue and cry, pelting the
strangers with stones and dirt whenever they had a chance. The colliers
were not behind the farmers in their foolish hostility. A stray surveyor
was caught and thrown into a pit.

At a sight of the theodolite their fury knew no bounds. That unoffending
instrument they seemed to regard as the very Sebastopol of the enemy, to
seize and destroy which was to win the day. Tho surveyors, therefore,
were obliged to hire a noted boxer to carry it, who could make good his
threats on the enemy. A famous fighter among the colliers, determined
not to be outdone, marched up to the theodolite to capture it. A
fist-and-fist fight took place; the collier was sorely beaten, but the
rabble, taking his part against the poor instrument, pelted it with
stones and smashed it to pieces.

You may well suppose that surveying under such circumstances was no
light matter. What was the gist of the hostility? It is hard to tell.
The canal owners might have had a hand in scattering these wild fears;
fears of what, however, it is not so easy to find out. There was nothing
in a simple horse rail-road, or tram-road, as it is called, to provoke
an opposition so bitter from the people. It was a _new thing_; and new
things, great improvements though they may be on old ones, often stir up
a thousand doubts and fears among the ignorant and unthinking.

Nor did the project generally take among those who would be most
benefited by it. Mr. James and his friends held public meetings in all
the towns and villages along the way; enterprising men in Liverpool and
Manchester talked it up, and tried to create a public interest; but
there was a holding back, which, while it checked all actual progress in
the enterprise, did not cause it to be altogether given up. The time had
not come; that was all.

Mr. James had a secret leaning towards the use of steam on the new road.
He would have immediately and unhesitatingly advocated a rail-road run
by locomotives. But that was out of the question. The public were far
behind that point, and to have openly advocated it would have risked his
judgment and good sense in the opinion of the best men. Therefore Mr.
James wisely held his tongue. But hearing of the Killingworth
locomotives, and of a collier who had astonished the natives by his
genius, he determined to make a journey to Newcastle, and see the
"lions" for himself.

Stephenson was not at home. "Puffing Billy" was; and "Billy" puffed in a
way that took Mr. James's heart at once. He seemed to see at a glance
"Billy's" remarkable power, and was struck with admiration and delight.
"Here is an engine," he exclaimed, "that is destined before long to work
a complete revolution in society."

The image of "Puffing Billy" followed him home.

"Why," he wrote to Stephenson's partner in the patent, "it is the
greatest wonder of the age, and the forerunner, I believe, of most
important changes in the modes of travel in the kingdom."

A few weeks later he made another visit to Killingworth, taking his two
sons with him. "Puffing Billy" was at work, as usual.

The boys were frightened at the sight of the snorting monster; but
Stephenson encouraged them to mount, with their father, and see how
harmless and manageable the monster was.

The second visit was even more gratifying than the first.

"Mr. Stephenson," said James, "is the greatest practical genius of the
age. His fame will rank with that of Watt."

Mr. James lost all hesitation now about speaking his mind. "Puffing
Billy" had driven the backwardness out of him, and he was willing, at
all hazards, boldly to advocate rail-roads and the steam-horse. No more
tram-roads; steam or nothing. This was in 1821.

Mr. James entered heart and soul into the new idea of the age. On his
return to Liverpool, it was everywhere his theme; and wherever he had
influence, he tried to stir up men's minds to the benefits and blessings
puffing out in "Puffing Billy."

[Illustration: THE VISIT TO "PUFFING BILLY."]

Stephenson rejoiced in such a friend. It was just what he and "Billy"
most needed—somebody to introduce them into the great world. And
Stephenson and his partner offered him a share in the profits of
whatever business he could secure to them.

But what can one man, or a few men, do in an enterprise like this,
depending upon the verdict of that important power, Public Opinion? And
Public Opinion had not yet made up its mind to it.

A thousand difficulties bristled in the way. There were both the
indifference of friends and the opposition of enemies at home. In
addition to this, a violent opposition was foreseen in Parliament, which
it needed all the strength and courage of a united constituency to meet.

Under these discouraging circumstances, there were not enough men of
pluck to push the matter through.

So everything about the new road went by the board. It was laid on the
shelf, at least for the present, and Liverpool and Manchester trade
jogged on as before.




                               CHAPTER V.

                HUNTING UP HIS OWN WORK—AN ENTERPRISING
                      QUAKER—WHAT WAS THE RESULT?


It appears strange to us that so simple a thing as the laying of a rail
seems to be should have taken years of thought and experiment to do it.
Nothing looks easier to prepare than the straight, smooth track of a
railway, such as we now see in use; and yet it was only arrived at by
slow steps through two hundred years.

In pondering upon the powers of "Puffing Billy," George Stephenson saw
that the efficiency of locomotives must, in a great measure, depend on
what kind of roads they had to run upon. Many were sanguine that
steam-carriages would some day come into use on common roads. After a
long series of experiments, George Stephenson said, "No; the thing
wouldn't pay." For a rough surface seriously impairs the powers of a
locomotive; even sand scattered upon the rails is sufficient to slacken,
and even stop an engine. The least possible friction is desirable, and
this is found on the smooth rail.

Could they ever be laid uphill, or on "ascending gradients", as the
scientific term is? No; as nearly level as possible, Stephenson's
experiments showed, was the best economy of power. Then how to get rid
of the jolts and jars and breakages of the rails as they were then laid.
He studied and experimented upon both chairs and sleepers, and finally
embodied all his improvements in the colliery railway.

"Puffing Billy" was in every respect a most remarkable piece of
machinery, and its constructer one of the most sagacious and persistent
of men. But how was the public, ever slow in discovering true merit or
accepting real benefits, to discover and appreciate them? Neither
influence, education, nor patronage had Stephenson to command mind and
means, or to drive his engine through prejudice, indifference, and
opposition, to profit and success.

But what he could not do, other men could do, and did do. Find a hook,
and there is an eye to fit it somewhere. Yes; there were already men of
property and standing alive with the new idea. While he worked, they
talked—as yet unknown to one another, but each by himself clearing the
track for a grand junction.

One of these men was Edward Pease, a rich Quaker of Darlington, who, his
friends said, "could look a hundred miles ahead." He needed a quicker
and easier transit for his coals from the collieries north of Darlington
to Stockton, where they were shipped; and Mr. Pease began to agitate, in
his mind, a railroad. A company for this purpose was formed, chiefly of
his own friends, whom he fairly talked into it. Scarcely twenty shares
were taken by the merchants and shipowners of Stockton, whose eyes were
not open to the advantage it would by-and-by be to them. A survey of the
proposed road was made, when to the indifference of the many was added
the opposition of the few. A duke was afraid for his foxes! Shareholders
in the turnpikes declared it would ruin their stock. Timid men said it
was a new thing, and that it was best to let new things alone. The world
would never improve much under _such_ counsel. Edward Pease was hampered
on all sides. Nobody convinced him that his first plan was not the right
one by all odds; but what can a man do in any public enterprise without
supporters? So he reluctantly was obliged to give up his rail-road, and
ask Parliament for liberty to build a tram-road—horse-power instead of
steam-power: he could seem to do no better, and even this was gotten
only after long delay and at considerable cost.

Among the thousands who carelessly read in the newspapers the passage
through Parliament of the Stockton and Darlington Act, there was one
humble man whose eye kindled as he read it. In his bosom it awakened a
profound interest. He went to bed and got up brooding over it. He was
hungry to have a hand in it; until at last, yearning with an
irrepressible desire to do his own work in the world, he felt he must go
forth to seek it.

One night a couple of strangers knocked at the door of Edward Pease's
house in Darlington, and introduced themselves as two Killingworth
colliers. One of them handed the master of the mansion a letter of
introduction from a gentleman of Newcastle, recommending him as a man
who might prove useful in carrying out his contemplated road.

To support the application, a friend accompanied him.

The man was George Stephenson, and his friend was Nicholas Wood. It did
not take long for Edward Pease to see that Stephenson was precisely the
man he wanted.

[Illustration: THE TWO STRANGERS.]

"A railway, and not a tram-road," said Stephenson, when the subject was
fairly and fully opened.

"A horse railway?" asked Pease.

"A locomotive engine is worth fifty horses," exclaimed Stephenson; and
once on the track, he launched out boldly in its behalf.

"Come over to Killingworth and see my 'Puffing Billy,'" said George;
"seeing is believing." And Mr. Pease, as you may suppose, was quite
anxious to see a machine that would outride the fleetest horse. Yet he
did not need "Puffing Billy" to convince him that its constructer knew
what he was advocating, and could make good his pledges. The good
Quaker's courage rapidly rose. He took a new start, and the consequence
was that all other plans and men were thrown aside, and Stephenson was
engaged to put the road through much in his own way.

The first thing to be done was to make an accurate survey of the
proposed route. Taking Robert with him, who had just come from college,
and who entered as heartily into the enterprise as his father, with two
other tried men, they began work in good earnest. From daylight till
night the surveyors were on duty. One of the men going to Darlington to
sleep one night, four miles off, "Now, you must not start from
Darlington at daybreak," said Stephenson, "but be here, ready to begin
work, at daybreak." He and Robert used to make their home at the
farm-houses along the way, where his good-humour and friendliness made
him a great favourite. The children loved him dearly. The dogs wagged
their approving tails at his approach. The birds had a delighted
listener to their morning songs, and every dumb creature had a kind
glance from his friendly eye.

But George was not quite satisfied. He wished Mr. Pease to go to
Killingworth to see "Puffing Billy," and become convinced of its
economical habits by an examination of the colliery accounts. He
promised, therefore, to follow George thither, along with a large
stockholder; and over they went in the summer of 1822.

Inquiring for Stephenson, they were directed to the cottage with a
sun-dial over the door. George drove his locomotive up, hoisted in the
gentlemen, harnessed on a heavy load, and away they went. George no
doubt showed "Billy" off to the best advantage. "Billy" performed
admirably; and the two wondering stockholders went home enthusiastic
believers in locomotive power.

A good many things had to be settled by the Darlington project. One was
the width of the gauge; that is, the distance between the rails. How
wide apart should they be? Stephenson said the space between the cart
and waggon wheels of a common road was a good criterion. The tram-roads
had been laid down by this gauge—four feet and eight inches—and he
thought it about right for the railway; so this gauge was adopted.

One thing which hampered Stephenson not a little was the want of the
right sort of workmen—quick-minded, skilful mechanics, who could put his
ideas into the right shape. The labour of originating so much we can
never know. He had nothing to copy from, and nobody's experience to go
by. Happily he proved equal to his task. We can readily imagine his
anxiety as the work progressed. Hope and fear must have in turn raised
and depressed him. Not that he had any doubts in regard to the final
issue of the grand experiment of railroads. They _must_ go!

Dining one day at a small inn with Robert, and John Dixon, after walking
over the route, then nearly completed—"Lads," he said, "I think you will
live to see the day when railroads will be the great highway for the
king and all his subjects. The time is coming when it will be cheaper
for a working-man to travel on a railway than to walk on foot. There are
big difficulties in the way, I know; but it will surely come to pass. I
can hardly hope to live to see that day, much as I should like to do so;
for I know how slow all human progress is, and how hard it is to make
men believe in the locomotive, even after our ten years' success in
Killingworth."

While the father roughed it through, Robert's health failed. His close
application to business made sad inroads upon a frame naturally more
delicate than his father's; and an offer to go out and superintend some
mining operations in South America was thankfully accepted, in the hope
that a sea-voyage and less exciting labours might restore him.

[Illustration: A TALK ABOUT RAILWAYS.]

Robert shortly sailed; and his father pushed on alone, with that brave
spirit which carried him through many a darker hour.

On the 27th of September the Stockton and Darlington Railway was
finished and opened. A great many came to see the new mode of
travelling, which had proved a fruitful subject of talk, far and near,
for many months;—some to rejoice; some to see the bubble burst; some
with wonder, not knowing what to think; some with determined hostility.
The opposition was strong: old England against young England; the
counter currents of old and new ideas.

The road ran from Stockton to Darlington, a distance of twelve miles,
and thence to the Etherly collieries—in all, thirty-two miles.

Four steam-engines were employed, and two stationary engines to hoist
the train over two hills on the route. The locomotives were of six-horse
power, and went at the rate of five or six miles an hour. Slow as this
was, it was regarded with wonder. A "travelling engine" seemed almost a
miracle. One day a race came off between a locomotive and a coach
running on the common highway; and it was regarded as a great triumph
that the former reached Stockton first, leaving the coach one hundred
yards behind.

The road was built for a freight road, to convey lime, coal, and bricks
from the mines and kilns in the interior to the sea-board for shipment
abroad. Carrying passengers was not thought of. Enterprise, however, in
this direction took a new start. A company was soon formed to run two
coaches on the rails between Darlington and Stockton by horse-power.
Each coach accommodated six inside passengers, and from fifteen to
twenty outside; was drawn by one horse; and went at the rate of nine
miles an hour.

"We seated ourselves," said a traveller of those days, "on the top of
the 'Defence' coach, and started from Stockton highly interested with
the novelty of the scene and of this new and extraordinary conveyance.
Nothing could be more surprising than the rapidity and smoothness of the
motion." Yet the coach was without springs, and jerked and jolted over
the joints of the rails with a noise like the clinking of a mill-hopper.

"Such is the first great attempt to establish the use of railways,"
writes a delighted editor, "for the general purposes of travelling; and
such is its success, that the traffic is already great, and, considering
that there was formerly no coach at all on either of the roads along
which the railroad runs, quite wonderful. A trade and intercourse have
arisen out of nothing, and nobody knows how."

Such was their small and imperfect beginning, _we_ should say, now that
railroads, improved and perfected, have fulfilled Stephenson's
prediction uttered in the little inn, and have become the great highways
of the civilized world.




                              CHAPTER VI.

                 THE TWO CITIES TRYING AGAIN—BUGBEARS.


One, two, three years passed by, and the Liverpool and Manchester
project started up again. It was not dead, it had only slept; and the
three years had almost worn out the patience of both merchants and
manufacturers. Trade between the two cities must have speedier and
easier transit. Trade is one of the great progressive elements in the
world. It goes ahead; it will have the right of way; it will have the
right way—the best, safest, cheapest way of doing its business. Yet it
is not selfish; its object is the comfort and well-being of men. To do
this, it breaks down many a wall which selfishness has built up, it cuts
through prejudices, it rides over a thousand "can't be's" of timid and
learned men; for learned men are not always practical. They sometimes
say things cannot be done, when it only needs a little stout trying to
overcome difficulties and do them.

A learned man once said that crossing the Atlantic by steam was
impossible.

"For the good of the race, we must have something truer than wind and
tougher than sails," said Trade. And it was not many years before ships
steamed into every port.

"Carriages travelling at twelve, sixteen, eighteen, twenty miles an
hour! Such gross exaggerations of the power of a locomotive we scout. It
can never be!" cries a sober Quarterly.

"You may scout it as much as you please," rejoins Trade; "but just as
soon as people need a cheaper, pleasanter, swifter mode of travel, it
will be _done_." And now the railway carriages thread the land in their
arrowy flight.

"The magnetic telegraph! a miserable chimera," cries a knowing
statesman. "Nobody who does not read outlandish jargon can understand
what a telegraph means."

"You will soon find out," answers Trade. And now it buys pork by the
hundred barrels, and sells grain by the thousand bushels; while armies
march and fleets sail at its bidding. Treaties are signed at its word;
and the telegraph girdles the world.

You see Trade is a civilizer; and Christian civilization makes all the
difference in the world between Arabs and Englishmen.

Liverpool merchants were now fairly awake. "What is to be done?" was the
question. Something. Could there be a _third_ water-line between the two
cities? No; there was not water enough for that.

Would the Bridgewater Canal increase its power and reduce its charges?
No.

A tram-road or a rail-road, then. There was no other alternative.

Mr. James, who was so much interested before, had failed and left the
country. When he left, he said to his friends, "When you build a road,
build a railroad, and get George Stephenson to do it."

The Darlington and Stockton enterprise could not fail to be known at
Liverpool; and a drift of opinion gradually began to set in strongly in
favour of the railway. People talked about it in good earnest.

"A railway!" cried the canal owners. "It is absurd; it is only got up to
frighten us; it will slump through, as it did before." They were easy.

"Let us go to Darlington and Killingworth and see for ourselves," said
the merchants; and four gentlemen were sent on a visit of inquiry. They
went first to Darlington, where the works were in vigorous progress,
though not done. It was in 1824, the year before they were finished.
Here they met Stephenson. He took them to Killingworth to see "Puffing
Billy."

Seeing was believing. "Billy's" astonishing feats won them completely
over; and they went back to Liverpool warm for a railroad. Their clear
and candid report convinced merchants, bankers, and manufacturers, who
gave a verdict in its favour. Public opinion was now coming over.

Books were opened for funds. There was no lack of subscribers. Money was
ready. To be sure of the _safety_ of locomotive power, a second
deputation was sent to Killingworth, taking with them a practical
mechanic, better able to judge about it than themselves. The man had
sense enough to see and to own that while he could not insure safety
over nine or ten miles an hour, there was nothing to be afraid of slower
than that. Then a third body went. The enterprise required caution, they
thought.

Yes, it did.

Having decided upon steam-power, the next thing was to secure the right
sort of man to carry on the work. Stephenson was that man. His energy
and ability were indispensable. Before trying to get a charter from
Parliament, the route needed to be surveyed again, and a careful
estimate of expenses made.

The Stockton road done, Stephenson was free to engage in this new
enterprise; his success in that proving his principles true on a larger
scale.

The canal owners now took alarm. They saw there was a dangerous rival,
and they came forward in the most civil and conciliatory manner,
professing a wish to oblige, and offering to put steam-power on their
canals. It was too late. Their day had gone by.

You know the violent opposition made to a former survey. How would it be
again? Did three years scatter the ignorance out of which it grew? Ah,
no. There was little if any improvement. The surveyors were watched and
dogged by night and by day. Boys hooted at them, and gangs of turbulent
men threatened them with violence. Mr. Stephenson barely escaped
duckings, and his unfortunate instruments capture and destruction.
Indeed, he had to take with him a body-guard to defend them. Much of the
surveying had to be done by stealth, when people were at dinner, or with
a dark lantern at night.

When dukes and lords headed the hostility, you cannot wonder that their
dependants carried it on. One gentleman declared that he would rather
meet a highwayman or see a burglar on his premises than an engineer; and
of the two he thought the former the more respectable! Widows complained
of damaged corn-fields, and gardeners of their violated strawberry-beds;
and though Stephenson well knew that in many cases not a whit of damage
had been done, he paid them for fancied injuries in the hope of stopping
their tongues.

[Illustration: SURVEYING AT NIGHT.]

A survey made under such circumstances must needs have been imperfect;
but it was as good as could be made. And no time was lost in taking
measures to get a Bill before Parliament.

A storm of opposition against railways suddenly arose, and spread over
every corner of the kingdom. Newspapers and pamphlets swarmed with
articles crying them down. Canal and turnpike owners spared no pains to
crush them. The most extraordinary stories were set afloat concerning
their dangers. Boilers would burst, and passengers be blown to atoms;
houses along the way would be burned; the air would become black with
smoke and poisoned by cinders; and property on the road would be
stripped of its value.

The Liverpool and Manchester Bill, however, got into Parliament, and
went before a Committee of the House of Commons to decide upon it, in
March 1825.

First, its friends had to show the _necessity_ of some new mode of
travel between the two cities; and that it was not difficult to do.

But when it came to asking for liberty to build a railway and run a
locomotive, the matter was more difficult to manage. And to face the
tremendous opposition rallied against it, the pluck of its friends was
severely tried.

The battle had to be fought inch by inch.

Stephenson, of course, was the chief witness for locomotives. But what
headway could he, an uneducated Northumbrian mechanic, make against
members of Parliament, backed by all the chief engineers of the kingdom?
For very few had faith in him; but those few had strong faith. He was
examined and cross-examined. They tried to bully him, to puzzle him, to
frighten him. On the subject of locomotives his answers were clear. He
declared he could drive an engine, and drive it safely, at the rate of
twelve miles an hour!

"Who can believe what is so notoriously in the teeth of all experience?"
cried the opposition; "the witness is a madman!"

Famous engineers were called on the stand. What had _they_ to say? One
declared the scheme a most wild one. He had no confidence in
locomotives. They were affected by wind and weather; with difficulty
were kept on the track, and were liable to constant accidents; indeed, a
gale of wind would render it impossible to start a locomotive, either by
poking the fire or keeping up the steam till the boiler should burst:
they could never be relied on.

The proposed route had to cross an ugly quagmire, several miles in
extent, called Chat Moss, a very shaky piece of land, no doubt; and here
the opposition took a strong stand. "No engineer in his senses," cried
one, "would think of going through Chat Moss. No carriage could stand on
the Moss short of the bottom."

"It is absurd to hold out the notion that locomotives can travel twice
as fast as stage-coaches," said another; "one might as soon trust
himself to a rocket as to the mercy of a machine going at that rate."

"Carriages cannot go at anything like that speed," added another; "if
driven to it, the wheels would only spin on their axles like a top, and
the carriages would stand stock-still!"

So much for learned arguments against it.

Then came the dangers of it. "The dumb animals would never recover from
the sight of a locomotive; cows would not give their milk; cattle could
not graze, nor horses be driven along the track," cried the opposition.

"As to that," said Stephenson, "come to Killingworth and see. More quiet
and sensible beasts cannot be found in the kingdom. The farmers _there_
never complain."

"Well," asked one, "suppose, now, one of those engines to be going along
a railroad at the rate of nine or ten miles an hour, and that a cow were
to stray upon the line and get in the way of the engine; would not
_that_, think you, be a very awkward circumstance?"

"Yes," answered Stephenson, with a droll twinkle in his eye; "very
awkward indeed—_for the coo_!"

The fellow, as you may suppose, backed off.

The danger in other respects was thus dwelt on: "In addition to the
smoke and the noise, the hiss and the whirl which locomotive engines
make, going at the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour, and filling the
cattle with dismay, what," asked an honourable member, "is to be done
with all those who have advanced money in making and mending turnpikes?
What with those who may still wish to travel in their own or hired
carriages, after the fashion of their forefathers? What is to become of
coach-makers and harness-makers, coach-masters and workmen, inn-keepers,
horse-breeders, and horse-dealers? Iron would be raised one hundred per
cent., or more probably exhausted altogether! The price of coal would be
ruinous. Why, a railroad would be the greatest nuisance, the biggest
disturbance of quiet and comfort, in all parts of the kingdom, that the
ingenuity of man could invent."

Not content with belittling his engine, they could not stop short of
abusing Stephenson himself. "He is more fit for Bedlam than anywhere
else," they cried; "he never had a plan—he is not capable of making one.
Whenever a difficulty is pressed, as in the case of a tunnel, he gets
out of it at one end; and when you try to catch him at that, he gets out
at the other."

"We protest," they said, "against a measure supported by such evidence
and founded upon such calculations. We protest against the Exchange of
Liverpool striding across the land of this country. It is despotism
itself."

What had the friends of locomotive power to say?

"We beseech you," they pleaded to the Committee, "not to crush it in its
infancy. Let not this country have the disgrace of putting a stop to
that which, if cherished, may in the end prove of the greatest advantage
to our trade and commerce. We appeal to you in the name of the two
largest towns in England; we appeal to you in the name of the country at
large; and we implore you not to blast the hopes that this powerful
agent, Steam, may be called in for the purpose of aiding land
communication: only let it have a fair trial, and these little
objections and private prejudices will be done away."

Flaws were picked in the surveys, and the estimate of costs based on
them. The surveys, quite likely, were imperfect; indeed, how could they
be otherwise, when every mile of the line had to be done at the risk of
life?

The battle lasted two months, and a very exciting one it was. It was
skilfully and powerfully carried on. Who beat?

_The opposition._ The Bill was lost.

Matters looked dark enough. Judging from appearances, the enterprise was
laid on the shelf, and the day of railways long put off. As for poor
Stephenson, his short day of favour seemed about gone. His being called
a madman, and regarded as a fool, as he had been by the opposition, was
not without its effect upon his newly-made friends. Their faith in him
sensibly cooled. But he did not lose faith in himself, not he. He had
waited long for the triumph of his engine, and he could wait longer. A
great blessing to the nation was locked up in it he well knew; and the
nation would have it some time, in spite of everything.

Was the enterprise a second time to be abandoned?

No, no. Taking breath, its friends again started to their feet. "Never
give up," was their motto, for they were in earnest. They rallied, and
met in London to consult what to do next.

Mr. Huskisson, a member of Parliament for Liverpool, came into the
meeting and urged them to try again—to try at the next session of
Parliament.

"Parliament must, in the end, grant you an Act," he said, "if you are
determined to have it." And try they determined to, for a horse railroad
at least.

For this purpose another and more careful survey had to be made.

Stephenson was left out. A _known_ man must be had. They meant to get
surveyors and engineers with well-established reputation to back them
up. Stephenson was too little known. He had no fame beyond a little
circle in one corner of the kingdom. How did he feel to be thus thrown
in the back-ground? George was not a man to grumble; he was too noble to
complain. In fact, you see, he was ahead of the times; too far ahead to
be understood and appreciated. He could afford to wait.

Two brothers of the name of Rennie were appointed in his stead. In time
the new survey was finished; the plans drawn, and the expenses reckoned
up. Changes were made in the route. Ill-tempered landowners were left on
one side, and every ground of complaint avoided that could be.

The new Bill was then carried to Parliament, and went before the
Committee in March the next year. The opposition was strong, indeed, but
less furious. Much of its bitterness was gone. It made a great show of
fears, which the advocates of the Bill felt it was not worth while to
waste words in answering. They left it to the road to answer them. Build
it, and see.

Mr. Huskisson and others supported it in a strong and manly tone; and
after a third reading, the Bill passed in the House of Commons. So far,
so good. It then had to go to the House of Lords. What would befall it
there? The same array of evidence on both sides was put forward. The
poor locomotive engine, which had proved such a bugbear in the House of
Commons, was regarded as quite a harmless affair by most of the lords;
and the opposition made such poor work in showing off its dangers, that
no plea in its behalf was called for. They were satisfied, they said;
and the Bill passed almost unanimously. Victory! victory!

The victory cost more than twenty thousand pounds! For a first cost it
looked large. But nothing worth doing can be done without effort, and
effort made _in faith_. Nothing done, nothing have.




                              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 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.




                             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 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.




                              CHAPTER IX.

             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.




                               CHAPTER X.

                   THE STEPHENSON CENTENARY—HONOUR TO
                          WHOM HONOUR IS DUE.


George Stephenson was born on the 9th of June 1781.

The year 1881 was therefore the hundredth since his birth,—completed
"the centenary;" and it occurred to many thoughtful and influential
persons as a right thing to do that it should be marked by some special
mode of public celebration. For the man born just one hundred years
before had done a great work in his day; a work the full benefit of
which we are only now beginning to enjoy.

England is not ungrateful to the memory of her distinguished sons, and
keeps many anniversaries with a good deal of pomp and circumstance. She
does not forget a Shakespeare and a Burns, or a Wellington and a Nelson;
she loves to remember the establishment of the first printing-press, and
the victories at Trafalgar and Waterloo. Such being the case, it cannot
be denied that there was a peculiar fitness in her doing honour to "the
Father of Railways,"—to the man whose successful patience, energy, and
courage have so largely added to the national wealth and developed the
national resources.

A century ago, when Stephenson was born, no one had dreamed of or
imagined such a thing as railway traffic. That great idea was reserved
for the brain of the son of a colliery engine tenter; and we have seen
in the foregoing pages under what discouragement, and in the face of
what colossal difficulties, he conceived and carried it out. The
steam-engine in use in his youth and manhood was a crude, awkward, and
disjointed affair, always coming to grief, and incapable of any
important work. The locomotive, as Stephenson found it, was nothing more
than a clumsy stationary engine put on a clumsy truck, which rattled and
shook as it crept along at the rate of four miles an hour, so that every
moment it seemed about to tumble to pieces. And the railway on which it
ran was not less imperfect; it was nothing more than a system of light
thin rails, which rested, or at least were intended to rest, upon blocks
of stone or rough wooden sleepers.

Stephenson, as we have seen, resolved upon reforming all this. He soon
improved the track, giving it greater solidity and firmness; and then he
turned to the engine, which he continued to perfect almost to the day of
his death. There was much in the circumstances of the time to stimulate
his activity. The coal trade was increasing largely, and those engaged
in it were anxious to send their "black diamonds" over the country with
all possible speed. They could no longer tolerate engines that rattled
and jolted to and fro at the rate of only four miles an hour! They were
ambitious, and wanted a speed of ten miles. Well, we know what
Stephenson did: he invented an engine that attained fifteen miles an
hour; and then, unresting and unhasting, he addressed himself to the
task of extending—or, rather, creating—our railway system.

He succeeded: and now there are eighteen thousand miles of railway in
England;[1] and our ordinary trains make thirty miles, our express
trains fifty and sixty miles an hour; and millions of men and women
travel where formerly only hundreds went; and journeys that occupied a
day and a night, like the journey from London to Exeter, are
accomplished in half-a-dozen hours. Why, we leave London at ten, and
reach Edinburgh at seven the same evening; a journey which, when
Stephenson was born, could not be performed under a couple of days and
nights!

Footnote 1:

  At the close of 1880 there were 17,700 miles, employing 300,000
  persons, and 13,174 locomotives. In this vast net-work of iron roads a
  capital of not less than £70,000,000 is sunk, yielding an annual
  return of £30,000,000. Upwards of 600,000,000 journeys are made on the
  average every year.

So marvellous a tale reads like a romance from some Eastern fairy-book.
Yet it is literally true, and the work has been done in the sight and
memory of thousands of living men. Was it not a work which deserved "a
centenary"?

And the man: did _he_ not deserve it? If ever indomitable perseverance
merited public applause, it was that of George Stephenson. We will say
nothing more of the trials and labours of his early years; but even
after he had made his engine, and undertaken to construct the first
English railway, what obstacles he had to conquer, what difficulties to
surmount! Both Houses of Parliament were against him; the world was
against him. People were horrified at the thought of "turning the
locomotive loose on the country." They drew dreadful pictures of the
evil it would do. Families sitting by their own firesides, it was said,
would not be safe. A runaway engine, twenty tons in weight, would dash
through a whole line of houses, toppling them down one after the other
like houses built of cards. How was such a monster to be controlled? A
screw loose, or a wrong turn of the handle, and it would bound out of
the control of its driver. Then, again, others would ask, who wanted to
travel more than ten miles an hour? Who wanted to rush through the
country at a rate which would take away the breath? Was it not "flying
in the face of Providence"? Moreover, these new "trains" were to start
exactly to the minute, and what could be more inconvenient? "It was the
regular thing in those days to keep the carriage and four a whole hour
waiting at the door, till every room of the house had been gone through
several times to see that nothing was left behind."

But Stephenson was not to be daunted. Possessed with one great thought,
he kept to it manfully, and laboured day by day and night by night with
unsurpassable energy. Such a man—the author of so great a work—surely
deserved a centenary.

And a noble centenary it was. Both at Newcastle and at Chesterfield—the
two towns with which Stephenson was most closely connected—the day was
observed as a holiday, and thousands took part in the different
ceremonies.

At Newcastle, the streets of which were gaily decorated with tall
Venetian masts covered with red cloth, and each surmounted by a trophy
of flags,—with ornamental mottoes, wreaths and festoons of glossy
foliage, and a brave show of banners and garlands, there was a grand
procession of modern railway engines, which started from the Central
Railway Station, and proceeded, amidst the cheers of thousands, to
Wylam, George Stephenson's birth-place, eight miles distant. These
engines, sixteen in number, were the finest modern science could
construct: some of them had driving-wheels six feet in diameter, and
outside cylinders which measured in diameter nearly a foot and a half.
How bright they were with their shining copper and polished steel, and
how the sunlight flashed from them as, linked together, they rolled
along the iron way! On reaching Wylam they were placed for exhibition
along with the five old original locomotives—namely, the Killingworth
(the first that Stephenson ever made), the Hatton Colliery engine, the
old Darlington engine, No. 1 Locomotive from Darlington, and
Stephenson's old "Victor" from the North-Eastern Railway.

A special train followed, carrying the Mayors of Newcastle and other
towns, with many persons of local celebrity. Opposite George
Stephenson's birth-place it stopped; the Mayor of Newcastle alighted
with his friends, and in honour of the day planted an oak-tree. The
return journey was then made, and the engines we have named were thrown
open to public inspection.

The next event was a procession of members of the corporations, public
bodies, trade societies, and workmen of Newcastle, Gateshead, Jarrow,
and South Shields, together with the miners of Northumberland and
Durham—some 40,000 altogether—who, through the garlanded and bannered
streets, marched to the town moor. There three platforms had been
erected, from which the various trade representatives delivered
appropriate addresses.

In the evening a grand banquet took place, at which the Mayor of
Newcastle presided; and the day's festivities concluded with a brilliant
display of fireworks.

At Chesterfield the public rejoicings, if necessarily on a less
extensive scale, were not less cordial. Of course, there was a
procession; there was also a special choral service in the parish
church; and we read of a banquet, a concert, and a fireworks finale.

But all this was temporary,—belonged only to the day, and with the day
passed away. So it was resolved to raise funds for the establishment of
a permanent memorial, which, it is to be hoped, may be in existence,
active and prosperous, when a bi-centenary and a tri-centenary in their
turn come round. This will be a "Stephenson College of Physical
Science," to be erected at Newcastle, at a cost of £20,000. And a
Stephenson Scholarship Fund is also being raised, which will place the
higher education within the reach of youths of Stephenson's social rank
imitating Stephenson in his perseverance, energy, love of knowledge, and
patient industry.




Transcribers note.

Spelling, Punctuation and Hyphenation have been kept as the original.







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